In the mood for truth

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/50080564.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationship: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Pansy Parkinson,
Daphne Greengrass, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Parvati Patil, Padma
Patil, Luna Lovegood, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Scorpius Malfoy, Albus
Severus Potter, Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger's Mother, Hermione
Granger's Father
Additional Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Enemies to Friends,
Friends to Lovers, POV Hermione Granger, POV Draco Malfoy, Other
Additional Tags to Be Added, Explicit Sexual Content, Sexual Content,
Smut, Fluff and Smut, Shameless Smut, Mental Health Issues, Female
Friendship, absolutely no miscommunication trope, Hermione is the
queen of communication, No Weasley Family Bashing (Harry Potter),
Not Epilogue Compliant, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence,
Recreational Drug Use, Panic Attacks, Anxiety, No Ron Weasley
Bashing, Enthusiastic Consent, Light BDSM, Sex Positive Hermione
Granger, Rough Sex, Good Parent Draco Malfoy, Praise Kink,
Possessive Sex, Healthy Relationships, Good Draco Malfoy, Shower
Sex, so much shower sex, Library Sex, Implied/Referenced Suicide,
Legilimency (Harry Potter), Legilimency Sex (Harry Potter),
Inappropriate Use of Legilimency (Harry Potter), Veritaserum Potion
(Harry Potter), Slow Burn, Inappropriate Use of Malfoy Signet Ring,
Happy Ending, HEA, Slice of Life, Domestic Fluff, Implied/Referenced
Death in Childbirth
Language:
🖤❤️
English
Collections: all-time greatest Dramione , Dramione that will heal you and send
dopamine straight to your brain
Stats: Published: 2023-09-14 Completed: 2023-09-21 Words: 360,965
Chapters: 32/32
 In the mood for truth
by topazZz1105

Summary

Hermione Granger, now in her thirties, has found solace and contentment in sunny Spain,
embracing a new life far from the tumultuous world she left behind, working with her
family's vineyard and befriending locals. But a work assignment in London forces her to
reluctantly return, and unexpectedly, she reconnects with a figure from her Hogwarts days,
igniting sparks of change that will forever alter her life.

*Completed*

Notes

Hey, before we begin, I'd like to share a few things.

Firstly, let me start by saying the most important thing - English is not my first language. :)
I've used grammar software that I use for my work to make sure that sentence structure and
tenses align, but it's probably not perfect. So, if you come across any mistakes, please keep
that in mind. (you're free to point them out though lol)

And secondly, this story won't be very plot-heavy. My focus is primarily on these two
characters, their relationship, and how they deal with their past and future. So, I wouldn't
want you to expect some amazing plot about saving the world or each other and then be
disappointed. It’s more of a relaxed smutty read, and it's more character-driven.

Thanks for reading! :)

May 13th 2024 - BINDING POLICY: I would prefer it if the fics, at least the ones written by
me, could stay just in the online/digital sphere, at least until the wave of illegal activities
regarding fanfiction, binding and selling books specifically, loses its momentum.
Another reason is that I'm pretty sure there are a lot of mistakes I made since, as I mentioned
before, English is not my first language, and I wouldn't want anyone to correct them while
creating their typeset without checking with me first.
Thank you for your consideration!

June 7th 2024 - I was bored and made a moodboard! If you're interested in checking it out,
beware of the possible spoilers! https://www.pinterest.com/tpzzz1105/in-the-mood-for-truth/
 Prologue
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

July 2012

Hermione settled into a cosy patio chair, her gaze drifting across the lush greenery of the
back garden. A glass of wine rested comfortably in her hand as she skimmed through her
emails. The team working on the new edition of her book appeared busier than ever, and a
faint pang of guilt pricked at her for not returning to London in the past few months. But the
feeling was fleeting. She had come to treasure her life here in Spain.

The sun blazed relentlessly, bathing the day in a familiar golden heat. She spent her morning
at the beach with David before he left for work, and then at the gym. Later, her father had
insisted on taking her to the vineyard to share his elaborate plans for the vines and soil.
Despite the sun tinting his balding head a vivid pink, he had refused to relent until every
detail was meticulously written down.

"Why don’t you just record everything on your phone and type it up later?" Hermione
suggested, swiping a bead of sweat from her temple.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I prefer handwritten notes."

"You’re not even the one doing the writing, I am," she pointed out with a laugh.

"No, no, your little magical quill is," he corrected, nodding towards the flamboyant blue-and-
yellow self-writing quill in her hand.

Hermione took another sip of wine as the memory faded. It was just after seven. Perfect time
to call Daphne, who’d said she’d be home by now. Switching to Skype, she waited as the call
connected. After a few rings, Daphne’s face appeared.

"Hey! Always on time, aren’t you?" she quipped and her screen slightly shaky as though she
were on the move.

"Of course," Hermione replied, tilting her head slightly. "What are you up to? Have I
interrupted anything?"

"No, not at all. Just give me a sec to get settled."

Daphne adjusted her laptop, and Hermione’s screen filled with her face. Despite the slightly
grainy video quality, Daphne’s striking blue eyes and sleek blonde ponytail were as
unmistakable as ever. Behind her, Hermione could make out the kitchen island, with a stove
and sink in the background.
"Right, all set now," Daphne said as she perched herself on a stool. "What’s up? How’s your
day been?"

"Not bad," Hermione replied. "Just catching up on emails and enjoying a glass of wine.
Cheers," she added, raising her glass before taking another sip. "What about you?"

"We’re having wine too," Daphne said, lifting her own glass. Her gaze flicked off-screen
briefly. "Come over here," she called.

"I’m not talking to her. She never replies to any of my letters."

Hermione rolled her eyes, recognising the speaker instantly. "I’m not sending you a
handwritten letter via owl in the 21st century, Pansy. Get yourself a phone."

Daphne chuckled, turning back to the screen. "She’s rolling her eyes and waving her arms
about. Oh, and now she’s given you the middle finger. Or was that meant for me?"

"Either. Both," she muttered into the background.

"Hi!" Ginny’s voice chimed from somewhere behind the camera too.

"Oh, you’re... all together. How… lovely," Hermione remarked, but her tone carried just a
faint hint of envy. She quickly brushed it off with a shake of her head. "Has something
happened?"

Ginny appeared next to Daphne on the screen. "No, for Merlin’s sake, why do you always
assume the worst? Did you get my letter?"

"I did, and I’ve chosen to ignore it for reasons I’ve already explained," Hermione replied
firmly. "Get. A. Bloody. Phone."

Ginny glanced between Daphne and, presumably, Pansy off-screen. "You know what? I’ve
changed my mind. I don’t miss her."

"Aww, were you talking about missing me?" Hermione asked, batting her eyelashes
theatrically.

"Of course," Daphne interjected, raising a brow. "I haven’t seen you in two weeks."

"Luna mentioned she spoke to you and Padma a few days ago," Ginny added.

"Yes, I asked about Crooks."

"I know." Daphne held up her hand, revealing a few fresh scratches. "He says hello."

Hermione chuckled. "Oh my God, I’m sorry! But you know he doesn’t like anyone."

The thought of Crookshanks brought a pang of sadness.

He was too old for magical transportation, and even the idea of flying in an aeroplane seemed
far too stressful. Luna had kindly offered to take him in for the time being.

"When was the last time you were here? March? April?" Ginny asked after a moment.

"April, yeah. Look how gorgeous it is," Hermione replied.

She turned her laptop to give them a view of the garden, bathed in the golden light of the
setting sun.

"Now, tell me, why on earth should I come back?" She laughed, leaning back into her chair.

Dressed in a light sundress, her skin sun-kissed and glowing, Hermione looked every bit the
picture of summer serenity. The soft breeze toyed with her curls as she savoured her wine.

"Let me see," Pansy demanded as the screen shifted.

"Oh, look who’s decided to show up," Hermione smirked, but she ignored her entirely.

"Oh, lovely, it’s nice and warm," Pansy said dryly, rolling her eyes at the screen. "While it’s
been absolutely bloody miserable here all week."

"Of course it’s warm. She lives in Spain, and it’s summer."

"You look very nice," Hermione said with a small smile. "Have you done something with
your hair?"

Pansy ran her fingers through her sleek black bob with an unimpressed expression. "Don’t try
to flatter me, Hermione. It’s far too late for that."

Ginny cut in, her tone urgent. "Wait, before I forget. I need you to come back for Harry’s
birthday."

"I was planning to, but why?" Hermione asked, tilting her head.

"I’m thinking of throwing a bigger party," she explained. "I saw loads of people from school
in Diagon Alley last week. I think most of them are back from holiday or will be soon, so it’s
the perfect time. You have to be here."

"Of course," Hermione agreed with a nod. "Does he know?

He’s not going to like it.

"No, of course not, he’ll try to put a stop to it," Ginny said firmly. "So not a word if he rings
you."

"Noted. My lips are sealed," Hermione promised with a small laugh.

"Great, a party with a bunch of Gryffindors," Pansy muttered and rolled her eyes. "Can’t
wait."
"Oh, like you mind being surrounded by Gryffindors," Ginny huffed.

"Speaking of, how’s Charlie?" Hermione asked, leaning forward. "Has he recovered yet?"

"He can go back to work next week," Pansy said. "The burns are looking much better, and he
can move and bend his arm properly now."

"Will he be there for the party?"

"Of course. The entire Weasley clan has to be present," Pansy replied with mock solemnity.

Ginny raised an eyebrow at her before turning back to Hermione. "Have you spoken to Ron
recently?" she asked, narrowing her eyes slightly.

"Yes, he sent a letter a few days ago," Hermione replied, mirroring Ginny’s squint. "He
shared the good news, if that’s what you’re hinting at."

"So, you can answer his letters," Pansy teased, but Hermione ignored her.

"So... how do you feel?" Ginny pressed.

"How do I feel about one of my best friends planning to propose to the love of his life?"
Hermione huffed. "I’m very pleased."

"Just that? Very pleased?" Pansy smirked.

"Yes, because it’s been more than a decade since we were together," Hermione said, sipping
her wine.

Well, that’s not… not entirely true, but fine.

"Honestly, I think we both moved on a long time ago. I mean, obviously."

"I was thinking about that when Adrian got married," Daphne chimed in absentmindedly.
"Even though we hadn’t been together for ages."

"Yes, but your... circumstances were different. It’s not like that with me and Ron," Hermione
explained, but they didn’t seem convinced. "Honestly, I’m happy for them. So, maybe you
can stop asking me these questions. It’s rather uncomfortable." She frowned. "And
completely unfair to Susan."

"You’re right," Ginny nodded, and Hermione felt a wave of relief that she was ready to move
on. "So what about your little pool boy?"

"Pool boy?" Hermione rolled her eyes. "He’s not a pool boy, and you know it. He’s a tour
guide."

"Oh yes, I knew it was something out of a muggle romance novel," Pansy chuckled.

Ginny turned to her, clearly intrigued.

"What?" she shrugged. "Your brother’s away quite often, and I have needs. So, what’s up
with him?"

"Nothing. We’re just having fun," Hermione replied, with a sly smile playing on her lips.
"You know how young men are, full of energy. Oh, wait, you two wouldn’t know," she
teased, gesturing at Ginny and Pansy.

Daphne smirked.

"I’m joking. But it is nice to have company while I’m here," Hermione added.

"I bet it is. So the sex is good, then. I can see that much," Pansy said bluntly.

She nearly choked on her wine, lowering the volume on her laptop.

"Pansy. Her parents might be around," Daphne warned.

"Oh, shit, are they?" Pansy looked alarmed, but Hermione shook her head. "Good. So? Tell
us. It’s a valid question. You said you’re having fun. I just want to know if the fun is, you
know, satisfying."

Hermione rolled her eyes, her thoughts drifting to yesterday’s outdoor activities that were
definitely not part of David’s tours.

"Well... yes, it’s very much satisfying," she admitted, her voice barely above a mumble.

Pansy laughed triumphantly. "I can always tell when you’re getting some good action."

Ginny snorted from behind the camera. "You mean she’s not as bitchy as usual?"

"Exactly. She’s more appreciative of nature, the climate, and whatnot."

Hermione sighed. "Fine. Can we talk about something else? Ginny, how’s your season going?
Pansy, everything good at work? Daph, how’s your... family vault? Spending money going
well?"

The other two chuckled while Daphne rolled her eyes. "Hilarious," she deadpanned.
"Where’s your mother? She’s the most pleasant of the Grangers."

"What’s wrong with her dad? He’s nice," Ginny asked.

"He calls me Phoebe."

"He doesn’t know anyone’s names," Hermione interjected with a dramatic eye roll. "Ginny
and Harry are Gemma and Harold. Pansy is Poppy. Luna is Lisa. And Padma and Parvati?
Radha and Rajani."

She joked about it, but a nagging sense of guilt lingered at the back of her mind. It was a
constant reminder that her obliviation spells might have played a role, even though her
parents insisted he’d been forgetful long before.
It certainly didn’t help matters.

Not only had she erased her parents’ memories of her, but she’d also removed every trace
that she’d ever lived in their home. It had taken months, complex spells, and several Ministry
curse breakers to restore the house to its original state. They had even complimented her on
her thoroughness, though it had created significantly more work for them.

All the photographs of her childhood, the scent of her mother’s fabric softener, the pencil
marks and dates on the bedroom door frame that tracked her height, her handprints in the
patio’s concrete, and even the initials she’d carved with her first crush on the brickwork of
the garden grill… it was all gone.

As though they’d never existed.

Her parents hadn’t been pleased about her decision to erase their memories, even if they’d
come to understand her reasons. They were one of the driving forces behind her writing her
first book, From Order to Victory: A Firsthand Account of the Second Wizarding War.
Hermione had written it specifically for her parents, to help them comprehend the horrors
she’d endured and the countless families torn apart by the war.

"Can you bring back some of that nice wine when you return? I really liked the red one,"
Pansy said, snapping Hermione out of her thoughts.

"Of course. Just text me how many bottles you want," Hermione replied, raising an eyebrow
before rolling her eyes. "I will. But seriously, what have you been up to? How’s everyone?"

That led to a detailed update.

The Potters were preparing for James’ first year at Hogwarts.

Ginny recounted how he’d been running around the house in sheer joy after receiving his
acceptance letter. Even little Lily had joined in on the excitement, though she didn’t quite
understand the significance. Albus, however, had been sulking with jealousy. Hermione made
a mental note to write him a letter later.

Pansy and Charlie had just returned from their holiday.

Charlie had been granted time off to recover from his burns, and Pansy had aligned her own
vacation to coincide with his. Daphne had joined them for a few days, having no other plans
for the summer after breaking up with Terence several months earlier. Hermione had invited
her to visit, though Daphne had only spent one weekend with her last month.

Pansy mentioned a visit to Luna’s shop for some potions and how she’d narrowly avoided a
run-in with Crookshanks.

They were deep in conversation when Hermione heard footsteps behind her.

"Darling, can you bring me the..." Her mother’s voice trailed off as she stepped outside. "Oh,
you’re talking. Never mind."
"Hello, Mrs Granger! How are you?" Daphne greeted warmly.

"Oh, just fine. Who’s there? Wait a moment."

Her mother fumbled for her glasses, perched them on her nose, and squinted at the screen.

A smile broke across her face. "Oh, it’s you three! How are you all?"

The conversation shifted as Hermione’s mother settled into the chair. Sensing it would carry
on for a while, Hermione handed over the laptop, excused herself, and wandered into the
garden to admire the flowers.

A wind chime crafted from old wine corks and crystals, one of Luna’s whimsical creations,
hung from a nearby column. She had insisted it brought good luck and fortune. Hermione
doubted that but didn’t comment. It was thoughtful, after all.

Her father, however, adored it. He’d become especially fond of it after Luna casually
mentioned it also served as protection against nargles. Hermione had tried, unsuccessfully, to
convince him that nargles weren’t real. Now, he was utterly convinced that those pesky little
creatures were something to guard against.

She strolled across the lawn, while insects hummed and buzzed around her. The freshly
mowed grass whispered underfoot as she walked. A soft breeze drifted through the yard,
nudging the patio’s rocking chair and swing into gentle motion, their creaks adding to the
symphony of the outdoors. The whole backyard was an immersive sensory delight. Hermione
paused to take it all in.

The garden was vibrant, dotted with orange, mandarin, and lemon trees whose glossy leaves,
when crushed between her fingers, released a sharp, zesty fragrance. Fresh herbs grew both in
scattered clusters and a neatly organised patch near the kitchen and living room windows.

At the garden’s heart stood a large tree stump. Someone cut it down before they had
purchased the house. Roses and other blooming flowers climbed the fence, their vivid colours
softening the edges of the garden and lending a sense of seclusion.

She would miss the garden, larger and far warmer than the one in London. Still, if all went as
planned, she would return here in October or November, just in time to escape the bitter
British winter.

Ginny mentioned Teddy and Andromeda, and Hermione made a mental note to pick up a gift
for Teddy.

Her relationship with Andromeda had grown over the years, largely due to Harry’s desire to
spend more time with his godson.

At first, their interactions were confined to awkward, accidental encounters at Grimmauld

Place during weekend visits. Hermione had been taken aback by Andromeda’s uncanny
resemblance to her… late sister. She’d jumped more than once when Andromeda emerged
unexpectedly from the fireplace. But her looks were luckily the only thing they had in
common.

“Oh, I saw Padma the other day. She said she had a wonderful time with you!” Daphne’s
cheerful voice carried through the screen.

“Oh yes, such a lovely girl,” Hermione’s mother chimed in. “Hermione and she went to the
city and…”

Padma had visited earlier that month, staying for a week’s vacation. Her enthusiasm for
experiencing life the muggle way had been contagious. Since she got here, Hermione had
rarely used her wand outside of the house anyway, opting for scooters or taxis instead of
apparating. Padma appreciated the novelty, but couldn't fathom how muggles managed their
daily activities, sometimes losing hours to transportation.

Every day, they visited a different beach, soaking up the sun with Hermione’s muggle friends,
David and Sofia. They’d even taken a trip to Barcelona, exploring the city’s iconic sights and
indulging in tapas.

Over the years, her friends had only visited a few times, except for Daphne, who had the
freedom to come more frequently due to her lack of job, so Hermione greatly enjoyed having
Padma over.

As if on cue, Hermione’s phone buzzed. A message from Padma lit up the screen, along with
a selfie of her and Luna.

We’re at that Muggle gluten-free restaurant we went to last time. I already feel my guts
working better.

I’m so happy to hear all about your digestion :) She responded quickly and thought about
her friends back home.

Life after Hogwarts had brought her a refreshing change.

For years, her social circle had been dominated by boys, but now she had two close-knit
groups of girlfriends. Padma, Luna, and Parvati on one side, and Daphne, Ginny, and Pansy
on the other. Sometimes the groups overlapped, and those gatherings often resulted in blurry,
drunken photos that now decorated her London home.

They would take Hermione to various wizarding towns across the country and abroad, while
she would introduce them to the fascinating world of muggles.

While she cherished their company, she couldn’t deny the pang of jealousy when she saw
them all together without her. But deep down, she knew this break, this escape, was what she
needed.

When her parents announced their plans to retire in Spain, Hermione was thrilled.

Her dad wanted to buy a small vineyard near Barcelona and immerse himself in the art of
winemaking. He’d attended lectures at a local university for over a year to get a head start.
Her dad wasn't one for improvising.

He liked to prepare.

She saw a lot of herself in him in that way.

His excitement was infectious. He’d even shared his notes with her, and in turn, Hermione
delved into the intricacies of elf winemaking and spells that could aid the process. Her dad’s
newfound fascination with magic reminded her of Arthur Weasley’s love for all things
muggle.

At the time, her parents assumed her frequent visits to Spain would be purely recreational.
But Hermione had other plans.

Her life in England felt suffocating, and for the first time, the idea of leaving it all behind
didn’t feel like running away… it felt like relief.

After the war, Britain’s wizarding world was in disarray, grappling with the monumental task
of rebuilding after years of fear and destruction.

Hermione, fuelled by a relentless desire to make a difference, found herself overwhelmed

with ideas on where to begin. To her astonishment, people were not only willing to listen but
actively sought her input.

As the most prominent muggleborn of the time, Hermione became one of the voices of
authority in post-war society. Reflecting on that period nearly fifteen years later, she often
found it absurd that seasoned lawmakers had relied on the opinions of a teenage girl. Yet,
they had turned to her for guidance on a broad spectrum of issues, particularly those
involving the integration of muggleborns into wizarding life.

From outlawing the practice of requesting blood status on job applications (a widespread
norm at the time) to debating whether mentioning blood status in educational texts was
offensive or unnecessary, Hermione's voice carried significant weight.

For the first five years after Hogwarts, she worked tirelessly at the Ministry, serving as an
unofficial spokesperson for muggleborns. It wasn’t a role she particularly enjoyed, but she
understood its importance in the fragile post-war climate.

She accepted every interview offer, wrote every opinion article requested of her, and shared
her thoughts on every legal change concerning muggleborns. In addition, she worked on a
few passion projects, demanding the liberation of house-elves and equal rights for goblins,
centaurs, and other marginalised and voiceless beings.

Hermione was aware that she needed to use the momentum as much as possible, knowing
that people would eventually grow comfortable with the newly established government, and
the post-war euphoria would disappear, causing them to stop caring and paying attention to
the issues that mattered most to her. And she was right.
The media slowly became more interested in her and Ron's relationship, the muggle clothing
she wore, how much weight she had gained or lost, or even who she was having tea with at
the little muggle café she loved but had to stop visiting because of sneaky paparazzi from the
Daily Prophet.

“Darling, come back,” her mother called her from her reveries.

Hermione returned to her seat and continued chatting with her friends after her mother had
left. They exchanged a few more stories and said their goodbyes. Daphne mentioned she
needed to prepare some snacks for her nephew's sleepover, and the other two also had plans.
Pansy, as usual, couldn't resist a final mention of the wine she wanted.

While Hermione was living a fulfilling life in this beautiful place, helping her parents with
their wine business and enjoying a break from her usual routine, there was one thing that
never failed to give her anxiety - going back home.

Each return was accompanied by headaches, and if she was particularly stressed, the
nightmares would resurface.

It was embarrassing having her parents waking her up and stroking her forehead and arms to
calm her down. Over the years, these incidents had become less frequent, or so she hoped.

She often cast silencing charms on her room, just in case.

Her therapist had explained that travel anxiety wasn't uncommon. It could be triggered by
specific activities like driving or flying, or in her case, using portkeys. At first, Hermione had
suspected it was merely motion sickness, but her therapist believed there was more to it.
They had talked about the possibility of continuing sessions through floo once she returned to
London. She knew she needed to make a plan with Silva soon.

When she went back inside, Hermione caught up with her father and brainstormed new label
ideas for the bottles.

The absence of the constant magical pressures and expectations from the society and
intrusion of the media was a breath of fresh air, allowing her to fully embrace her creative
side she didn’t even know she could enjoy. She had enough time for reading, travelling, and
just simply… being without anything hanging over her head.

Their modest wine business, closely intertwined with Dr. Spencer's restaurant venture, was
flourishing. Hermione contributed to marketing, using her design and photography skills. She
took pride in her work, and her parents deeply appreciated her dedication.

However, in the middle of the calm and contentment, moments of loneliness crept in. While
David’s company was pleasant, Hermione knew their relationship was one of convenience
rather than permanence. They were sharing this chapter of their lives, but their paths were
destined to diverge. The few years’ age gap, with David still not yet thirty, served as a
reminder of how differently their futures were shaping up.

Her thoughts turned to her plans for the coming months.

 She intended to return to London to continue her work there, at least until October or
November. The thought of re-entering the wizarding world, a place that had both nurtured
and burdened her, stirred a confusing mix of excitement and apprehension. The familiar tug
of overthinking began to set in, and she scolded herself internally.

Stop that.

After the brainstorming session for their wine labels concluded, Hermione retreated to her
room. The warm spray of the shower washed away the day’s worries, but even as she slipped
into bed with her kindle, her nerves refused to settle.

She glanced at the clock on her nightstand, debating whether it was too early for a calming
draught. After a moment of hesitation, she decided against it. Relying on potions for ordinary
jitters didn’t sit well with her. Instead, she reached for a small bottle of melatonin pills, a
mundane alternative to magical remedies.

Hermione swallowed a single pill, hoping it would quiet her restless mind and ease her into
sleep.

The days ahead would be filled with preparations and goodbyes before she returned to the
bustling, unpredictable rhythm of the wizarding world. But for now, all she wanted was a
night of undisturbed rest.

Chapter End Notes

Hermione's house in Tarragona https://www.pinterest.com/tpzzz1105/in-the-mood-for-

truth/hermiones-house-in-tarragona/
 Hermione
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

July 2012

Hermione woke with a groan, the familiar ache settling between her eyes and stretching to
the back of her head. It wasn’t the first time this week she’d woken up with a headache, and it
certainly wouldn’t be the last. The pain made it hard to think, and even the simple act of
glancing around her bedroom felt like a chore.

Despite the discomfort, she couldn’t help but admire how the green walls looked in the early
morning sunlight. The plants on the dresser below the window were in desperate need of
water, their leaves dusted with a fine layer of grime. With a quiet sigh, Hermione added
"water plants" to her mental to-do list for the day.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, relishing the cool touch of the tile beneath her
toes. The only sounds breaking the stillness were the gentle chirping of birds.

No voices, no passing cars.

It must be very early.

Her phone confirmed it was just after five o'clock. She glanced at the glass of water and tea
from the night before on the nightstand before reaching into the drawer, her fingers fumbling
as she searched for painkillers. She knew they wouldn’t do much to ease the headache, but
she avoided stronger remedies whenever she could.

In the few years since she’d moved here, she’d learned to recognise the patterns of her
headaches. Almost without fail, as her return to England approached, they’d resurface, often
accompanied by haunting nightmares, especially in times of stress. She visited London
frequently, every month or two for a weekend, but it hardly made a difference. Her mind
healer had said it was a trigger.

She didn’t exactly enjoy therapy, though the idea of confiding in someone who wasn’t meant
to judge her seemed more appealing than the alternatives. Both of her parents insisted it was
normal, that therapy took time, and that giving up on something difficult was very un-
Hermione-like. Working on oneself turned out to be quite a task, but so far, she was
managing.

Carefully, Hermione made her way to the bathroom next door, careful not to make a sound
that might disturb her mother, who was also a light sleeper. After brushing her teeth, she
enjoyed a long, hot shower and began her morning skincare routine.
The Spanish sun had been kind to her, leaving her skin with a warm tan and a healthy glow.
Her freckles were more pronounced than usual, and a hint of redness clung to her shoulders
and nose, souvenirs of a full day spent at the beach with a book. It didn’t bother her in the
slightest.

Her hair had lightened considerably, the long brown curls now gleaming with natural
highlights. Years of colouring and straightening were behind her, but she wondered if it might
be time for a trim, given the damage from the sun and sea salt.

Returning to her room, Hermione swapped her pyjamas for a well-worn t-shirt and denim
shorts before quietly heading downstairs to make coffee.

"Why are you up so early? Good morning." Her mother’s voice, distracted by the morning
papers, startled Hermione.

She pressed a hand to her chest, her heart racing from the sudden presence. "Jesus, mum, you
scared me," she replied. "Good morning. Couldn’t sleep, had a headache."

"Did you have another nightmare?" her mother asked almost offhandedly, still absorbed in
the paper.

Hermione felt a flicker of irritation at her casual tone.

"I don't think so," she answered as she filled the kettle and began grinding coffee beans. "I
can’t remember."

"Have you had any lately?" she asked, not looking up.

Hermione paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. "Not recently."

Come on now, what does Healer Silva always say?

Portuguese wine is better than Spanish wine?

Yes, but that's not it.

Oh, right. Honesty.

That was the task she'd been given for months now.

They wanted her to be honest with them, they needed the truth after everything, so she sighed
and began. "Two days ago, I had a bad one," Hermione said, her voice trembling slightly. She
could feel her mother listening carefully. "I dreamt that the Death Eaters had captured me at
the Ministry, but this time, I was the one who went through the Veil, not Sirius. And it was…
her who pushed me. When she did, I felt like I couldn't breathe. I woke up feeling like
someone had put a plastic bag over my head. It took me a few minutes to calm down."

She focused on making the coffee, avoiding eye contact to shield herself from her mother's
reaction.
"We didn't hear you."

“I put the silencing charm on my bedroom when I expect to have one. It’s easier now to
predict when it's going to happen. I kind of know what triggers it,” Hermione explained. “I
don’t want to wake you up for every little thing."

Her mother moved closer, likely setting the paper aside. She placed a gentle hand on
Hermione’s shoulder, her voice soft and laden with sympathy. "You don’t have to do that. We
want to know when you're... unwell, dear." She paused, her voice taking on a note of
uncomfortable empathy. "Don’t hide from us, please. We can’t fully understand, but we can
try to be here for you."

Hermione blinked, absorbing her words. “I should be more open and honest,” she admitted.

“You should,” her mother agreed.

“Silva always says I bottle up my emotions,” Hermione added, a hint of frustration creeping
into her voice. “And… that I shouldn’t.”

“She’s right.”

“Okay,” Hermione said after a deep breath, gathering her courage. “I don’t like how you talk
about my nightmares so easily, and I can’t explain why. I don’t want you to normalise it, and
I don’t want it to become part of our daily routine. But… I don’t want you to walk on
eggshells around me, either, but I also don’t want you to act like it’s just another normal thing
when it’s not.”

Her mother blinked rapidly, nodded, and then rubbed Hermione’s cheeks affectionately.

You’re being unreasonable. Apologise.

“I’m being unreasonable, I’m sorry,” Hermione sighed, shaking her head. She could feel the
weight of her own contradictions. “I want you to be careful around me, but at the same time, I
don’t want you to be. It’s just... so many years have passed, and I still don’t know how to deal
with this..."

“You have every right to feel this way, for as long as you need to,” her mother interrupted.
“We might not fully understand what you're going through, but we can try to be there for you.
Just include us. You said it’s easier when you talk to someone, when you're not alone in the
room. I could have slept with you if you wanted."

“No, that’s alright.”

Her mother looked at her with those big brown eyes they shared.

“Really, it’s fine.” I’m fine. “If I start sleeping with my mum in the same bed at my age, I’m
afraid I’ll be paying Silva for the rest of my life,” Hermione smiled weakly, regretting the
pathetic attempt at humour.

But her mother chuckled.

Polite, but a chuckle nonetheless.

“If you say so.” She looked at Hermione for a moment before turning to the fridge. “Can we
just have eggs and bacon for breakfast? I want to get most of the work done before noon. The
forecast says it’s going to be over thirty-five degrees today.”

“Of course. I can make a quick salad.”

She found comfort in simple tasks like cooking and cleaning, especially when she did them
without magic. The physical effort helped ground her, allowing her mind to settle. The only
chores she truly loathed were dusting and vacuuming, but even those were a welcome
distraction from her overactive thoughts.

She preferred working alone, but she knew she had to break the habit of avoiding others in
the kitchen.

It was the heart of the house, the kitchen.

Spacious and inviting, with a large island at the centre that seemed to demand attention. The
smooth, warm orange tiles stretched throughout, lending a comforting feel to the space. The
walls were painted in a lovely green, the same shade as their rooms. It was a soft mix of sage
and olive, complementing the dark walnut furniture and the copper pots and pans hanging on
the walls.

Hermione had ordered takeaway only once here. It almost felt wrong to sit in this kitchen and
eat delivered pizza.

“You know, you don’t have to go to Harry's birthday,” her mother interrupted her thoughts as
she began setting the table. “He's a reasonable man. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“He’s one of my best friends. Besides, I’d be pissed if he missed my birthday,” Hermione said
half-jokingly. “Also, I haven’t seen them since April. I miss them, and I need to meet with a
bunch of people about my book.”

“I understand,” her mother said, placing utensils around the plates. “Just remember, if going
back home doesn’t feel... comfortable, then you shouldn’t feel obligated. It’s okay to
prioritise your own comfort.”

“I want to,” Hermione replied. “I want to see the kids too. And some of the others. I miss
talking to them.” Her mum was about to mention how she spoke to Daphne and Padma
nearly every other day, but Hermione cut her off. “In person. Floo or Skype don’t count.” She
smiled, glancing through the window above the sink. “What I don’t miss is the English
weather. Look how gorgeous it is here already. No wonder everyone’s so miserable back
home.”

“Well then, I’m sure you’ll want to spend as much time outside as possible and help your
mother in the garden,” she said, heading for the door. “I’ll go wake up your father. Would you
mind frying some bacon?”
“Sure,” Hermione said, placing the salad bowl next to the stove.

She decided to cheat a little by using her wand to make the bacon perfectly crispy, much
faster and with far less smell than she usually loved, but she wasn’t keen on smelling like
bacon with her freshly washed hair. The sizzling sound of the bacon and the rich aroma of the
coffee filled the kitchen, making her stomach growl. She finished the salad, set the rest of the
table, and mentally went over her plan for the rest of the week.

She had scheduled a portkey for eight o'clock on Sunday evening. Until then, Hermione
planned to spend the days with her parents and visit Sofia’s bookshop for some books in
English to give to Teddy and Albus, as well as some Spanish books to improve her language
skills.

In addition to the books, Hermione wanted to bring some gifts for her friends. Her father’s
wine, as Pansy had requested, fresh produce from the local farmers' market, and some local
ham or cheese.

David could help her find those.

She’d have a busy few days, but she’d also have to carve out time for a proper goodbye with
him.

“That was fast.” Her mother eyed the bacon Hermione had left on a paper towel. “He's in the
bathroom now, I think we can serve the food.”

“Yes, I do have magical hands, you see,” Hermione smiled, waving her hand.

She gently levitated the eggs and bacon, placing them on each plate, alongside the salad and
coffee they’d made earlier.

“I’m going to miss all these little shortcuts you use when you leave us,” her father said,
putting on his glasses to see better what she was doing when he joined them. “Morning,
love.”

“Morning, dad.”

He walked by her on the way to the sink, always smelling like minty toothpaste and
something else from the dental office, despite being retired now.

Hermione smiled at the thought.

Almost like the lack of sugar in their household was a sign enough that they were dentists.

“She’s not leaving us for good, Henry, just for a few months. Is that right, or did I
misunderstand?” her mother asked.

“You’re right. I’m definitely staying after my birthday,” Hermione sipped her hot coffee. “I’ll
see how the meetings with my publisher go. I want to be with Harry and Ginny for a while,
and I think Andromeda would appreciate some company after Teddy leaves for Hogwarts.”
She had become both a friend and mentor to her, someone who understood the pain and loss
from the war but refused to be defeated by it. She had a quiet strength that Hermione found
inspiring. And her sharp mind, perceptive insights, and ability to read people like a book
made it impossible to hide anything from her. But at the same time, Hermione appreciated
that she didn’t even have to try.

As they started meeting outside of the Potters’, Hermione grew closer to Teddy too. The boy,
now fourteen, looked more like Remus every day, though he still had his mother’s charm,
making him a joy to be around.

“What’s the name of the young man who teaches botany at your school? Do you think he’d
know why cacti keep dying on me?” her dad asked.

“Neville. I can ask him if he has a book or potion that could help.”

“Oh, yes! Bring some of those books of yours. They're always fun to look at.” His eyes
sparkled. “You know, I think children would read more if the pictures in books moved or
talked too.”

“We do have those now, dad, but they’re digital books. They need a laptop or tablet first.
What do you think of that?” Hermione smirked at her mother, knowing exactly what her
father would think.

He’d think it was...

“Bollocks.”

“Henry, language, please.”

“You want children away from screens, not spending even more time in front of them. You
know, back in my day, or even when you were a child, we didn’t even have…”

He went on for a while longer.

Hermione loved how passionately he spoke about things that mattered to him.

He’d blush bright red and gesticulate wildly whenever he spoke, and she found herself doing
the same. However, unlike him, she was more self-conscious about her gestures and worried
that others might find her enthusiasm overwhelming.

This had been especially true during her time at Hogwarts, where she’d been mocked for her
curiosity about the magical world… the world she discovered just weeks before boarding the
train at King’s Cross.

Silva always said that childhood traumas, no matter how small they seemed now as adults,
were difficult bridges to cross.

I knew that already.

The therapy had been worth every penny.

“That’s right, dear,” her mother nodded absently. “What’s happening with Ron, Hermione?
You haven’t mentioned him in a while.”

“Oh, he writes letters now and then, but they’re busy with the new store they’re opening in
Hogsmeade,” Hermione replied. “It’s the wizarding village near Hogwarts, remember?”

They nodded.

Should I tell them?

They’ll make a big deal out of it.

I should be honest. I need to say what’s on my mind.

“He’s planning on proposing to Susan sometime soon.”

Her parents looked at her intently. “Oh,” her mother said. “That’s…”

“That is… Is that, um... Good news or...?” her dad stuttered, clearly unsure of how to
respond.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Yes, it is good news. They love each other, and they’ve been
together long enough that it’s about time they’re engaged.”

Ron and Susan had broken up and made up too many times over the years. Their relationship
had been on and off for nearly ten years, but the last two or three years had been steady. It
seemed about time for this next step.

“Oh, right then.” Her dad seemed ready to move on from this conversation. “Good news,
good news indeed.”

They had always liked Ron.

Her parents had hoped that their fairytale romance would play out just as they’d imagined -
highschool sweethearts, destined to be together. But Hermione had always known they were
better suited as friends.

Even Andromeda, ever perceptive, had recognised it while they were still together. She’d said
they were trying to force a connection that wasn’t quite enough for either of them. It was
something expected of them, not something that truly fit.

Ron had a good year or so with Susan before they broke up over a petty argument. That same
night, he had stumbled into Hermione’s flat, drunk and desperate for company. It had been
almost too easy for her to give in to his clumsy advances. She hadn’t had sex in a while, and
the temptation of familiarity was too great to resist.

She’d made the stupid mistake of telling her mother about it, and the woman wouldn’t let it
go. Hermione could only hope that Ron wasn’t as foolish as she had been, and that he
wouldn’t confess to Susan. She knew she would overreact, and quite reasonably, given their
history. Thankfully, Ron was more likely to keep quiet. The next time it happened, she didn’t
make the same mistake, though for a different reason.

Ron and Susan broke up again, but this time, it was apparently her fault. It had happened
around three years ago, just before Hermione was set to move to Tarragona. He had been
furious about something Susan did.

It was completely indecent that she was turned on by her ex-boyfriend being angry with his
current girlfriend, but he was never passionate about anything when they were together and
would rarely get that mad.

They had never had sex like that before.

It had been quick, a bit strange, and intense, unlike anything they had done together. She’d
been sore for days afterward, but there had been something almost exhilarating about it. For a
while, she could think of something else.

Hermione realised that Ron had always been good and kind to her, but that kindness wasn’t
enough in the bedroom. She wanted more.

More passion.

More intensity.

More marks on her body, more embarrassment over the things they did, or the words they
said. He’d apologised afterward, but she didn’t mind. She’d wanted this version of him, at
least in private.

But then he started getting a bit odd, reminiscing about their past. It had been good that she
was about to move away soon. It was dangerous territory, and she didn’t want to tread it
again. They had broken up for a reason. She was done trying to fulfil someone else’s
expectations.

Even Ron had realised that she pushed herself too much for the sake of others, neglecting her
own needs. He had come to that same realisation when he abandoned his career at the
Ministry. He had loved the idea of being an Auror, but he had never really enjoyed the job
itself.

“When you’re done eating, we can start with the garden,” her mother’s penetrating gaze
pulled her back into the present.

She probably thought Hermione was in denial about her feelings.

But she wasn’t.

It wasn’t that Hermione necessarily wanted to get married right this moment, but the constant
questioning and those judgmental looks were starting to wear her down. She wasn’t
interested in rushing into a relationship or marriage just because society expected it.
Still, she had to admit, a twinge of jealousy gnawed at her when she heard about Ron’s
upcoming engagement.

Was she hoping to get married before him?

Maybe, in a way.

But not out of desperation to settle down.

No, she just wanted to avoid these kinds of conversations, the glances that made her feel like
she was falling short. She wanted to focus on her own happiness, not feel like she was
constantly being judged for being single.

Fucking patriarchy.

The truth was, Hermione was content with where she was at the moment.

She had her work, her friends, and her own life to focus on. She didn’t need a relationship to
feel fulfilled.

“Of course,” she said, sipping the last of her coffee. “We should probably get to work and not
talk about anything in particular.” She smiled lightly, hoping her wishes were clear, even if
veiled in humour.

If they weren’t, her dad was quick to help her. “Yes, yes, work. No talking about... that. Past
lovers or whatever.”

He was always slightly uncomfortable with those kinds of discussions.

“She’s a grown woman, Kate, and the smartest person I know. She’ll be fine.”

They rarely closed the door leading from the kitchen to the patio and backyard, letting the
sweet scents of her mother’s herb garden drift in on the breeze. The mingling aromas of
rosemary and lavender filled the air, creating a calming, aromatic atmosphere. Neville had
suggested planting lavender because it attracted bees, and he was right.

She worked alongside her mother in the garden, delighted by the experience of getting her
hands dirty. She carefully used a small shovel to uproot dead plants and weeds, paying
attention to the specific watering needs of each plant. Her mother, on the other hand, wore
gloves and pulled weeds haphazardly, watering plants without any particular order.

They approached tasks differently, but somehow managed to make it work. It was frustrating
at times, Hermione’s tendency toward perfectionism clashing with her mother’s more relaxed
approach. And Hermione knew her mother was equally frustrated by her precision. A few
times, she’d tried to push her mum’s buttons, curious to see what it would take to get a
reaction, but her mother was either oblivious or incredibly patient.

As the day grew hotter, they finished up in the garden, and Hermione decided to head to the
beach to read and relax before returning in the evening to pack her things into her trusted
beaded bag.
The next day, she woke up once again before her alarm, the cheerful chirping of birds filling
the air, and the soft rays of the sun filtering through her window. Surprisingly, there was no
headache to greet her, only the pleasant weight of excitement. She remembered her plans for
the day, and she couldn’t wait to visit Sofia and her favourite bookstore.

In the afternoon, she quickly got ready and set off, choosing David’s old scooter. It was far
more practical for the narrow streets than a car. She would have to stop by their house later,
either today or tomorrow, to return it.

The streets leading to the bookstore were narrow and winding, lined with centuries-old stone
buildings that seemed to whisper stories of the past. Occasionally, a passerby would nod in
acknowledgement.

A wave of nostalgia washed over her, nostalgia for a time she had never lived, yet still longed
for. The distant sound of church bells added a timeless quality, echoing through the streets.
She imagined what life must have been like here, generations ago, when the town had a
different pulse.

As she neared the touristy heart of the town, she noticed it was busier than usual, though the
midday warmth kept most of the crowds tucked indoors. She parked her scooter next to the
cathedral and wandered through the nearby farmers' market. The air was thick with the scent
of fresh produce, and the lively vendors called out to her, offering tastes of their goods, eager
for a sale.

The small-town atmosphere was a refreshing change from the anonymity of London and the
suffocating familiarity of Diagon Alley. Here, she was just another tourist, another foreigner
enjoying the simplicity and warmth of the small town. No wizards here, as far as she could
tell. It felt liberating.

The bookstore was tucked on a narrow street across from the market, nestled among souvenir
shops. As she stepped inside, the familiar scent of old paper, wood, and a faint trace of spices
welcomed her. The cool air inside was a relief from the midday heat, and the large window to
the left of the door let in just enough light to make the space feel both inviting and serene. A
small coffee table with two armchairs sat beneath the window, offering a perfect spot for
readers to relax with a book. Other than that, the shop was simple - just bookshelves lined
with titles from floor to ceiling and a cashier counter, its wood worn smooth from years of
use.

“Hi! I thought you left without saying goodbye!”

Sofia sat in one of the armchairs, her laptop open, a tiny espresso cup resting nearby.
Hermione frowned as she noticed the book she was casually using as a coaster.

“You said you were leaving soon, and I haven’t seen you in days. I thought you’d gone
without saying goodbye, but now I see you haven’t because… well, you’re still here!”

She was talkative, but not in an annoying way.

Sofia spoke English almost flawlessly, thanks to her master’s programme in world literature
and English at a university in Barcelona. The bookstore was her family’s business, and she
worked here with her father during the summer. Most days, she could be found
recommending books to customers or chatting with fellow enthusiasts. Despite the age gap
between her and Hermione, they’d quickly formed a bond over their shared love of classical
literature and Sofia’s boundless energy. In fact, it was her who had technically introduced her
to David.

“What a preposterous thought. I’d never,” Hermione said. “No, I’m still here. I'm leaving
tomorrow, actually. The flight is in the evening.”

The little white lies always stung a bit.

Harmless and necessary, but tiresome for someone who now prided herself on honesty.

“What are you reading?” Hermione asked, steering the conversation away from herself.

“Oh, just correcting a friend’s paper,” Sofia replied, waving a dismissive hand. “I can do it
later. Did you want those books about automobiles?”

“Yes, please. The one with the red and green cars on the cover. And maybe some others about
vintage cars, if you have them.”

Hermione wandered the shop, trailing her fingers lightly over the shelves.

“All of them are about vintage cars. These are from the sixties and seventies!” Sofia’s voice
echoed from the back room, where they stored overflow stock.

“You should really invest in more shelves. You’ve got so many great books back there!”
Hermione called out, pulling a thin gardening magazine from a nearby stack.

She flipped through it absently, pausing at an article about repotting. Perhaps her mum would
like this.

“Yes, because what we need is more shelves for the dust to…” Sofia paused, emerging with a
stack of books in her arms. “Wait… when did you get a look inside that room?”

Her playful expression reminded Hermione of Ginny.

Blushing lightly, Hermione tried to deflect. “Your brother may or may not have expressed an
interest in showing me what he keeps back there, and I couldn’t resist a peek.” She aimed for
nonchalance, though her grin betrayed her.

Sofia arched an eyebrow, her smirk widening. “He barely comes in here unless he’s helping
with deliveries. I just hope you were respectful towards the books.”

Oh, but we were.

A small smile played at the corners of Hermione's lips as she remembered… the passionate
encounter she’d shared with David in that very room a few weeks earlier.
He’d tried to set the mood with candles and wine, but she’d quickly vetoed the plan. The last
thing she wanted was to risk damaging any of the books with flames or spilled drinks. So the
only fire that had been lit that night was the one she felt inside her when she came on his
tongue and when it was her turn to return the favour, she made sure there were no liquids
anywhere.

"Of course," Hermione said, suppressing a shiver at the memory. "I am nothing if not
respectful."

The books on the piles had been silent witnesses to their unholy escapades that night, but she
couldn't bring herself to feel guilty about it.

Sofia shook her head, pretending to be annoyed as she set the books on the counter. “Enough
about David, okay? I do not need to hear about your… sinful activities.” Picking up one of
the books, she flipped it open and showed Hermione the pages. “This one doesn’t have many
pictures. It’s more... how do I put this? Technical? See? Just these sorts of drawings.”

Hermione glanced at the pages. Sofia was right. It was essentially a mechanical textbook.

“You said this is for your cousin, no? Maybe kids aren’t interested in this kind of thing.”

“Not my cousins. Just my friends’ kids. But yeah, you’re probably right. What about the
other ones?”

“The other two are good,” Sofia said, gesturing toward the stack. “I also have some old
magazines about automobiles, if you’d like those. But they’re more recent, so there’s not
much about those vintage cars you love so much.”

“That they love so much,” Hermione corrected her. “Honestly, I don’t get what it is with men
and their cars.”

It was sleek and shiny, sure, and it had been an impulsive midlife-crisis purchase on her
father’s part. A convertible - small, impractical, and ill-suited for English weather, but
undeniably cool.

Her mother had rolled her eyes whenever her husband took it out for a spin, calling him
ridiculous, but Hermione had always defended his right to enjoy his hard-earned money.
Then her mum had casually suggested the car might be better suited to someone young, like
Hermione. She’d jumped at the opportunity, of course. Only a fool would turn it down.

The memory of Teddy and Albus’s first ride flashed in her mind. From that day on, the boys
had been utterly obsessed with all things automotive.

Even four-year-old Lily had developed a fascination with it, though there was no proper seat
for her. Most of the time, they’d sit in the parked car, Hermione holding Lily in her lap as she
answered an endless stream of questions. The girl had a particular fondness for the horn,
honking it incessantly to Hermione’s growing exasperation.
Eventually, she had enchanted the horn so that only Lily could hear it. The spell turned what
might have been a headache into a harmless game, much to the amusement of Teddy and
Albus.

"Do you think I can find some nice wooden car toys somewhere? They’d make a lovely
souvenir for a few other kids."

"Maybe try Antonio’s shop. He mostly makes wooden ships, but he probably does other
things too," Sofia suggested, tapping her chin.

"I’ll check it out, thanks," Hermione said as she packed the three books and the gardening
magazine into her bag. "How much do I owe you?"

Sofia waved her off with a warm smile. "Nothing. You buy more books here than anyone
else. Consider it a goodbye gift."

"You do know I’m not leaving forever, right?" Hermione chuckled. "I’ll be back at this
summer paradise as soon as the never-ending rain starts in London."

"Yes, but still," she said with a sly smirk. "You never know what could happen or who you
might meet. Maybe you’ll run into one of your footballers again."

Yeah, that’s not happening.

She was referring to Victor and Oliver.

Hermione had once mentioned that two of her exes were athletes, which Sofia had somehow
translated into footballers.

"Or that guy from school you said you’re too embarrassed to even think about now? You
never know."

Cormac McLaggen.

Yeah, that’s definitely not happening either.

Of all the questionable decisions Hermione had made in her life, sleeping with McLaggen
was easily among the most regrettable. Afterwards, he became unbearable at work, strutting
around like a peacock and making arrogant comments. It was as if he had somehow gained an
upper hand over her because of what had happened between them a few times.

Fine, more than a few times.

The moment he finished, he’d puff up like he’d just won the Triwizard Tournament. Sure, he
was great in bed, he knew it, and he never let her forget it, but his insufferable arrogance
outside of the bedroom more than cancelled that out.

She couldn't stand being around him, but unfortunately, they had to work together on a
project. It was an experience she wished she could erase from her memory.
"Just promise me you won’t replace my brother with the redhead," Sofia said suddenly,
frowning. "I don’t like redheads."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, amused by the random vehemence in Sofia’s tone.

Her disdain for Ron was no secret. She’d once called him dull and uninteresting, and she
couldn’t fathom why Hermione would have dated someone like him. But Sofia didn’t know
the pre-Spain Hermione, the Hermione who had chosen stability over excitement, who had
fallen for Ron’s quiet strength and unshakeable loyalty.

The truth was, he wasn’t a boring person. He and Hermione had shared years of genuine love
and companionship. He had supported her wholeheartedly when she was working tirelessly
on the Bill of Elves' Rights, even though it wasn’t a cause he particularly cared about. He
cared because she cared, and for Hermione, that was enough.

In return, she stood by him when he decided to leave his job at the Ministry and join George
at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Even though some might have considered it a step down,
Hermione understood that it wasn’t her place to judge his choices. They were young, free to
chase their dreams, and she would never stand in the way of his happiness.

But as time passed, they began to grow apart. They stopped spending as much time together,
even though they lived in the same flat above the shop. When Ron stayed late to fulfil orders,
Hermione realised she didn’t mind. In fact, she sometimes liked the solitude. And when she
worked late nights in her dusty Ministry office, Ron never complained.

She couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment she realised she was no longer in love with him. Yet
she stayed in the relationship, thinking it was the right thing to do. And Ron stayed, though it
was clear neither of them was truly happy. They hadn’t had sex in months, and in the week
before they finally broke up, they hadn’t even kissed.

When Hermione told him she wanted to end things, Ron didn’t argue. She would lie if she
said it did not hurt her. It's not like she expected him to fall on his knees and beg her to stay.

That’s not him.

They both cried and kissed and had sex for what they thought would be the last time. It was
loving and good, like their relationship was after all. It was fine. They cried, kissed, and had
sex for what they thought was one last time.

It was loving and good, like their relationship was after all.

It was fine.

Ron moved out of the flat and stayed with George, but their breakup caused ripples in both
their lives. Hermione basically grew up with the Weasleys and even her parents thought Ron
was a delightful young man and found his lack of knowledge of basic electronic devices to be
quite refreshing. The media, however, had a field day.
Every week, the papers spun a new theory. One week, Ron the bastard cheated on Hermione,
the next week Hermione was the cheating bitch. Any time either of them was seen with
someone of the opposite sex, new gossip erupted.

For months they would politely write notes to each other and jokingly denied the accusations,
until one day he didn't deny he was on a coffee date with Susan Bones, as the Prophet
reported.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the memory. "Don’t worry. He’s going to propose to his
girlfriend soon. And I can’t replace David. You know we’re not..."

"I know, I know," she interrupted, rolling her eyes in turn. "You’re not together together. Are
you meeting him before you leave?"

"Of course. I need to buy a few things today, and then I’ll drive the scooter back to your
place. He’ll be there, right?"

"Probably, but weekends are busier for him. You should call to check."

"Yes, I will," Hermione said. She hesitated, then sighed. "Well, I suppose it’s time for a hug."

She hated goodbyes.

Sofia grinned and pulled her into a tight embrace. "Come here."

For someone so petite, she was surprisingly strong. The two of them had started going to the
gym earlier that year and occasionally jogged together.

"Text me when you land," Sofia said, rubbing Hermione’s shoulders lightly.

"I will. Thanks for the books. Next time, coffee’s on me."

Sofia raised a brow. "Forget coffee. Bring me some of those overpriced chocolates from the
airport when you come back."

"Deal." Hermione laughed warmly. "Thanks again!"

"De nada. Buen viaje!" she blew her a kiss.

"Gràcies. Adéu!" Hermione replied with a wink.

Sofia beamed. "Oh, that was much better!"

Hermione followed the advice and made her way to an elderly man’s shop. The creaky
wooden door let out a long groan as she pushed it open, and the air inside was heavy with the
mingling scents of varnish and sawdust. Every shelf was crammed with an assortment of
knick-knacks, but her eyes were drawn to a collection of charming wooden cars.

Nearby, a light blue wind chime adorned with delicate white shells caught her attention. It
reminded her of Luna. Despite knowing it wouldn’t ward off any of her fanciful creatures,
she couldn’t resist buying it.

Her next stop was the vegetable stall. She carefully picked out the freshest vegetables for her
lunch, marvelling at the sheer size of the lemons. They must have been a different variety.
They were plumper and far juicier than the ones she was used to. She decided to include them
in the gift baskets she planned to prepare for her friends.

Feeling emboldened by David’s enthusiastic lessons on tapas, Hermione felt confident

enough to choose some ham and cheese on her own. She fancied she’d developed a knack for
spotting quality ingredients. Her tote bag, now laden with her morning’s finds, grew too
heavy, so she returned to her scooter to lighten the load before her arms gave out entirely.

On her final day, she started with a morning swim, then spent the afternoon in her garden,
lost in thought. Later, as the evening breeze set in, she made her way to Sofia and David’s
home. The streets were alive with the chatter of people enjoying meals in outdoor restaurants,
the remnants of the warm day still lingering in the air. She hoped she wouldn’t interrupt
David, though their house was on the way to hers. If it got too hot, she could always call for a
taxi.

When she arrived, David was outside, tinkering with his motorcycle. He looked up at her
with a grin bright enough to light the entire street.

“You couldn’t wait until later to work? It’s too hot!” she called from the other side of the
fence.

He wiped his forehead with the hem of his shirt and grinned. “It’s not too hot. You’re just too
English.”

His English wasn’t as polished as Sofia’s, but his strong accent gave his words a certain
charm. Hermione couldn’t help but chuckle.

I suppose I am too English.

He opened the gate but didn’t step aside, leaning casually against it with his arms folded.

David and Sofia were so alike. Both had light brown wavy hair. Hers was long, but he kept
his short, tan skin and the same beautiful honey-coloured eyes. He was taller than Hermione,
but not too much. She didn’t have to struggle to kiss him. He had wide shoulders and strong
arms, but he wasn’t too muscular, just how she liked it.

Today, he smelled of motor oil, his t-shirt was smeared with grease, and his skin glistening
with sweat from the heat he swore didn’t bother him.

“A white t-shirt probably wasn’t the best idea,” she teased.

David glanced down at the smudges, then wiped his cheek with his hand, unknowingly
adding more oil to his face.
“I like getting dirty when I’m working,” he said with a playful smirk. “Feels better after a
shower. It’s like a reward, no?”

Hermione nodded, admiring the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. They had gotten dirty
and clean together many times before, and she couldn't help but feel a warm flutter in her
chest at the memory.

“I came to drop off the scooter,” she said, holding out the keys and helmet. “I’m heading
home tonight, so I won’t need it anymore.”

“I know,” David replied, waving her off. “But you can keep it at your place and use it when
you come back. It’s no trouble.”

Hermione shook her head. “No, it’s better this way. You or Sofia might need it for
something.”

“She prefers her car,” he said with a shrug. “So, how are you planning to get home?”

“I’ll walk. It’ll be good for me to soak in the last moments of summer here.”

David grinned. “But how will you ever walk when it is so hot outside?”

She rolled her eyes, but before she could retort, he placed the helmet back on her head.

“Come on. I’ll drive you.”

She didn’t argue. Instead, she slipped behind him on the scooter, wrapping her arms around
his waist, content to savour these last moments with him.

“Do you have any plans until eight?” David asked as he started the scooter.

“No, just lunch with my parents. Why?”

“Can I drive you to the airport?”

“Um...”

This was exactly why she disliked therapy.

If the stupid healer didn’t put stupid thoughts in her stupid head about stupid honesty, truth
and openness, she wouldn’t feel this stupid guilt about lying to him now, regardless of how
necessary it was.

“I’ll just call a taxi,” she said lightly. “My parents are coming with me anyway.”

“Oh, okay,” he nodded, his expression unbothered. “But let’s make a quick stop before I take
you home. Is that alright?”

“It’s alright,” Hermione replied, leaning against him.

As they drove, she tilted her head back and closed her eyes. She didn’t care about soaking in
the day anymore, she just wanted to soak in him. Her hands drifted over his stomach, and she
felt him chuckle softly. He was ticklish there. Smiling, she stopped, choosing instead to hug
him a little tighter.

She knew they weren’t together, and she was genuinely fine with that. He was five or six
years younger, with an effortless charm that made her feel like a completely different person
when she was around him. And in many ways, she was.

She wasn’t a heroine after the war he never heard of. Hermione was just another girl whose
parents had moved here.

She wasn’t burdened by anxiety or weighed down by her past. Here, she was carefree, even
joyful.

She wasn’t the woman who had abruptly quit her job at the Ministry to write a book about the
Second Wizarding War. No, Hermione Granger was simply an author from London who’d
written a children’s book about magic.

Nightmares about Sirius’ death or carving of the word into her skin didn't wake her up as
often anymore. These days, Hermione wakes up with terrible hangovers after a long night of
drinking and dancing.

She was having casual sex with this stranger who was now taking her home, not running
away from pressure and responsibilities.

“I’m not taking you home yet,” David shouted over the wind, as if he could read her mind. “I
want to have you to myself for a few minutes.” He turned his head just enough for her to
catch his grin. “Maybe more than a few.”

Hermione gave him a light squeeze to show she’d heard him and agreed.

He pulled the scooter to a stop, and she looked around. It was the same beach where they’d
first slept together. David had been great, but the setting left much to be desired. Sand had
gotten everywhere, and the romantic allure people often raved about had been sorely
exaggerated.

Still, the beach had its charm. Small and secluded, its rocky terrain made it unsuitable for
most visitors, which meant it was often deserted. Hermione had returned a few times on her
own, enjoying the solitude.

She hadn’t expected David to be anything more than a one-night stand.

They’d met in a club, where Sofia had dragged her after one too many drinks. Hermione had
been shamelessly snogging the handsome stranger for an hour before Sofia had dropped the
bombshell - the man was her brother.

Back in London, Hermione had dabbled in one-night stands, but only a handful had
developed into something more. There’d been Elizabeth, who worked at George’s shop for
years; Peter, the delivery bloke she saw weekly; and Sarah, who was writing her PhD at the
library.

Before, the idea of sleeping with a complete stranger wasn't something she was interested in.
She imagined that she had to have some level of familiarity with the people she would let see
her so intimately.

After breaking up with Ron, she couldn't picture kissing someone else, touching someone
else, or sleeping with someone else. In truth, she didn't have a lot of experience in that area.
But… she wasn't a prude either.

David parked the scooter in the shade of a sprawling tree, then reached over to gently remove
Hermione’s helmet.

“It must be hot with all that hair,” he remarked, his fingers brushing her damp neck.

His thumb began to trace soothing circles against her skin, and despite the summer heat, a
shiver ran through her at his touch.

He’s good with his hands.

A soft chuckle escaped him, and Hermione tilted her head up, meeting his lips in a kiss. One
hand found his strong arm while the other settled at his waist, pulling herself closer. He tasted
of coffee, sweat, and something faintly sweet that sent a thrill racing through her veins.

His hands slid from her neck to her shoulders, pulling her in even tighter, and he murmured,
“Shall we go for a swim, yes?”

Breathless, Hermione whispered back, “Yes, let’s.”

David wasted no time shedding his clothes, showing off the muscular physique that made her
pulse quicken. She liked it when men were... well, manly.

The old Hermione would have balked at the idea of skinny-dipping in public, too self-
conscious to even consider it. But the new Hermione was confident and bold, unashamed of
her body. She’d grown to appreciate herself, flaws and all.

Her legs and arms were toned from hours of weightlifting, her stomach flat, though far from a
six-pack. Her chest had always been small, but as she’d grown older, she’d come to see it as
part of who she was.

By the time she finished undressing, David had already dived into the clear water, swimming
with effortless grace. She hesitated for only a moment before stepping carefully across the
jagged rocks. Completely naked and entirely unbothered, she waded into the cool water, the
waves caressing her skin as she moved.

David’s eyes were fixed on her, his gaze unashamed as it roved over her.

“You look like... what’s Ariel called in that cartoon? La sirenita?”

“Ariel? The Little Mermaid?” she replied, focusing on finding her footing on the rocky
seabed.

“Yes. You look like a mermaid,” he said, stepping forward to take her hands and help her
over a particularly tricky section.

The water was up to her shoulders now, and she let him guide her closer.

Hermione swam past him, dipping beneath the surface to cool herself. When she resurfaced,
his arms were already around her waist. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his hips,
and She could feel he was half hard already, so she moved against him to bring him to his full
potential.

“I can’t hold my breath for long. I’d make a rubbish mermaid.”

David chuckled low in his throat, his dark eyes gleaming. “You hold your breath just fine,”
he said, his hands sliding lower to cup her bum. “And you are silly, Hermione,” he said and
started kissing her along her jawline.

She liked the way he pronounced the H in her name. Soft, deliberate, as though savouring the
word. She began grinding against him slowly, her lips finding the curve of his neck, her
fingers curling into his shoulders.

“If you lived underwater,” he murmured between kisses, “you’d have... what do you call
those holes fish breathe through?”

“Gills?” she breathed, her voice catching as his teeth grazed the sensitive spot beneath her
ear.

She never talked about fish anatomy during sex, but there’s the first time for everything.

“Gills,” he repeated, his tongue replacing his teeth as he soothed the skin he’d bitten. “You’d
probably have them right here.”

Hermione shivered as he pressed harder against her, his grip on her tightening.

“Let’s not talk about fish, David,” she said, her voice breathy as her nails dug into his skin.

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against her ear, before his lips claimed hers again. The
kiss deepened, growing more fervent as he moaned against her mouth. Now they both tasted
like the sea - salty, wet, and impossibly warm.

They swam together towards a large rock, the water rippling around them. With a firm grip
on her hips, David pushed her gently but decisively against the rough surface, his hands
tightening as his movements became more urgent.

“Your back all right?” he asked, husky and breathless.

“Yes. I don’t care. Keep going,” she managed to say, her words tumbling out in a rush.
The rock was uncomfortable and rough against her skin, but she wasn’t about to tell him to
stop. She gasped as his hand moved between them, gripping his cock and teasing her clit with
his tip. David’s eyes were locked on her face, absorbing every flicker of her expression, and
then he was sliding inside her.

Hermione whimpered, biting her lip to stifle the sound as she pulled him closer, capturing his
mouth in a desperate kiss. His hands moved with skilled precision, one cupping her breast
while the other continued to circle her clit.

He really is exceptionally good with his hands.

Her legs tightened around his waist when she came, a strangled moan escaping her lips.
David stilled for a moment, giving her time to catch her breath before his hips began moving
again, faster now, as fast as the water would allow.

He didn’t say much during sex, never had. But he made soft, almost guttural noises that sent
shivers down her spine.

Ron had been quiet, too. Oliver, on the other hand, was a talker, constantly chattering, which
she’d found she didn’t mind, but also didn’t prefer. Viktor had given the occasional
instruction, and surprisingly, she’d discovered she liked being told what to do.

David’s breath warmed her ear as his pace quickened.

She’d told him she was on the pill, but he never came inside her if he could help it. She
wasn’t sure if it was a matter of trust or simply his preference, but she didn’t mind. She liked
the messiness, the intimacy of it.

He pulled out abruptly, fisting himself as he groaned loudly. She kissed him deeply as he
came, their tongues tangling, his grip on her hips tightening.

“I... will... miss... you,” he said, his voice breaking between breaths.

She smiled, wrapping her arms and legs around him again. “I’ll miss you too,” she replied,
pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “I’ve never had such a dedicated tour guide. I’m very
pleased with your service.”

David laughed, his chest still rising and falling rapidly. “You should put that in your review.”

“Oh, I will. Something like: The guide is very committed to his job, takes you to all the best
secret beaches, and shows you exactly how not to dive headfirst into the water. Nine out of
ten. Would recommend.”

“You docked a point for that jump? You’re a tough customer,” he teased, his hands moving to
gently squeeze her breasts.

“I think you’ve found I’m fairly easy to satisfy,” she said with a sly smile, leaning in to kiss
him again.
They stayed like that, bodies entwined, the silence broken only by the gentle lapping of the
waves.

After a while, David pulled back slightly, his dark eyes searching hers as he tucked a stray
curl behind her ear. “We had a good time, didn’t we?” he asked, his voice quiet.

He wants to know for sure that this is it.

“We did.”

“It’s nice we could spend time here again. Feels like… a full circle, no?” he said, pulling her
closer.

“I suppose it does,” she agreed, pressing her lips to his neck.

His hands drifted from her back to her hips, gripping her firmly as he whispered, “So let’s
finish this the same way we started.”

He slid his fingers between her legs, moving slowly but deliberately, and was rewarded with
a soft moan.

Did I mention he was exceptionally good with his hands?

Less than an hour later, David dropped Hermione off at her house. They shared a lingering,
honest kiss before saying their goodbyes, promising to text him as soon as she landed safely
in London.

Once inside, she went straight to the bathroom. After a quick shower, she inspected her body
in the mirror for any marks he might’ve left. Sure enough, there was a faint love bite on her
neck that would need a bit of glamouring, along with a few scratches on her back from the
rock she’d leaned against. With a flick of her wand, she concealed them effortlessly. Half-
drying her hair with another spell, she hurried downstairs to join her parents for lunch.

The leftover pasta and a glass of wine went down easily as they chatted about her upcoming
trip. She’ll stay at the family home in London. The house was far too large, even when all
three of them lived there, but her parents refused to sell it. Hermione suspected they were
holding onto the hope that one day she might live there with her own family. It wasn’t as
though she minded.

Now, with her book royalties, some savings, and no rent to worry about, she could live more
than comfortably in London for a few months.

Her mother eyed the old silver teaspoon Hermione placed on the table with a wary
expression. The sigil etched into the handle only added to her unease.

“So, are we sure nothing can go wrong with this… key thing you’re using?” she asked, her
tone laden with doubt.

“Portkey, mum,” Hermione corrected gently. “And no, not usually.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, if someone inexperienced tries to make one, it could go wrong. But Harry knows
what he’s doing, it’s fine. He makes them all the time for me.”

Still, Hermione’s nerves were evident as she double- and triple-checked her bag. Her dad
placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“You’ve packed everything. Relax,” he said with a soft smile.

“I know, I know,” Hermione muttered, glancing at the clock. Ten more minutes. “I always get
anxious before travelling, you know that.”

“Do you want a quick bite before you go?” her mum asked, already standing.

“Oh, God, no. I’d be sick. Portkeys are like rollercoasters. They’re awful on your stomach.
So… how will we survive without you here?” she teased, trying to lighten the mood.

“Oh, I don’t know,” her mum quipped. “Henry, we might actually get to enjoy some wine
now that she won’t be around to drink it all.”

“And the food, Kate! Imagine how much we’ll have now that the little miss ‘I have to eat a
lot because I exercise’ is gone,” her dad added with a grin.

Hermione rolled her eyes playfully. “All right, all right. No need to lay it on thick. Now I
don’t feel bad at all for leaving,” she said with a laugh.

At precisely one minute to eight, the old teaspoon on the table began to glow faintly,
vibrating slightly.

Wand in your pocket.

Everything else in your bag.

Stop panicking. You haven’t forgotten anything.

“Okay, give me a hug before I go,” she said, standing.

Saying goodbye was never easy for Hermione, and a lump formed in her throat as she
embraced her parents tightly.

“Text me when you get there, please,” her mum said, her worry barely masked.

“I’m not sure if Harry’s house has mobile service yet, but I’ll send you my Patronus. Don’t
freak out when you see it,” Hermione replied with a small smile.

“What’s that again?”

“It’s the blue sparkling otter that speaks,” her dad said, cutting in.

Hermione chuckled. “Yes, that’s the one.”

 The old spoon began to glow brighter, shaking in her hand.

“Right, I’m off. Love you both.” Her voice wavered slightly.

“We love you t…”

Her father’s voice cut off as the familiar pull behind her navel yanked her away.

Chapter End Notes

Hermione's life in Tarragona https://www.pinterest.com/tpzzz1105/in-the-mood-for-

truth/hermiones-life-in-tarragona/
 Hermione
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

July 2012

She was glad she’d refused food earlier and relieved when the sensation ended as quickly as
it began. Her feet hit the carpet over the wooden floor in front of the staircase she knew all
too well.

Harry and Ginny were waiting, their smiles wide and welcoming. Ginny wasted no time,
enveloping her in a hug before Hermione could fully process their presence.

“Oh, Merlin, you’re so tan! The camera doesn’t do it justice. I look like a ghost next to you,”
she exclaimed, planting a loud kiss on Hermione’s cheek, which made her ear ring.

“Gin, let her breathe,” Harry said with a chuckle, moving closer. “You know she gets queasy
after travelling. Are you all right?” His eyes scanned her face, searching for any signs of
discomfort.

“I do not,” Hermione protested, hugging him tightly in return. “I’m perfectly fine with any
form of transportation that doesn’t defy basic laws of physics.”

“Oh, please, you and your logic,” Ginny said, hands on her hips. “You feel safer in a metal
contraption thirty thousand feet in the air, but brooms terrify you?”

Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes. “I will not elaborate.”

She grinned victoriously. “Come on, let’s head to the kitchen. We don’t want to wake Lily if
we keep chatting here.”

“Where are the kids?”

“James is at George’s, and Molly’s looking after Albus. We wanted a free night to ourselves,”
Harry said, gesturing for Hermione to go ahead into the kitchen. “Time to finally catch up
properly.”

“Oh, but I wanted to see the kids!” Hermione said, glancing towards the stairs as though they
might appear at any moment.

“Oh, wow, okay, you’re very welcome, friend,” Harry said sarcastically. “So lovely to see
you too. I’ve missed you terribly, obviously.”

Ginny giggled. “We’ve been replaced, Potter. Anyway, what’s your poison tonight, Granger?”
“Firewhisky, if you’ve got it,” Hermione replied, hoping the burn might settle her stomach.

“Oh, starting strong, are we?” Ginny teased, summoning glasses and a bottle with a flick of
her wand. “And you, darling?”

“Same, please,” Harry said, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “So, how’ve you been? You
look brilliant, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Hermione replied as Ginny slid into the seat beside her, fixing her with an
expectant look. “I’ve been working out more this year, taking it seriously for a change. And,
you know, nice weather, no stress, good food...”

“Amazing Spanish lovers,” Ginny interrupted, grinning.

Harry smirked as he poured the drinks.

Hermione groaned. “I knew telling you would bite me in the bum eventually.”

“Speaking of biting bums...” she started, but Harry cut her off, raising his glass.

“All right! I am not drunk enough for this conversation yet. Cheers!”

Hermione chuckled and downed her glass in one go, savouring the firewhisky’s burn. It was a
sharp contrast to her father’s wine, which reminded her…

“Oh, hang on.” She cast a Patronus, sending a message to her parents to let them know she’d
arrived safely. “You lot really need to do something about the service here. I feel like I’ve lost
a limb without my phone or internet.”

“Yes, your mum says you’re addicted,” Ginny teased, sipping her drink. “And I’ve got to
agree.”

“I’m not. She exaggerates. Wait… when did you even speak to her?”

“Oh, a couple of times when I floo-called you, but she was in the living room. Lovely
woman, your mum. Very chatty,” she smirked.

Hermione frowned. “What did she say?”

“Oh, nothing much.” she inspected her nails with exaggerated nonchalance. “Just that you’ve
been going out more and spending an awful lot of time with a certain young gentleman.”

“So what? I told you about him, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but I want the dirty details!” Ginny squealed. “And I know the only fireplace is in your
living room, so you didn’t want your parents to overhear. I get it. But you’re telling me
now!” She waggled her eyebrows. “Did you have fun riding his motorbike?”

Hermione opened her mouth to respond but glanced at Harry instead.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” he said, swirling his second glass of firewhisky. “I’ve decided I’m fine
with this now. So, tell us more about this David chap.”

“It’s David,” Ginny corrected, drawing out the Spanish pronunciation dramatically as she
refilled her glass.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Hermione said, taking a sip and using the pause to collect her
thoughts. “We met in April, I think. We were both a bit drunk, had a bit of a snog. A lot of
snogging, actually. Then we went... somewhere private.”

Harry opened his mouth, but Ginny shushed him with a grin.

“After that, we just started sleeping together whenever we could. That’s all there is to it.”

“So, are you two... together or something?” Harry asked hesitantly, looking between them as
Ginny leaned forward, eagerly awaiting Hermione’s answer.

“No, we’re not together. I like him, but we both know it’s just for fun and convenience,” she
said, carefully weighing each word. “He’s younger than us, probably not looking for anything
serious. And me...” She let out a long sigh. “I can’t keep doing this. All the lying, pretending
to be someone I’m not, pretending to be a Muggle. Do you know where I am right now? At
the bloody airport, probably queuing to check in my baggage after taking a taxi there with my
parents.”

Harry gave her a slow nod, his expression quietly understanding. Ginny, though slightly
puzzled, caught the gist of it.

“I can’t keep going like this. It’s too much,” Hermione muttered, tapping her glass on the
table with a frustrated rhythm. “And it’s not like I love him or anything. I just… fancy him.
He’s good-looking and funny, but I barely know him. And even then, it’s still so bloody
hard,” she admitted, her voice laced with bitterness. “Imagine if I actually fell in love with
him. What would I do then?”

She shook her head, her frustration spilling over. Harry and Ginny exchanged a glance, both
wearing the same look of quiet sympathy.

Hermione straightened up, eager to change the subject. “Can we talk about something else?
Like, what have you cooked? I’m starving.”

“Oh, just some roast chicken and potatoes,” Ginny replied, hesitating for a moment but
respecting Hermione’s wish to move on.

She stood to retrieve the pan from the oven, the delicious aroma of roast wafting into the
room. Harry reached across the table, taking Hermione’s hand gently. “I know it’s hard, but
don’t give up on yourself,” he said, his voice firm but kind.

“I’m not giving up. I’ve even got a therapist now, remember?” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Yes, but you know what I mean,” Harry replied with a small sigh. “How’s the therapy going,
by the way?”
“It’s... fine, I suppose,” Hermione said, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “The nightmares
haven’t gone away, though.”

Harry exhaled heavily. “I know what you mean. I still get them too, especially after rough
days at work. Albus overheard me one night and… it upset him.”

Hermione frowned. “I use a silencing charm on my bedroom when I think it might happen. I
don’t want to disturb my parents.”

“Yeah, we’ve started doing the same,” Harry admitted. They fell into a momentary silence,
the weight of shared struggles hanging between them. “Anyway, about what you said earlier,
about dating? I believe in you. If anyone can navigate impossible situations, it’s you.”

Hermione sighed again, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Harry, I’m tired of impossible
situations. For once, I just want something to be easy. I don’t want to have to work this hard
for a bloody relationship.” She looked between the two of them, her voice softening. “Look
at you two.”

“Oh, you think this is easy?” Harry replied, gesturing dramatically between himself and
Ginny.

“Say what now, Potter?” Ginny cut in, raising an eyebrow, though her lips quirked in
amusement.

Hermione let out a small chuckle.

“We’ve got three kids and absolutely no time to ourselves,” Harry said.

“We said we brought the kids to my mum’s so we could have an evening with you,” Ginny
said, setting the pan on the table and letting the mouth-watering scent of roast chicken and
potatoes fill the kitchen. “But honestly, we just wanted some peace.”

“Yes, peace,” Harry echoed, his eyes fixed longingly on the food. “And maybe a bit of
undisturbed time for... amorous congress.”

“Amorous congress?!” Hermione burst out laughing, the sound ringing warmly in the room.
“What, have I travelled back to the 1800s?”

“I read it somewhere and thought it was funny,” Harry said, grinning sheepishly. “Maybe I’ve
not had enough to drink for this conversation.” He drained the last of his glass.

Hermione smirked. “If you drink too much, you’ll be no use when it comes to satisfying your
wife’s... obscene womanly needs.”

“She’s not wrong, you know,” Ginny said with a wicked glint in her eye, handing him the
plates. “We should eat. And then you can go back to your home so I can finally enjoy some
horizontal tango with my husband.”

Hermione laughed so hard she nearly dropped her fork. “I don’t know which euphemism is
worse. But anyway,” she said, piling potatoes onto her plate, “what’s the plan for your
birthday?”

Harry rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed. “I really hope it’s nothing too extravagant.” He
glanced at Ginny, who appeared intent on avoiding his gaze.

“Of course not,” she replied breezily, her attention still fixed on her food. “Just a small
gathering with close friends. And... a few others,” she added, almost under her breath.

“How many is ‘a few others’?” he asked.

“Just some other people here and there,” Ginny answered vaguely, her eyes now firmly on
her plate.

Hermione, sensing the tension, quickly stepped in. “So, when’s the party? On your actual
birthday or over the weekend?”

“Saturday. But you’ve got to come round on Tuesday,” Ginny said, her lips curving into a
small smile. “I’m making a cake. It’ll just be family.”

“Alright. Does that mean I’ve got to get you two presents now?” Hermione teased, looking at
Harry.

“You being here is gift enough,” he said warmly, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Hermione narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

“But,” Harry added with a sly grin, “since you’re feeling generous, there’s this new book on
the history of the Quidditch World Cup I’ve had my eye on. Trouble is, there’s a massive
waiting list. It’s published by your company.”

She smiled knowingly. “I’ll see what I can do. Didn’t your Boy Who Lived status help this
time?”

“Less and less every year,” he replied, sighing dramatically.

After dinner, Hermione didn’t want to linger too long, so they soon found themselves
exchanging goodbyes in the kitchen, near the fireplace.

“We used the floo to your place,” Harry said, handing her a small box. “Here are your keys,
some letters, and a few magazine subscriptions you forgot to cancel. Oh, and Neville’s been
keeping an eye on your garden. Luna brought Crookshanks back a couple of times because
apparently, he missed home.”

Hermione chuckled, shaking her head.

Yes, Luna has a licence, and no, she wasn’t the best driver. Hermione drove him to Luna’s
flat and he was okay with that.

Maybe I could drive to Spain sometime. That would be an adventure.

“I also filled your car up with petrol. It’s in the garage.”

“Thanks. I’ll pay you back for that,” she said, taking the box. “Right, I’d best be off. See you
on Tuesday.”

She carefully scooped some floo powder from the pot and took a steadying breath. “See you
soon,” she said.

With a rush of green flames, she was whisked away to her old living room, the familiar scent
of soot and ash filling the air. She stepped out of the fireplace, brushing at her clothes to
shake off any stray ash.

The air felt thick with nostalgia as she stood there, taking in the scents and sights of her
childhood home. Her eyes landed on the bookshelf almost instinctively. Walking over, she
spotted her book straight away. She ran her fingers along its spine, the memories of her
younger self washing over her.

It had been a long road getting her parents to soften towards her again, especially her mother,
but she knew it was worth every effort. With a determined nod, she reached for her phone. It
was time to call her and let them know she’s home.

After ending the call, Hermione drew herself a bath. She let out a contented sigh as she sank
into the warm water, allowing it to envelop her body. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the
faintly salty scent that still lingered in her hair, a reminder of her day, though she knew it
would fade by morning.

Eventually, the water cooled, and she reluctantly stepped out, wrapping herself in a fluffy
towel. She dressed for bed and walked into her childhood bedroom, a cosy, pink space that
had once been her sanctuary.

Her gaze swept over the room, each detail pulling her back to simpler times. The wardrobe
on the right-hand side of the door still held clothes that might just fit her, and the bed in front
of it dominated the small space. Beneath the window, her old desk stood where she had spent
countless hours doing homework and scribbling notes, and against the opposite wall, the
large bookshelf overflowed with books she had devoured in primary school.

Her eyes landed on the floor mirror beside the bookshelf. Smiling, she moved closer to
examine the photographs tucked into its edges. Many were from her Hogwarts days, their
inhabitants moving cheerfully about, while others were still images, snapshots of her travels
with friends in recent years. Among them were a few polaroids with their distinct nostalgic
charm. A pang of longing struck her, a deep yearning for those carefree moments with the
people who mattered most to her.

Ginny had been a constant presence in her life since Hermione had first set foot in Hogwarts.
Their friendship had grown naturally, becoming one of the most reliable anchors in
Hermione’s life.

Luna, on the other hand, had opened her eyes to a world of unconventional thinking. Her
whimsical yet profound perspective on life had been an acquired taste at first, but one
Hermione had come to love.

Parvati, her dorm mate, had grown into a close friend, especially after graduation. Although
Hermione hadn’t known Padma as well during their school years, since Ravenclaw and
Gryffindor didn’t share many classes, they had bonded during their eighth year at Hogwarts.
Through Padma, Hermione had met Daphne and she had been a surprise.

Hermione had hesitated when they were paired for a potion project during their eighth year.
Despite years of shared lessons with Slytherins, this was the first real conversation the two
had ever had. To her relief, she couldn’t recall a single instance of Daphne mocking or
insulting her, a rare feat in itself.

Their partnership had quickly turned into camaraderie. Daphne’s wit and love of learning
matched Hermione’s own, and by the end of the year, they had become friends. Even after
leaving Hogwarts, they stayed in touch. She had even offered her family’s extensive library
when Hermione had been working on a project about centaur laws. As with many old
wizarding families, the Greengrasses were obscenely wealthy, and Daphne didn’t have to
work. Instead, she spent hours with Hermione, combing through dusty tomes on medieval
legislation.

Sometimes, she felt a deep sadness thinking about the years they could have been friends,
wasted because of a foolish school rivalry.

The same couldn’t be said for Pansy, though.

Not only had she made a hobby of tormenting Hermione during their school years, but she
had also infamously suggested handing Harry over to Voldemort, a moment no one at
Hogwarts ever let her forget. Despite a clumsy apology years later, which Hermione
graciously accepted as she had with many others, it didn’t spark any real friendship between
them.

Five years after graduation, however, Pansy surprised everyone by dating Charlie Weasley,
twelve years her senior and a proud member of the Weasley clan. The news caused an uproar
in the Parkinson family, one of the few remaining pureblood households that clung
stubbornly to old prejudices. To them, Charlie’s career as a dragon tamer and his Weasley
lineage marked him as an entirely unsuitable match for Pansy. Their disapproval escalated to
the point where they practically disowned her.

Despite losing her family’s support, Pansy found acceptance with the Weasleys. Ginny, in
particular, gained a sister-in-law who, unlike Fleur in the early days, wasn’t easily
intimidated. Pansy could give as good as she got, and the two women, though strikingly
similar in personality, often bickered like an old married couple. Still, they grew surprisingly
close.

Hermione sorted through the polaroids tucked into her mirror frame, her mind wandering to
their adventures. There was a snapshot from Scotland, where they celebrated Daphne’s
birthday in a small countryside inn. Another captured the group in Tuscany, pink-cheeked
and glossy-eyed after indulging in elf-wine tasting for Padma and Parvati’s birthday.
She lingered on one particular photograph from their Parisian escapade before Pansy’s
wedding. Ginny and Pansy had been underwhelmed by the Louvre, finding the stationary art
dull, but Daphne had been enthralled by the grandeur and elegance of it all. She had
especially enjoyed the more relaxed atmosphere of the girls-only trip.

Her younger sister had tragically passed away during childbirth the previous year. She had
been married to Draco Malfoy for barely a year before her untimely death.

Pansy and Charlie had been trying to expand their family too, though they faced… similar
difficulties. Hermione knew it was all too common among pureblood families. She suspected
centuries of consanguinity might be the culprit, but she wisely kept her theories to herself.

Although she hadn’t known Astoria well, she remembered her as kind and gracious during
the few times they’d met. Both Daphne and Pansy had been devastated by her loss for
months.

At her funeral, Hermione overheard whispers of a blood curse. At first, she dismissed the
notion as superstitious gossip. It seemed inconceivable that the Malfoys, so preoccupied with
their bloodline and legacy, would allow their son to marry someone who wasn’t a perfect
match. But Daphne later confirmed the truth.

Hermione rarely crossed paths with Malfoy, even after forging connections with other
Slytherins in her circle. At the funeral, she consciously avoided him, despite feeling it was
almost rude not to offer her condolences. Ultimately, she decided against it. The weight of
their history and the looming presence of his parents made it easier to keep her distance.

Over the years, their encounters were limited to the occasional event, like Pansy’s wedding or
a Slytherin birthday party. Malfoy barely acknowledged her, offering only the occasional curt
nod if their paths crossed. She had been perfectly content with this arrangement, and since
moving to Spain, she hadn’t seen him at all.

Hermione couldn’t ignore the sudden itch in her scar anymore. She tried to refocus her
thoughts, but the nagging feeling wouldn't go away.

She continued flipping through the photos she had taken over the years, marveling at how
much everyone had changed.

The redheaded girl, once hanging precariously from her broom, was now a respectable athlete
and a mother of three. The blonde, dreamy girl who had worn corks as jewellery had grown
into a successful business owner. The twins were still working for the Ministry, though every
year around Christmas, they grumbled about how little they enjoyed it, swearing they'd quit
the following year. The spoiled one with short raven hair was likely the only one among their
incredibly wealthy friends who had managed to secure a real job. Another blonde had
successfully embraced her role as a trust-fund baby, with her parents eager to indulge their
only daughter beyond measure.

As for Harry and Ron... Hermione’s heart stirred with nostalgia as she glanced at the few
pictures of them together. Most were from their younger years, when life had been simpler,
full of carefree days. But now, things were different. They had all grown up, each of them
walking a path of their own.

She made a mental note to take photos at the upcoming party on Saturday. Ron’s rat made an
awkward appearance in one of the older snapshots, which now felt slightly unsettling.

Definitely time for some new pictures.

Hermione’s eyes fluttered open the next morning, only to be greeted by a sharp pain in her
head. Groaning, she reached for the same ineffective painkiller and swallowed it down with a
gulp of water.

The scent of freshly brewed tea filled the air as she prepared it in the kitchen, but her head
was still throbbing. She made a mental note to add coffee to her shopping list. While the tea
steeped, Hermione texted Sofia and David, letting them know she had landed safely and had
fallen asleep immediately upon arrival, hence the belated message.

Taking a moment to check the mail Harry had collected for her, Hermione shuffled through
the pile. Bills, bank statements, a few magazines, catalogues, and countless menus from local
restaurants cluttered the stack.

With a plan for the day in mind, Hermione set to work on the gift crates she had promised to
make. She carefully selected each item, taking into account the recipient’s tastes and
preferences.

Next on her agenda was brunch with Daphne and Pansy in the Alley. She’d already texted
Daphne the night before. She couldn’t wait to see them.

The weather was a refreshing change for Hermione. The crispness of the air made her feel
alive. She took advantage of the mild temperatures and dressed accordingly. A white tank top
and blue jeans with an oversized white cardigan. It was warm enough to wear flat sandals.
She also swept her hair into a messy bun.

She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed driving. The wind rushing past, the speed of the car,
and the loud music made her feel free. It was like flying on a broomstick, and though she
understood the allure that drew Ginny and the others to the sky, the roads did it for her.
Opening the roof, she let the wind whip her hair around, not caring that her cheeks were
probably red. It felt liberating.

As she neared the busier area, Hermione became more focused on the road. She parked her
car close to the Leaky Cauldron and took a moment to prepare herself. She hoped she
wouldn’t be recognized, especially since she looked different now. Her hair was longer and a
rich brown, and she had put on some weight. It had been a few years since she’d last visited
the Alley, preferring to stay at home or with friends when in London.

But perhaps she was being overly self-conscious, and no one would even notice.
Summoning her Gryffindor courage, she took a deep breath and stepped inside the Leaky
Cauldron.

Luckily, the Alley wasn’t busy, though it would be next month when school started again.
Hermione did catch a few curious stares from passers-by, but that could have been because of
her muggle clothes.

She quickly spotted Daphne and Pansy sitting in a little cafeteria, and before she could even
wave, Pansy practically jumped out of her seat, frantically waving her arms and drawing even
more attention.

“Oh Merlin, you’re so tan! I look like…”

“A ghost? Yeah, that’s what Ginny said too,” Hermione interrupted with a laugh, leaning
down to kiss Pansy.

She had to lower herself a bit. Pansy was rather short, even in heels.

“You two spend way too much time together,” she teased and turned towards Daphne and
hugged her tightly. “Nice to see you again.”

“Nice to see you too.” Daphne was just a bit taller than Hermione and returned the embrace
with equal enthusiasm, her long blonde ponytail swishing as she pulled away. “You look even
better now.”

“Can you even look bad when you’re living in Spain the way she does?” Pansy said, taking a
sip of her coffee when they all sat down.

“It genuinely is like a long holiday. I have no complaints,” Hermione replied with a smile.

“What's there to complain about?” Daphne raised an eyebrow. “Great food, your own wine,
the beaches, the sea...”

“Sexy Spanish stallions,” Pansy interjected with a smirk.

“Honestly, did you talk to Ginny yet? You sound exactly the same. Although, she didn’t use
alliteration.”

Hermione laughed. “No, but great minds think alike.” She took another sip of her coffee.
“How are your parents?” she asked, genuinely interested. “I talked to your dad the other day,
and…”

“When?” Hermione asked, narrowing her eyes. “And more importantly, why?”

“You weren’t there when I flooed you,” Pansy shrugged. “And I just wanted to remind you of
wine. It’s always nice talking to normal parents.”

“They’re both fine, and they send their regards. What’s wrong with Molly and Arthur?”
Hermione asked, but she already knew the answer.
Pansy huffed, rolling her eyes. “She’s still too intrusive,” she said, shaking her head. “And
Arthur… well, he’s always in that little garage of his, you know, tinkering with his muggle
toys.”

“It could be worse. They could be like your parents,” Daphne joked, leaning back in her seat.

Pansy snorted. “Yeah, but sometimes I can’t help but wonder... what would my life be like if
Molly disavowed Charlie?”

“Quieter, probably.”

"You'd have fewer jumpers."

Pansy chuckled. “Yeah, but I kind of like those now. Bulky jumpers are trendy, didn’t you
know?”

“I stopped receiving mine after I moved,” Hermione said, with a hint of bitterness in her
voice. “She said it was too hot for them.”

“Oh, so that’s what it’s like being renounced by Molly!” Daphne teased.

“Hey, I’m not!” Hermione shot back, flipping through the menu. “She didn’t disown me
when Ron and I broke up, so I don’t think I’m discarded yet. What are we eating?”

“Oh, I like the American pancakes here. They’re very fluffy,” Pansy said, and the pancakes
appeared on her plate as if by magic.

“I’m alright,” Daphne said.

“You’re not hungry?”

“I had breakfast with Draco and Scorpius,” Daphne replied before turning to Pansy. “He
recovered well, by the way.”

“Who recovered?” Hermione asked, still focused on the menu.

“Draco. He injured his shoulder when they were playing Quidditch.”

“Oh. I think I’ll have... a full English breakfast.”

A massive portion appeared in front of her, complete with sausages, bacon, eggs, beans, and
grilled tomatoes. Hermione couldn’t help but smile at the speed with which wizarding
restaurants served food. Daphne and Pansy watched with amusement as she dug into her
meal, savouring each bite.

“What? They don’t really appreciate beans for breakfast over there,” she said between
mouthfuls.

As they ate, the clinking of silverware against plates filled the air. Pansy's voice sliced
through the silence as she grumbled about their friends’ juvenile antics.
"They still play that stupid game every weekend, like when they were kids. We’re not young
anymore," she complained, her mouth full of food.

“We’re in our early thirties,” Hermione said defensively.

“So? Blaise went swimming and injured his back.”

Daphne huffed. “That’s because the only physical activity he does is pouring whiskey and
sleeping around. His body was probably in shock.”

Hermione chuckled at the quip. She liked Zabini. She knew of his reputation as a ladies' man,
and despite not knowing him well, she found him charming and entertaining.

“Theo goes to the Muggle gym.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Theo pays a trainer to tell him how to properly exercise. He’s not
making a fool of himself.”

“He’s going with Harry, you know,” Daphne told Hermione, ordering a glass of orange juice.

Hermione almost choked on her eggs. “You’re lying? Harry? In a gym? How did that hap...”
Her words trailed off, then she realised, “It was Ginny, wasn’t it? She convinced him.”

Pansy grinned. “Yeah, she said she wanted to transform him into a DILF.”

“What's that?” Daphne asked, genuinely confused.

“An acronym for ‘Dad I’d Like to Fuck.’”

“Is it ‘dad’? I thought it was ‘daddy’?”

“I don’t know. It could be whatever you want.”

Daphne shook her head. “She's mental.”

“She’s not,” Pansy disagreed, sipping her juice. “She’s a professional athlete and looks great.
He needs to step up.” Then, as if suddenly remembering something, Pansy cleared her throat.
“Speaking of DILFs…” She looked at Daphne carefully. “I was wondering if it would be
okay for me to introduce Draco to Charlie’s friend. Well, actually, a friend’s younger sister.
She plays quidditch, too.”

Hermione was looking at Daphne too now. She never said much about Malfoy, but every time
she did, she was only praising him and his parenting. She found it hard to believe but never
questioned it.

Outloud.

She frowned. “Why are you asking me?” Her gaze shifted to the street. “Seriously? It’s been
years since Tori... died. No one in their right mind would expect him to be alone forever.”
“Has he been dating anyone so far?” Hermione asked cautiously a few moments later, just to
keep the conversation going.

“Not that I know of,” Daphne shrugged. “Not publicly, at least. I know about… you know,
casual flings or whatever. But Narcissa hasn’t mentioned anything, and I think she would if
she knew something.”

Pansy shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “She had mentioned she wanted him to start
showing up in society again for months now.”

Hermione probably looked confused because she felt the need to explain.

“You know, going out to galas or fundraisers, so he can meet someone suitable,” Pansy
added, rolling her eyes at the last word.

“Oh.”

Hermione didn’t quite know what to say to that.

Pureblood dating sounded like something from a Jane Austen novel.

“Anyway, it was just a suggestion,” Pansy said, returning to her pancakes. “I think she’s
lovely,” she added quietly.

They sat in silence for a minute or so, until Daphne spoke up. “So, tell us about your DILF.
No, wait,” she frowned. “He has no children, so he’s not a DILF.”

Pansy chuckled. “And she’s shagged him. DILF is someone you want to fuck.”

Hermione chuckled and sighed. “He’s funny, nice, and handsome. You saw him. Wait, I’ll
show you a picture.” She scrolled through her gallery and handed her phone to Pansy.

“Oh, I didn’t know he was this good-looking,” Pansy remarked. “He’s a tour guide, you
said?” Hermione nodded. “Oh, wow. Well, I’d let him guide my tours anytime he wants.”

"God." Hermione shook her head and laughed.

She really missed moments like this.

“What? He’s hot and apparently a good shag. You’re still glowing.”

“It’s the tan,” Hermione said with a grin.

But oh, he is.

She sighed deeply, her thoughts drifting for a moment.

They chatted for another hour or two before Daphne announced that she needed to leave.
Hermione walked with them to the apparition point, where she pulled out the shrunken gift
crates she prepared before from her bag and returned them to their normal size.
“Oh, this is quite heavy,” Pansy said, her eyes wide as she took it from Hermione’s hands.
“What did you put in here?” She couldn’t resist peeking, clearly excited by the contents.

“Nothing much. It’s mostly things that will go nicely with the wine you said you wanted.”

“Oh, I like this white wine a lot! Thanks,” Daphne said, pulling out a bottle.

“You’re welcome.” Hermione smiled, pleased to see them happy with the gift. “So, we’re
seeing each other on Saturday?”

Daphne nodded and with a final wave, Daphne apparated. Pansy lingered for a moment.

“I’m invited on Tuesday too. You’re coming, I hope?” she asked.

“Of course. I’m an unofficial family member,” Hermione replied with a smirk.

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Please, you’re more official than I’ll ever be.” She sent Hermione a
kiss and apparated away, leaving her standing alone for a moment, the noise of the Alley
filling the space around her.

She made her way down the now-bustling streets and glanced at the storefronts, admiring the
brightly coloured signs advertising magical products and services. It was the kind of place
that always brought a smile to her face. Finally, she spotted the bookstore she had been
searching for.

Upon entering the shop, she was greeted warmly by the owner, who beamed at the sight of
her. After a while, Hermione inquired about the book Harry had requested. The owner
informed her of a waiting list, but then revealed he had a copy that someone had neglected to
pick up. She couldn’t help but think she’d need to rub it in Harry’s face that his “Saviour of
the Wizarding World” status wasn’t enough to get him the book, but her status as a best-
selling author from a few years ago had done the trick.

The book had an attractive cover and the paper was of exceptionally high quality.

No wonder it was so expensive and in demand.

Any Quidditch lover would surely want it.

As she left the store, absorbed in the new book, she didn’t notice the man walking towards
her. They collided with a soft thud, both of them immediately apologising at the same time.
When she looked up, she blinked in surprise.

“Granger?”

Hermione thought she had never actually heard Goyle speak before. His voice was
surprisingly soft for such a large man. He was practically towering over her, and she didn’t
like being looked down on.

“Um... hello,” she said awkwardly.

The last time she saw Goyle, he and Malfoy were mourning Crabbe, who had perished in the
Room of Requirement. After that... well, maybe it was someone’s birthday, but the memory
was a little hazy.

“Hello,” he said, blushing furiously. “Um. How... I don’t know what to…” He faltered,
almost whispering to himself. “How are you?”

She blinked again, unsure of how to respond. “I’m... good. Fine. And you?” she said
automatically.

“Good, good. Also, good,” Goyle replied quickly, clearly nervous. “Thank you for asking.”
He shifted uncomfortably, fidgeting from one foot to the other. “Listen, Granger... I mean,
Hermione. Yes, Hermione,” he corrected himself. “Do you have some time? Can I buy you a
drink?”

What the hell is happening?

She was utterly shocked. “I have to be somewhere, actually...”

“Oh yes, of course. Can we then... um... sit there for a moment?” He pointed to a bench
nearby.

“Alright.”

He waited for her to sit first, then awkwardly shifted on the bench as though it were burning
hot.

“I don’t know how to... I mean, I know what I should say, but... I don’t know if you
remember, but... what am I saying? Of course you fucking remember...” he stammered, his
words coming out in a rush.

Hermione kept her gaze fixed on the book she was holding.

The man on the cover was releasing the golden Snitch, which now buzzed around his head.

“What I wanted to say is... I’m sorry. I’m sorry for how I treated you before the war. And
for... the word I called you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Hermione felt an itch in her scar, but fought the instinct to scratch.

“I’m sorry for what we... what I tried to do in the Room of Requirement. If I could, I would
change everything, but... you know...”

He couldn’t.

None of it could be changed now.

“Um... alright. I don’t know what to say either,” she admitted.

“No, no, you don’t have to say anything,” he quickly waved his hands, shaking his head. “I
understand. I just wanted you to know... I know it’s a silly excuse now. And I know Malfoy
probably told you this already, but we had a terrible upbringing.”

Hermione frowned in confusion.

Why would Malfoy have told her that?

They never shared more than a few insults... and punches. Ha.

“I would never… I have a wife and children. Young children… almost the same age as when
we went to Hogwarts. If…” He rubbed his face wearily. “If someone treated them the way
we… the way I treated you… and you even saved my life afterwards. From the fire. You and
Weasley, I mean. It’s taken me far too long to realise a few things,” he said finally, his gaze
fixed on the ground.

“Right,” Hermione said after a moment.

He was looking at her now. She hadn’t realised quite how much he’d changed. He’d lost a
fair bit of weight but still looked sturdy. He was also wearing glasses. She couldn’t recall if
he’d worn them at school.

“Thank you for saying that. It probably wasn’t easy.”

“It shouldn’t be easy for me,” he said quietly. “I’ve done nothing to warrant easy
forgiveness.”

“You’re right,” she said, then quickly corrected herself. “I mean, no. I don’t know anything
about you or your life now to make that assumption, so… perhaps you do… I… I’m not quite
sure what I’m saying.” She started rubbing her chest anxiously and glanced down at the book
again.

The man on the cover caught the snitch before releasing it once more.

Goyle looked at her and frowned slightly. “I’m sorry if this has upset you. It wasn’t my
intention.”

“You haven’t. I’m just…” She shook her head slowly. “It was unexpected, and I don’t cope
well with surprises.”

“Right.”

“I mean, honestly, the last person I expected to see today was you,” she attempted a light
laugh.

Keep it together.

He offered a weak smile and adjusted his glasses. “Same here.”

“Right.”
Silence descended again.

“That book’s rather difficult to get hold of these days,” he commented quietly.

Hermione gave a small chuckle. “I know. I had to pull a few strings.”

The rather dashing man on the cover winked at her, and she rolled her eyes.

“Didn’t know you were into quidditch.”

“I’m not.” She felt the need to clarify. “I bought it for Harry. It’s his birthday tomorrow.”

“Right. Good,” he nodded and looked down again.

It was probably time to bring this conversation to a close.

“I should…” she began.

“Yes, I should be going too,” he interrupted. “Sorry for bothering you again.” He was still
blushing, though less so now.

Hermione frowned slightly and shook her head. “Oh no, it’s quite… Thank you.”

“Right… take care, Granger.” He nodded politely.

She offered a weak smile. “You too, Goyle.”

She turned and walked away, hoping she didn’t appear too eager to escape.

After the war, a surprising number of Slytherins had approached her with apologies for their
past conduct. Some had done so at Hogwarts, while others had taken longer to reconcile
themselves with their actions. However, it had been quite some time since anyone had offered
such an apology, which made Goyle’s sudden reappearance all the more unexpected.

Hermione listened to each of their confessions and, outwardly at least, accepted them without
hesitation.

Inwardly, however, she remained sceptical.

She didn’t believe half of them.

It seemed rather convenient that none of them had shared their parents' views and had just
been following orders. Nevertheless, she chose to suppress her doubts and concentrate on
moving forward.

The old Hermione simply wanted to put it all behind her.

She was still slightly unsettled when she entered Luna’s shop. It was as bright and whimsical
as its owner. The scent in the air reminded her of the Divination classroom, but it wasn’t as
overpowering or stuffy. In fact, it helped her to relax a bit.
The circular room had high ceilings and white shelves lining the walls, displaying a
collection of bottles, vials, and paper packets in various sizes and colours. Smaller shelves in
the centre of the room held crystals, rocks, amulets, and decorative jewellery. Several low
tables with chairs and cushions were scattered about, providing comfortable seating for
customers. A few harmless pixies flitted about, adding to the shop’s charm.

Luna’s eyes widened in surprise when she saw Hermione walk in. She excused herself from
her customer and approached her with a warm embrace. Her floral perfume wafted over
Hermione, bringing to mind cherry blossoms in spring.

“There you are!” she gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze. “You’re positively glowing.”

Hermione rolled her eyes slightly. “I expect it’s just the tan.”

“Oh no,” Luna shook her head. “I mean you’re glowing from within. It’s your aura. I can see
it.” She nodded. “Are you feeling better?”

“As much as I can be, I suppose. How are you?”

“Simply splendid.” Luna glanced around. “I’ve nothing to complain about. Well, perhaps
Crookshanks.” Her expression turned momentarily serious. “I must confess, I won’t miss
waking up with his face inches from mine.”

She chuckled. “He does have rather bad breath.”

“He really does.” She waved a hand dismissively. “But he’s an old dear. He’s forgiven.”

Hermione looked around. “I see you’re busy. Should I let you get back to it?”

“Nonsense, it’s fine. I know most prefer to browse without me hovering. Let’s sit over here.”
She gestured to one of the low table arrangements. “Would you like some tea?”

“Oh, I’m alright, thanks.”

“Are you sure? I have a lovely blend that might help with your headache.”

“How did you…?”

“Oh, you just have the look one gets before a headache.”

Luna often said the most curious and surprisingly accurate things, Hermione had to admit.

“Right then.” She narrowed her eyes slightly and decided not to press the matter. “I suppose I
could have some tea.”

“Excellent.”

Luna used her wand to quickly boil water in the teapot on the table, added some leaves, and
gave it a stir. The tea was a delicate shade of lilac, quite beautiful, and Hermione couldn’t
help but admire it. She added a squeeze of lemon juice, and the tea transformed into a rich
violet hue, as if the colour itself were enchanted.

“Honey? It’s Lavender’s,” she asked, holding up a small jar of honey that shimmered like
gold in the sunlight streaming through the window.

“Yes, please.” Hermione nodded, intrigued. “I don’t think I’ve ever tried lavender honey
before,” she confessed.

Luna laughed. “Oh, no, it’s not lavender honey, it’s honey from Lavender,” she clarified,
pointing to a small label on the jar.

This was becoming rather confusing.

“Oh! I didn’t realise they kept bees.”

“It was Neville’s idea. They have quite a few in their garden. They look after them
beautifully. You can drink it now. It’s just the right temperature.”

Hermione took a sip, savouring the delicate flavour of the tea and the sweetness of the honey.
She felt herself relax, the tension in her shoulders easing. There was a distinct background
note she couldn’t quite place.

“Feeling better?” Luna asked, settling herself comfortably in her chair.

“Surprisingly, yes, I do. Thank you,” she said honestly. She could feel her head clearing.
“Here, before I forget.” She pulled the gift from her bag. “I saw this and it reminded me of
you.” It was the wind chime she’d bought.

“Oh, I’ll put this up straight away. I love it, thank you.”

She used her wand to place it just above the door.

“You’re welcome. I’ve some wine over there for you, too.”

She hadn’t offered any ham or cheese. Luna was mindful of her veganism.

“Oh, the white one I like?” She glanced at the bottle. “It is! Thank you. I do like the addition
of elderflower, it’s rather refreshing.”

“Yes, Daphne’s rather keen on it as well.”

“I know. Did you have a nice brunch with them?”

“Yes, but I had a rather interesting encounter afterwards,” Hermione recalled.

“Did you? Do tell.” Luna watched her intently.

“I bumped into Goyle, and he…”

“Gregory?”
Hermione paused for a moment. “Y… yes. Do we know any others? Anyway, he apologised
to me.” She shifted in her seat. “About things that happened at school.”

“What did you say?” Luna asked.

“I said, ‘Thank you for apologising.’”

“That’s not quite accepting it,” Luna observed, without judgment.

“I know. I just think…” Hermione sighed. “It’s easy to say things without meaning them.
And I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

“That’s fair.” She nodded simply and sipped her tea. “I know what you mean. When some
people apologised after Hogwarts, I didn’t believe most of them. Only a few were genuine.
Like Ron. And a few Ravenclaws you wouldn’t know. And even Draco. When he apologised,
it did take me by surprise, but he seemed sincere, so I accepted it.”

This surprised Hermione. “Malfoy apologised to you?”

“Oh yes, for when Mr Ollivander, Dean, and I were held in the dungeons at his manor,” she
said, as if it were nothing of consequence.

“Oh.”

“Yes, it was rather decent of him,” she continued. “It’s not as if he could have done anything,
really, but he wasn’t unnecessarily cruel while we were there, you know?”

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, of course.”

Luna observed Hermione’s expression, her large blue eyes filled with a curious light. “Did
he… ever speak to you?” she asked softly.

“No.” Hermione’s response was sharper than she intended, the memory of Malfoy’s sneering
face and cutting remarks still vivid.

Luna looked genuinely surprised. “Oh, really?” she said, tilting her head slightly. “I just
thought… never mind.”

“Well, yes,” Hermione muttered, her frustration rising.

She wasn’t sure why she was suddenly feeling irritated. It wasn’t as if Malfoy was some
wonderful, decent person who went about apologising to everyone he’d directly or indirectly
hurt.

It would probably take years, if he even cared to try.

“So, anyway, Goyle has children. And he looks rather different now.” She wanted to change
the subject.

The headache hadn’t entirely abated.

“Perhaps parenthood has changed him,” Luna said thoughtfully.

“It’s certainly not easy, if Harry and Ginny are anything to go by,” Hermione said, finishing
her tea.

“It does rather put things in perspective. More tea?”

“Yes, please.” She drank this time with even more enjoyment. “What’s in this blend? My
headache’s almost gone.”

“Oh, just a few Muggle and magical herbs.”

Muggle and magical, right.

Hermione grew suspicious and narrowed her eyes. “Are the muggle herbs in question…
entirely above board?” She’d just realised what the lingering flavour was.

“Oh, I couldn’t say. I acquired some ingredients from a supplier Blaise recommended, but I
know they source certain Muggle herbs from Jonas.”

Hermione tried to place this Jonas person.

“Oh, I don’t think you’d know him. He was in my year, but in Hufflepuff.”

That explained it.

Hufflepuffs are rather fond of their herbs.

“It’s brilliant. Could you possibly pack some for me?”

“Of course. I’ve some dream catchers that might help with any lingering nightmares, if you’d
like.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s…” Oh, sod it. “Actually, yes, I’d love one, thank you.”

Luna gave her the keys to her flat upstairs so she could collect Crookshanks. He meowed
loudly when he saw her and began rubbing against her legs.

“There you are, old boy!” She picked him up. “Did you miss me?”

He meowed again.

“Let’s go home, then.”

Another meow.

Hermione stopped at the supermarket to pick up a few bits on her way home. Crookshanks
strutted into her front garden like a peacock when she finally released him from his carrier.
She exchanged pleasantries with a few neighbours who enquired after her parents before
heading inside with her shopping.
She wasted no time in inviting Padma and Parvati over for an early supper. They arrived an
hour later, and after warm greetings, Parvati took charge of opening a bottle of red wine and
perched herself on a barstool at the kitchen island while Hermione and Padma began cooking.

“We could just order a takeaway, you know,” she swirled the wine elegantly in her glass.

“I don’t mind cooking, but if you’d prefer something else…”

Padma interrupted. “No, no, we’re cooking. I quite like doing this the muggle way. It’s a bit
like potion-making,” she said, adding some herbs to the slowly thickening sauce.

“Yes, the only difference is you’re not likely to die if you add too much pepper.”

Padma huffed. “If you’d ever tried the food our house-elves make, you might think
differently.”

Hermione often forgot the twins had grown up exceedingly wealthy, with house-elves, a
manor house, and a rather substantial family vault.

“You can expire if the pots explode,” Parvati added, not looking at them.

“What? They don’t explode.” Hermione smiled. “Where did you hear that?”

She shrugged. “Lavender said she left a saucepan on the hob, and it exploded.”

“Well, if she left it empty or unattended for ages, then perhaps, but not normally.”

“I didn’t even know she cooked. I thought that was Neville’s domain,” Padma added.

“I think it was a bet.”

Hermione chuckled. “With a rather unfortunate outcome.”

“Your cat doesn’t care for me,” Parvati said suddenly, looking at Crookshanks, who was
curled up asleep in the armchair.

“He doesn’t care for anyone much.”

“He likes Luna,” Padma pointed out, continuing to stir the sauce.

“He tolerates Luna.”

Hermione drained the pasta in the sink.

Parvati narrowed her eyes stubbornly at Crookshanks. “We shared a dormitory for years.
How long will it take for him to accept me? Animals usually like me.”

“He’s very stubborn.”

“Like his owner, I suppose,” Padma said quietly, with a smirk.

“This wine is rather good.” Parvati held up her glass to examine the liquid. “I prefer it to the
white. It’s got more body.”

“Look at you, sounding like a proper sommelier,” Hermione teased.

“No, I just like it when it’s rich like this.” Parvati poured a little more into their glasses.

“I’m not keen on sweet wines. The drier, the better.”

“Honestly, I’m not fussed, as long as there’s some there,” Hermione said. “Try the sauce.”
She offered the spoon to Parvati. “Does it need anything?”

She tasted it and considered for a moment. “A touch more salt, perhaps, but I’m happy to add
it to mine if you’d rather not.”

“That’s alright, we can add a bit more. Will you get the plates out?”

“Sure.”

Hermione watched as Padma combined the cooked pasta with the sauce and added a
generous helping of cheese. They settled in front of the telly in the living room, chatting and
eating at a leisurely pace, and the wine bottle was soon empty.

“If I give him some food, will he finally take to me?” Parvati asked.

Padma rolled her eyes. “Why is this so important to you? The cat simply doesn’t like you. It’s
not the end of the world.”

“I just don’t appreciate being ignored.”

Both Padma and Hermione laughed. “When are you ever?”

“Please,” she rolled her eyes.

Though twins, they couldn’t have been more different. Padma was more studious and
composed, but possessed a bubbly personality, while Parvati was more extroverted and
bolder, but also rather… snobbish. Padma’s dark hair was always neatly tied back, and she
had a serene expression that made her seem wise beyond her years. It was no wonder she and
Luna got on so well. Parvati, on the other hand, wore her hair in loose waves that cascaded
down her back. Hermione had always been envious of her hair.

They’d shared a dormitory for years and, while friendly during their school days, they’d only
become proper friends after graduation. She was still best friends with Lavender, who was
now with Neville.

Padma and Hermione were more similar and had started spending more time together,
especially while Hermione was writing her book. She was thrilled when Hermione
introduced her to Word on her laptop. She was happy to spend hours correcting typos,
changing fonts and colours, and so on.
“Is there a theme for Harry’s party, or should we just dress nicely?” Padma asked.

“Ginny didn’t mention anything, so I assume there isn’t one.”

“Did you get him anything yet?” Parvati enquired.

“Yes, a book he asked for. Something about the Quidditch World Cups.”

Hermione gestured towards the coffee table where she’d left it.

Padma picked it up. “Oh yes, it’s rather popular at the moment. Everyone’s talking about it at
work.” She began flicking through the pages.

“I never know what to buy for men.”

“He’s been going to the gym recently, perhaps something for working out,” Hermione
suggested.

Truth be told, if he hadn’t specified what he wanted, she’d have been equally stumped.

“Oh yes, Theo mentioned they’ve been going together.”

“Oh, really?” Padma smirked at her sister. “What else did Theo say?”

Hermione was intrigued. “Oh, Theo? Really?”

“Honestly,” Parvati rolled her eyes. “I merely stated the obvious, that the man is objectively
attractive, and suddenly there’s this tone and inquisition.”

“He is rather dashing, isn’t he?” Hermione smirked.

Theo was very handsome and amusing, and considerably more open-minded than most of his
associates.

“If that’s your type.”

It was Padma’s turn to roll her eyes. “And what? Tall, dark, and handsome with a charming
smile isn’t your type?”

“I’m not saying it isn’t, it’s just…”

Hermione could tell Parvati didn’t want to discuss it. “Oh, tall, dark, and handsome is my
type, too. Let me show you.”

She took out her phone to show them some pictures. It was easier to talk about this when she
wasn’t being pressed.

“Oh, wow,” Parvati said, scrolling through the photos. “He is rather fit. What do they put in
the water over there? Miss Granger!” she exclaimed.
She showed her a photo of David and Hermione in the water, embracing and smiling,
Hermione clearly topless. He was holding her close.

“What sort of carry-on is this?!”

“Let me see,” Padma said, now interested. “Oh, my. You were skinny-dipping? You had sex
on the beach?”

Hermione smirked. “Indeed, I did.”

Parvati tried to recall something. “I’ve never had sex in public.”

“Nor me. Oh, wait,” Padma said. “Do public loos count?”

“Yes,” the other two said in unison.

“Right, then I have.”

Hermione smirked again. Padma and George had a habit of having sex at parties. She
suspected there was more to it than just casual encounters, but they both pretended they
weren’t interested in anything more than physical intimacy.

“So, anyway, sex on the beach?” she said, now looking through the photos on her phone.

“Yes, I wouldn’t recommend it,” Hermione said, finishing her wine. “I didn’t have my wand.
I couldn’t scourgify, so the sand was everywhere, and I mean everywhere, Padma.”

Parvati smirked. “That’s the price one pays for being a hussy.”

Hermione laughed. “Hey, I’m not complaining. He was rather good.”

They finished their wine while Padma asked more questions about the photos.

“So, are you two, like, an item?” Parvati asked after a while.

Hermione shook her head. “No, it was just a bit of fun. Besides, I had to lie to him about
everything in my life. I can’t do that. It’s too exhausting.”

“Yes. It’s a bit of a shame we’re limited to such a small pool of people,” Padma commented
absently. “Seven billion people on this planet, and most of us, if not all, will probably end up
with someone we shared Charms lessons with since we were eleven, for goodness’ sake.”

Parvati shivered. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

They left after a while, but not before Parvati attempted to hold Crookshanks on her lap. He
simply wriggled free and returned to his armchair.

She wasn’t best pleased.

On Tuesday, Hermione was determined to arrive at Grimmauld Place early. She disliked
being late, and the thought of greeting a large group of people all at once made her slightly
anxious. This was supposed to be a simple family dinner, so she told herself not to worry too
much. She opted for her mother’s vintage beige silk blouse, paired with high-waisted denim
jeans, some gold jewellery, heeled sandals, and a touch of makeup, she flooed over to the
Potters’.

The kitchen was empty. As she walked through the hall, she tripped over some toys the
children had left lying about and nearly fell. She braced herself for the inevitable shrieks and
insults from the portrait.

However, Hermione almost forgot Harry and Andromeda had somehow managed to remove
it from the hallway, but good old Walburga Black wasn’t so easily defeated and had relocated
to a different frame, screaming even louder until they’d moved her to the third floor. She
glanced upwards.

The third floor was almost like a repository for dark magical objects and items cursed against
mostly muggles and muggleborns. A great many things had been moved up there when the
house served as the Order’s headquarters and after the war. It was certainly preferable not
having to worry whether a teaspoon would burn her or if the bedsheets would try to suffocate
her during the night.

However, she was rather disappointed that the library up there was now off-limits. She’d
gone there only once, only to be burned by a doorknob and then by a book she’d picked up at
random. The door was now physically barricaded and protected by spells, and Harry had
placed extremely strong wards on the entire floor since James’s birth. No one could access it
without his permission.

Their bedrooms were on the second floor. Two large living rooms and bathrooms occupied
the first, while the kitchen and storage took up most of the ground floor.

“Hello? Anyone home?” she called, and a loud pop behind her startled her. “Kreacher, you
scared me.”

“Kreacher apologises to the master’s friend,” he said with some difficulty.

He was quite elderly now, but steadfastly refused to retire.

“It’s okay.” She shook her head. “Where is everyone?”

“The mistress is with the young masters, and the master is out. He did not inform Kreacher of
his whereabouts.”

“Thank you. I’ll go and find Ginny, then.” She started upstairs.

“In young Master Albus’s room.”

“Thanks,” she said, and he nodded.

He was being unusually polite, especially as he hadn’t seen her much in recent years. She
knocked on the door, and it took a few moments for Lily to open it.

“Aunty Mione! Look, Albie, look! It’s Aunt Mione!” She hugged Hermione’s legs tightly.

“Oh, Lily, don’t squeeze so hard, you’ll break my legs! You’re awfully strong!” she bent
down and kissed her fiery red hair.

“You’re being silly, Aunty Mione,” she giggled. “I can’t break you. I’m too small!”

“Hello. Good, you’re here early. Lily, leave Aunt Hermione be and come here.” Ginny held
up two hairbands. “I need to do your hair before the guests arrive. Didn’t you say you wanted
to have the prettiest hair?”

She nodded enthusiastically and ran back to her mother.

“Hello, you two,” she greeted Ginny and Albus.

He stood up from his bed and gave her a high-five and a quick hug. “Hi, Hermione. I’m
reading the book you got me. Thanks, by the way, it’s brilliant so far.” He smiled and pointed
to the book on his bed that she’d left for him the other day.

James was very much Harry’s son, and Lily was very much Ginny’s daughter, but Albus was
a lovely combination of both. Being a middle child wasn’t always easy, so Hermione made an
effort to spend time with him.

“You’re welcome.” She ruffled his already messy hair. “I got one for Teddy, too. You can
read them together.”

He nodded and returned to his book.

“Have you finished in the bathroom?” Ginny asked him.

“Yes, mum.”

“Good.” She was finishing a braid in Lily’s hair. “Go and tell your brother to get dressed in
five minutes, or I’ll dress him myself.”

Albus rolled his eyes and left the room.

“Where’s Harry?” Hermione asked.

“He popped out to get some olives. I forgot to buy them.” She was concentrating on Lily’s
hair.

“Do you want me to finish that for you?”

“No, I’m almost done.” She frowned and sighed. “You could, however, go downstairs and set
the table. If you wouldn't mind. Use whichever nice plates you find first. Storage room, on
the right, bottom shelves.”
“Right.”

Ginny was great at giving instructions when under pressure, so Hermione slipped out of the
room before she could be roped into another task. She knocked on James’ door as she left.

“You two, I need help. Hey James, good to see you,” Hermione greeted him.

“Hey, Aunt Mione. Long time no see.”

He wrapped her in a hug, and Hermione tried to ignore how much he had grown in the past
few months.

“Good to see you, too,” she replied, glancing at both boys. “Let’s head downstairs. I need
your help in the kitchen.”

She didn’t actually need help, but she wasn’t about to let two perfectly capable young men sit
around while she did all the work. They ended up doing everything with ease, while
Hermione used her wand to straighten utensils or press napkins into place.

James asked, “Can you lift more than dad? Oh, please tell me you can. I need to make fun of
him!”

Meanwhile, Albus was more interested in her car. “So, when can we go for a ride? Can we
bring Teddy too? Oh, but I want to be in the passenger seat first! Please!” he pleaded, his
enthusiasm making Hermione smile.

Before long, Harry returned, and Ginny came downstairs in a lovely dress. The first guests
arrived, with the oldest Weasleys, Molly and Arthur, followed by George. Pansy and Charlie
soon joined them. Hermione was pleased to see Ron and Susan looking happy and content.
Susan gave her a warm hug, and Ron offered her a smile before heading into the living room.

“Hey Mione,” he greeted, wrapping her tightly in his arms. “Blimey, you look different.
When was the last time you were here? April?”

Hermione nodded against his shoulder.

He pulled away, squeezing her biceps a few times. “You weren’t joking when you said you’re
working out.”

“She can lift more than Dad. Can you imagine?” James chimed in.

Ron laughed. “No doubt. He’s embarrassingly lightweight,” he joked, giving James a playful
nudge. Turning back to Hermione, he asked, “Everything good?”

“Perfect, you?” she replied.

He glanced over at Susan, who was now talking with Harry. “Great. Hopefully even better
soon.”

Hermione smiled warmly. “I’m happy for you.” And she truly was.
He nodded, smiling back, and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

Andromeda and Teddy were the last to arrive. Teddy too had grown since she last saw him. It
felt like just yesterday he was a little boy, and now he was almost as tall as she was.

Did we grow this fast too?

It didn’t seem right.

She rushed to him, wrapping him in a tight hug. To her surprise, his hair turned a shade very
similar to hers. “Set the date with Al. I’m supposed to take you for a ride,” Hermione said,
still holding him close.

Teddy grinned widely, clearly excited.

“Oh, and he called shotgun,” she added, making him roll his eyes playfully before heading
toward the other guests.

“Called shotgun? What does that mean, for Merlin's sake?” Andromeda asked, pulling
Hermione into a hug.

“It’s American slang. It means to claim the front passenger seat first,” Hermione explained.
“Everyone likes sitting in the front. It’s more fun than the back.”

Andromeda blinked, clearly confused. “I’m not even going to pretend to understand that.”
She waved it off and looked at Hermione, her piercing gaze sweeping over her from head to
toe. For some reason, it didn’t feel uncomfortable. “Tell me, are you well? You look well.”

“I’m fine. Everyone keeps asking me that. Honestly, it’s starting to annoy me a bit.”

She fluffed Hermione's hair with a small smile. “Well, when people love you, they care about
your well-being,” Andromeda said slowly, as if Hermione were a child. “Isn’t that curious?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. “Aren’t you just the funniest?” She
gestured to the empty chair nearby. “Here, you can sit here. We can talk later.”

The dinner went well. Hermione could tell Harry was genuinely happy. He wasn’t going to be
this enthusiastic or talkative at his big party. She and Andromeda had a short catch-up, and
Hermione spent the rest of the night with Pansy and Charlie. Ron, Susan, and George sat
nearby.

“So, funny thing happened to me yesterday,” Hermione said, mostly to Ron but glancing at
Pansy. “I was in the Alley and ran into Goyle, and he...”

“Greg?” Pansy interrupted.

“Yes, him. And he… he apologised to me.”

“Really? Just like that?” Susan asked, surprised.

Hermione nodded. “Just like that. He said we saved his life.”

Ron frowned, and Pansy shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “In the Room of Requirement,”
Hermione added, as if to explain further.

“Yeah, I remember,” Ron said quietly, pausing before adding, “But why now? I mean, it’s
been so many years, you know? When the Slytherins started their Apology tour, I thought...”

Pansy nearly choked on her drink. “I’m sorry, what?”

“That’s what we called it when you started apologising to everyone,” Ron explained with a
shrug.

“An apology tour?” Pansy repeated, clearly confused.

“Just Apology tour,” George corrected. “No articles, Pans.”

Ron continued, “Anyway, we kind of thought it was just a momentary thing. You had to
apologise because you’d lost. It seemed like something you had to do.” He smiled weakly at
Pansy. “No offence, Pans.”

“None taken.”

“Who apologised to you?” Susan asked Ron, curious.

“Ugh, I don’t remember. A few guys at the ministry. I saw Flint at a game once. He said he
was sorry. And Malfoy…” Ron trailed off, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Oh, Pansy,
what’s the name of that tall guy who was...?”

Hermione’s attention snapped back to him. “Malfoy said he was sorry? To you?”

“Yeah, it was a bit of a surprise. I never told you about that?”

She shook her head. “I don’t remember.”

“Maybe I’ve mentioned it to Harry,” Ron said, shrugging. “They even talked after his trial, I
think. Oi, Harry!” he yelled across the room.

“Yeah?”

“When was the last time you spoke to Malfoy?”

Harry scratched his head. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe a couple of months ago? After a
Wizengamot session, I think. But I wouldn’t exactly call it a conversation…”

“Did you speak after his trial?” Hermione asked, suddenly remembering she’d helped Harry
prepare his statement.
“Oh, right, yeah. He thanked me. Bit of a shock, honestly.”

Ginny called to Harry, and he excused himself, heading off to help her.

George smirked. “Maybe his mum made him act like a good pureblood boy and bend over to
The Boy Who…”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “She didn’t.”

“I’m joking, I’m joking,” George said, raising his hands in surrender. “He comes into the
shop sometimes with his son. Nice kid. One could never guess he was his son if it wasn’t
for…” He gestured vaguely towards his own hair. “The hair.”

“We call it the Date of Reckoning,” Pansy said with a sly smile, sipping her drink.

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, you guys call it the Apology tour,” Pansy explained. “We call it the Date of
Reckoning.”

George rolled his eyes. “Again, no articles, Pans.”

She waved him off. “It’s a thing we came up with. You know, when you want to sit down,
have a drink, and clear the air. Usually in a public place. It’s... symbolic.”

Ron frowned. “No one offered me a drink during my reckoning.”

“Well, you get an apology if we’re sorry,” Pansy said, gesturing with her hands. “An apology
and drinks if we’re really sorry. And an apology, drinks, and food if we’re really, really
sorry.”

Hermione let out a huff. “I didn’t know there was a system for this.”

Pansy looked at her knowingly. “We developed it after Hogwarts. Theo came up with the
name.”

Lilly wanted to show Hermione some drawings she’d made, offering the perfect excuse to
slip away from the room. The children were in the sitting room nearby. The boys huddled in
one corner, deep in conversation.

“Oh, Hermione,” Teddy said when he noticed her enter. “Al and I agreed Saturday works
great for both of us, before the party you’re all going to. Is that okay with you?”

“Sure,” Hermione replied absentmindedly, sitting down with Lilly in the other corner of the
room.

She had prepared a pile of drawings to show Hermione.

“You did these all by yourself? Wow! Good job,” Hermione said automatically, her thoughts
still preoccupied with the conversation earlier.
Lilly handed her another drawing.

“Beautiful,” she added, barely registering it.

Why am I upset by this? It’s not rational.

Did she want his apology?

No.

Did she need it for some kind of closure?

Absolutely not.

Would she even accept it if he did?

Old Hermione would. But he doesn’t deserve anything from me now. The bigoted prick.

“What are you two up to?” Pansy asked, stepping into the room after a few minutes.

“I’m showing my drawings to Aunty Mione. Come here, Aunty Pansy,” Lilly said, springing
to her feet and grabbing her hand. “I drawed something for you too!”

“Drew, Lilly,” Hermione corrected gently, still sifting through the pile of papers. “I drew
something for you too.”

“Here!” Lilly handed Pansy a piece of paper. “It’s you and me, Aunty! See? It’s a lily flower
and a pansy flower,” she explained proudly.

“Oh, it’s so pretty!” Pansy said, crouching to hug the little girl. “Do you think you can draw
another one so both of us can have one?”

“Yes!” Lilly squealed and dashed to the desk, already covered in papers and crayons.

Hermione smiled at the girl, sensing Pansy’s sharp gaze. She glanced at the boys to check if
they were listening, then turned her attention back to Hermione.

“What was that?” Pansy asked quietly.

“What was what?”

“Why are you upset with... what we were talking about?”

“I’m not upset.”

“Hermione…”

“I’m not.”
Pansy tilted her head slightly, waiting.

Hermione rubbed her chest, willing herself to speak.

Just be honest.

“I mean, I am. I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t even know why. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Which part upset you?”

“All of it.”

“All of it?”

“No,” Hermione admitted, her eyes unexpectedly welling up. “This is why… Every time we
talk about… I can’t… It’s too much.” She shook her head, her breathing uneven. “I’m so
anxious right now.”

Great. I’ll have nightmares tonight.

Pansy watched her closely, her expression softening like she could see straight through her.
“Do you want me to stay over?”

“No, I’m… It’s fine.”

It won’t be when she shows up in your nightmares again.

Just ask for help.

“Hermione, did… did Draco ever speak to you?”

“Other than when he was relentlessly bullying me at school? No,” Hermione replied tersely.

Pansy flushed slightly at the remark. “Is... is it important to you to hear him apolo…?”

“No!” Hermione interrupted, her tone sharp and cutting.

The abruptness made Albus glance in their direction. Quickly, she cast a muffliato.

“It’s not important. I don’t need it. I wouldn’t…” She trailed off, grappling with the chaotic
emotions roiling within her. “No, I don’t need anything from him.”

Pansy shifted in her seat, her voice soft. “Do you want me to talk to him?”

Hermione’s face drained of colour. “Absolutely not. Pansy, no. Please. Promise me you
won’t mention anything to him or any of your friends. Not Daphne, not Theo. I’m begging
you.”

“Okay,” Pansy said carefully, “but I think he would…”

“No, Pansy. I forbid you!” Hermione’s voice rose, the words spilling out harsher than she
intended.

The desperation in her tone softened Pansy’s expression. “Alright, Hermione,” she said
cautiously, “but I just think he’s different now. Maybe you two could…”

“I don’t want to talk about anything with a person who, for seven years, couldn’t look at me
or speak to me without calling me a Mudblood and wishing I was dead!” Hermione snapped,
her breath coming in shallow gasps.

Pansy’s mouth opened, then closed, her cheeks burning with embarrassment at the slur.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Does that word make you uncomfortable now?” Hermione said coldly.

Pansy’s jaw tightened, her brow furrowing. “Okay, Hermione. You don’t have to be a bitch,”
she said.

The look on Pansy’s face jolted Hermione back to reality.

You’re projecting your anger onto her. Apologise.

“I’m sorry, Pans. You’re right. I’m using you as a punching bag. I’m so sorry, okay?”
Hermione said, taking her hands in hers. “It’s just…” She shook her head, letting out a
desperate laugh. “This is why I need to keep my distance. It shouldn’t be this hard to talk
about the past. It’s not for any of you. But for me...” She trailed off, her voice faltering. “I’m
sorry. I keep making everything about me. I’m so sorry.”

Pansy looked at her, then gave her hands a firm squeeze. “Stop apologising. It’s annoying,”
she said, still frowning and biting her lip. “I won’t say anything to him. And I know I’ve said
it before, but I really am sorry for how…”

“Please don’t. Not again. You’re terrible at it,” Hermione said, attempting a laugh.

To her relief, it worked.

Pansy relaxed, her grip loosening.

“Are you the reason why you had to come up with a proper apology system?” Hermione
asked.

She rolled her eyes. “No. That was all Theo. He said he got the phrase ‘Day of Reckoning’
from some muggle book.”

“Is that book… the Bible?”

“I don’t know. Could be.”

They sat in silence for a moment before Hermione spoke again. “I’d love to have that
sleepover, if you still want to. It would mean a lot.”
 Pansy smiled softly and nodded. “Of course.” Then her expression shifted, narrowing her
eyes playfully. “You can really be a bitch sometimes, you know that?”

Hermione blushed, instinctively opening her mouth to apologise, but Lilly’s voice cut in.

“All done!” She held out a drawing to Pansy.

“It’s wonderful, Lilly,” she said, giving her a kiss on the forehead. “But did you know there’s
a special pink rose called Hermione?”

“Really?!” Lilly’s eyes went wide, her excitement bubbling over.

“Really,” Pansy confirmed. “Now you’ll have to draw all three of us together!”

“Yes!” she darted back to the desk, brimming with determination.

“Oh, there you are,” Ginny said, poking her head into the room. Her eyes swept over the
scene before landing on Hermione and Pansy. “Come on, everyone. Harry’s about to blow out
the candles.”

Chapter End Notes

Hermione's house in London https://www.pinterest.com/tpzzz1105/in-the-mood-for-

truth/hermiones-house-in-london/

12 Grimmauld Place https://www.pinterest.com/tpzzz1105/in-the-mood-for-truth/12-

grimmauld-place/
 Draco
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

August 2012

"Thank you, Dissy," said Draco, lowering his newspaper to rest it against his chest, creating
room for the house-elf to place the plate in front of him. "Could I have a glass of water with
this, please?"

"Of course, master," she replied, disappearing with a quiet pop and reappearing moments
later, holding a tall glass.

"Thank you," he said again.

She gave a quick bow before catching herself, her small frame freezing as she remembered
the new rules.

"Dissy is sorry, master," she added, as a faint blush rose to her cheeks.

"That's all right," Draco reassured her. "You can do as you please. It was just a suggestion,
remember?"

He wanted to sound easygoing, but the truth was that all the bowing made him distinctly
uncomfortable. He wished she'd stop entirely, but he also understood. Dissy had served his
family under strict, unyielding traditions for years.

"Thank you, master," she said softly, her large eyes darting around the room. "When should
we expect young master Scorpius?"

Draco glanced at his watch. "I’ll pick him up around one o’clock. Is this about lunch?"

She nodded, her ears twitching slightly.

"I think we’ll wait and see if he’s hungry when he gets back. I’ve no idea what time they’ll
have breakfast at Daphne’s."

Satisfied with his response, Dissy vanished with another pop .

Draco returned his attention to the paper, though it was more out of habit than genuine
interest. The rag was packed with mindless gossip and trivialities, but in a way, that was
reassuring. No dreadful headlines meant nothing important was happening.

No crises.
No disasters.

It was dull, but dull could be good.

His eyes drifted to a small, ridiculous article buried on the side of the page. It breathlessly
described a lunch that Daphne and Pansy had shared with Granger, complete with an
exaggerated headline about the improbable alliance of "snakes and lions." Draco couldn’t
help but roll his eyes at the absurdity of it all.

The piece was accompanied by a photograph: the three women sat at a restaurant table,
laughing and gesturing animatedly. Other diners in the background seemed intrigued, some
even outright staring. Draco lingered on the image for a moment, the faintest tug of nostalgia
creeping into his thoughts.

When was the last time I went out like that?

Draco had withdrawn into a self-imposed exile, meeting with friends almost exclusively in
private, safely hidden from the judging eyes and whispers of the outside world. The scrutiny
and lingering disapproval that still somewhat clung to his reputation were suffocating. He
longed to disappear into anonymity, to blend seamlessly into the crowd, to be seen as just
another face. Especially when he was with Scorpius.

Though people tempered their judgement when his son was around, Draco still worried about
the future. The taunts and bullying Scorpius might endure as the child of a former Death
Eater felt inevitable. He was determined to shield his son as much as possible, to soften the
blows of a harsh reality that would one day find him.

Once, while walking down Diagon Alley, a passer-by had hurled “Death Eater” at Draco.
Scorpius hadn’t said a word but had frowned slightly, his young face shadowed with thought.

That evening, Dissy reported that Scorpius had been searching the library for books
explaining what a Death Eater was.

They’d had a long, difficult conversation that night, one Draco had hoped to delay for years.

He finished his brunch and set the paper aside.

It had been a slow, quiet morning. He’d woken later than usual, missing the rush of his son’s
eager embrace. Scorpius was, without a doubt, an early bird. That’s Astoria. She always woke
up before me, too.

On most mornings, Scorpius would bound into Draco’s bed, wrapping him in a tight hug and
mussing his hair. Draco pretended to be annoyed but secretly loved it. As a child, he had
never been allowed to wake his father, especially not with such informality.

And that’s exactly why Scorpius can.

Daphne had insisted on occasional sleepovers, and Scorpius adored them. He used the visits
to pour over old photos of Astoria and listen to Daphne’s stories about her.
Draco didn’t have many pictures of Astoria himself. Most were formal and impersonal, taken
during their courtship or brief marriage, posed and stiff, meant for announcements, galas, or
official portraits. They had never had the chance to take candid photos together, but Daphne
had once given him a photograph that quickly became his favourite.

It showed Astoria, Pansy, and Daphne embracing in a pub. The messy handwriting beneath
the picture said it was taken just after their wedding. The photo didn’t move, so that meant it
had been taken with a muggle camera. That detail only made him treasure it more. It captured
her radiant smile and bright, glowing eyes with a timeless clarity.

She looked so alive, so healthy.

After finishing his meal, Draco realised he had little to do until one o’clock. With time to
spare, he decided to head down to the pool in their building. It had been a while since his last
swim, and he thought it might help ease the lingering stiffness in his shoulder. The recent
bludger hit during a quidditch had left him sore despite Theo and Dissy’s best efforts to heal
him. The pain persisted, especially when he tried to lift his arm.

Swimming’s supposed to be good for that sort of thing, isn’t it?

Draco had moved to this wizarding neighbourhood when Scorpius was just a toddler, on Aunt
Andromeda’s recommendation. She had lived in the area during Teddy’s childhood,
convinced it was a good place to raise a child. Now that he was grown and attending
Hogwarts, Andromeda had returned to her old house. Occasionally, Draco accompanied his
mother and Scorpius for tea and a chat. It gave his mother a welcome change of pace,
especially after… his father had passed away.

At the pool, Draco noticed a family from the fifth floor already there. Mr Kim was swimming
with his two young daughters. He nodded a polite greeting, and the man returned the gesture.

The tiles around the pool were warm and slightly slippery underfoot as Draco approached the
edge. Without overthinking, he leapt in. The sharp stab of pain that shot through his shoulder
made him wince. He realised immediately that he’d been careless.

No quidditch for another week, definitely.

Despite the discomfort, Draco managed a few laps before concluding that he was pushing his
injury too far. Reluctantly, he climbed out of the pool, knowing full well he’d likely set back
his already slow recovery.

“Dissy!” he called as he stepped into the flat, still rubbing his sore shoulder.

“Yes, master?” she appeared with a soft pop .

“I’ve done it again,” Draco admitted, pulling off his damp shirt. “Can you take another look
at my shoulder?”

Dissy nodded but frowned as he sat down on the floor so she could reach him. “Did the
master relax and avoid strenuous activity like Dissy advised?” she asked with an accusing
tone.

“Yes.”

She gave him a pointed look.

“All right, no. I went swimming.”

She shook her head in disapproval. “Master should have listened to Dissy.”

“I should have,” Draco conceded.

With a small sigh, she began casting spells, her hands moving deftly as warmth spread
through his shoulder. “Better?”

He rolled his arm cautiously. “Yes, much better. Thank you. I’ll take a shower and then head
to Daphne’s.”

“Shall Dissy set up a bath instead? It’ll help with muscle pain.”

“That sounds even better, thank you.”

Later, standing before the mirror, Draco studied the scars marking his chest.

A deep line ran from Potter’s curse, a cruel reminder of a duel he’d rather forget.

The jagged scars on his arms bore Greyback’s signature, remnants of the war. Though the
werewolf’s attack hadn’t changed him physically, the wounds had never fully healed.

Broken capillaries from countless crucios created faint networks across his torso, and then
there was the tattoo.

The Dark Mark had faded slightly over the years, but it remained a grim symbol of his past
mistakes. As always, Draco covered it with a glamour charm, concealing both the ink and the
memories it carried.

Lucius had made those choices, and Draco had paid the price. His father had failed to protect
his family, sacrificing them in his desperate quest to regain status. Now he was gone, and
Draco was left to shoulder the weight of it all.

Dressed in a shirt and trousers Dissy had left on his bed, Draco made his way to the fireplace.
With a swirl of green flames, he stepped into one of the living rooms in Daphne’s wing of the
Greengrass manor.

The sound of voices drifted from the kitchen and dining area.

“I’m telling you, they have them almost everywhere!” Theo was saying with enthusiasm. “I
walked past one just last night and saw loads of people queueing to get inside!”

Scorpius’ eyes widened. “So, you can go and watch the plays anytime you want?”
“Well, yes,” Theo explained, lifting a finger, “but there’s a schedule you have to check first.
Also,” he added with a touch of authority, “they call them films or movies, just like the ones
you saw on my telly. Plays are in a different kind of place altogether.”

“Wow.” Scorpius sounded awestruck. “I’d like to see a movie one day in a... cinema?”

“That’s the word, cinema.”

“Sounds exciting.”

Draco smiled faintly from the doorway, unnoticed by Theo and Daphne, who had their backs
to him. Scorpius, however, spotted him immediately.

“Hey, dad!”

“Hey, you.” Draco crossed the room and planted a long kiss on his son’s head. “What’s all
this about films?”

“Uncle Theo says there’s a cinema near our flat where we can watch films on a big scene… I
mean, screen,” Scorpius said, glancing at Theo for confirmation.

“That’s right.”

“It sounds brilliant.”

“It does,” Draco admitted.

He wasn’t one to heap praise on muggles, but even he could acknowledge they excelled in a
few areas. Entertainment was undoubtedly one of them.

“Maybe it’s something you two could do together,” Daphne suggested.

“Perhaps,” Draco said, draping an arm around Scorpius. “Was he good?”

“As always,” Daphne replied with a smile. “Though, I might have promised him a weekend
trip to the beach before summer ends.” She batted her eyelashes innocently. “Care for a glass
of wine?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Isn’t it a bit early?”

“It’s nearly one,” Theo pointed out with a shrug. “I’d say we’re allowed a glass or two.”

“Can I have some?” Scorpius asked eagerly, earning an unamused look from his father.

“Absolutely not,” Daphne said firmly. “But I can pour you some of that nice lemonade we
made earlier. In a wine glass, if you like. It’ll feel almost the same. What do you think?”

“Okay!” Scorpius beamed and pointed towards the kitchen island. “Oh, dad, look! I helped
Aunt Daphne make a char... charcute... um, what was it again?”

“A charcuterie board,” Daphne supplied as she poured lemonade into a wine glass.
“Yes, a charcuterie board,” he repeated.

“That’s brilliant,” Draco said warmly. “It looks amazing.”

“It was easy! We just looked at pictures on Aunt Daphne’s phone.” Scorpius took the glass of
lemonade and added innocently, “Why don’t you have a phone, dad? They’re really good for
talking to your friends when they’re not here, you know.”

Draco smirked. “If I want to talk to someone, I can just use the floo. See? Like now.”

“Oh,” Scorpius said with a trace of disappointment, carefully gripping the tall glass in both
hands.

“Fancy a quick bite before you leave?” Daphne asked, nodding towards the board. “I found
some lovely cheeses and cured meats.”

“Sure,” Draco agreed.

“I’ve got this,” Theo said, levitating the board with a flick of his wand to a nearby table.

Scorpius sidled up to Daphne, whispering conspiratorially, “Can I have your phone to play
games?”

Draco rolled his eyes.

Daphne lowered her voice, playing along. “All right, but only for a little while.”

“Okay, thank you!” he scurried off to the sofa at the other end of the room, clutching the
phone like a prized treasure.

Theo smiled as he poured them both a glass of wine. “What were you doing last night?”

“Nothing,” Draco replied, taking the glass. He swirled the wine thoughtfully before sipping.
“Just went through some accounts for the estate and covered a few donations my mother
made recently.”

“Sounds riveting.”

“And what about you? Were you doing something exciting?”

“Women aren’t things , Draco. She’s not something , but someone . And yes, she was as
excited as one could be.”

Daphne rolled her eyes and bit into an olive. “So... a date?”

Theo considered this. “I wouldn’t call it a date. We just got talking after the film, in the queue
for the bathroom, of all places. One thing led to another, and, well... you know.” He reached
for a piece of cheese.

“Just like that?” Draco raised an eyebrow as he took another sip of wine.
It was sweeter than he preferred but undeniably good.

“What can I say?” Theo shrugged, grinning as he raised his eyebrows. “I’m irresistibly
charismatic.” He winked at Draco.

“If you went dressed like that , I’m not surprised,” Daphne interjected, gesturing to Theo’s
outfit. “Muggles dress casually for the cinema, not in a full suit.”

“So it’s not his charm. It’s the suits,” Draco said, smirking.

Theo rolled his eyes. “Don’t be jealous. If it were just the suits, women would be falling at
your feet all the time. But they’re not, are they?”

“All right, I get it,” Draco muttered.

He wasn’t entirely right.

Women did show interest in him. He just didn’t care enough to do anything about it.

But perhaps he should .

When was the last time you got laid?

Oh, right, three or four months ago.

You fucking loser.

“Did Pansy talk to you?” Daphne asked, breaking into his thoughts.

“No. Why?”

“No reason. Just wondering.” She paused briefly, then added, “She asked about you.
Something to do with your shoulder.”

“I haven’t heard from her since a few days ago. This is brilliant, by the way,” he said,
nodding towards the charcuterie board.

Despite having had a good breakfast earlier, he could easily eat more.

“Thanks, but I think the cheese is the best part.” Theo grabbed another cube. “Perfectly
stinky. Just the right balance.”

Daphne narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “It’s good, but I wish it were a bit smellier. I like
stinky cheese.”

“I don’t like stinky cheese!” Scorpius called out from the sofa.

“Scorpius, play your games and stop eavesdropping,” Draco chided lightly. “It’s not polite.”
He glanced between his son and Theo before lowering his voice. “And you… you’d best
watch what you say around him.”
“What did I say?” Theo looked genuinely perplexed.

“Nothing yet,” Daphne cut in, her tone amused but warning. “But there’s still time.” She
picked up the bottle to refill her glass.

“Pour me another, too, please,” Draco said. “Thanks.” He turned back to Theo. “He asked me
why some people have only one girlfriend, but his Uncle Theo has many .”

Daphne snorted into her glass, while Theo grinned. “Why would he ask that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Draco drawled. “Perhaps because he overheard you saying something .
Merlin help me if he ever sees anything inappropriate.”

Theo rolled his eyes. “When would he ever see anything? You hardly ever bring him to
mine.”

“That’s because I never know what I might walk into,” Draco shot back.

Memories of a few ill-advised visits flashed through his mind, ones he’d rather forget.

“I’m trying to save him years of sessions with a mind healer.”

“You used to be so much fun,” Theo lamented.

“Yeah, well, talk to me when you have a child.”

Both Theo and Daphne shivered in mock horror.

“Salazar’s beard. Imagine that,” Theo said.

“I can’t,” Daphne added firmly.

“Me neither,” he agreed, pressing a hand to his chest with theatrical flair. “My poor,
hypothetical child.”

They drank and picked at the charcuterie board in companionable silence for a while.

“This wine is excellent,” Draco said, holding up his glass and examining it. “But there’s
something... distinct about it. It’s not very subtle. What is that?”

“Guess,” Daphne replied with a playful smile.

Draco took another sip, trying to pinpoint the elusive flavour. “I can’t put my finger on it.
Something floral, maybe?” He reached for the bottle, turning it in his hands to inspect the
label.

“Elderberry.”

“Ah, elderberry!” Draco exclaimed, recognition dawning. “Is this... muggle wine?”
Daphne hesitated, then nodded. “Um... yes. Hermione gave it to me. It’s from her father’s
vineyard.”

“Oh.”

He’d heard, through Daphne and Pansy, that Granger had moved to Spain years ago with her
parents. They made wine now, apparently.

“It’s Spanish,” Daphne continued. “They live there these days.”

“I know,” Draco replied, a little too sharply.

Theo stepped in. “Harry mentioned she’s back. Do you know how long she’s staying?”

She shrugged. “Not sure. A few months, I think. She’s got something to sort out with her
book, and she said she wants to be here after Hogwarts starts. Ginny and Harry’s eldest is
starting this year.”

Theo nodded, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, he mentioned. Bloody hell, kids grow up so
fast. Did we grow up so fast?”

“I don’t remember,” Draco said, glancing at his son on the sofa.

He watched Scorpius, who was engrossed in his game, and tried to picture himself at the
same age.

It was almost impossible.

His memories of life before Hogwarts were scattered and faint, but he knew one thing - he
hadn’t been anything like Scorpius. Not as kind, not as open-hearted.

Potter’s son would board the train this September. In two years, it would be Scorpius’s turn.

Draco’s thoughts drifted, unbidden, to his own first day at Hogwarts. He remembered
offering his hand to Potter, that fake show of friendship he’d been told was strategic and the
rejection that had followed.

Gods, I was such a prick.

What would have changed if Potter had taken his hand?

Would he have been different?

Would the Wizarding World?

He let the idea linger for a moment before shoving it aside.

Potter, Weasley... Granger.

Fuck. Granger.
Draco stared into his glass, his jaw tightening. He’d made her life miserable, hadn’t he?

He could still hear her voice. “Just ignore him.” That’s what she always told Weasley when
he wanted to throttle Draco. “Just ignore him. He’s not worth it.” Then she’d raise her chin,
defiant.

Gods, he’d hated her.

Truly hated her, right up until the moment she’d smacked him square in the nose. After that,
he didn’t just hate her.

He despised her.

The humiliation of that memory still made his chest tighten. A girl… a muggleborn girl…
had hit him. And not just any girl.

Her.

His father would have been furious if he’d known.

Potter’s friend.

A friend who risked her life for him.

Both of them, really. Granger and Weasel. Potter was very lucky.

Did he have friends back then who would’ve done the same for him? Risked everything for
his sake? Been tortured for him? Who would get their arm carved with the word mudb...?

Stop thinking about it.

Stop it.

Stop.

But the thoughts wouldn’t stop.

They rarely did.

“Wanna go to the party together?” Draco heard Theo ask.

“Sure, I don’t have a date,” Daphne agreed, sipping her wine.

“Party?” he asked.

“Harry’s birthday.”

“Oh, right. You mentioned it.”

Of course, Granger would cross an entire bloody continent for Potter’s birthday. Draco
suppressed a sigh.
Theo interrupted his thoughts by chewing loudly. It was grating. “Where did you get this
cheese? It’s amazing.”

“I told you, Hermione gave it to me. You can ask her on Saturday.”

“I will. Where does she live again?”

“Oh, I always forget because I just use a portkey, but it’s in an area where they make a lot of
wine.”

Draco huffed. “That’s half of Spain you’ve just described.”

“Well, it’s somewhere near Barcelona,” Daphne said dismissively. “She mentioned it didn’t
take her long to visit, though I have no idea what kind of muggle transportation she used.”

“They’ve got an excellent railway system in Spain,” Theo added knowingly.

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, Theo, whatever.”

“What? They do. Ask her, she probably knows.”

Draco decided to shift the conversation. “Where’s Pansy?” He didn’t particularly care about
the efficiency of Spain’s railways.

“She stayed at Hermione’s last night,” Daphne replied. “She’s probably still there.”

Theo smirked. “I didn’t take Pansy as the slumber party type.”

“It wasn’t like that. It was probably…” Daphne trailed off, glancing at them. “Never mind.
It’s private.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Drop it.”

Theo’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “Is Pansy having an affair with Hermione?”

Draco huffed, and Daphne stood up, tossing the empty wine bottle in the bin. “You’re an
idiot.”

“What? It’s the 21st century. Surely you’re not still that close-minded.”

“Just ignore him,” Draco told Daphne.

Oh, where did you hear that advice, you hypocrite?

“All I’m saying,” Theo continued with mock seriousness, “is that if our dear Pans wants to
find happiness somewhere away from her dragon tamer’s big brawny arms…”

“Dragon tamer,” Daphne corrected automatically.

“...and between our Gryffindor princess’s soft, warm legs…”

“For fuck’s sake, mate,” Draco groaned, rubbing his temples. His gaze darted to Scorpius,
who was thankfully absorbed in his phone.

“…I think we should all be supportive. I mean, who doesn’t love a good enemies-to-lovers
storyline?” Theo paused dramatically. “And lesbians.”

“Do you ever shut up?”

“Now that I’ve got that image in my head,” Theo said with a grin, closing his eyes as if
savouring it, “I’m never shutting up about it.”

“Honestly, Theo.”

Draco left soon after, taking Scorpius with him. Before leaving, Daphne offered him a bottle
of the same wine they’d been drinking.

He refused.

Scorpius had his piano lessons from three o'clock, so Draco spent a good portion of the
afternoon listening from his office as his son practised in the living room with a tutor who
was incredibly patient with his countless mistakes.

How many mistakes had I made?

Too many to count.

It seemed pointless trying.

Treating Granger the way he had was one of his biggest. He used to loathe her, but that all
changed the day the trio was captured and brought to the manor.

Then he realised, with growing dread, how terrified he was at the thought of Potter and the
others being caught. He could admit to himself now that there had been a tiny spark of hope
that they might win. The worst punishment he’d receive from their side after the war would
still be better than the best reward he would ever get from the Dark Lord.

The tutor clapped her hands as Scorpius managed to play a particularly tricky section, and he
squealed with joy.

Draco’s mind wandered back to her screams.

Back then, he couldn’t forget them, no matter how many months had passed. Sometimes,
they were all he heard in his nightmares. Her broken cries, even when he had witnessed far
worse. But hers... hers had been different.

She had been defeated.

She’d always been proud, annoyingly so, brave to the point of Gryffindor foolishness, and
smarter than the two oafs put together. And it was almost... painful to remember her so
vulnerable. His hysterical aunt had marked her with a word she’d probably never heard from
anyone but him.

Scorpius missed his note again, and both he and his tutor laughed, the sound ringing out,
carefree.

Draco had decided to move from the manor the moment Scorpius started walking and
talking. He was laughing, crawling, filling up the empty spaces with warmth and joy, and
irrationally, Draco feared that the manor would rebel against such light.

He had thought about leaving before, but Astoria had insisted on at least having the child
born in the same home where he had grown up. He couldn’t explain to her that it didn’t
matter to him, but she wanted to honour some of the traditions.

When his lesson had finished, the tutor approached Draco before leaving. She was talking
about his progress and motivation, those familiar, generic lines every parent needed to hear.
She kept running her fingers through her hair, smiling softly, and when Draco put down his
quill to give her his full attention, she began flirting openly.

She was younger than Draco. According to her résumé, she was studying piano at a muggle
conservatoire, so she was still something of a student.

Attractive, well-educated, and bold enough to make him feel pleasantly uncomfortable.

But her dark, straight, silky hair reminded him too much of Astoria’s, and Draco couldn’t
bring himself to look at her for too long.

He stood up abruptly, shaking her hand and showing her to the door before thanking her for
her time and scheduling the lesson for the following week.

She was Scorpius’ teacher, he was paying her for her work, and he wouldn’t entertain the
thought of anything unsuitable happening.

Unsuitable .

He hated that word.

His mother had been constantly on his case about finding a new wife, insisting it was
unsuitable for him to remain unmarried for so long. He was told it was unsuitable for a boy
to grow up without a mother, and that it was unsuitable for him to be raising his child alone.

But the war had changed everything. It had been a wake-up call, and Astoria had been there
to confirm that he wasn’t the only one whose illusions about their world had been shattered
by the grim realities of the conflict.

She had pretended to respect the stupid traditions they were expected to follow but had made
fun of them in private. When they started courting, it was considered indecent for them to
spend too much time alone together. But at night, she would ask Daphne to let him floo to the
living room in her wing, where they would kiss and touch until morning.

The next day, she would pretend to follow the rules in front of their parents, looking away
from him and blinking those big blue eyes like a doe, not daring to meet his gaze.

When they finally slept together for the first time, it was a night he would never forget. She
was loving and sweet, and he felt undeserving of her and the life she offered him. In that
moment, he felt like he could cast the strongest corporeal patronus ever seen by anyone. She
had been a breath of fresh air in his stifling life.

Draco had fallen for her quickly, and she had been unlike any other girl he had ever known.

He hadn’t just wanted to marry her out of duty.

They were truly in love.

But, as with all good things, it had to come to an end eventually.

He spent the rest of the evening in the small potion lab with his son. He enjoyed brewing
potions with Scorpius. He asked all sorts of thoughtful questions and nodded eagerly
whenever he understood the answers right away.

"So if I mix it the wrong way, will it explode?"

"Not this potion, but some might," Draco replied, focused on counting. "That’s why you need
to be careful and read the instructions carefully."

"Of course, yes," Scorpius nodded.

Draco squinted, frowning slightly. "Now you've made me lose my count. Was that seven or
eight times?"

"I think seven," Scorpius said, looking sheepish. "Sorry."

"No, no, it’s alright. You’ll never learn if you don’t ask," Draco reassured him, mixing the
potion three more times. "I suppose you were right. Look at the colour now."

Scorpius’s eyes widened. "It’s the same as in the book!"

"Yes, that means we’ve done it right," Draco said, placing a hand on his son’s back. "What
does it say to do next?"

"Hmm..." Scorpius leafed through the heavy book. "Let it simmer for a quarter of an hour."

"Right. So, we set the timer now." They fell silent for a moment or two. "So, Aunt Daphne
mentioned something about a beach trip?"

"Oh, it was just a suggestion. You know, we don’t have to," Scorpius said quietly.
"That’s fine, you can go if you want."

"Would you come with us, too?"

"If you want me to."

"Of course, I want you to, dad!" Scorpius grinned, his smile lighting up his face. He looked
just like Astoria when he smiled.

Gods, I wish you were here to see him.

They finished the fertilising potion and handed it to Dissy, who would use it for the
houseplants they had.

They passed the following day in their usual routine. Draco spent most of his time in the
office, poring over accounts and speaking with investors and solicitors. Scorpius had lessons
throughout the day, but they made time in the evening to work together in the potions lab.
Their latest concoction granted them the abilities of a Metamorphmagus for half an hour.
Scorpius delighted in reshaping his nose into various animal forms, while Draco snapped a
few photos to share with Teddy.

As soon as the sun rose on Saturday, Scorpius was up as well. Draco heard the faint creak of
his bedroom door opening. Moments later, the bed shook as Scorpius enthusiastically leapt
onto it.

“Dad, are you awake?” he whispered, though his tone betrayed his excitement.

Draco made a vague noise at the back of his throat, but before he could properly respond,
Scorpius burrowed under the covers, curling up and planting his icy feet squarely on Draco’s
thighs. The cold seeped through Draco’s pyjamas.

“What are we doing today?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Draco replied with grogginess. “I was thinking of sleeping in for once,
but since that’s clearly out of the question now, who knows what the day holds?”

Scorpius chuckled and mussed Draco’s hair. “No, seriously. Are you playing quidditch today?
Can I come and watch?”

Draco yawned loudly. “Not today, love. My shoulder’s still in a bit of pain.”

“Oh.” Scorpius sounded a bit deflated. “Well, can you at least fly? Maybe we could go to
grandma’s and fly above the woods?”

“Alright, but I’ll need to floo-call her first to check if she’s free.”

“I have absolutely nothing planned this morning. Please, do come over,” she said warmly
when Draco called her a couple of hours later. “I’ve missed my grandson terribly.”
So off they went to the Manor for the morning.

Draco didn’t enjoy visiting the Manor these days. Even when he did, he preferred to stay
outside in the gardens.

The patio in the back overlooked vast fields and woods that stretched across the estate.
During the summer, it was a pleasant spot, but in other seasons, it lacked the same appeal. To
make it more inviting year-round, his mother had enclosed it with glass windows and
installed a fireplace. In winter, it held a certain charm, with snow blanketing the landscape
and the only light coming from the moon and the flickering fire in the corner.

They settled at the coffee table, which was set with tea and biscuits. Outside, Scorpius zipped
through the air on his broom, laughing as he dipped and weaved above the treetops.

“So, how was your week, darling?” his mother asked.

“Good, as always. I finished compiling the reports on your donations to the orphanage.”

“Did you? Excellent.” Her expression softened, tinged with pity. “You really should visit
sometime, Draco. The place is in dire need of help.”

“What will they use the donation for?”

“They mentioned expanding the building,” she said, pausing to recall. “They want to create
smaller, separate rooms for the children who go to Hogwarts. Since they’re only there during
holidays, they won’t need as much space as the others.”

“That makes sense.”

Scorpius swooped lower, his laughter carrying on the crisp air.

“And how’s your shoulder?”

“It’s fine,” Draco said, rotating it slightly. “Though I made the mistake of going swimming
the other day and aggravated it again.”

She sighed, exasperated. “Oh, Draco.”

“It’s not a big deal,” he said with a small laugh. “It’s not as if I’m doing anything strenuous
on a daily basis.”

“Even so, you need to be careful. You don’t want it becoming a chronic problem.”

“Yes, mother.”

Outside, Scorpius performed a mid-air flip. She shook her head but refrained from
commenting.

“Would you like more tea?” she asked after a brief silence.
“No, I’m fine, thank you,” Draco replied, reaching for the teapot. “Would you like more?”

“Yes, darling,” she said with a smile and then narrowed her eyes as she watched Scorpius
flying about. “What’s an angry bird?”

“Pardon?”

“Scorpius mentioned angry birds. He said it’s a game he played with Daphne.”

Draco chuckled. “Oh, right. It’s probably something on her phone. A game, I think.”

“Ah,” she said with mild curiosity, though he knew she wasn’t genuinely interested in
muggle technology. “How is she?”

“Daphne? She’s fine, I suppose. She mentioned wanting to take Scorpius to the beach one
weekend.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Are you going too?”

Draco shrugged. “He said he’d like me to.”

“Do you know where?”

“Not yet.”

“Next weekend, perhaps?”

“No, probably not.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Now she’ll suggest a gala or some
dreadful social event.

“Actually,” she began, her tone growing deliberate, “I was wondering if you’d like to
accompany me to a fundraiser. It would be nice if you went out more... and were seen.”

Of course it would.

For her, not for him.

He sighed inwardly. “I’ll think about it.”

“Please do,” she said firmly, fixing him with a meaningful look.

Recently, her efforts to match him with suitable women had become relentless. She insisted it
was for his own good, claiming she didn’t want him to grow old alone. But Draco wasn’t
lonely.

Whenever the pang of desire struck, he knew where to go. There were always parties hosted
by friends, surrounded by familiar faces he could trust.
He’d even tried going into muggle areas with Blaise and Theo a few times, but creating a
believable backstory without exposing his true identity had been exhausting. So, he stuck to
the same close-knit group of friends, mutual connections, and trusted acquaintances.

The last time he’d been with someone was far too long ago, at one of Theo’s parties in April,
or perhaps it was May. She was a petite blonde they’d gone to Hogwarts with. Sarah or Tara,
something like that. Two or three years below them. Definitely not Slytherin. She wasn’t
clever enough to have been a Ravenclaw, and she lacked the overt bravery of a Gryffindor.
Hufflepuff, then, by process of elimination.

She was the one who took him to one of the rooms and sucked him off, and he didn't even
have to ask. And then, to his delight, she had been just as eager to have a quick shag
afterwards. Draco had made sure to reciprocate. He was a gentleman, after all.

So no, he wasn’t alone.

But his mother didn’t need to hear the finer details.

“Dad! Grandma! Look!” Scorpius called out, his voice bright with excitement.

Draco and his mother turned to see him flying low to the ground, a few peacocks flapping
clumsily around him. Even in their ungainly flight, they looked magnificent.

“Oh, wow, Scorpius! Look at you!”

“Be careful not to hit them, dear!” Narcissa called out. “They’re very gentle creatures.”

“I won’t, don’t worry, granny!” Scorpius laughed.

The peacocks soon landed, regaining their poised elegance on the ground.

“Will you stay for lunch?” his mother asked Draco, still watching Scorpius. “I can have
Popsy make some curry for him, you know how much he loves it when she makes it.”

“Oh, Dissy’s already expecting us for lunch at home. Do you want to come along?”

She smiled warmly and gave his hand a light squeeze. “I’d love to.”

When they flooed back to Draco’s flat, he had Dissy prepare a bath for Scorpius. As they
waited in the dining room for Scorpius to finish, his mother spoke up. “I ran into Anne
Beaufort at the gala you decided to skip last week.”

“Oh?” Draco replied, ignoring her pointed remark.

“Yes. She’ll be staying in London until the end of the month. You remember her, don’t you?”

“Only from your stories,” he said lightly, already wary of where this might be heading.

“She’s a distant cousin. Through… the Lestranges,” she added, shifting uncomfortably. “I
was thinking of inviting her to dinner next week.”
“That sounds nice,” he replied, deliberately nonchalant.

“She brought her children with her, you know,” Narcissa said, her tone carefully casual.

“Did she?” Draco raised a brow.

“Yes. The son, Henry, is quite young. Just graduated from Beauxbatons last year.”

He nodded. So it's not Anne. She's too old for me then.

“The daughter, Isabelle, is older. Mid-twenties,” she added.

And there it is.

The daughter.

“She’s an artist. Has her own gallery.” His mother attempted a disinterested tone but failed to
mask it. “A very elegant and polite girl. She was at the gala, too.” She glanced at her nails,
feigning detachment. “If I invite them, would you consider joining us for dinner?”

Draco felt his annoyance flare. “Sure, I think Scorpius would enjoy practising his French
with someone other than me or his tutor.”

She sighed. “Would you be interested in meeting someone new?”

“Mother…” he said warningly.

“Don’t mother me,” she snapped, her frustration showing. “I’m simply asking. Can’t a
mother ask a question?”

“You always ask,” he retorted, exasperated. “And I always avoid answering. Why are you
acting like this is a new issue?”

“I just…” She threw her hands up, looking defeated. “I’m worried about you.”

“Why? Because I don’t have a steady girlfriend?”

“Well…” She hesitated, clearly uncomfortable.

Good.

Let her squirm a bit.

“I don’t know,” she admitted finally.

Draco sighed heavily. “Mother, I don’t think either of us wants to have this conversation
about my private life.”

“I just want you to be happy. That sort of…” She shook her head, searching for the right
words. “That sort of bachelor lifestyle can’t bring you happiness.”
“I find it rather satisfying from time to time,” he muttered.

“Don’t be crude, Draco. It’s unbecoming.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s just…”

He was saved from continuing by his son bounding into the room, his hair damp and cheeks
rosy from his bath.

“All done, Scorp?” Draco asked.

“Yes, all clean and ready to eat!” Scorpius announced proudly, taking a seat next to his
grandmother and across from Draco.

His mother waved her wand, drying his hair with a simple charm before planting a kiss on the
top of his head.

“Great. Dissy!”

With a soft pop , she appeared.

“We’re ready to eat now. So whenever you’re ready,” Draco said, feeling a sense of relief as
lunch promised a change of subject.

They enjoyed the meal, and his mother, thankfully, refrained from pressing him further.

But perhaps that private dinner wouldn’t be so awful. It was not a grand gala. Scorp would be
there, at least, and he could always use his son as an excuse to make an early exit if things
turned unbearable.

Father of the year.

Dissy served some homemade ice cream for dessert, the kind that made you savour every
bite. Scorp polished off two generous servings before his mother intervened with a firm,
“That’s enough.” Draco, however, mouthed “Later,” to his son, who nodded with a
conspiratorial smirk.

He might have his mother’s eyes, but that smirk was pure Malfoy.

"Do you mind if I use your floo? I need to ask Andromeda something," his mother asked as
they finished dessert.

"Of course. The one in the living room’s free," Draco replied.

She nodded her thanks and left.

Turning to Scorpius, he gestured to the empty bowl. "Enjoyed that, did you?"

"Very much. I think raspberry might be my favourite flavour."

"Raspberry? Really? Mine’s probably chocolate. Or caramel. Or vanilla."

"You can’t pick all of them! Choose one!" Scorpius grinned, clearly entertained.

Draco pretended to deliberate. "Caramel. Definitely caramel."

His mother returned a few moments later, standing by the door. "I’m heading over to
Andromeda’s now. We’ll have some tea. Care to join me?"

"Oh, let’s go, dad, please!" Scorpius chimed in eagerly. "I want to see Teddy!"

Draco sighed and rolled his eyes. "Do I have to?"

Scorpius nodded, pulling out the secret weapon - wide, pleading eyes.

He caved with a grumble. "Fine, let’s go."

They flooed to his aunt’s house, and as Draco stepped out of the fireplace, Draco brushed a
bit of soot from his black trousers and glanced around the living room.

The walls were lined with photographs, most of Teddy, with a variety of friends and family
members. He spotted images of Nymphadora and Ted, captured in frozen or animated
moments that told stories of years gone by.

Andromeda appeared from the kitchen, briefly surprised. "Draco! I didn’t know you’d be
coming along." She pulled him into a hug, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. “I thought
Saturdays were for your... quidditch matches with friends?"

"Hi, Aunt Andromeda," Scorpius interjected, wriggling between them to give her a hug as
well.

"Hello, love. It’s lovely to see you." She kissed his head affectionately.

"I injured my shoulder, so I had to skip this week," Draco explained, shrugging. "We didn’t
mean to intrude."

"Nonsense," she said, waving away his concern. "I just wasn’t expecting you. How’s the
shoulder? Still painful?"

"It’s fine now," Draco replied. She nodded sympathetically.

"And you, Scorpius? Would you like some tea?"

"Yes, please! Where’s Teddy?" he asked, glancing eagerly around the room.

Andromeda exchanged a look with Draco and his mother before replying. "He’s not here at
the moment, but he’ll be back soon. Would you like to help me? I’ve got an electric kettle
now."

"Oh yes, please!" Scorpius’ excitement was almost comical as he followed her to the kitchen.
Draco could hear her patiently explaining how to use it, with a gentle but firm voice. Smiling
faintly, he moved towards the window on the far side of the room, peering out to take in the
quiet street beyond.

Andromeda’s house had a lovely, long front garden, bordered by tall trees along the fence that
offered some privacy. Two neat strips of concrete stretched from the garage to the road,
leading to a small gate that stood ajar. Draco imagined her late husband must have owned a
car, likely parked right there. He frowned slightly at the open gate, but the neighbourhood
seemed peaceful and secure enough for such things. The house wasn’t fortified with any
extraordinary wards, just a few for privacy.

"What are you looking at?" His mother joined him at the window, peering out alongside him.

"Nothing. Just some kids playing." Draco nodded towards the street.

A group of children dashed about, their laughter mingling with the rhythmic thud of a ball
bouncing on the pavement.

A car rolled past, and he heard a woman’s voice call out, "Be careful crossing the road,
Olivia! Hold your brother’s hand!"

Draco smiled faintly.

Kids were the same everywhere, carefree and reckless.

Andromeda floated a tray with cups and a teapot to the coffee table. Scorpius had already
claimed a chair and was looking expectantly at the spread.

"It’s a new blend I’m trying," she said with a small smile. "I hope you’ll enjoy it."

Scorpius picked up his cup, skipping the saucer. "Can I take mine to Teddy’s room? I promise
not to touch anything. He has interesting books, that’s all." He glanced at Andromeda.
"Please?"

"Of course, dear. I imagine we’re not particularly riveting company." She smiled kindly.

They chatted for a while, the conversation flowing easily, and Draco lost track of time until
the golden hues of sunset began filtering into the room.

"Where’s Teddy, by the way?" his mother asked suddenly.

Andromeda glanced at Draco before replying. "Hermione took him and Albus out for a drive.
Albus is Harry’s middle child, Cissy," she added.

Draco stiffened.

Brilliant.

So she’ll be back.
With Potter’s kid.

Fantastic.

"Oh. I thought she lived abroad now," his mother murmured.

"She does, but she’s back for a few months. Something to do with her book."

"Where does she live again? France?"

"Spain," Draco said automatically, regretting it the moment Andromeda raised an eyebrow in
his direction. He cringed inwardly.

"Ah, yes. Spain. I knew it was somewhere like that."

His mother’s attempt at neutrality was unconvincing. Draco and Andromeda could both read
her discomfort.

Bloody hell.

Why did I agree to this?

I should go.

"Yes, he flooed to her place this morning," Andromeda continued. "They had lunch there, and
she said she’d bring him and Albus back this evening." She glanced out the window. "They
should arrive soon. It can’t take more than an hour by car."

Silence settled over them, punctuated by the occasional distant sounds of the neighbourhood.

A car passed by, but it wasn’t hers.

"This driving business seems like such a waste of time," his mother remarked softly. She was
definitely uneasy.

Kill me now.

Why am I even here?

"Muggles build their lives around it," Andromeda said. "I doubt they even notice anymore."

"That makes sense," she replied, though her tone suggested her thoughts were elsewhere.

Draco carefully set his cup down, trying to avoid making noise.

Why am I nervous?

She’s the one who’ll feel awkward around me.

And now she’s going to be caught off guard.

Another car approached.

Still not hers.

"Albus is staying the night," Andromeda said, her eyes on Draco. "There’s a birthday party at
Harry’s tomorrow."

"His birthday?"

"Yes."

"Are any of your friends going?" his mother asked.

"Daphne and Theo. Pansy, probably."

Andromeda’s gaze flicked back to Draco. "Albus is the same age as Scorpius."

He nodded absently. "Oh, right. I thought he was older."

Didn’t Theo say the kid was starting Hogwarts this year?

"No, that’s James."

"Ah, yes." He grimaced inwardly.

Three kids.

Of course. He knew that.

I should leave.

"Maybe they could meet?" Andromeda suggested gently. "Albus is a sweet boy, but
Hermione says he struggles to make friends."

Draco rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the warmth creep up.

Sweating.

Fucking fantastic.

"Sure. Since they’ll all be here anyway..."

It was definitely this car now.

The rumble was louder than before.

Draco glanced at the window, and caught sight of a large, red car rolling onto the property.

So that’s why the gate had been left open.

As it came to a stop, the sound of the door opening and closing carried through the quiet
evening, accompanied by muffled voices.

Scorpius bolted down the stairs, visibly excited, his eyes wide. “Someone brought a car right
up to your house, Aunt Andromeda!”

“Yes, dear, that’ll be Teddy and his... friends,” she said with a fond smile.

“Can I go outside and see?” he was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Oh, Scorpius, I don’t think…” his mother began, but Draco cut her off.

“It’s alright, Scorp. Go ahead.”

Might as well get this over with.

With a grin, he dashed through the hallway. Draco listened to the front door creak open and
as his son went outside. He took a steadying breath, jaw tightening. He could feel his shirt
clinging uncomfortably to his back.

Perfect.

Just perfect.

“I should probably go after him and...” He trailed off, glancing at Andromeda.

She frowned slightly but nodded in agreement.

The door hadn’t fully latched when Scorpius went out, leaving it slightly ajar. Draco
approached carefully, standing just behind it, listening. He wasn’t ready to step through yet.

“My aunt Daphne has a friend named Hermione too,” Scorpius said casually.

“Oh, that’s me,” came Granger’s voice, unfamiliar at first.

Draco blinked.

Her voice was deeper than he remembered. Of course, she wasn’t a schoolgirl anymore. She
was a thirty-something-year-old woman, and that reminder sent a flicker of anxiety rippling
through him.

“Really? That’s you? You look different in photos,” he remarked with childlike honesty.

Granger laughed lightly. “I might’ve had different hair in some of those old pictures.”

“Hermione is an unusual name.”

“So is Scorpius.”

Draco huffed softly. No, it’s not.

“I don’t think so. It’s the name of a constellation, you know,” Scorp said with a matter-of-fact
tone.

“Really? I didn’t know that.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

Scorpius, oblivious, continued eagerly. “Yeah, my dad is named after a constellation too.”

“Uh-huh...”

Draco flinched at her tone.

She hadn’t even tried to hide her discomfort. He cursed himself inwardly.

I should’ve dealt with this sooner.

Alone. Without Scorpius to witness it.

“Why did your parents name you Hermione?”

“There’s a play they loved, and one of the characters in it is called Hermione,” she explained.

“What play?”

“It’s called The Winter’s Tale. ” There it was, that swotty undertone he remembered all too
well. “It’s by a Muggle playwright by William Shakespeare. He’s…”

“Oh, I know him! He’s famous.”

Draco smirked. Tell her, Scorp.

“He... he is,” Granger said with a surprised tone. “You know about Shakespeare?”

“Yeah. My English tutor says he’s really important, and I have to read a lot of his stuff,”
Scorpius replied with a slight groan. “I had to read something about summer nights, but it’s
hard to understand him.”

“A Midsummer Night’s Dream? ”

“Yes, I think so.”

She chuckled. “Yeah, his language is a bit old-fashioned. It takes getting used to…”

“Oi, Scorp, come here with us!” Teddy’s voice cut in. “Hermione, can we all sit inside again
and play some music?”

“Of course,” she replied warmly.

Draco straightened.
It was time to stop lingering in the shadows and face her.

Granger stood a few steps away from the stairs leading to the door, her back to him,
rummaging through her handbag. She hadn’t noticed him yet.

“Here you go.” Her voice was crisp as she tossed a set of keys to Teddy, who caught them
effortlessly. “Don’t touch anything but the radio, got it?”

“Of course. Oh, hey, Draco!”

Teddy’s sudden greeting made Granger stiffen.

She didn’t turn around.

“Hey, Teddy,” Draco replied smoothly.

He glanced between the two of them, and a faint blush coloured his cheeks. He was old
enough to know their history, or at least the parts of it. He could sense the tension lingering in
the air. He strolled back to the car, sneaking a quick glance over his shoulder before climbing
in.

Granger still hadn’t turned around.

Draco tried to keep his movements casual as he descended the stairs to stand beside her. She
seemed taller than he remembered, but then again, it had been years since they’d been this
close. The last time must have been back at school when they were teenagers. He hadn’t
dared to stand this close to her during... well, during that time at the Manor. Don’t go there.
Just stop.

She wore heels and something black, either a dress or a skirt, though it was hard to tell with
the oversized blazer draped over her shoulders. Her hair was a mess, with a few strands
escaping the haphazard bun perched on her head. Gold hoop earrings caught the fading
sunlight, a bold contrast to the dark jacket.

She watched the boys in the car, though it was clear her mind was elsewhere. Draco studied
her, willing her to feel his gaze and turn around.

She didn’t.

As he looked closer, he noticed the frown creasing her face and the way her arms were
crossed tightly over her chest. The car radio played some muggle tune in the background,
filling the silence that stretched between them. Draco opened his mouth to speak but found
himself unsure where to begin.

“So, this is your son,” she said at last.

He bristled, a flicker of annoyance sparking in his chest. “No, never met him before. Why
would you think that?” he drawled.

Finally, she turned to face him.

The sun was setting behind her, its golden rays catching her silhouette and forcing him to
squint. He shifted slightly, trying to get a better view without seeming too obvious about it.
He shouldn’t stare, but he couldn’t stop himself.

She looked different yet somehow just the same. Fine lines framed her eyes and furrowed
brows, and freckles speckled her face not covered by makeup or charms. There was a touch
of something brown and golden around her eyes, subtle but striking.

Her expression was as familiar as it was frustrating. Disdain, maybe even a flicker of hatred,
mixed with that insufferable air of superiority she always seemed to radiate.

“You’re right,” she said coolly. “He’s polite and clearly well-versed in muggle literature. I
can’t imagine what made me think the two of you could possibly be related.”

She huffed, crossing her arms even tighter.

Draco suspected his expression betrayed him, as Granger’s smirk deepened. Her eyes flicked
over him quickly, scanning from head to toe, before she returned her attention to the children.
He seethed but refused to let her see it. Instead, he repeated her own advice in his head.

Ignore her. It’s not worth it.

Shifting his focus, he watched the children in the car. Teddy and Scorpius sat up front,
chatting away, while Potter’s boy was squeezed into the back seat between them, looking
equally animated.

“Didn’t peg you for a sports car type,” Draco remarked, eyeing the sleek design of the
vehicle.

He wasn’t an expert on cars, but even he could recognise as much.

“You don’t know me well enough to strike you as anything, really,” she shot back. Then, with
a scoff, she added, “Speaking of striking, is your nose all right?”

Draco nearly rolled his eyes.

A childish jab.

“Peachy,” he bit out through clenched teeth.

“Hmm. So, I didn’t hit hard enough.”

“Well, that was the only chance you’d ever get.”

A tense silence fell between them, broken only by the faint sound of the car radio and the
muffled voices of the boys. Draco watched her closely, noting how her eyes darted about and
how her foot tapped lightly against the pavement. At one point, she pressed a hand to her
chest, moving it in slow circles.

A nervous habit, no doubt.

Funny. Daphne used to do the same thing when she was anxious.

I wonder who picked it up from whom.

Then, her expression shifted. The tension in her face melted away, but her eyes betrayed her.
They moved quickly, as though she was trying to hold back tears. His irritation began to
dissolve, replaced by an uncomfortable pang of guilt.

He felt like a complete idiot for being angry with her. She didn't know he was here, and he
had had time to prepare.

Draco shifted his weight awkwardly, a tight knot forming in his stomach. He’d never been
good at apologies, never knew where to start or how much to say. But he had to say
something.

With a deep breath, he began. “Listen, Granger...”

She turned to him fully then, her entire body facing his. Her expression was unreadable,
though the subtle clench of her jaw and the slight sheen in her eyes hinted at the emotion
bubbling just under the surface. He didn’t need legilimency to know what was going through
her mind. It was painfully obvious.

And yet, he froze. What was he meant to say?

Sorry… but for what, exactly?

Sorry I bullied you?

Sorry you were tortured in my house, in front of my whole family, by my own family?

Sorry it’s taken me almost fifteen bloody years to say it? Or sorry I probably wouldn’t have
said anything at all if we hadn’t accidentally run into each other here?

No, none of that would cut it.

He must’ve stood there looking like an idiot, mouth open, words failing to form, because she
blinked rapidly, cleared her throat, and plunged her arm into her handbag. It was probably
charmed to expand, given how deep she reached.

That’s when he noticed.

The dress.

She was wearing a short black dress beneath the oversized blazer. He could see it clearly
now, and for some reason, it threw him completely.

Granger pulled something out of her bag and gave it a quick tap with her wand. The item
expanded into its full size and it was a large crate brimming with produce. Nestled amongst
the fruit and vegetables was a bottle of wine, with the same label as the one Draco had at
Daphne's. She bent her knees slightly to get a proper grip before hefting the crate into her
arms. Without a word, she headed towards the house, the heavy load balanced as if it were
nothing.

Draco hesitated.

Should he warn her that his mother was inside?

But the moment she reached the sitting room door, it became clear she’d already figured it
out. He saw her stiffen, no doubt recognising the voices of his mother and aunt.

She glanced back at him briefly, then knocked lightly on the already open door. “Good
evening, Mrs Malfoy,” she greeted politely.

“Good evening, Miss Granger,” his mother replied with a small smile.

The scent of her perfume lingered in the hallway when he decided to follow her into the
room.

“Oh, there you are,” Andromeda chimed in, turning in her chair. “Were the boys much
trouble?”

Granger chuckled softly. “No, not at all. They’re always great. I just thought I’d drop this
off…”

Draco made his way into the room, retaking his previous seat.

“Oh, how lovely,” Andromeda said warmly as she eyed the crate. “I loved this wine. How
kind of you to remember.”

“Actually, my dad remembered,” Granger said, her cheeks flushing as she avoided their eyes.
“He said you were the only one who appreciated this Tempranillo.”

Andromeda turned to his mother and Draco. “I’ve never cared much for sweet wines,” she
remarked.

She nodded graciously. “Yes, of course.”

“Would it be alright if I put this in the kitchen?” Granger asked, already heading that way
without waiting for an answer.

“Of course. Let me help you.”

Draco watched as they disappeared into the room. His mother placed a light hand on his
knee. “Everything alright?”

“Yes,” he replied curtly, though his gaze lingered on the warm orange light spilling into the
hall from the kitchen, the sun setting beyond the window. He could hear Granger and
Andromeda talking in hushed tones.

“Would it be alright if I left my car here? I’ll come back for it tomorrow morning.”
 “Of course, dear. Are you sure you’re…?”

“Yes, yes, it’s fine,” she interrupted, her voice slightly strained. “I just don’t feel like driving
back tonight. Could I use your floo to get to Harry’s?”

“In the sitting room.”

“Thanks. I’ll just say something to Teddy and Al, and…”

Draco caught sight of her through the window a moment later as she spoke to the boys, her
voice carrying faintly into the room. When she returned, her cheeks were still red, and she
avoided his gaze, glancing instead at the walls or the floor.

“I just told Teddy how to lock the doors and how to put the roof up…” She trailed off,
looking momentarily self-conscious. “I should be going. Sorry for interrupting your
evening.”

“Nonsense, Miss Granger,” his mother said smoothly. “You didn’t disrupt a thing.”

Granger nodded stiffly. “Good evening, then.”

Without sparing him so much as a glance, she stepped into the floo and vanished after stating
her destination.

Draco stared at the empty hearth, his jaw tightening.

Granger had ignored him entirely, as if he were beneath her notice.

And he hated it.

Oh, so now you don’t want to be ignored?

Chapter End Notes

Draco's flat in London https://www.pinterest.com/tpzzz1105/in-the-mood-for-

truth/dracos-flat-in-london/
 Hermione

August 2012

Hermione stepped out of the fireplace and turned to look at it. Breathe. She had always liked
the red bricks.

She glanced down at her dress. Breathe. It still felt like a small miracle whenever she used
the floo and emerged without a speck of ash or dust on her, especially in black.

"I'm here!" Her voice was higher than usual, strained even.

Ginny and Harry were already settled in the kitchen. She was wrapped in a bathrobe, flipping
through a magazine, while Harry, dressed in a crisp white shirt and jeans, sat with damp hair,
freshly showered.

Breathe.

"Oh, I do love how early you always are," Ginny said, barely glancing up from her reading.
"You can help me choose what to wear. I’ve got two dresses to pick from."

"Sure!" Hermione gripped the back of a chair. Breathe.

Harry gave her a look. "Were the kids all right?"

"Oh, yes. They're never any trouble." She waved a hand dismissively, her eyes darting around
the kitchen.

Anxiety prickled at her skin.

Her fingers brushed over the beads on her bag’s handle. Breathe.

"I left the bottle of vodka I got for you in my car."

Harry shrugged. "That’s all right. I don’t drink vodka anyway." His eyes narrowed slightly.

"Well, someone else might."

She fiddled with her earring, gaze flitting anywhere but towards them. Breathe.

"Where’s your car?" Ginny asked, lazily flipping another page.

"At Andromeda’s. I’ll pick it up tomorrow."

"Cool." Harry was still watching her, his frown deepening. "What’s up with you?"
"Oh, nothing much." She picked up a magazine, turned a few pages, just to hear the sound of
it. "She was having tea with Malfoy and his mother."

Ginny’s head snapped up. "What?"

Hermione nodded, tapping the spine of the magazine against the table. Breathe. "Yeah. When
I got there, Andromeda was having tea with Malfoy and his mother."

Harry exhaled slowly, stepping towards her like she was some wounded animal. She could
hear his shoes against the floor. Breathe.

"Are you all right?" He was close enough now that she caught the scent of his aftershave or
shampoo. It was nice.

No point lying. I should be honest.

"No."

"Sit down," he said, firm but gentle.

"Okay."

She sank into the chair next to Ginny, who was frowning at her now. She smelled fresh,
clean. Breathe.

"I’d offer you a drink," Harry said, watching her closely, "but you’re all jumpy and on edge. I
don’t think that’s a great idea."

"You’re right." Hermione nodded. "Can I have a glass of water?" Breathe.

Harry conjured one without another word.

"So?" Ginny hesitated as if she might reach for Hermione’s hand but decided against it. "Did
something happen?"

Hermione downed the entire glass. The cold water soothed her. Finally, she could breathe
again.

"Nothing happened," she said, but her unsteady voice betrayed her, making her eyes sting
even more. "Not that anything explicitly needs to happen with me, apparently, because I’m a
weak, pathetic little bitch who gets upset at the mere mention or presence of certain people."

Ginny grabbed her hand. "Hermione, stop."

Harry stepped closer. "You are not weak."

"I am." She nodded, dangerously close to tears. Her eyes burned. Brilliant. I’m going to mess
up my makeup. Just great. "He didn’t even say two full sentences to me, and I was about to
cry."
"So?"

His tone irritated her. "What do you mean, so ?"

"That doesn’t make you weak," Harry said, deliberately emphasising the last word.

Ginny squeezed her hand. "You are a bitch sometimes, but you’re not a pathetic bitch."

Hermione almost laughed.

"Gin, you’re not helping," Harry muttered.

"Actually, I think she is." Hermione had to admit she preferred Ginny’s approach.

"See?" she raised a smug eyebrow at her husband.

Harry rolled his eyes but turned back to Hermione. "What did you talk about?"

"Nothing. He said, what, two sentences to me? Wasn’t even rude, which was a surprise. His
son was there too. Nice kid. George was right."

She thought of the little boy, a perfect Malfoy copy at that age. But when he politely
introduced himself, he hadn’t sounded anything like the arrogant eleven-year-old she still
associated with the name Malfoy.

"Anyway," she went on, "I mentioned something about his son."

Her friends gave her a look.

"It wasn’t rude, I promise!" she added quickly.

They nodded, satisfied.

"He answered sarcastically. Then he made a comment about my car. I replied sarcastically
too, and... I think I was the one who came across as rude. That was all. But I was about to cry.
My arm hurts." She sighed, running her fingers through her hair, resting her elbows on the
table. "I hate myself for letting him get to me like that," she exhaled in one breath.

"Hey." Ginny’s voice had the firm edge she usually reserved for her misbehaving children.
"Don’t ever say shit like that under my roof, do you understand?"

Harry put a hand on his wife’s shoulder. "You haven’t seen him in years, haven’t spoken in
forever, Hermione. It’s a natural reaction. Unpredictable, sure, but natural." His Auror
instincts were kicking in now.

"I made a fool of myself in front of Andromeda and his mother." She nearly rubbed her eyes
before remembering her makeup. "They already look down on me. Well, not Andromeda, but
the other two."
"They..." Harry hesitated. He probably wanted to say something reassuring but caught
himself and settled for realism instead.

She appreciated that.

"Well, I don’t know if they do. They might. But... is that something…" He rubbed the back of
his neck. "I mean, is their opinion something that actually matters to you?"

Hermione let out a sharp sigh. "The two of them are just... and I know it’s stupid, but
Andromeda looks like her... and having them all in the same room… I just…" She exhaled. "
Everything came back. And I don’t want to be in that situation, in front of them or anyone
like them ever again."

Ginny traced circles over the back of her hand. "Oh, Hermione..." She looked like she wanted
to do more, to say more.

"Yeah, I think you could hug me now."

The chair scraped against the floor as Ginny stood and pulled Hermione into a strong, Molly-
like embrace.

For a while, they just stood there. Her heartbeat slowed to something normal again. It was
easier now, with all the stupid thoughts out in the open.

"Why would you say you made a fool of yourself in front of them?" Harry asked eventually.

"Because I was acting like this." She wanted to gesture but found it more comfortable to stay
curled into Ginny's embrace. Her bathrobe was soft, the steady rise and fall of her chest oddly
soothing. "And they didn’t."

He nodded. "Maybe they were on edge too, just better at pretending."

"Perhaps."

Hermione had noticed that Malfoy seemed uncomfortable in her presence. Then again, when
wasn’t he? He’d always had that look on his face around her. At school, certainly, but even on
the few occasions they'd crossed paths afterwards.

When was the last time she saw him?

Someone’s birthday, maybe?

Four, five years ago?

Definitely before Spain. She hadn’t seen him since moving.

And yet now, he'd spoken to her with relative civility, something she had never experienced
from him before. His face had matured, but she couldn't look at him too long without feeling
the sting in her eyes.
Maybe he'd noticed. Maybe he’d wanted to say something.

Should I have let him?

God, she was pathetic.

No. He doesn’t deserve anything from me.

His mother had seemed uneasy too despite managing to look superior to everyone in the
room. Her robes were too expensive-looking, and Malfoy himself had shown up in a
perfectly pressed shirt and tailored trousers, absurdly overdressed for a simple afternoon tea
with his aunt. Meanwhile, Hermione had worn the dress she bought online during the
Christmas sales, paired with her mum’s blazer from the nineties. The thought of being
embarrassed by that made her cringe.

"You smell nice," she murmured suddenly, her thoughts shifting. She felt calmer now.

"I baked some cupcakes," Ginny said softly. "Added some of Luna’s special herbs. You
might want to have one to relax."

Hermione turned her head slowly.

Ginny was grinning.

"Harry," she said, deadpan, "did your wife spike the cupcakes with weed?"

"I think she did," he replied, smiling weakly. "I think I might need it to survive tonight. Are
you alright now?"

"I think so." She was breathing better now, which meant it was time for the inevitable shame.
"Thank you. And... I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made it about myself."

"Hey, come on. This is more important." Ginny pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"If you want us to cancel the party and stay in with you instead..." Harry began, but cut
himself off at his wife’s warning look. "I’m joking ! I can’t wait for the party..."

Hermione watched as Ginny left to get ready.

"...to be over," he added under his breath.

She chuckled.

Ginny had been right. The cupcake had helped. By the time guests started arriving an hour
later, it was easy enough to forget the earlier events. Even Harry seemed more at ease after
devouring a second cupcake.

Deciding against drinking too much, Hermione stuck to a single glass of white wine.
Ginny looked stunning as she weaved through the guests in her lilac tube dress. Hermione
had always thought violet shades complemented her hair beautifully. The dress hugged her
perfectly, stopping just below the knees, making her look even taller in her strappy heeled
sandals.

She had an incredible physique as it was, but being an athlete certainly didn’t hurt.

When the party started, someone conjured a sign above the cupcakes warning of potential
side effects after Neville had one too many and promptly fell asleep. Ron and Harry helped
Lavender carry him to one of the bedrooms to rest.

Ginny had invited a lot of their old Gryffindor friends, many of whom Hermione hadn’t seen
in years. Dean and Seamus were now living in Ireland, with Dean working in the marketing
department of a football club, while Seamus had a similar role at a local quidditch team.
Angelina and Alicia had also reunited after years apart. Angelina now worked at the Ministry,
and Alicia was a reporter for a well-respected magazine.

Unfortunately, McLaggen was also there, thanks to his job alongside Harry at the Ministry.
He greeted Hermione with an overly tight hug, his hand lingering far too low on her back as
he leaned in, far too close, to say hello.

She quickly signalled George for help with a quick glance, and he appeared just in time to
ask for her assistance in the kitchen, allowing her to escape McLaggen's unwanted advances.

"Thank you," she whispered to George once they were safely in the kitchen. She was about to
leave him to chat with Padma when Parvati grabbed her arm.

"Wait, I’m coming with you. I cannot listen to them anymore," she said, jerking her head
toward Padma and George. "They start flirting disgustingly when they’re left in the relative
dark with some alcohol."

Hermione chuckled. "Balcony?"

Parvati nodded.

On their way, they passed Oliver, who was with a woman. He gave Hermione a nod but
didn’t stop to chat. Their breakup had been far from amicable.

They found Luna already out on the balcony. The night air was cool, the music muffled, and
for once, the air wasn’t thick with smoke.

"There must be at least fifty people in there," Hermione said, looking over the railing. "I
don’t know half of them."

"Fifty-seven," Luna corrected dreamily, gazing up at the stars.

Parvati shrugged. "I know most of the Ministry lot and some of the women from Ginny’s
team, I suppose." She took a sip of her drink. "Harry’s awfully popular."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I imagine so."

Parvati gave her a once-over. "Nice dress."

Hermione had shed her blazer at some point. She was wearing a sleeveless high-neck dress
that barely reached mid-thigh, the firm material fitting her body perfectly.

"Thanks. It was on sale. You look great too."

"I borrowed this from Lavender." Parvati gestured to her flowy, peach-coloured dress. Short,
but with long sleeves. "She insisted."

"Looks good on you. She has good taste."

"Uh-huh."

They stood in companionable silence for a while.

"We should take pictures while we all look nice," Luna said absently.

She wore a surprisingly simple, light pink dress, delicate and effortlessly pretty.

Hermione nodded, reaching for her phone. "I just realised I don’t have many recent pictures
of us."

Before she could take one, the balcony door swung open.

"Oh, I can do that for you!" Theo said.

"You know how to use it?" Hermione teased.

He rolled his eyes. "Please, Hermione. I’m an expert in muggle technology." He paused.
"Among my friends, at least."

Luna smiled. "Take one of us first, then we can do more together."

She pulled Hermione and Parvati into a pose, and the flash went off.

"Alright, that one was good. Now with me." Theo joined them, snapping a few selfies.

"Oh, there you are," Daphne appeared on the balcony, frowning at Theo. "You left me alone
with all those Ministry workers. I don’t know how to talk to them." She took a sip of her
whiskey.

"You didn’t need to talk at all," he said, not looking up as he scrolled through the pictures.
"You could just smile and blink, and they’d agree with whatever you said."

She rolled her eyes. "I want pictures too. We all look nice tonight. That rarely happens."

Parvati scoffed. "Speak for yourself. I always look fabulous." She flipped her long black hair
over her shoulder.

"That you do," Theo agreed with a wink.

"What are you lot doing out here?" Pansy wandered onto the balcony, looking unimpressed
until she spotted the camera. "Taking pictures?! Oh, I want in."

Theo, surprisingly patient, continued as their photographer for the next few minutes.

"Pans, stand next to Granger," he directed.

The two of them hugged and looked at the camera.

"Can you kiss, maybe?" he suggested.

Hermione placed a dramatic kiss on Pansy’s cheek, waiting for the flash.

"Oh, okay, that’s not what I had in mind, but…"

"Oh, for fuck’s sake, Theo," Daphne muttered.

They took a few more pictures before Pansy turned to Hermione.

"Can you send me copies? Like, physical copies?"

Hermione nodded. "Yeah, I’ll have them printed sometime next week."

"Cool. I want them too," Theo added, handing back her phone.

"Alright, I’ll owl them to you," she said, slipping the phone into her bag. "I’m off to the loo."

"I’m coming with you," Daphne said, following her inside.

They reached the bathroom door and tried the handle, but it was locked. Daphne pressed her
ear against the wood, frowning slightly before breaking into a smirk.

"Do you hear that?"

"No, what?"

"Listen. Someone is shagging inside."

Hermione pressed her ear against the door. It took a second, but then… A chorus of muffled
moans filtered through the wood.

"Oh, my God, you're right." She jerked away and immediately cast a silencing charm just as
McLaggen came swaggering towards them.

"Ladies," he greeted, throwing an arm over both their shoulders. "How are we this fine
evening? Might I just say, you both look exquisite?"

Daphne smirked. "Why, thank you. You’re not so bad yourself."

McLaggen grinned at her, but Hermione ducked out from under his arm, shaking him off like
an unwanted cloak.
"I'll try the bathroom downstairs."

She turned to leave, but Daphne caught her wrist. "Wait." She lowered her voice. "You
shagged McLaggen ages ago, didn't you?"

"Unfortunately."

"So… would you mind if I…?"

Hermione stared at her, appalled. "What? Why would you want to?!"

Daphne shrugged. "I don’t know. He’s a bit slimy, but not terrible to look at, and honestly?
I’m bored."

"Wait. Right now? You want to shag him now?"

"Yeah."

Hermione huffed, and shrugged. "I mean, do what you like, but he won’t let it go after."

"I can ignore him. And maybe he’s changed. It’s been years."

"Perhaps," Hermione said dryly. "We can compare notes after class."

Daphne laughed. "Alright, I’m off. Have fun."

A few minutes later, she stood at the sink, letting cool water run over her hands. She took a
deep breath and released it in a slow, contented sigh. The pounding bass from the party was
mercifully muted here, the bathroom a brief sanctuary from the heat and noise of the crowded
room.

Despite her earlier resolve to pace herself, she’d had more wine than intended. Warmth
settled in her limbs, her head pleasantly light.

She glanced at her reflection and decided that… she looked… nice. She lingered a moment,
clearing her head, until a sharp knock broke her peace.

"Occupied!"

"Hermione?"

"Come in."

Pansy slipped inside, scanning the room. "You vanished for ages, and I can't find Daphne."

Hermione let out a dry laugh. "She’s off somewhere with McLaggen."

She wrinkled her nose. "Intentionally?"

"Apparently, she’s bored."

"Gods. We need to do a better job entertaining her." Pansy shook her head. "McLaggen,
though? Really?"

Hermione chuckled. "Must be desperate."

Pansy approached the mirror, reapplying her lipstick with careful precision. "What are you
doing in here?"

"Cooling down. Where’s Charlie?"

"Making drinks. How was your day with Teddy and Al?"

"Fine. They mostly watched telly while I cooked and explained the rules of basketball."

Pansy hummed. "And… afterwards?"

Hermione exhaled heavily, narrowing her eyes. "Did Ginny talk to you?"

She turned slowly. "In her defence, she’s a bit tipsy. And you know how chatty she gets when
she’s had a few."

"Right." Hermione nodded, rubbing her temple. "Well, I’d rather not discuss it now, if that’s
alright with you. I’m having a perfectly pleasant evening, and I’m at that ideal stage of being
drunk. Just enough to have fun, but not enough for a hangover tomorrow."

Pansy gave a solemn nod and smoothly changed the subject. "How can you tell? I never
know when I’ve crossed the line."

"Experience." Hermione smirked. "Also, it helps not being incredibly lightweight."

She laughed. "Oh, by the way, they turned the smaller sitting room into a dance floor."

"Harry’s going to lose his mind."

Pansy snorted. "Are you joking? It was his idea."

Hermione burst into laughter, but another knock interrupted them.

"Occupied!" they called in unison.

"Pansy? Oh, please tell me you’re in there with Hermione," Theo said from the other side,
"and you’ll make me the happiest man alive."

She rolled her eyes and pulled open the door. "What’s up?" she asked.

Theo grinned. "What are we talking about?"

"Nothing," Hermione said quickly instead, grabbing his hand. "Let’s dance, shall we?" She
threw a wink over her shoulder at Pansy as she led him away.
They’d certainly turned the living room into a bit of a dance arena. Someone had conjured
disco balls, and confetti was flying everywhere. The DJ swapped the track to an old-school
slow jam, and Theo grabbed Hermione’s hand, guiding her to the centre of the impromptu
dance floor. The room seemed to split between those who knew every word of the song and
belted it out, and those who simply swayed to the rhythm.

People were crowded around them, and Hermione spotted Parvati dancing with Lavender.
She waved, and Parvati winked back. As the song changed to something more suited for slow
dancing, Theo’s movements smoothed out, his hand gliding up and down Hermione’s back in
perfect sync with the beat, but respectfully. I suppose I do appreciate the pureblood
upbringing sometimes.

Another slow song kicked in, and Theo began mouthing the lyrics.

"You know this one?" she asked.

"What?!" he shouted, so Hermione pulled him closer, lowering her voice to his ear.

"Do you know the song?"

"Yeah, everyone knows this song," he replied, brushing it off like it was nothing. He flashed a
smile now, his eyes studying her face, and she looked back at him.

Theo was actually really handsome. His striking green eyes seemed to glow under the disco
lights. He was tanner than her and had a mass of wavy brown hair. He reminded her of
David. I should probably look away… He’ll get the wrong idea.

"Not everyone," she said, glancing around the room to shift her focus.

Theo pulled her closer, and now she could feel his whole body against hers. This is definitely
not something they teach at ballroom dancing lessons.

Slowly, he moved her hands behind his neck and placed his own on her waist. "Well, they
clearly don’t have excellent taste," he teased, moving his hands in slow, deliberate strokes as
she let her fingers slip into the hair at the back of his neck. He clenched his jaw slightly.

"And you do?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Hermione didn’t know why she was flirting back when she knew she didn’t want things to go
further. But it felt nice. He was handsome, funny, and smelled divine. And she was a single
woman who could appreciate those things about him.

He squeezed her waist, drawing her closer to him. "I do, Hermione," he murmured, brushing
his lips over her ear as he spoke. A shiver ran through her. "I’ve developed quite the taste for
things I enjoy. Music, wine..."

"Women?" she cut in, her voice bold as she looked up at him.

"Yes, women, especially." His eyes wandered to her lips, his gaze lingering.
He moved his hands just a little lower to her hips, but then pulled them back quickly, clearly
testing the waters. She didn’t say anything, and there was something thrilling about it.

Hermione slid her hands deeper into his hair, but stopped herself before going too far. "How
drunk are you, Theo?"

She was surprisingly calm, though her body was reacting to the tension between them. She
could feel him growing more excited by the second.

"Not much," he replied, licking his lips. He moved his hips toward hers, just enough for her
to feel. "But say the word, and I’ll take a sobering potion. I want to be completely clear-
headed for this." His eyes were fixed on her lips, hunger in them.

She raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

Theo grinned. "To take our friendship to the next level." He pressed his fingers into her hips,
biting his lip.

"We're friends?" she joked, teasing.

"We're not?" he laughed. "Do you think I let just anyone grab my hair like that?"

She smirked. "Yes, you do. You like it."

She almost did it again, but stopped herself. Hermione didn’t want to push him further when
she wasn’t up for it. She let her hands fall to his neck and shoulders, and he licked his lips
again.

"Yeah, you’re right. You can keep doing it if you want to."

She blinked a few times and let out a slow breath. "I don’t think so, Theo."

He smiled, a hint of disappointment creeping into his expression. "And why not?" Then, he
grew serious, pushing her away just a little. "Oh, are you seeing someone?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, but I don’t want to mess this up." She met his gaze, moving
her hands to his arms. "Is that okay?"

"Of course." He returned his hands to her waist, this time more respectful. "I like you,
Hermione." He seemed more at ease now, less flirtatious. "And I’m not just saying that
because you’re good to Pans and Daph or because you’re fit ." Hermione rolled her eyes, and
he nodded with seriousness. "I’m saying it mostly because..." He gave her a pointed look.
"You have the inside scoop on some brilliant cheese, and I need to know where I can get it."

She blinked in confusion. "Cheese?"

"Yeah, cheese," he said, like it was the most normal thing. "Daphne told me you packed a lot
of things from Spain. I loved them all." He grabbed her gently by the shoulders. "I need to
know where I can buy that cheese."
Hermione grinned. "So, were you flirting with me just so you could make me your cheese
supplier when I get back?"

Theo smirked. "Yes, I was hoping you’d open your chamber of secrets for me."

She raised an eyebrow, amused.

"Secrets of Spanish cuisine, of course," he said innocently. "That’s what I meant."

She chuckled. "That was very Slytherin of you, trying to seduce me for what you want."

He shrugged. "Too bad it didn’t work."

"Oh, it was working, trust me. You’re difficult to say no to." She was being honest, and he
smirked again. "I tried my best to keep my cool. Turns out I’m much stronger than I thought,"
she said with a laugh.

He rolled his eyes and grinned. "Hermione, you must be one of the strongest people I know.
What are you on about?"

She grew serious for a moment, and he followed suit. Theo noticed the shift in the
atmosphere, his brow furrowing slightly. "Thank you," Hermione said, squeezing his arm. It’s
nice to hear that from someone who doesn’t feel obligated to say it.

His face softened. "You’re welcome. I mean it."

She met his gaze for a moment, then shook her head quickly to clear her thoughts. "Want to
head to the kitchen or something? I could tell you more about that cheese that thrilled your
taste buds."

"Of course." Theo smiled and followed her. "I’ve got a few questions about their railway
system too."

Hermione wasn’t sure if he was joking.

"What? I like trains."

"Sure, Theo."

It was nearly one o’clock when the first guests started making their way to the fireplace,
bidding their farewells and thanking Ginny and Harry for the fantastic party.

Hermione was still deep in conversation with Theo, who had confessed to really having a
surprising fondness for trains. He had never ridden the tube before, worried that he might
make a fool of himself with the tickets, escalators, and other curious muggle contraptions.
Hermione promised to take him on a tour one day and show him how it’s done.

As the night wore on, more guests began to leave, including Pansy and Charlie, who said
their goodbyes and headed home. Then Daphne finally arrived, her hair only slightly tousled.
Hermione raised an eyebrow at her, but she simply winked and mouthed ‘tomorrow’ before
making her exit.

“This was a delightful night, I think,” Padma remarked as she and Parvati wandered into the
kitchen. “I never thought I’d say this, but I miss seeing everyone. I haven’t seen Lisa and
Mandy in years.”

“Same here,” Parvati chimed in. “And I didn’t even know Oliver had an injury.”

“Yeah, it was a blow for the national team when he messed up his elbow,” Theo added, “Not
that I’m a huge fan, but Blaise and Draco mentioned it.”

Hermione clenched her jaw at the mention of his name but kept her expression neutral. “I
didn’t know Katie was coaching now. Were any other Slytherins here tonight?”

“No, just the three of us,” Theo said, flashing a grin. “I suppose that makes us The Golden
Trio.”

“Wouldn’t The Silver Trio be more appropriate?” Padma quipped.

“You’re right as always, Patil,” Theo agreed with a nod. “Only three Slytherins, huh?” He
paused, then added, “You Gryffindors are surprisingly bigoted.”

Hermione put her hand on her hip, feigning offence. “I beg your pardon, I’m a Ravenclaw.”

Theo rolled his eyes. “All the same, love.”

Just then, George walked in, rubbing his hands together with exaggerated theatrics. “So, did
we figure out who was shagging in the loo?”

“What?” Padma asked, looking startled.

“Oh, didn’t you hear?” he grinned. “Someone was shagging in the loo on the first floor.
We’ve got a little pool going to guess who it was.” He looked around. “My money’s on
McLaggen. He seemed rather pleased with himself when I asked around.”

“Harry and Ginny will have to scourgify the whole place,” Parvati smirked.

“They should leave it as it is,” Theo chuckled. “With so many muggleborns and blood traitors
in their ancestral home… and bathroom sex? The Blacks are rolling in their graves.”

Hermione laughed. “When poor Walburga Black hears about this, she’ll want to fiendfyre the
house.”

“Oh, I’d forgotten about her,” George scratched his chin. “How’s the old hag?”

“I don’t know. Haven’t seen her since she was moved to the third floor,” Hermione replied.
“The last time we spoke, over a decade ago, she screamed at me for seducing a pureblood
with my m… muggleborn ways and diverting him from his rightful, honourable path.”
Theo shook his head. “Did she forget that the Weasleys are blood traitors?”

“She started losing her marbles even when we were all here, years ago,” George nodded.
“Alright, folks, some of us actually work on Sundays, so good night,” he said, heading for the
door. “Do let me know if you find out more about the loo situation.” He winked at Padma
before flooing out.

She rolled her eyes at him.

“Was that George?” Ginny asked, walking into the kitchen and kicking off her shoes. “I was
just about to ask him something, but never mind. Where is everyone?”

“It’s gone past one, Ginny,” Parvati said.

“Is it really?” Harry glanced at his watch. “I didn’t even notice.”

Hermione smirked. “Of course you didn’t, dancing queen.”

Harry laughed.

Theo suddenly broke into song. “Young and sweet, only seventeen!” before abruptly
stopping. “How old are you now, anyway, Potter?”

“Same as you, Nott,” Harry said, adjusting his glasses. “Thirty-two.”

Theo feigned shock. “Me? Same as you? I don’t think so. I’m still in my mid-twenties.”

Ginny raised an eyebrow. “How long have you been in your mid-twenties, then?”

“For a while now,” he winked at her, standing up. “I should be off. You started with the
uncomfortable questions, and it can only go south from here.” He shook Harry’s hand.
“Happy birthday, mate. Good night, everyone.”

“What was that little thing you two were doing on the dancefloor?” Parvati asked as soon as
he left.

Hermione shrugged. “Nothing, just harmless flirting. He asked about my cheese.”

“Your cheese?”

“Yes, my cheese. From Spain.”

Padma nodded. “It is quite good cheese.”

“Okay, if you say so,” Parvati smirked. “For a moment, I thought it was you two in the loo in
question.”

“What? No! That was before,” Hermione replied, glancing at Harry and Ginny. “Was it you
two?”
“What?” Harry frowned. “Shagging in the bathroom of my own house?” He thought for a
moment. “No.”

Ginny narrowed her eyes slightly. “I did see Dean leaving the bathroom looking rather
pleased, though.”

Padma rolled her eyes. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, it was George and me. He was playing you
all.”

“What?!”

“What?” Padma shrugged. “He has a really good... Oh, Ginny. I don’t think you want to hear
this.”

She immediately agreed. “You’re absolutely right.” She grabbed Harry’s hand. “Let’s go.”

“To the loo?” they heard Harry whispering.

“To the loo,” Ginny confirmed, just as quietly.

Parvati turned to Padma. “So, he has a really good... what?”

“Hands and fingers technique,” she explained casually. “I think it’s the quidditch thing. They
just know how to grab you, you know?”

“It probably is,” Hermione agreed. “I should head off. We’ll talk soon.” She kissed both of
them and disappeared through the fireplace.

Hermione didn’t do much the following week.

She woke up early and had a nice, long chat with her parents. She’d been right with her
judgement and didn’t suffer from a hangover the next day, so she decided to go jogging
through her neighbourhood. The crisp morning air was invigorating, and it gave her a much-
needed sense of clarity.

Afterwards, she had breakfast with Andromeda, taking the opportunity to apologise for her
earlier behaviour. She had to admit that, all things considered, their accidental meeting had
gone well. Everyone had been polite and fake, but at least no one had cursed anyone out.

The next day, Hermione had a meeting with her publisher to discuss the upcoming edition of
her book. They also talked about the possibility of translating it into German and Russian. It
was a subject that left Hermione feeling slightly out of her depth, but she trusted her
publisher to make wise decisions and guide her through the process.

The day after, she met with her lawyers to discuss selling the rights to foreign publishing
companies. She had carefully selected a team of muggleborn or muggle-educated lawyers,
hoping they could explain everything in terms she could easily understand.
On her way back, she walked past George’s store and was tempted to tease him about Padma,
but when she peered inside, she spotted a small blond boy near the window. Malfoy’s son
was staring at her, his eyes narrowing at first, but quickly recognising her. He waved his little
hand, and Hermione assumed he was there with his father. She smiled and waved back before
quickly walking away.

The next day, she met with Luna and Padma for brunch near Luna’s shop. Padma reminded
her of the photos they had been taking all night, and when Hermione returned home, she sent
a bunch of them via email to be printed at the photography studio she often visited. She
planned to pick them up the following day before taking Crooks to the vet for his regular
checkup.

At the vet the next day, the doctor assured Hermione that Crooks was in good health,
considering his age. Afterward, she heard from Daphne and promised to meet her for a quick
coffee. She was near the narrow side street where many luxurious wizarding clothing stores
were located.

It didn’t take long for Hermione to spot her. She was sitting in the outdoor area with her
blonde ponytail, and she wasn’t alone.

Malfoy’s son was with her.

Hermione silently hoped it was just the two of them.

Daphne had her back to Hermione, so it was Scorpius who noticed her first. “Hello, Miss
Hermione,” he said ever so politely.

“Hi,” Hermione replied, leaning down to quickly kiss Daphne on the cheek before placing
Crooks’ transporter on the empty seat beside her and sitting down on another. “And oh God,
please, don’t call me Miss. Hermione is enough,” she added, smiling at Scorpius. “How are
you?”

“Aunt Daphne let me have some ice cream, and she promised I could take one to go, so now
I'm perfect!” he said, a bit of red ice cream smeared above his lips.

Daphne immediately instructed him to use a napkin.

Hermione nodded, lowering her voice slightly. “We could have skipped this if you two are
spending time together.”

“No, actually, I was waiting for you when Draco showed up and asked me to watch Scorp
while he picks up some suits,” Daphne explained, looking apologetic. “I should have said
something.”

Hermione shook her head. Why is he everywhere all of a sudden?

“No, it’s alright. We’re all adults.” She looked at Scorpius. “Well, except him.” She grinned.
“Is it any good?” she asked, nodding at his ice cream.
Scorpius nodded enthusiastically, but his gaze drifted back to Crooks’ transporter. “Is that
your cat?”

“Yes, he’s a half-kneazle,” Hermione said, rotating the transporter so the boy could see it
better. “His name is Crooks.”

He stood up from his chair and leaned over to get a closer look. “Oh, hi, Crooks!” he said,
attempting to pet the cat through the bars.

“He might scratch you, love. Be careful,” Daphne warned.

Hermione agreed. “Yeah, he doesn’t like anyone.”

“Does he like you?”

“Well, he has to. I’m the one who feeds him.”

“That’s funny,” Scorpius chuckled. “If I give him treats, will he like me too?”

Hermione paused, thinking for a moment. “You know, a friend asked me that too, and I
honestly don’t know.” She reached into her bottomless bag, pulling out a packet of cat treats.
“Here, try it.”

Scorpius carefully offered the treats to Crooks, who devoured them instantly. He even tried to
sniff the boy’s hand, but Scorpius quickly pulled it away.

“He didn’t scratch me,” he said, smiling up at Hermione.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, he’s always on his best behaviour around strangers. But as soon as
we’re home, believe me, he turns into a little beast.”

Scorpius laughed. “That’s funny. I don’t have any pets.” His eyes widened as a thought struck
him. “But my grandma has peacocks, and there are even unicorns in the forest near her
home.”

Hermione blinked in disbelief. Do they really have unicorns in their forest?

Of course they fucking do.

She remembered those peacocks, however, when they were taking them to… No, stop, don’t
think about it. Stop.

“That sounds amazing,” she replied, forcing a tight smile.

At that moment, someone cleared their throat, drawing Hermione’s attention. She looked up
to see Malfoy, his gaze focused squarely on Daphne as he placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m back. Thank you for watching him,” he said, and his voice was cold, almost business-
like.
Hermione couldn’t help but observe him longer now that he was no longer actively avoiding
eye contact. He seemed different from the boy who used to sneer at her in the Hogwarts
corridors. His features were still sharp and angular, but they had taken on a more defined,
mature quality. His hair, once perfectly slicked back, now hung longer and carelessly over his
forehead, making him look almost… approachable.

But only almost.

He was dressed in a crisp white shirt and black trousers, looking every bit the aristocratic heir
he’d been raised to be. It was strange to see him so formally attired for something as simple
as picking up clothes.

Was he always this put-together, or was he trying to make a statement?

He stood very still, his posture stiff.

He looks like the last time he was relaxed was during the Yule Ball in fourth year.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I was already here anyway,” Daphne said, shifting uncomfortably in her
seat.

Hermione felt a pang of sympathy. I hate it when people are uncomfortable because of me.

“Dad, come look! Miss Hermione… I mean, Hermione has a cat!” Scorpius grinned, pointing
at Crooks.

“That’s nice, Scorp,” Malfoy said distractedly, frowning slightly at the transporter. “Let’s go.
We’re going to be late for lunch.”

“Oh, but…” Scorpius hesitated, glancing between his father and Daphne.

She chuckled. “I might have promised him an ice cream to go.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Fine, let’s go.”

Daphne began to stand. “Oh, I can go and…”

“No, no, I will,” Malfoy blurted out, clearly eager to leave.

His discomfort was palpable, and Hermione couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction at
his unease.

Hermione didn’t care if she made him uncomfortable. He had made her feel that way for
years. It was easier for him to pretend she wasn’t there, as though her presence didn’t even
register. Maybe it’s better for both of us if we keep our distance.

Whenever he did take notice of her, he had something nasty to say. She remembered the
words he had thrown at his mother years ago when they’d accidentally bumped into each
other at a store. If you smell something foul, a mudblood just walked in. Or something along
those lines.
Fucking bigoted idiot.

She couldn’t believe someone so young could be so hateful, so narrow-minded.

The anger simmered inside her again, but he wasn’t even paying attention. And here I am,
still fuming over something he probably doesn’t even remember.

His child, however, seemed nice. Normal, even. A little surprising considering who his father
was. Hermione wondered how that was possible.

Maybe it was Astoria’s influence.

But she had passed too early to have any significant impact on a child.

Perhaps it was the time Scorpius spent with Daphne, his tutors, and other good influences.
Yes, that must be it. He has some solid people guiding him.

“I’m sorry again, I…” Daphne’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“It’s alright, Daph. I told you. We’re all grown-ups.” Hermione smiled but couldn’t help but
think, Yes, I'm a grown-up who’s having an entire argument in my head, and no one can hear
it.

“Bye, Scorp!” Daphne waved.

Scorpius turned and waved back at both women. “Goodbye!”

Malfoy gave a stiff nod to Daphne.

“This went surprisingly well,” she said, watching them leave. After a moment, she added,
“When was the last time you saw him?”

“Saturday, at Andromeda’s,” Hermione replied.

“Oh, really? I didn’t know that.”

She frowned. “Pansy didn’t tell you?”

“No.”

“Huh. Never mind.” She shook her head, clearing the thought away. “We didn’t really have
time to talk after Saturday. Care to share the dirty details of your little adventure?”

Now it was Daphne’s turn to look surprised. “Pansy didn’t talk to you?”

“No.”

“Huh, I’m shocked. She had two juicy bits of gossip and didn’t spread them around?”
Daphne raised an eyebrow.

Hermione chuckled. “She’s grown up, hasn’t she? I’m proud of her.”
She narrowed her eyes, her smile fading slightly. “I’m actually worried about her.”

The following week was Ginny’s birthday. She insisted on a quiet night with wine and
snacks, saying she wasn’t in the mood for a party after Harry’s. They were supposed to gather
the day after her birthday, but they had to move it to the next evening because, in Ginny’s
words, Harry had “shagged her brains out,” and she needed a day to recover.

Hermione found her blunt personality and sharp tongue refreshing, she loved her for it. But
sometimes, it came with too much information about Harry, and that could be... a lot to bear.

Harry had taken the kids to the Burrow so that Ginny could have a quiet night with her
friends. She’d invited a few teammates, but they left soon after dinner for an early morning
practice.

Now, Hermione and Luna were sitting on the sofa with Padma on the floor, her head between
them, and Luna was absently playing with her hair. They were smoking some herbs she had
brought from her store.

“I like this. It smells nice,” Hermione said between drags. “But I don’t feel any different.
Should I?”

“I’m not really sure what it does,” Luna mused, inspecting the joint she’d rolled. “I just got it
in Monday’s delivery.”

“Wait, you gave us something to smoke without checking it first?” she asked, but she was too
relaxed to be genuinely upset.

“Did you smoke something I gave you without questioning it?” Luna countered, and Padma
chuckled softly.

Hermione shrugged. “Fair point.”

From across the room, Parvati, lounging in the chair with a glass of wine, chimed in, “Do you
have anything for sore muscles for the sex machine over there?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Speaking of,” Susan piped up from the table, “Did you shag Theo in the loo at the party,
Hermione?”

“What? No.” She frowned. “Where did that come from?”

“Oh, I heard that too,” Luna said dreamily, eyes wide.

Susan shrugged. “George mentioned it.”

“Did he now?” Hermione turned a suspicious eye to Padma, who just smiled apologetically.
“I thought he was betting on McLaggen.”
Daphne smirked. “Oh, I heard that too,” she said, clearly enjoying herself.

Hermione wasn’t amused.

“Yes, and you did look cosy at one point,” Susan added, raising her wine glass.

“We did, but nothing happened. Just dancing, flirting... seriously, we didn’t even kiss.”

Parvati leaned in, a teasing smile on her face. “You just talked about cheese.”

“About cheese?”

Susan frowned. “Is that some sort of euphemism?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Daphne muttered, sipping her drink.

After a few minutes, as the conversation at the table continued, Padma turned to Hermione.
“Oh, did you already sign the deal with the German publisher?”

“No, not yet. They’re still deciding whom to sell the rights to. Why?”

“Oh, nothing,” she replied, waving her hand dismissively. “I spoke to Angelina the other day.
She works at an embassy in Germany, so she heard about it from someone. I just forgot to
ask.”

“Russians are interested, too,” Hermione added with a thoughtful expression.

Luna, half-listening now, murmured, “That’s amazing.”

“Yeah, I’m really excited about it.” Hermione glanced up, her gaze drifting. “We’re also
printing a new edition soon. I sent them my suggestions, but my team at the publishing
company is mostly handling it. They’re all journalists and writers, so they know more about
making those updates than I do.”

Padma sat up straighter from her position on the floor, intrigued. “I don’t know if I should tell
you this, but Minerva wrote to the Department of Education about a potential change in the
History of Magic curriculum. She wanted to add more book sources for seventh year. You
know, they study more recent history then, right? Well, someone thought they should include
your book as additional reading.”

Hermione straightened in surprise. “Really?”

“Yes, but it’s not official yet,” Padma added quickly. “So don’t get your hopes up too much.”

“No, no, that’s brilliant!” Hermione’s heart sped up. “I was actually thinking about asking for
a couple of dozen copies to be donated to schools or educational centres for students who
can’t afford them. Especially with the new edition coming out. They’re talking about adding
more pictures and changing the type of paper, so the price will go up. But to be used at
Hogwarts... Wow.” She stopped herself, feeling like she was rambling.
Did the herbs make her babble like this?

Probably.

“When will you know for sure?”

“I’m not sure,” Padma said with a shrug. “It’s still recent history, so they’ll be teaching it in
the summer semester. There’s no rush to get everything settled before the school year starts.
But if the paperwork isn’t done in time for this semester, it’ll definitely be in the next one.”

“Wow,” Hermione repeated. “If they choose it, do they have to inform me?”

“It’s up to the school,” Padma explained. “They don’t have to. You kind of agree to that when
you publish. It becomes public information automatically. But I’m sure Minerva would let
you know.”

“Oh wow.” Hermione grinned. “I’m so excited about this!” Padma smiled at her enthusiasm
but was about to say something when Hermione quickly added, “I know, I know, I won’t get
my hopes up too much. Don’t worry. Thank you.”

Of course, Hermione had her hopes up.

She couldn’t stop thinking about it for the entire week after.

She even considered reaching out to the Headmistress with a letter, something casual, asking
about her well-being and catching up on old times, but decided against it. It had been years
since she’d last written to her old professor. It wouldn’t be fair to contact her now just
because she wanted something. It felt petty and dishonest. So, she decided to push those
thoughts away and focus on something else.

To keep herself distracted, Hermione immersed herself in writing suggestions for the book.
She managed to churn out several new chapters after the interviews she and her team had
conducted over the last year, and soon she’d need to send them to her team for review. Along
with that, there were more meetings with her lawyers and publishing company. They weren’t
particularly engaging, but they gave her a solid excuse to visit Diagon Alley.

She eventually stopped by George’s store, forcing him to stop spreading baseless gossip
about her and Theo. With the threat of exposing him and Padma, he was finally silenced.

Hermione also successfully avoided Malfoy again, this time in Gringotts.

She’d almost collided with a goblin when she was looking for a way to hide, but luckily,
Malfoy went through a different set of doors.

Of course he did.

Their vaults were almost certainly on different levels. His was probably tucked away at the
bottom, protected by layers of magical and physical security. Vaults belonging to old,
obscenely wealthy families. Meanwhile, she was on one of the newer, higher levels.

The only place she’d ever be above him in this world was at the bank. The irony wasn’t lost
on her.

Lately, Diagon Alley had been busier. With the new school year approaching, families with
young children filled the streets, making their way through the shops. As Hermione navigated
the crowded lanes, she could feel the weight of their gazes on her. Some whispered and
nudged each other, pointing in her direction, but only a few actually gathered the courage to
approach her. She had grown used to this kind of attention over the years, but it still made her
uncomfortable.

On a whim, Hermione decided to surprise Theo with a package of his favourite cheese, which
she had ordered online. She got him the same one he’d tried at Daphne’s, and another one
with herbs she thought he might like. She even wrote him a funny note and planned to send it
via muggle post, just to mess with him. He had mentioned that he received muggle post as
well, and it always drove his house-elves crazy.

She had spoken to Healer Silva only once since her return home. They’d had an hour-long
session via floo, which was a first for Hermione. She’d only had one nightmare since the
night Pansy had stayed over, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been. Hermione
joked that Luna’s dreamcatcher might have helped, but Silva didn’t seem too amused.
Apparently, neither non-professional assistance nor humour was appreciated in her line of
work.

Her parents had been complaining about the heatwave that seemed to have enveloped most of
southern Europe in the last week of August, but on the island, everything remained the same.
It was typically warm and dry, with the occasional sudden downpour, which Hermione
secretly appreciated.

One such night, she found herself sitting on her patio, listening to the rain as it poured down
around her. The steady rhythm of the drops falling on the roof and ground seemed to heighten
the ache inside her. Without any real reason, a wave of emotion swept over her, and she
suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to cry.

So, she did.

For as long as the rain lasted, she let herself cry, until the downpour slowed and finally
stopped, and so did her tears.

She went inside, changed into her running clothes, and went for a jog around the
neighbourhood. The fresh air and the rhythm of her feet hitting the pavement cleared her
mind. By the time she returned, flushed from the run and with her hair frizzed out from both
the sweat and humidity, she felt better. A long bath followed, and for the first time since
returning home, she had the best night’s sleep she’d had in ages.
Ginny and Harry, however, were a bundle of nervous energy, anxious and excited about their
firstborn leaving for Hogwarts in just a few days. Hermione didn’t want to intrude on their
family moment, but when Harry invited her to join them on the platform, she eagerly
accepted. She wanted to feel the Hogwarts Express atmosphere again, wanted to relive that
nostalgia.

“I think it would be good for Ginny,” Harry said, as they all sat down for dinner in her home.
The kids were absorbed in her old collection of DVDs. “She’ll start crying and I…”

“And you’ll be worse than her, and you’ll both be a bloody mess,” Hermione teased,
squeezing his hand.

“I hate you, you know,” he laughed, shaking his head. “Tomorrow is, what, twenty-something
years since we met? Can you believe it?”

She sighed. “Yeah, twenty-something.” Her mind drifted back to that first day. “God, if
someone had told me then what we were all going to go through…”

They sat in companionable silence until Ginny returned from the bathroom. “What are you
two talking about?”

“Oh, just the first train ride to school,” Hermione answered casually.

“Mine was good,” Ginny said, taking a spoonful of the tiramisu Hermione had made. “You
weren’t there,” she added, glancing at Harry.

“What? What do you mean I wasn’t… Oh, yes,” Harry remembered with a laugh. “Dobby
and his attempts to save my life.”

They both sighed, and the room fell silent again.

Ginny glanced at the children, her voice tinged with a touch of nostalgia. “And look at us
now. Tired and old with a bunch of kids,” she shook her head. “And I’m not even thirty yet.”

“You are,” both Harry and Hermione said in unison.

“Fine, whatever. You get the point,” Ginny rolled her eyes. “Shall we go? I think Lilly’s done
for today.”

Hermione looked over at the children. Lily was already fast asleep on James’ shoulder.

“We should,” Harry said. “Do you need some help with the dishes?”

Hermione waved a hand. “Did you forget I’m a witch?” With a flick, the dishes levitated
gracefully into the sink.

“And wandless, too. Nice,” Ginny’s eyes widened slightly.

Hermione shrugged. “Only for simple things like dishes. I tried moving my car when I
parked it wrong once, but failed.”
Harry scooped Lily into his arms and told the boys it was time to go. “But dad, the movie
isn’t over yet,” Albus whispered loudly, trying not to wake her.

“You can finish it next time. Hermione will pause it,” Harry said.

“I will, don’t worry,” she reassured him, planting a kiss on both Albus and James’ heads as
they left.

Afterwards, Hermione found herself standing in the kitchen, washing dishes the muggle way.
She needed something to occupy her hands since her mind was bothering her again.

Her best friends were married, and here she was, alone. It wasn’t that she particularly craved
a relationship at the moment. She liked being alone. Hermione had always loved her
independence. The thought of having to compromise with someone on a daily basis didn’t
seem appealing.

Yet, the idea of sharing responsibilities, of experiencing both joy and sadness with someone
else. had its appeal.

And children?

She’d never really thought about them in any deep sense. She liked all the children she
interacted with daily. Teaching them muggle stuff, cooking for them, then sending them back
to their homes, it was fun. She enjoyed being the cool aunt.

But being a mother?

That was different.

She wasn’t sure if she would even enjoy it. More importantly, would she be a good mother?
She wouldn’t be the “cool aunt” to her own children. No, she couldn’t and shouldn’t. That
would be irresponsible. But Hermione prided herself on being responsible, sometimes too
responsible for her own good.

Didn't she turn down that handsome man’s advances a few weeks ago? Theo was fun,
handsome, and trustworthy, especially when it came to keeping things private. Daphne had
shagged McLaggen simply out of boredom, for crying out loud. So why didn’t she do the
same with Theo?

They were friends, of a sort. Maybe not as close as some of the Weasleys, and definitely not
as close as she was with Harry, but they were friendly enough. So, it wasn’t like sleeping
with him would destroy the friendship.

So why didn’t she?

He looked like he’d be good for her. There were just some people you could look at and
know they’d be good in bed and Theo was one of those people. She could tell. And when she
grabbed his hair… he wasn’t the type to be boring. He had nice lips, too. She could imagine
them pressed against hers. And when he licked them… oh, fuck.
Is she seriously getting turned on while washing dishes simply because she remembered
dancing with a man?

When was the last time she’d had sex?

The day she left Spain.

So, about a month ago.

David had spoiled her.

Maybe it was time to say hello to her good, old vibrating friend who had been securely
locked away in a drawer, shielded by impenetrable wards and charms.

The fresh morning air invigorated Hermione as she stepped outside for her run. The sun was
casting a soft, golden glow over everything it touched. She felt grateful for the early start,
even if it was a result of forgetting to close the window shades the night before. At least it
gave her some time to enjoy the peace before meeting up with the Potters later in the
morning.

When she arrived at their household, she found Ron already seated at the kitchen table, a mug
of coffee in hand. From the noise in the background, she could hear Ginny’s voice rising
above the chaos of the children. Hermione smiled to herself, amused by the familiar hustle
and bustle. Harry was, as usual, right in the thick of it, trying to keep the peace.

“I swear, every day she gets more like our mother,” Ron said, shaking his head with a laugh.

“If you value your life, I’d recommend you don’t say that in front of her. Where’s Susan?”

“At home, she said this is more of a family thing,” he said casually. “You don’t count. You’re
like his sister.”

“An honorary family member, then?”

“Something like that,” he chuckled.

As more shouting echoed through the house, Hermione couldn’t help but grin. “So, when are
you planning to ask Susan to become a permanent part of your family?” she asked, her voice
light but curious.

“We’re going to Egypt for a holiday in early October,” Ron said, shifting in his seat. “I
thought it might be the right time. I’ve booked a resort, and we can have a private dinner,
something special.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, giving him a sideways glance. “Is that something she’d like?”

“I think so. She always laughs when we hear about public proposals. Cringes at them,
actually. So, I figured something like this would be better.”
So, he could take a hint when it mattered.

Just then, Ginny barged into the kitchen, her energy filling the room. “Right, we’re done!
Let’s take one child each and floo to the station. Let’s go, people!” She was giving
instructions like a general rallying the troops. “Come on, we don’t have all day!” she added,
when no one moved fast enough.

“Told you,” Ron muttered to Hermione with a grin. “Just like mum.”

Hermione chuckled and grabbed Al’s hand, helping him with the floo before Ginny could
prove Ron right yet again.

It was the same scene as always. Groups of people chatting excitedly, students already in
their Hogwarts uniforms, while others wore a mix of regular wizarding or muggle clothes. As
they made their way through the crowd, Hermione caught people whispering and pointing. It
was to be expected, she supposed, especially since they were walking alongside Harry, who
had always been the centre of attention.

She felt a wave of nostalgia as she glanced around at the familiar surroundings. It was hard to
believe how many years had passed since they’d first set foot on this platform.

“Why are they looking at us?” Albus asked, his voice filled with curiosity.

“Oh, don’t mind them,” Ron called from behind. “It’s me. I’m terribly famous,” he said,
winking.

Hermione chuckled.

Harry was chatting with a few coworkers, while Ginny greeted some familiar faces.
Hermione and Ron kept Albus and Lily close, commenting on people they recognised from
school.

“So that’s little Scorpius,” Ron said quietly and Hermione followed his gaze.

Malfoy stood next to Andromeda and Teddy, with his young son. Teddy spotted them first
and said something to his grandmother, who then looked over, smiled, and waved.

“You’re here again,” Teddy said, approaching them with a grin and hugging Ron first.

“Well, we were here for your first day,” he replied, “so it’s only fair to be here for the rest of
them.”

“You started the trend,” Hermione said, giving Teddy a warm hug.

He was blushing slightly, his hair almost the same shade of brown as hers.

“You okay?”

“Yes,” he replied quickly, shaking his head and flicking his hair back to its usual brown with
a touch of blue highlights. He moved on to greet the others.
“I think he has a crush on you,” Ron teased, his tone light.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “He’s a teenage boy. He’ll have a crush on every girl who stands
next to him for the next five to seven years.”

Albus tugged on her arm, and she leaned down to listen. “That’s Scorpius over there,” he
whispered.

He was looking their way too, but unlike Albus, he wasn’t shy. He seemed eager to see
everyone and take everything in.

Hermione smiled at Al. “Yes, I see. Why don’t you go say hello?”

Albus hesitated, blushing as he looked at Scorpius, then back at her.

“Do you want me to go with you?” she asked gently, and he nodded immediately. She turned
to Ron. “I’m going to take Al to say hello to his good friend, Scorpius,” she winked.

He looked surprised but intrigued. “Really? How did that happen?”

“Met at Andromeda’s. I’ll tell you later,” she replied quickly before walking toward them
with Albus.

Malfoy was a few steps behind them, looking in a different direction, so Hermione hoped he
wouldn’t notice them right away.

“Hi!” Scorpius greeted Albus enthusiastically. “Hello, Miss Hermione.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a slight smile. “Hello, Mister Scorpius.”

He chuckled. “You’re funny, Hermione.”

She let the two boys talk while she moved to stand beside Andromeda, planting a kiss on her
cheek. “Al wanted to say hi, but you know how shy he is.”

“That’s why they’re such a good pair,” she said with a knowing smile. “One talks, the other
listens.”

Hermione glanced back toward Ginny and Harry. “They’re too excited,” she said with a grin.
“I’d better go before the waterfalls start.”

Andromeda nodded with a gentle laugh. “Yes, go ahead. This is always a tough one for
mothers, no matter how joyful the occasion is.”

“I was talking about Harry,” she said dryly, and Andromeda laughed, the sound light and
warm.

She turned back to Albus, who was listening intently. “Be here and don’t get lost, Al. If your
mother kills me on your brother’s first day, it will be a miserable affair for everyone.”
Albus chuckled. “You are funny. I won’t get lost. I’m right here.”

Hermione smiled at him and glanced up just as she caught Malfoy’s gaze. He had been
watching her for some time, his expression neutral. But when their eyes met, his brow
furrowed slightly before he quickly nodded at her. She returned the gesture with a small nod
of her own and walked away.
 Draco
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

September 2012

Pansy had invited them for brunch that weekend, something she didn’t do often. She usually
preferred restaurants, pubs, or anywhere outside her home, and Draco sometimes wondered if
it was because she didn’t want her old friends seeing how much simpler her life had become.
If that was the case, she didn’t have to worry. At least, he didn’t feel that way.

Her flat felt more like a home than Parkinson Manor ever had. She had grown up near
Daphne, in the same affluent area, surrounded by sprawling land and luxury, just like the rest
of their circle. Marrying Weasley had changed that.

Her father had cut ties with her completely. Her mother had kept in contact for several years,
secretly, Pansy said, but these days, they no longer spoke. She had, however, sent a
substantial sum of money for the wedding, enough to help them get started. Draco assumed
that was how they had bought this flat in a sleek, modern building in a muggle part of the
city. He didn’t know for sure, but he imagined working with dragons didn’t pay much. That
was why Pansy worked too.

She was the only one of them with a regular job. She had taken a course in accounting,
starting with a small company before switching positions several times until she found one
she enjoyed. Theo and Blaise dabbled in investments. Daphne still revelled in her freedom
and family inheritance, selling and acquiring art or jewellery from her family vault whenever
it suited her. And Draco… Well, he managed the family business. The Malfoys owned
properties and companies, donated to charities his mother carefully selected, and kept the
name in good standing.

When he stepped through the floo into Pansy’s flat, Blaise was already there.

“Took you long enough. For once, I arrived before you,” he smirked from where he sat on the
sofa. Next to him was Charlie.

Draco had disliked the man on principle when they first met. First, he was a Weasley, and it
felt almost obligatory to resent each other. But Charlie had never been at Hogwarts during the
height of their families’ feud, so he had little interest in continuing old grudges.

The second reason for Draco’s initial distrust was the age gap. He was twelve years older
than Pansy. At the time, Draco couldn’t imagine what they could possibly have in common.
But he had stopped thinking about it once they married.
Charlie seemed to adore Pansy. He was respectful toward her and her friends, and the only
complaints she ever voiced were that he liked his food too spicy, and he snored.

“Scorpius’ tutor was late. Some family emergency,” Draco said, answering Blaise’s unasked
question as he stepped forward to shake Charlie’s hand.

He was always taken aback by how calloused and strong the man’s grip was. Theo had once
joked that Draco didn’t spend much time around people who did actual labour. He hadn’t
been wrong.

Charlie was noticeably shorter than Draco but broader, stronger, and built like someone who
had spent his life wrestling dragons. Which, of course, he had.

"Hi. Sit, please."

"Thanks. Where's Pansy?"

"Here!" came her voice from the kitchen.

"Finishing your brunch," Charlie added. "So I'm here to keep you company until she’s done."

"Oh, you’re not staying?" Blaise asked.

"No, I’m heading to Bill’s. The first weekend of the month is the only time we can meet. He’s
busy the rest of the time."

"Oh, I got a letter from Gringotts about some updates to the security system," Draco said,
recalling it. "They used some spells to copy my fingerprints. My eyes too."

Charlie nodded. "Yeah, they started doing that for some of the older vaults. Muggles do it,
apparently, but with electronic devices."

Draco chuckled. If only his ancestors knew that special muggle technology was now helping
keep their wealth safe.

"I should go next week too," Blaise mused. "Isn’t that dangerous? For eyes, at least?"

Charlie scratched his beard. "Doubt it. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be doing it daily. Anyway,
that’s what’s keeping Bill busy at the moment."

"Right."

"Hey, Draco," Pansy called, using her wand to float bowls onto the table. "The sleeping
beauties haven’t arrived yet?"

"I texted Daph," Blaise said, checking his phone. "She said they’ll be here soon."

"You have a phone too?" Draco rolled his eyes.

"It’s the twenty-first century, mate. You’re out of touch."

"If I get one, I’ll never get Scorpius to do anything," Draco muttered. "You should see him at
Daph’s. He could play games for hours."

"I know," Charlie nodded. "Bill’s kids are the same with the telly." He gestured towards the
large screen mounted on the wall. "My dad even paid for extra channels to watch muggle
sports. They can’t have a telly at the Burrow, so he comes here sometimes."

"See?" Blaise smirked at Draco. "Even the older generations are more versed in muggle
technology than you."

Charlie shook his head. "I wouldn’t compare him to my dad. He’s been obsessed with
muggles for years. Poor Hermione probably had to explain half of it to him."

Draco stiffened at the mention of her name.

After she had ignored him at the station, forcing him to be the one to acknowledge her, he
had spotted her in Diagon Alley but pretended not to. A few weeks ago, he had seen her at
Gringotts, clearly avoiding him.

Well, if she could do it, so could he.

He wasn’t going to waste his time trying to be the bigger person.

"She was," Pansy confirmed. "Come on, sit. I can’t wait for those two to… oh, finally."

The floo flared, and Theo and Daphne stepped through.

"See, Daph?" he said dramatically. "I told you to hurry up. You know how terrifying Pansy
gets when she’s hungry."

Daphne rolled her eyes. "I trust no one here actually believes I was the one who made us
late."

"Yeah. No one. We know him. No," they all chorused.

Charlie chuckled. "Alright, I’m off." He pressed a quick kiss to Pansy’s lips. "See you later."

"Bye, love," she said, watching him go with a thoughtful look.

Draco used to tease her about how soft she’d become, but now he just thought it was nice that
she had someone to look at like that. She deserved it.

"Where’s he going?" Daphne asked.

"To see his brother, Bill," Pansy said.

"The oldest one?" Theo frowned. "I always mix him up with Percy."

"Yes. Now, come sit."

Pansy’s French toast was a feast for the senses. The warm scent of cinnamon and vanilla with
the sight of golden-brown slices drizzled generously with syrup and topped with fresh
berries, finished with a dollop of whipped cream.

Draco wasn’t particularly fond of sweet things, but he found himself enjoying it nonetheless.
He could already imagine Scorpius’ delight if he were here to taste it.

He let his gaze drift across Pansy’s spacious dining area, which seamlessly blended into the
living room and kitchen. The décor was sleek and modern, with artfully placed accents. The
contrast between the black kitchen that he wasn’t a big fan of and the airy white walls gave
the space a refined yet inviting atmosphere. His eyes landed on a cluster of papers and
pictures on the refrigerator door, drawing him to stand for a closer look.

“What are these?” he asked as he approached. “Some kind of decoration?”

Pansy turned to see what he was looking at. “Oh, fridge magnets. They’re souvenirs.
Muggles love collecting them when they travel.”

“Oh.” That explained why each one bore the name of a different city or country.

He glanced at the photos the magnets held in place. There were pictures of Charlie with his
family, some with friends and co-workers, and one in particular caught Draco’s attention, a
shot of Charlie standing beside the biggest dragon he had ever seen.

“Where was this?”

Pansy leaned over to take a look. “China, I think. Three or four years ago.”

“It’s incredible.”

The massive red-and-gold dragon dominated the frame, its black-spiked tail lashing wildly in
the background. Charlie was barely visible beside it.

“Yeah,” Pansy said. “I tease him about his job sometimes, but it can be bloody dangerous.”

“Can be?” Blaise scoffed. “Isn’t it always?”

“He doesn’t complain much.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not dangerous.”

“I know,” she admitted with a small smile. “But he loves it. What can I do?”

Draco’s attention returned to the fridge. It was like a diary, filled with mementoes of travels
and the people who mattered most in their lives.

A familiar scribble caught his eye. It was a colourful drawing of a dragon that Scorpius had
made, likely during one of his visits. Next to it was a newer piece, slightly messier but
vibrant, depicting three wobbly flowers with uneven stems and petals.
Among the drawings, there were more photos of Pansy and her friends. In one, she and
Daphne sat on a sandy beach, their hair blowing in the wind. Another showed them dressed
elegantly for a formal event. Further along, he spotted a picture of Pansy and Charlie
standing in front of a grand old building, both smiling at the camera.

His gaze shifted to a postcard pinned among the magnets, a scenic view of a coastal town in
Italy. Curious, he scanned the rest.

“When did you go to Japan?” he asked, eyeing a magnet adorned with delicate cherry
blossoms. “And Indonesia?”

“Oh, I didn’t,” Pansy replied. “Charlie did the same year he went to China.”

Draco hummed in understanding, then gestured to another. “Who went to Moldova? And
Georgia?”

“Hermione, with her father. She said they’re famous for their wine.”

Draco huffed.

Muggle wine, maybe.

He’d never heard of those countries having noteworthy wine industries.

He continued scanning. “Kenya?” He pointed at a magnet featuring the Big Five animals.

“Ginny, with her team.”

“Tanzania?”

“Also her. I think it was their honeymoon.”

Draco spotted several magnets from different cities in Spain but didn’t ask. He assumed those
were from Granger, too. Pinned beneath them was a moving photograph. Pansy and Granger
were inside a massive wooden barrel, their arms linked as they stomped around with
matching grins on their faces.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, pointing at the photo.

Pansy smirked. “Oh, that’s how Muggles make their wine.”

“Pardon?”

She laughed. “You didn’t know?”

“I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

She laughed even harder. “I’m not. Theo, tell him.”

He got up, leaned over to inspect the photo, then nodded. “Yeah, that’s how they do it. You
really didn’t know?”
Draco frowned. “Of course not. Otherwise, I wouldn’t drink it.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t be such a prude. They make you wash your feet before you
go in, and we did an extra scourgify , just in case.”

He shook his head, unimpressed. “It’s weird. And disgusting.”

Daphne scoffed. “It’s not, you’re just ignorant. I’m sure they don’t do it in those big… wine
factories, or whatever they call them, or they’d need to hire millions of people.”

Blaise shrugged. “Yeah, they probably use massive, noisy machines. Muggles have machines
for everything nowadays.”

Pansy nodded. “Hermione’s father said it’s more of a tradition than anything else, but some
smaller wineries still do it that way exclusively.” She smirked. “Those wines are more
expensive, you know.”

Draco made a face. “Still weird.”

Theo glanced at the picture again. “When was this?”

“Oh, sometime last year,” Pansy said with a dismissive wave.

He smirked. “So is that when you started your affair with Hermione?”

“What?”

Blaise raised an intrigued eyebrow.

“Oh, shut up, Theo,” Daphne huffed. “You’re being an idiot.”

“Oh, come on. Pansy knows I’m joking.” Theo stretched his arms lazily as he sat back down.
“I know she’s loyal to her husband. Like a true Gryffindor.”

Pansy let out an incredulous laugh. “Gryffindor? Me? ”

Draco snorted. “Yeah, you.” He leaned back in his chair, smirking. “You spend an awful lot
of time with them. Your inner Gryffindor is suffocating your Slytherin.”

Theo nodded sagely.

She smirked. “Should I bite you to prove how much of a snake I am?”

“Pans, lions bite too,” Blaise chuckled.

She rolled her eyes. “Fine, I’ll play along.” She crossed her arms. “Tell me. How exactly am I
more Gryffindor than Slytherin? And guilt by association doesn’t count.”

Theo opened his mouth but stopped, reconsidering.

Blaise was the first to speak. “I saw you at a children’s playground with Weaslette a couple of
times.”

“It’s Potter now,” she corrected. “And guilty by association. Doesn’t count. Next.”

“Their daughter had you wearing a flower crown.”

Pansy narrowed her eyes. “She’s Lily , and I’m Pansy , for fuck’s sake. Flowers are our
thing.”

“Oh, did she draw the flowers?” Draco asked, pointing at the refrigerator.

Pansy nodded.

“Oh, there!” Theo pointed at it dramatically. “You have ugly children’s drawings on your
fridge. Where you can see them. Every day. All the time.”

She shrugged. “I’m good at ignoring them.”

“I would like to point out that Scorpius’ drawing is better,” Draco added.

“You don’t share gossip anymore,” Theo accused.

“I’ve grown.”

Theo shook his head in disappointment. “Seriously, Pans, I had to find out from Potter that
she shagged McLaggen.” He pointed at Daphne.

“Hey!” Daphne frowned and smacked his shoulder.

Blaise turned to her with a look of exaggerated concern. “Oh, Daphne, love. Really?”

Draco frowned, appalled. “Daph, McLaggen?”

She crossed her arms, scowling. “Shut up.”

“See?” Theo continued. “I didn’t even know when Draco and Herm…” He stopped mid-
sentence.

Too late.

Blaise caught on immediately. His eyes flickered between them. “What happened?”

Draco frowned. “Why are you bringing this up?”

Theo shrank slightly and turned to Blaise instead. “Nothing, really. I made it sound worse
than it is.”

He wasn’t buying it. “What is?”

Daphne rolled her eyes. “Draco and Hermione ran into each other at his aunt’s house a few
weeks ago.”

Blaise nodded. “Okay. And that’s important because…?” He waited for Draco to answer, but
Draco was busy staring at his hands on the table instead.

So Daphne continued. “Because they haven’t spoken like normal people since… well,
probably forever. And he never really… properly… you know…”

“And he never had his Date of Reckoning with her,” Pansy added, with just enough bite to
make it clear she was still very much a Slytherin. She raised her eyebrows when Draco glared
at her. “What? Am I wrong?”

Blaise looked genuinely surprised. “You never spoke to her?” A flicker of disappointment
crossed his face. “I thought you said you talked with all of them.”

“There was never a chance,” Draco muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

He raised an eyebrow. “How did you find chances with the others?”

“I didn’t. It just happened, and…”

“So there was never a single chance in the last… fifteen years for it to just… happen?”
Blaise pressed.

“She doesn’t live here and…”

Theo huffed. “Yeah, in the last two or three ye…” He stopped abruptly at the look Draco shot
him. “Sorry.”

Daphne turned to Theo. “How do you even know about this?”

“Harry said she seemed a bit upset when she arrived at the party that night. He mentioned the
reason, but not the details.”

Draco scoffed. “Of course. Her friends have her side. I wish mine would too.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Oh, stop it. Don’t be so melodramatic.”

Blaise leaned back in his chair, studying Draco. “So what did you say to her?”

He stood up and started pacing, hoping it would help him relax. “Nothing,” he admitted,
frustration creeping into his voice. “I tried, but she wouldn’t even look at me.”

He remembered the way she had ignored him at Andromeda’s. I don’t care how hurt she was.
I did not like that at all.

“And when she finally did, she looked like she was about to cry.” He rubbed his neck again,
trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling. “I didn’t say anything, I swear,” he added
quickly. “It’s just… she looks down on me every time she sees me, and I don’t know how to
talk to her because she hates me.”

He glanced at his friends, hoping for some understanding, but they all wore the same
unimpressed expression. The ‘what did you expect?’ look.

“And I know she has every right,” he added, frustrated. “I’m not a fucking… I know , okay?”

“She doesn’t look down on you…” Pansy started quietly but then hesitated. “Draco, she…
she might have the impression that you still have a negative perception of her because
she’s… well, still a muggleborn.”

Draco felt a wave of nausea. His voice came out tight. “She told you that?”

She shifted uncomfortably. “Not in those words,” she admitted. “I’m giving you the polite,
condensed version… without the offensive slur she used to remind me what we used to call
her.”

“I didn’t,” Theo muttered.

“Me neither,” Daphne added unnecessarily.

Blaise just shifted in his seat, looking anywhere but at Draco.

Draco rubbed his face, suddenly exhausted. “Fucking hell,” he muttered.

“Why would she think that? That you still believe in that shit?” Blaise asked.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Pansy said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe because he went on
an apology tour for literally everyone but her.”

“The apology tour ?”

“Yeah, that’s what they call it.”

Theo smirked. “Creative, but ours is better.”

Daphne, however, was more serious. “Also, consider that everyone you apologised to was
either a pureblood or a half-blood. She’s the only muggleborn. It’s not hard to see why she
made that assumption.”

Draco stopped pacing. “She’s not the only one… She’s…”

Is she?

Do I even know any muggleborns? Besides her?

And I don’t even know her.

“Oh, come on. You know I don’t think that way anymore.”
“We do,” Theo said. “But others might not.” He shrugged. “She obviously doesn’t.”

Draco let out a sharp exhale, dropped back into his chair, and pressed his palms against his
face. “I don’t know what to say to her,” he admitted finally. “I have nothing to say that can
erase the things I said and did.” And then it hit him. “It’s not even about the things I did at
school,” he said, shivering slightly. “What about what happened afterwards? In my… in the
Manor?”

The air in the room grew heavier. His friends stared at the table, none of them eager to break
the silence.

He sighed. “That wasn’t a rhetorical question. I’m genuinely asking you. What can I… what
should I say?”

They all started mumbling incoherently, and Draco rubbed his eyes so hard he saw flashes of
colour behind his eyelids.

He exhaled sharply. “Never mind. I have to do this alone.” Shaking his head, he stood up.
“I’m going home.”

And with that, he stepped into the Floo and disappeared.

The rest of the weekend was shit.

Draco was in a foul mood, and Scorpius noticed. He didn’t even ask for potion lessons in the
evening, which only made Draco feel worse. By Monday, he was desperate for a distraction,
any distraction, so he decided to visit Theo before lunch, hoping he’d be awake. Maybe he’d
done something interesting over the weekend. Maybe he’d give Draco something else to
think about besides the issue he was supposed to be dealing with.

Theo was awake, reading something in the living room when Draco arrived. He lifted his
eyes from a small piece of paper.

“Hey. What are you doing here?”

“Nothing. I just…” Draco looked around aimlessly. “No meetings today, Scorpius is with
tutors, and I don’t know what to do with myself. Take my mind off things, please.” He
dropped onto the sofa, rubbing his face. “What are you reading?”

Theo smiled awkwardly. “Uh… it’s actually about your issue, so this isn’t exactly taking your
mind off things. I mean, her.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Of course it is.” He gestured at the paper. “What’s that?”

“A postal note.” Theo waved it in the air. “She sent me a package. By muggle post.”

“What the hell did she send you?” Draco said when he frowned at the rather large box on the
table. “Didn’t realise you two were that close.”
Theo shrugged. “I have loads of friends you don’t know about.”

“No, you don’t,” he scoffed. “And wait… are you actually friends now?”

“I apologise for being approachable and generally liked by people.”

Draco ignored that. “What’s in the box?”

“She sent me that cheese we had at Daphne’s. I liked it.”

He pointed at the envelopes in Theo’s hand. “No, I meant, what’s that?”

“Oh, we took loads of photos at Potter’s birthday,” he said, opening the larger envelope. “I
think these might be them.”

He flipped through the pictures, smiling, before handing them to Draco.

Draco flicked through them lazily. Standard party photos - people hugging, laughing, a few
drunken poses. The Patil twins. Lovegood, surprisingly dressed like a normal person. Even
Weasley’s sister, Potter, and…

His eyes paused.

There were a few photos of him and Granger, too. Some of them were normal and similar to
the others, and there was one in which they appeared to be dancing.

“You look awfully close here,” he said, clearing his throat.

Theo smirked. “Not as close as I’d like.”

“Do you… fancy her?”

“Have you seen her?” He plucked the photos back and flipped through them. “What’s there
not to like? She’s smart, funny, hot.”

Draco snorted. “Hot?”

Theo gave him a look. “Don’t tell me you don’t think so.”

Draco frowned at the pictures again.

Hot? Granger was not… hot. She was averagely good looking, at best.

Conventionally attractive.

Maybe not attractive, that’s too strong of a word. There was nothing special about her. Just an
average brunette.

He looked at the photos again.

All right, maybe she’s just not so skinny anymore. But none of them look the same as they
did in school. That’s normal.

Theo chuckled, reading something.

“Here,” he said, handing Draco a letter.

Draco took it and unfolded the parchment. Her handwriting was as sharp and jagged,
elongated, spiky letters that somehow still managed to look neat. How she’d been the top
student of their year when her notes looked like this was beyond him.

Theo,

I hope this letter finds you well. I am happy to inform you that I have successfully located the
cheese that stole your heart and altered your brain chemistry forever, as you explained
realistically and without exaggerations. I spent the entire 3.5 minutes googling and locating
the online store of the official distributor for the UK and ordered it instantly. I'll send it to
you through the regular post (my regular, not yours) and you can expect the delivery truck in
front of your doors within 3-5 business days. If someone is reading this letter without consent,
know that we do not speak in codes and/or conspire against the Ministry. It’s a very normal
conversation to have in the muggle world!

On a different note, I'll have you know that someone (and by someone, I mean George
Gideon Weasley) started an absolutely baseless rumour (as photos I sent you can
undoubtedly prove) that you and I had fornicated in the bathroom on the first floor at
Potters’ house. I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t contribute to perpetuating that
unsubstantiated gossip. It’s absolutely horrendous. Not because it’s you, but simply because it
is an undignified location for such activities. Crummy bathroom at a party in my friend’s
home? What are we, teenagers in American movies? Honestly, I have a reputation to
withhold.

Hermione.

“See?” Theo said as Draco finished reading. “She’s funny too.” He sighed, though, running a
hand through his hair. “Not interested, though, so I’ll just admire from afar.”

Draco frowned at the page, then at Theo. “Why would they think you two…” Fornicated.
Bloody hell. “Did it in the bathroom?”

“Oh, someone was shagging for real,” Theo said with a smirk. “We just couldn’t figure out
who, so it turned into a bet, I suppose.”

“Oh.”

Draco flicked back to the pictures, barely seeing them now.

His friends had fun with other people. They went out, got pissed, enjoyed themselves. He
couldn’t remember the last time he properly let loose.

A few months ago, maybe?

Before that, New Year’s?

It wasn’t the same for him, though. He had a child. He wasn’t supposed to do all that
anymore. And none of his friends got the looks he did, the judgement.

“Anyway,” Theo said, stretching out lazily, “just talk to her so we can all move past this,
yeah?” He hesitated, then lowered his voice. “Didn’t want to say this in front of the others,
but… it doesn’t sit right with me. The way you bullied Weasley or Potter… look, it was shit,
but it was different. The way you treated her… it was worse. You know that, right?”

Draco cringed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know, mate… I just don’t know what to say
to her.”

He shrugged. “Maybe don’t plan it. Maybe just… say whatever comes to you in the moment.
I don’t know.” He frowned slightly. “But do it somewhere public, yeah? Hermione’s
reasonable, but, well… You piss people off easily, and I hear she’s terrifying when she’s
angry.”

Draco let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah. I’ve been on the receiving end of that before.” He sighed
and got to his feet. “I should go. You’ve been no help at all, by the way.”

“Sorry,” he said, not looking remotely sorry. “But the sooner you deal with it, the better.”

“I hate it when you’re the more mature one.”

“Hey, I guess I’ve grown too.” Theo looked genuinely surprised. “Who’d have thought?”

He wrote her a letter the following day, asking her to meet him. In fact, he wrote several
letters before settling on one that sounded the least desperate and most polite. He penned it
and left it on his desk for two days, unsure whether to send it at all.

Eventually, when he found the courage, he took his eagle owl from the owlery atop his
building and said, “Take this to Hermione Granger, please.” It was then that he realised - it
was the first time he’d spoken her name like that.

She didn’t respond with the witty tone she’d used in Theo’s letter.

She wasn’t angry either.

In fact, she didn’t respond at all.

She couldn’t possibly have been too busy to notice a letter, especially one delivered by a
bloody owl.
He went to Daphne’s on Saturday to pick up Scorpius for a quick visit. Daphne mentioned
she’d had a lovely girls’ night the evening before with “oh, you know, just the usual crowd.”

So, she wasn’t busy.

She had met with friends and had a fun night, apparently.

She was ignoring him on purpose.

Again.

And he was the one who was supposed to apologise?

Draco decided that if she didn’t respond within three to five business days, he’d give up. He
was going to tell Pansy and Daphne that too.

He had tried to say something at Andromeda's. Draco knew he would eventually have to
speak up if she didn’t leave when she did. He couldn’t just stand outside for hours in silence.
But Granger decided to leave before that happened.

She has every right to do so, you dick.

He knew that. It didn’t make it any less annoying.

Now, he’d written her another letter, and she was ignoring him again? No, he wasn’t going to
beg. He’d given her a chance. Two, really.

After a decade or so. How noble of you.

Oh, stop it.

She hadn’t responded in the time he’d set for waiting.

Fine. That was it.

He’d done what he could. He wasn’t going to humiliate himself any further. If it wasn’t
important enough for her to hear an apology, then it certainly wasn’t important enough for
him to keep offering it. Draco found himself oddly curious about the look on her face the
next time they accidentally crossed paths.

It especially irked him when he saw her entering one of the legal firms while he was meeting
with his lawyer. That evening, he met Theo and Blaise for a drink after Scorpius was in bed.
They asked about his progress, and Draco explained, rather passionately, what had happened
or rather, what hadn’t. He was sick of the whole situation and desperately longed for a
resolution, especially since she clearly didn’t.

“I don’t know,” Theo said. “It just doesn’t seem like her to avoid something.”

Well, she did.

And she was damn good at it.

Theo also mentioned that the girls had said she might be heading back to Spain soon after her
birthday, which was apparently just around the corner.

Good.

Let her go back and visit them once a year or whatever. He could forget all about this
nonsense.

Draco went on a weekend trip with Daphne and Scorpius. She didn’t mention anything about
Granger, so he assumed she was gone. He didn’t want anything to spoil the trip.

It was the long-overdue beach visit. The wind was stronger and the air had already turned
cold, as it was almost the beginning of October, but Scorpius loved it. He built sandcastles,
collected shells, and gathered rocks. His cheeks were red from the wind, and his hair was a
mess, but he enjoyed it. And Draco enjoyed it for him. Whatever made his son happy.

They flooed back from the beach hotel, exhausted. After long baths, they spent the evening in
the potions lab. Scorpius asked if there was a potion that would warm you up instantly after a
cold day at the beach. Draco decided to try brewing one.

“After adding rosemary, we should mix it eleven times,” he instructed. “Can you do it? Count
carefully.”

Scorp nodded and set to work. “Should it be this shade of orange?”

Draco checked the book. “Let’s see. Yes, it says the colour depends on how fresh the
rosemary is. What do you think it means if it’s deeper than it should be?”

He paused for a moment. “It wasn’t fresh enough?”

“Exactly, yes.”

“Will it still work?”

Draco shrugged. “I think so. But we’ll have to wait for… seven minutes now. Set the timer.”

Scorpius did as he was told, and they both stared at the cauldron in silence.

“Were you always this good with potions?” he asked after a while.

Draco smiled, his eyes softening. “No, but I had an excellent teacher. A real potion master.”

“Were you the best in your class?” Scorp asked, his large eyes bright with curiosity.

“In potions? Yes. But not at the top of my class overall.”

He relaxed his face and smiled. “No, it was Miss… I mean Hermione. Aunt Daphne said so.”
Draco’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing. “Yes,” he muttered, turning his gaze back to the
cauldron. “A few more minutes.”

Scorpius looked at the cauldron too, but after a moment, he spoke again. “Dad, why don’t
you like her?”

He was taken aback by the observation. “What? Where did you…?”

“You weren’t friends at Hogwarts?” Scorp asked.

“No, not really.” An understatement of the century.

“Because she was better at school than you?” Scorpius asked, his eyes wide with naive
curiosity.

“No, not exactly,” Draco sighed.

He had spoken to his son about this before, but never in great detail.

“Scorp… it’s a long story, and not a very happy one. Are you sure you want me to tell you?”

Scorpius nodded slowly.

Draco exhaled deeply and met his gaze. “When I was young, people believed… well, not
everyone, but some people thought that wizards and witches from muggle families weren’t
the same as wizards and witches from wizarding families.”

Saying it like this made it sound ridiculous.

It was ridiculous.

“Okay… but why?”

“Because…” Draco paused, his stomach tightening. He wasn’t about to explain blood
supremacy to his nine-year-old. “I don’t know. It was a stupid, outdated belief. And I… I
believed it too.” He cringed as Scorpius’s face tightened, frowning not in confusion but
disapproval. “I thought I was better than her because my parents were wizards and hers
weren’t.”

“Oh.” Scorpius’ face scrunching in discomfort.

Good to know he’s not a little prick as Draco was. Gods, this is embarrassing.

“Nowadays, people don’t believe in that, or not as much anyway. There are still some bad
people who do though.”

“Do… do you?” Scorp asked.

“No,” Draco said firmly, perhaps more strongly than he intended. “I swear to you, I don’t,
Scorpius. I don’t.” It was important for Draco that his son understood this. I am not my father.
He nodded slowly. “So you didn’t like each other because of that?”

“Yes, and some other things.” He rubbed his neck. “Remember the war I was telling you
about? She was… hurt in our…" I can’t say that. He will question mother about it. “Some
evil people hurt her. Because her parents aren't wizards. Some of them were our relatives.”

Scorpius frowned even more.

“They’re all gone now, so we don’t have to worry about them.”

Draco put his hand on his shoulder, feeling the weight of the conversation. He paused,
wondering if he should say what he needed to next. But he had been honest so far.

“I never said I was sorry for what happened to her. That’s why she doesn’t like me.”

He didn’t seem surprised. “Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what to tell her, Scorp. I don’t know how to apologise for everything.” He
stopped for a moment, considering his next words carefully. “I can’t explain everything to
you because you’re too young and you shouldn’t know about some terrible things that
happened during that time.”

They were silent for a few moments, the only sound in the room the gentle bubbling of the
cauldron.

Scorpius kept his gaze fixed on it, still frowning. “It’s stayed the same colour,” he said
simply.

“Yes, it has,” Draco replied, glancing at him.

Scorpius looked disappointed. Just like my father was disappointed in me… No, I’m nothing
like him.

“Can we try it?” he asked, still not meeting Draco’s eyes.

“Sure, I’ll go first, just to be safe.”

Draco poured the liquid into two small vials, then took a sip from one. Scorpius watched
intently, waiting for some kind of reaction. The warmth spread through him, feeling soothing,
and he drank the rest of it.

“It’s working,” he said after a moment, feeling the heat slowly reach from his lips to his toes.

Scorpius didn’t wait any longer. He took the potion and drank it all at once. “It’s nice,” he
said, looking up at his father with a smile. “Almost the same as a warm bath.”

“Almost,” Draco agreed. He felt he should say something more, something that had been
nagging at him for a while. “Scorp, listen, I…”
“I think you should apologise to Miss Granger, dad.” Scorpius was still staring at the empty
vial in his hands, his voice tentative but firm. “You always say we should apologise if we’ve
done something wrong. And you just said you did.” His gaze flickered up and he looked
more certain. “She seems nice. She’s Aunt Daphne’s friend. Teddy likes her, too.” Scorpius
paused for a moment, and then continued, “I... I saw some letters on your desk. Sorry.”

Draco felt his face burning, and he nodded, unsure of what to say.

“So, I know you want to apologise,” Scorpius added, looking at him expectantly.

He just nodded. He didn’t have anything else to add.

“Should we go now?” Scorp asked after a beat.

“Yes, let’s,” Draco agreed, standing up.

He cleaned up the cauldron, waving his wand to return the ingredients to their rightful places
on the shelves and drawers.

As they walked out of the lab, Scorpius frowned again as he spoke. “It’s funny, isn’t it? To
think that someone whose parents aren’t wizards isn’t good enough, but she was the best in
your class.”

“It is,” Draco said quietly, his thoughts drifting.

They walked through the quiet hallway towards their rooms while the weight of the
conversation lingering between them.

“Teddy says some students bully him because his father was a… werewolf.”

Draco nodded thoughtfully. “There are a lot of wizards and witches who are afraid of
werewolves. Some of them are scary,” he frowned. “But his father wasn’t. He was a good
man.”

Scorpius stopped in front of his door, suddenly looking troubled. “My… my mum was just a
witch,” he asked, frowning. “So no one’s going to bother me because of my family, right?”

Draco stiffened at the question, his heart sinking.

The innocence in Scorpius’s voice hit him hard.

He knelt down, wrapping his arms around his son in a tight embrace, kissing his forehead
before pulling back to look him in the eye.

“They won’t,” Draco said firmly.

It was the first time that night he had lied to his son.
For days, Draco couldn't shake off the conversation he’d had with his son. It had been a
simple exchange, yet it left an impact deeper than anything his so-called friends had ever
managed. It had forced Draco to reassess, to question the people around him. Maybe it was
time to branch out, to meet new people. If only I actually went out and met someone new.

In the end, he decided to write her a letter. A ridiculously long one. He was almost certain she
was gone, neither Daphne nor Pansy had mentioned her during their last encounter, though
their pointed glares had been telling enough.

Writing down his thoughts, however, proved to be harder than expected. He wanted to do it in
order, to make sure he didn’t forget anything important. But the more he wrote, the more it
became embarrassingly clear. This wasn’t about duty or obligation anymore. He didn’t feel
pressured to say something. He wanted to.

For selfish reasons. Again.

Scorpius.

No one is going to bother me because of my family, right?

The memory of his son’s words settled in his chest like lead. He felt a lump in his throat and,
for the first time in years, found himself on the verge of breaking down. It wasn’t even a real
possibility yet, just a thought. A terrible, gut-wrenching thought, but it was enough to undo
him.

Scorpius, his bright, kind-hearted boy, bullied by the same sort of pricks he had once been.
The ones who had made life hell for people like Teddy. Like Granger. Like Weasley, when he
had bullied him for his family's decision to stray from the pureblood path.

And in Scorpius’s case, the worst part?

The bullies wouldn’t be wrong .

Not entirely.

His innocent son would suffer not just for who he was but for who his father had been. And
that realisation was agonising.

Draco dragged a hand down his face, barely listening to his lawyers drone on. He had been
sitting in that chair for what felt like hours . When he checked his watch, it was only a little
past two. Not even forty-five minutes had passed.

His gaze drifted to the window.

Outside, the afternoon was bright and crisp, the early October wind rustling the trees. Not
real autumn yet, he thought distantly. The kind of day that made people want to walk a little
slower, breathe a little deeper.

“Do you have any questions, Mr Malfoy?”

Agatha sounded bored, her pen tapping idly against her notes.

“No,” he said, already itching to leave. “But if you could send me the minutes from the
meeting, that would be great.” He’d go through them later, at home, when he could actually
concentrate.

“Of course,” she said, nodding to her assistant, who set a self-writing quill into motion.
“We’ll have them owled to you immediately.”

“I appreciate it.” He gave a brief nod and stood, eager to be gone.

He moved through the corridors, acknowledging the occasional greeting with a polite dip of
his head. As he stepped through the front doors, the breeze greeted him - cool, steady, with
that distinct scent of autumn creeping in.

It was the kind of wind that made him think of change.

Draco walked down the narrow street lined with law and accounting firms, heading towards
the small café he liked to visit after tedious meetings. The wind brushed against his cheeks,
ruffling his hair slightly.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her.

Granger.

She was standing in front of the same building where he’d spotted her once before, speaking
with a man in a crisp suit. Or at least, he thought it was her. The wind was toying with her
hair, sending strands flying in all directions, almost obscuring her face.

The man leaned in slightly, guiding her closer to the building to shield her from the gust.
They both smiled, and in that moment, Draco was certain. It was her.

Well, if he believed in any of that divination nonsense, he might have called this a sign.

He swallowed hard and walked towards them before he could overthink it.

Granger glanced at him, then did a double take, cutting off mid-sentence. He watched as
recognition dawned, followed by something else, something that made her smile falter and,
unless he was imagining it, a faint blush creep onto her cheeks.

Oh, you’re embarrassed?

Good.

“Granger, hello.” The words were out before he had a chance to second-guess them. He gave
a nod to the man, who returned it politely. “Can I have a word?”

She hesitated, glancing at her companion as if considering using him as an excuse.

But the man, oblivious, was already checking his watch. “I’m going now. Meg’s waiting for
me, anyway,” he said. “I’ll owl you once we hear from them to set up the meeting.” He gave
Draco a brief nod. “Good day, sir.”

“You too,” he replied, forcing a polite smile.

He waited until the man had disappeared down the street before turning back to her.

The wind was still playing havoc with her hair, but she wasn’t bothering to smooth it down
anymore. Her expression had settled into something neutral, calm, composed, but her cheeks
were still tinged pink.

From the wind?

Or from him?

“Yes?” she asked firmly.

“I…” He swallowed. Merlin, I’m actually doing this. “I thought you’d gone back to Spain.”

“No.” She frowned slightly. “Something came up.”

“I see.” He nodded, giving her space to elaborate.

She hesitated, then said, “I got your letter.”

There it was again… that faint blush.

“But I was busy, so… you know…”

“Uh-huh.” He very nearly rolled his eyes at the flimsy excuse. “Do you have time now?” he
asked abruptly. “I want you to have lunch with me.”

Her eyes widened. “What?” she squeaked, like he’d just suggested something wildly
inappropriate.

“A meal. With me. Somewhere,” he repeated, and damn it, hearing it back, it did sound odd.

“A lunch? Now?”

“Well, if we wait, it’ll be called supper,” he huffed.

She blinked at him, then, for some reason, attempted to tame her hopelessly windblown hair.
“You want to have a meal with me, here. In the Alley?”

I didn’t think this through.

“Well… maybe not in the Alley, but…”

She folded her arms, unimpressed. “Why not?”

He didn’t answer.

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Does muggle London work for you?”

“I don’t really…” He hesitated. “I’ve never actually been anywhere… specifically.”

Her lips twitched. “Where have you been in muggle London… unspecifically?”

His irritation flared. She was gaining confidence, and he sounded like an idiot.

“The King’s Cross station.”

She let out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh. “Alright. Can you apparate there? There’s a
Dishoom about five minutes from the station.”

“Okay,” he agreed, and without another word, she turned towards the apparition point.

They apparated to the same spot where he’d arrived on September 1st, but this time, the
station was far more crowded. Draco glanced around at the sea of people moving in all
directions, the hum of voices and hurried footsteps making his head ache. Granger walked
ahead, weaving effortlessly through the throng, and he realised that if she kept up this pace,
he was going to lose her.

The moment a train pulled in, the crowd surged towards it, creating just enough of a gap for
them to slip through and exit the station.

“It’s usually not this busy at this time of day,” she said, glancing at him as they stepped
outside. “Rush hour starts after five when people get off work.”

He nodded, barely listening. His attention was on his surroundings. This part of London was
completely unfamiliar to him.

The buildings were nothing like the ones in Diagon Alley or even some of the older muggle
streets he’d seen. Many of them were sleek and made almost entirely of glass, reflecting the
grey sky. Others were unfinished, skeletal structures with exposed metal bars wrapped around
them. He noticed people in bright orange and yellow-green clothing walking around one of
the sites, their outfits so garish that they made his eyes hurt.

“The construction workers sometimes work at night,” Granger said, as if reading his mind.
“The colours help reflect light so drivers can see them and avoid accidents.”

That sounded… practical.

He gave a short nod in response.

As they walked, they passed several shops displaying muggle clothes, probably sports stores,
judging by the racks of casual shirts, shorts, and oddly tight trousers for women. He had
always thought muggle fashion was indecent, and this certainly confirmed it.
Still, he observed the pedestrians around him. Most were dressed more modestly, likely
because of the cooler weather, but he still found their choices odd. Some men wore decent
shirts and carried business bags, but they’d paired them with denim trousers and trainers
instead of proper shoes. Was that even acceptable in a workplace? Or were they university
students just playing at looking professional?

Granger’s outfit, at least, was respectable. She wore a beige trench coat tied at the waist,
reaching just below her knees, along with smart blue trousers that stopped at her ankles. And
high heels. How she managed to walk in those, especially on the uneven cobblestones of the
Alley, was beyond him.

“It’s here.” She pointed at a small restaurant tucked between taller buildings.

What did she call it again? Meal room? Dish room?

It looked pleasant enough from the outside.

Draco nodded and stepped ahead to open the door for her, catching the way her eyebrows
lifted slightly in surprise. He wasn’t sure whether that should irritate or amuse him. Out of
habit, his hand almost went to the small of her back as she stepped inside, but he caught
himself just in time.

The interior was unexpected. The floor was lined with beige tiles, and the mahogany
furniture gave the space a warm feel. There was a bar at the back, but the walls were unlike
anything he’d seen before. Unfinished, revealing patches of bare brick, metal pipes, and
staircases leading up to who-knew-where.

There weren’t many patrons, so seating was easy. Granger led them to a booth by the large
window on the opposite side of the room. He hadn’t even noticed the canal outside when they
were walking, but from here, he could see the slow-moving water and a few people strolling
through a park.

She slid into her seat first. He followed, sitting across from her.

And then, as he took in the room, he realised she was watching him.

Draco met her gaze briefly before looking away, pretending to study the exposed brickwork
instead.

He almost wished she’d stop staring.

“Is this place new?” he asked, glancing around at the unfinished walls, mostly to fill the
silence.

“I don’t think so. Why?”

He shrugged. “No reason.” He wasn’t about to critique the interior designer’s choices.

A waitress appeared with menus, setting them down before disappearing again.
“Is Indian all right for you?” Granger asked as she skimmed the options. “I should’ve asked
before.”

“Yes, it’s fine, thank you.”

That might’ve been the most polite exchange they’d ever had. On both sides.

“It’s called industrial style,” she said after a moment, pushing her menu aside. “They take
inspiration from old factories, hence the exposed brick and piping everywhere.”

“I see. So it’s intentional?”

“It’s intentional,” she confirmed with a nod. “Pansy’s apartment has a similar style, but it’s
more modern, cleaner. Better suited for a home rather than a place like this.”

“There are no pipes there,” he agreed. “But she does have a nice brick wall in the living
room.”

“I like that wall,” Granger admitted. “It makes the room feel warm and cosy… especially
against that dreadful black marble in the kitchen.”

Draco smirked. “It’s too much.”

The waitress returned before she could reply. “Hello, are you ready to order?”

“Yes, thank you. Could I have vegetable samosas, please? And whatever craft beer you
recommend.”

“Our standard pale ale?”

“Sure. Thank you.”

The waitress turned to him.

“Same,” Draco said, “but with lamb samosas instead, if that’s all right.”

“Of course.” She scribbled it down and left them alone again.

Granger turned to look out the window, giving him the chance to study her in return.

The wind had undone her hair earlier, but she’d mostly tamed it by now. Her silky beige shirt
suited her, and he couldn’t remember if she’d always been this tan.

Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, revealing a few delicate gold bracelets and a watch
that caught the light. The skin on her arm was glowing, almost unnaturally and Draco even
started to wonder if he’s imagining things when he remembered that she probably glamoured
her arm where she had a scar where his psychotic aunt wrote m… Oh no.

It hit him again why he was here.

He started sweating. At some point, he’ll have to start talking. Don't look.
“So why not the Alley?”

Her voice pulled him back.

“Pardon?”

She was tapping her fingers lightly against the wooden table. “Why couldn’t we eat
somewhere in the Alley?”

He shifted in his seat. “I… I don’t think it would be as private.”

“Private from whom? People in general, or people who might know you?”

“People who know you,” he corrected. “I imagine it wouldn’t be… ideal if they saw you with
me.”

She tilted her head. “What makes you think that?”

He exhaled sharply. “Are you telling me that if we sat somewhere in the Alley, at least a few
people wouldn’t immediately rush over to make sure I wasn’t holding you under the
imperius?”

Her arms folded across her chest. “I don’t need anyone coming to my aid.”

“I know that,” he said plainly. “I’m just not sure they do.”

She didn’t reply. Just looked at him. It made him uncomfortable how openly she examined
his face, like she was trying to read something in it.

Draco turned to glance out the window. The sky was darker now. It was going to rain.

She shifted in her seat. “And you weren’t at all worried that someone might question you for
sitting with me?”

He let out a short, amused breath. “My friends would be far more considerate.”

“Guileful.”

“Discreet,” he countered, glancing back at her before looking around again.

He could smell the food now. He hadn’t been hungry before, but suddenly, he was.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, her fingers drumming against the table a little faster now.

It wasn’t the first time she’d managed to guess his thoughts. Was she a legilimens?

“No. I’m just not used to…” He trailed off. No, I will not criticise the speed of service. Not
today. He shook his head. “It’s fine.”

She let out a slow breath. “They’re making the food in the kitchen as we speak.”
“It must be delicious.”

“Yes.” Her jaw tightened, and her narrow brown eyes seemed to glow with restrained
emotion. “Workers make the food here, not slaves, like in some restaurants.”

She’s trying to get a rise out of me. He could brush this off easily.

He smirked. “My house-elf would be deeply offended if you called her a slave. She’s well
paid and even gets holidays,” he added with a nod in her direction. “Thanks to you.”

She sighed. “Five days a year, if they’re lucky, and a galleon a week? What a revolutionary
change I’ve made.” She glanced out the window. “They should name a public holiday after
me,” she muttered sarcastically, shaking her head in disappointment.

He didn’t understand why she saw it like that. No one had ever done anything for house-elves
before. What she’d managed was a victory, whether she chose to see it that way or not.

“Our house-elves have the same working conditions as the average employee in hospitality,”
he pointed out.

She huffed. “And how will you ever financially recover from such a devastating blow?”

He leaned back in his seat. There was no talking to her like this. He’d eat, then leave. She
was too angry and…

She let out a sharp sigh. “I… I see what you’re doing,” she mumbled. “And I… I can’t…”
She rested her elbows on the table, dropping her head into her hands. “I don’t know how to
talk to you.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

A strange mix of relief and unease settled in his stomach. “I… don’t know how to talk to you
either.” But it’d help if you didn’t have a snarky response to everything I said. “Granger, I
think I need to say something. I…”

“Here we are.”

The waitress appeared suddenly. “Vegetable samosas…” She placed the plate in front of
Granger. “Lamb samosas… and two beers. Enjoy!” she said with a cheerful smile before
walking off.

Granger didn’t look at him. Instead, she focused on her plate. “You should try it. It’s really
nice.” She started eating.

They fell into silence again. She didn’t say anything, and he didn’t pick up where he’d left
off. The minutes stretched. She took a sip of beer, glancing at him when she thought he
wasn’t looking.

He liked his food, but he didn’t finish it. Instead, he found himself watching her. She must
have noticed, because she blinked more rapidly, her gaze darting everywhere but at him.
When it became clear he wasn’t going to stop, she gave up.
Granger wiped her hands with a napkin, took another sip of beer, and finally met his eyes.

Draco held her gaze for a second longer than necessary. Whatever he’d planned to say in his
letter disappeared from his mind.

“I just need to say what I have to say, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t interrupt me.”

She didn’t speak. Just leaned back in her seat and waited.

“I… I know it’s…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I know there’s nothing I can say that
can undo what I’ve said or done in the past. But I need you to know… I’m not that person
anymore.”

She wasn’t looking at him, her gaze fixed somewhere just above his shoulder.

“I haven’t been for a very long time,” he continued. “That doesn’t excuse anything. It won’t
erase it, won’t change it. I made some… terrible decisions. Some I can blame on being a
child under the wrong influence, but others…” He exhaled. “Others were entirely my fault.
No one else’s.” He hesitated. “What happened to you… in my home… where I grew up…”

He saw her twitch.

His stomach twisted. I hate that I’m doing this to her.

“I can’t even begin to imagine what that was like for you, and honestly, I don’t dare try.” His
voice was quieter now. “I made your life miserable at Hogwarts. You, your friends, but
mostly you. You were everything I was told I should hate. And the fact that you were better
than me at everything just made it easier.”

He inhaled sharply, steeling himself. “I’m sorry,” he said simply. “For how I treated you at
school. You were a child. No one…” He swallowed. “You didn’t deserve that. And I’m sorry
for the way I… what I called you.”

He cringed and fought the instinct to glance at her arm.

“I need you to know I don’t hold any of those beliefs anymore. And I’m sorry it’s taken me
over a decade to say it.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “Listening to this from your
childhood bully probably wasn’t in your plans today, so I’m sorry for that, too. For making
you relive everything I put you through. Me and my family.”

He exhaled, feeling an odd tightness in his chest.

“Please, believe me when I say… I am sorry for all the pain and suffering you had to endure
because of me.”

The only sound was her shallow, uneven breaths.

Her hands trembled slightly beside her glass, fingers curled inward. Her jaw was tight, and
she blinked rapidly, as if forcing back tears.
And yet, she was too calm.

“Thank you… for saying that,” she said at last.

Her expression didn’t change. She was quiet for a few moments, as if weighing her next
words.

“You know,” she said, voice measured, “if you’d said this to me back then, when the rest of
your mates were doing their little apology tour, I probably would have said I forgive you.”

Draco’s heart lurched.

“Old Hermione would’ve forgiven you,” she murmured. “Or at least, she would have said
she did. And then she would have let it go.”

She finally looked at him now, eyes dark and sharp with something that wasn’t sadness. It
was anger.

“But I can't. I can’t anymore. I'm tired, Malfoy.”

The way she addressed him made him uneasy.

“Tired of always being the bigger person for people who don’t deserve it. Tired of turning the
other cheek for those who hurt me.” She let out a short, humourless laugh. “You know, I
blame my parents a bit, too. When I wrote to them about the shit you put me through, they
told me bullies feed on reactions. That I should just ignore you.”

He cringed, looking down.

For some reason, it all felt more real now.

She wasn’t just a girl he used to taunt in classrooms and corridors. She had a life beyond
Hogwarts - parents who saw her off at the station every September, who waited for her at
home every summer. Parents who told her not to react to him.

“I should’ve punched you in the face more than once, I think,” she huffed.

“I think you should have,” he muttered, barely audible.

Her eyes narrowed. “You weren’t just my bully, Malfoy.”

There was something in the way she said it. Something sharp, something final . He couldn’t
look away.

“A school bully stops at making fun of your hair, your teeth, or the fact that you like books
too much,” she said coldly.

He frowned.

Why did I even make fun of her hair? It was just… hair.
“You didn’t just mock me. You questioned my right to exist in your world. Over and over
again.”

His throat felt dry.

“And the worst part?” She let out a slow breath, eyes shining with something, tears or fury,
he wasn’t sure. “Sometimes, you poisoned me enough to make me question it myself.”

His stomach twisted.

He didn’t want to know this. He didn’t want to have done this to her.

“There were moments when I wondered,” she continued, her voice steady but cutting. “Was I
really taking something away from you just by existing? Did you know something I didn’t?
You, who grew up in an ancient wizarding family, who knew magic your whole life? Maybe
you were right. Maybe I didn’t belong.”

His heart was pounding.

She huffed, shaking her head. “You made me doubt myself,” she said. “You made me doubt
my right to exist in this world, my world. Our world.”

Draco clenched his jaw, but it was too late. His face was burning. He had to look away.

“And that word…” she exhaled sharply. She rubbed her arm instinctively, and Draco felt like
he was going to be sick.

For a brief second, she met his gaze. Then, with a small wave of her hand, the glamour lifted.

He saw it.

And he knew it would never disappear.

“I’m going to be honest with you,” she said, her voice steady. “Like you said you were with
me.”

She was looking at him properly now, and he forced himself not to look away.

“I do believe you’re sorry. I do believe you’re a changed man.” She exhaled. “Not just
because of what my friends say about you, but because I can see it. Even in the few brief
interactions I’ve had with your son.”

His throat tightened. His pulse thundered in his ears. I am not going to cry in front of her in a
muggle pub.

“I don’t blame you for what happened to us,” she continued. “To me. In your house.”

Draco clenched his jaw.

“You lied to buy us time… to protect Harry, or for whatever reason you had. You couldn’t
have stopped your… your aunt from…” She faltered. “From torturing me. From scarring
me.”

He swallowed hard, but she didn’t let him look away.

“I wouldn’t have expected you to try to save me,” she said simply.

It was true.

He had been a fucking coward.

But hearing her say it so plainly, so casually, made his stomach churn.

“I can see that’s what makes you the most uncomfortable.” Her voice was quieter now, but no
less firm. “You keep trying not to look at my arm.”

His face burned.

Why is she saying these things like they don’t hurt?

“I don’t blame you for what happened there,” she said. “But I can’t forget what happened
before.”

Draco finally looked at her.

She was sad. Angry. But determined not to cry.

“You chose to say those things to me at school. You chose to be that person. Some of your
friends grew up in far worse circumstances than you, but they never called me that.”

His breath was shallow now.

“I understand you,” she continued. “And I still don’t forgive you.”

He exhaled slowly, shoulders slumping.

“I also understand that it means holding a grudge against a boy who no longer exists. But I’ll
allow myself to be selfish in that way.” She lifted her chin slightly. “I think I should be
allowed to be selfish and unreasonable after everything.”

Draco nodded.

He wasn’t sure what else he could do.

The silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t unbearable. Just… heavy.

Eventually, it was Granger who spoke first.

“I think we should try to move on from this now.” Her voice was quiet but certain. “We’ve
said what we had to say to each other. You shouldn’t go through your day wondering if
you’ve done enough, if I’ve forgiven you. And I won’t go through my days thinking about
my place in this world or how all of you perceive me.”

Draco hesitated, then nodded again. “I… I agree. Yes. I understand.”

She studied him for a moment, then gave a small nod.

“Thank you,” he said, voice rougher than he’d have liked. “For letting me say what I had to.
And for listening.”

She rubbed her forehead. “Thank you for listening to me, too.”

Silence settled again, though it felt lighter now.

“We have… mutual friends these days,” she said eventually. “I don’t like it when people
tiptoe around me, or when they walk on eggshells.” She shifted slightly. “Can we be civil
when we run into each other? For their sake, at least.”

Draco let out a slow breath. Then, finally, he managed a small, wry smile.

“I think I can do that.”

The tension in his chest eased slightly.

“Good,” she said simply, taking a sip of her beer. Then, rubbing the back of her neck, she
added, “I think I need to go to the loo. You think you’ll be alright here?”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “I’ll try not to blow up the place while you’re gone.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thank you for trying.”

He let out a long, shaky breath as she left, his chest rising and falling heavily. He should’ve
felt relieved. They’d finally had the conversation that had been looming over him for years,
but the weight of her words still pressed down on him.

His mind raced, sorting through everything she’d said, the emotions she’d laid bare. He knew
he needed to clear his head. He thought about the pensieve, how it could help him untangle
the mess of his thoughts. They were rare, expensive, but the idea wouldn’t leave him. He had
tried so hard not to occlude while she spoke.

Granger returned a few minutes later. Her hair was now piled on top of her head, and she’d
unbuttoned the top of her shirt. A few droplets of water trailed down her neck. She waved a
hand over her arm, and the glamour returned.

Draco looked away.

“Did you like it?” she asked, nodding toward his plate.

“Yes, it was nice.” He glanced around. “It’s nice here. Pleasant.”

She looked around too. “I imagine it’s even nicer on days when you’re not here to bare your
soul and unpack childhood trauma.”

A weak smile tugged at his lips. “Yes, I imagine it is.” He turned toward the window,
watching the rain ripple across the canal. “I think I might bring Scorpius here one day. He
likes ducks.”

She followed his gaze and smiled softly. “I meant what I said. About your son. I can see
you’re not the same person you used to be because I can see him.”

He looked at her carefully.

She hesitated, then blushed slightly. “If I’m being completely honest, I never really trusted
Daphne when she said what kind of parent you were.” She shifted in her seat. “I see now that
she was right. But I… I had a predetermined opinion based on unconfirmed assumptions.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “That’s a lot of words to say you thought I was a shit parent.”

She chuckled. “In my defence, I never said it out loud.”

“So why tell me now?”

He noticed the droplets of water still clinging to her face, caught in the strands of her hair.

“I’m… I…” She exhaled, looking away. “I’m doing this thing with my therapist… my mind
healer. I try to be as open as possible. Not keep things to myself.” A faint blush coloured her
cheeks as she stared out the window.

The rain had started a while ago.

“I should also admit I intentionally ignored your letter. I wasn’t that busy.”

Draco huffed, unsurprised. I knew it.

“That’s good, I suppose. The thing with your healer.” He considered it for a second. “Is it?”

She shrugged. “Depends who you ask.” A small smirk. “My parents say it’s great. My
friends? Not all the time.” She finished her beer, and he could tell she was ready to leave.

Draco drained his own glass. “Should I ask for the bill?”

“Um… I can do it.” She waved to the waitress.

“Cash or card?”

“Card, please.” She pulled out her wallet and held up a small blue card. “It’s for payments.”

He took it in curiously, noting the string of numbers and her name printed on it.

“Oh.” He reached for his own wallet, feeling oddly unprepared. “No, I’ll pay.”
“It’s alright.” She shook her head. “It’s my part of the city, and I chose this place. They don’t
take wizarding money anyway.” She let out a small, uncomfortable chuckle.

“Of course they don’t.” Draco frowned, flipping through his wallet. “I have some muggle
money for situations like this.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Do you… often find yourself in situations like this?”

The waitress returned with a small device, and Granger simply swiped her card through it.
The woman nodded and walked away.

“Um, no. Not very often.” Draco sighed, pulling out some paper notes. “How much do I owe
you?”

“I said I paid. You don’t owe me anything.” She frowned slightly. “But you can leave a tip, if
you want.”

He sifted through the stack of notes and picked a few. “Is this enough?”

Granger blinked. “It is. For her rent the next month. God.” She picked the note that had a
value of fifty pounds.

Muggle money confused him. Especially because their coins had such a low value.

“This is more than enough. She wouldn't get this much from regular customers, but you can
treat her.”

Draco let her take care of it, then stood as she started pulling on her coat.

“It’s raining.” She sighed, glancing outside.

“Do you think it’s safe to go to the bathroom and apparate from there?” he asked.

“Oh. Right. That makes more sense, yes.” She turned toward the back of the pub. “You
should probably go into a cubicle before apparating. I don’t know if they have cameras
inside.”

His brow furrowed. “How is that even allowed?”

“I’m not actually sure if it is.” She tilted her head. “But just… be behind closed doors.”

“Alright.”

They stopped in front of the bathroom doors, standing close. The heels she wore brought her
nearly to his height.

Draco hesitated for a second, then decided not to be an awkward teenager about it. He held
out a hand.

“Nice talking to you, Granger.”

 She looked at his hand before taking it, squeezing firmly. Stronger than he’d expected, but
then again, nothing about her was weak.

“You too, Malfoy,” she said, before stepping into the women’s bathroom.

He stood there for a second, trying to place what her perfume reminded him of.

Then he shook his head and stepped into the men’s, disapparating a moment later.

Chapter End Notes

The first date https://www.pinterest.com/tpzzz1105/in-the-mood-for-truth/the-first-date/

 Hermione
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

October and November 2012

“Can we stop somewhere, Hermione? I need the loo,” Albus said.

“What?!” She turned down the music from the radio. “Say that again?”

He chuckled. “I said, I need the loo. Can we stop somewhere?”

“Oh! Of course. Let me find a place to park.”

She drove for a few more minutes before spotting an empty space on the street near a café.
They headed inside.

“I’m getting myself a coffee while I wait for you,” she told him. “Do you want anything?”

He thought for a moment. “Maybe a hot chocolate? The normal one, not white.”

“Alright. Hurry up then.”

While Albus headed to the loo, Hermione joined the queue behind a couple.

She hadn’t touched her car in weeks, not with the endless rain hammering down on the city.
Instead, she’d relied on apparition and the floo to get around. But today was different. The
chill lingered in the air, but for the first time in ages, the sun had broken through the clouds,
casting a warm glow over the streets.

Her parents had told her the weather in Tarragona was beautiful. Twenty-five degrees nearly
every day, perfect for lounging outside and soaking up the sun. She felt a twinge of jealousy,
picturing them basking in the warmth while she trudged through London’s dreary cold.

The couple in front of her shuffled closer to the counter. A moment later, Albus reappeared
just as she was about to order.

“Did you wash your hands?” she teased.

He rolled his eyes, smirking. “No, I never do that.”

She chuckled and shook her head before ordering their drinks. Once they had their coffee and
hot chocolate to go, she tapped her card to pay. Albus watched the whole process with
narrowed eyes.
“I just don’t get how it works,” he said as they settled at an outdoor table. “You can’t tell me
that’s not magic.”

“It’s not,” she laughed. “It’s technology. Like those DVDs you watch your cartoons and films
on. Just plastic discs packed with loads of information.”

He frowned. “But how do you know how to do it?”

“I don’t, really,” she admitted with a shrug. “I just tap my card on the reader, same as how
you put a DVD in its slot and press play.” She paused. “You don’t know how wands work
yet, but one day, you’ll be using yours to cast spells, won’t you?”

“I suppose.” He still looked sceptical but took another sip of his drink. “It’s really nice,
though. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Hermione glanced around. The café wasn’t busy. Across the street, a woman held her
children’s hands as they crossed.

“Have you heard from your brother yet?” she asked.

James had been at Hogwarts for nearly two months now. In that time, Hermione had written
to him once. To her surprise, he’d responded almost immediately, his enthusiasm practically
leaping off the parchment. He’d rambled on about the ghosts he’d met, the excitement of
navigating the school’s ever-shifting staircases, and all the things he’d discovered so far.

“Yeah, he writes to mum and dad nearly every day. I added a little note in one of the letters
too.”

“Did Lily send one of her masterpieces?” she teased.

Al smirked. “She drew a picture of him in a red and gold shirt fighting a dragon. Uncle
George told him he’d have to battle one if he wanted to be a proper Gryffindor.”

“A dragon, you say?” Hermione smiled. “When we were about to be sorted, he told Ron
we’d have to fight a troll.”

Al giggled. “A troll sounds easier than a dragon.”

I don’t know about that, mate.

Hermione studied him for a moment. “What house do you think you’ll be in?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t… I don’t really know. I haven’t thought about it much.”
He hesitated. “I don’t think I’m brave enough for Gryffindor.”

She frowned slightly. “Why would you say that?”

“I dunno.” He shrugged. “I just don’t like doing… dangerous things.”

It was true. He was more studious than adventurous. Unlike James, whose extroverted nature,
loud antics, and impulsive decisions often led to chaos, Al preferred to weigh his options
before making a move.

Wow.

I wonder where he gets that from.

“You like driving with me,” she pointed out.

He rolled his eyes. “That’s different. You said cars aren’t dangerous and that everyone can
drive them.”

She nodded. “There are different kinds of bravery, Al. It’s not all about jumping off a cliff.”

He looked at her, alarmed.

“It’s just an expression,” she clarified with a chuckle.

“Oh.” He nodded, taking another sip of his hot chocolate.

“Besides,” she continued, “it doesn’t really matter, does it? We’re all together now anyway.
We’re Gryffindors, but we’ve got Slytherin friends, a few Ravenclaws too. And Teddy’s a
Hufflepuff.”

“Scorpius says the same thing.”

“Does he?”

Ever since Teddy had gone back to Hogwarts, Al and Scorpius had lost the only older boy
willing to spend time with them. Teddy, to his credit, had always been polite and patient, but
given the age gap, he probably hadn’t found their conversations all that riveting.

Harry had mentioned that Malfoy wrote to him, asking if it would be all right for the boys to
meet because Scorpius had been asking about Al. At first, the request had caught him off
guard, but he’d agreed, and the boys had met at Andromeda’s a few times since then.
Hermione and Daphne had also taken them for a walk in the park before stopping for coffee
in the Alley.

Last week, while Al was at hers watching cartoons as she tackled a massive kitchen clean-up,
Daphne had texted, saying she had Scorpius for the afternoon while Malfoy was in meetings.
She suggested Hermione bring Al over for a coffee break. The two boys had spent the entire
time curled up on the sofa, completely absorbed in playing games on Daphne’s phone until
Malfoy arrived to collect his son.

They’d managed an awkward but polite exchange. Hermione had felt horribly self-conscious.
He had looked effortlessly elegant in a navy suit, while she was wearing an old, washed-out
T-shirt of her dad’s and a pair of sweatpants. Daphne had been delighted with the progress,
though.
“He says he’d like to be in Slytherin like his mum and dad, but that it doesn’t really matter.”

Hermione nodded. “He’s right. It doesn’t.”

Albus looked at her thoughtfully. “Do you think maybe you could invite him over one day?
We could watch films together.”

She hesitated. “Oh… I don’t know about that, Al.”

His cheeks reddened. “Oh. Okay.”

“I mean,” she added quickly, “parents don’t usually let their kids go to a stranger’s house,
you know. But if you invite him to yours, I’m sure he’d be allowed.”

“Oh, I get it,” he nodded. “But… dad said you went to school with his dad. So you’re not
really strangers, are you?”

“It takes more than that to not be strangers,” she replied, shifting in her seat. We’ve only just
started talking. I’m not inviting his child to my house.

She drained the last of her coffee and stood. “Shall we? You can finish that in the car.” She
raised a brow. “But if you spill it, I might have to hex you.”

He grinned. “I won’t, I promise!”

Hermione drove them back to her place before flooing Albus home to the Potters. Harry had
wanted him out of the house for a few hours since the curse-breakers were coming to inspect
the third floor.

“They say it’s still too much work,” he muttered when she asked about it at the kitchen table.

“Some of the curses and spells are old blood magic, and they don’t have permission to tamper
with those,” Harry explained, rubbing his forehead. “Andromeda would have to come over
from time to time to help, since she’s a Black, but even that’s complicated. She was officially
cut off from the family, so it could be dangerous.” He let out a frustrated sigh and shook his
head. “God, I hate this fucking house sometimes.”

He rested his head on his folded arms.

“I know,” Hermione said softly. “I’m sorry. Have you two ever seriously thought about
moving?”

“Not really.” He let out a small, tired laugh. “I think we’re just used to it now. And…” He
hesitated, then smiled weakly. “It’s stupid, but I feel like I owe it to Sirius, you know? He
wanted me to have it.”

She rubbed his arm reassuringly. “He’d also want you to be happy with your family. I don’t
think he’d hold it against you if you eventually moved.”

Harry shook his head. “He broke a centuries-old tradition so I could have it.”
Hermione smiled. “He broke a lot of centuries-old traditions in his lifetime.”

She took a slow breath, glancing around. The house still felt the same - the dark wood, the
heavy silence, the lingering scent of old books and history woven into the walls. It carried a
bittersweet nostalgia, reminding her of the times they had all been together here. But it was
also a painful reminder of how much had changed. Of how much they had lost.

“I should go. I’ve got some paperwork to go through,” she said, pushing her chair back.

Harry nodded. “Thanks for today. It means a lot. To him as well.”

“I know. I enjoy talking to him too,” she said with a small smile. “Lily, on the other hand,
absolutely drains me with her over-the-top enthusiasm. If I’m being completely honest.”

Harry laughed. “Oh, definitely . She can be a lot sometimes.”

When Hermione got home, she ordered lunch and settled back into work. The past few weeks
had been even more hectic than usual. Editing old chapters, incorporating new information,
and, most time-consuming of all, referencing her sources. She wished she could ask Padma
for help, but of course, she was busy with her own work. However, there were moments
when she craved even more work, and this was particularly true when she received an
unexpected letter from Malfoy.

She had been completely taken aback when a beautiful eagle owl arrived at her window. At
first, she assumed it was official Ministry correspondence. Instead, it was a request from
Malfoy to meet.

Hermione stared at the monogrammed parchment, as if it could tell her what the right thing
to do was. She wrote a quick note agreeing, then another saying she was busy, then another
explaining why she was busy and wouldn’t have free time in the foreseeable future. In the
end, she settled on the least honourable response - she crumpled up all her drafts, tossed them
in the bin, and ignored the letter. With any luck, she wouldn’t run into him anywhere.

But the day after her birthday, she received an owl from her lawyers with updates on the
foreign publishing deals, along with letters from her writing team requesting her input on
some chapters they were stuck on. It seemed her wish for a busier schedule had been granted.

She had taken a short trip back to Spain for the weekend, flying on a regular airline. The
flight wasn’t long, and besides, she had promised Sofia some airport chocolates. She hadn’t
been able to see David because weekends were packed with his tours, but she’d left some
extra chocolate for him, too. He texted her while she was on her way back, thanking her and
hoping to see her next time.

Now, weeks later, she had fallen back into the same routine, writing at home, daily meetings
with her team, occasional meetings with lawyers. It wasn’t stressful. In fact, she found it
exciting.

The team meetings were particularly fun. She loved learning from people who wrote for a
living, some of them even students. It was easy to connect with them, given their shared
interests. She had another meeting scheduled for the next day, which meant she needed to
finish the chapter she was working on.

When they had reviewed the chapter, they sent her plenty of notes. While she was with them
the next day, she received a message from William, one of her lawyers, asking her to meet
him after she was done at a small café near his firm to sign some papers.

The café was small and tucked away, with just a few tables, but it had an air of quiet
elegance. Expensive-looking but unpretentious. As she stepped inside, she noted that most of
the five or six patrons were dressed smartly, likely businesspeople or lawyers finishing their
work for the day. She was relieved she’d opted for something professional.

Settling at a table by the window, she pulled out the reviewed chapter and scanned the
corrections. One comment, written in red, told her to shorten her sentences. I have a lot to
say. Sue me.

Glancing at her watch, she realised it was already close to three o’clock. She’d only managed
to read half the review before the bell above the door jingled. Out of habit, she glanced up
and immediately froze.

Malfoy had just walked in.

She wasn’t entirely sure at first, since he had his back to her while ordering at the bar, but that
hair of his was impossible to mistake.

For a fleeting moment, she considered ducking her head and avoiding him again. But she
reminded herself that they had, at the very least, made amends. Well, that might be an
exaggeration. We are barely okay.

She found herself watching him as he shrugged off his coat, draping it neatly over the back of
a barstool. Part of her hoped he wouldn’t notice her. But a tiny, masochistic part of her almost
wanted him to.

When he turned and met her gaze, she realised it was only fair to initiate contact this time. He
had been the one to do it the last few times.

So, before she could second-guess herself, she said, “Hello,” and waved.

"Hello," he said, looking slightly puzzled.

Malfoy had walked in looking completely at ease, as if he were a regular. Which meant she
was the one out of place.

"I'm waiting for my lawyer," Hermione explained.

He nodded. "Oh. Okay." He glanced between his chair at the bar and her table.
"You can sit with me if you want. I'm not doing anything." Did I just… invite him to have
coffee with me? "Unless you came here to be alone, in which case…"

"No, I wasn't," he said slowly, picking up his cup and coat with a touch of hesitation. "I had a
meeting with my lawyers too. I’ve made a habit of coming here. They do a nice espresso." He
gestured to his small cup.

"If I had espresso, my heart would race like I'd run a marathon." She pointed at her drink.
"So, I stick to something like this." There was more milk than coffee.

A quick smile flickered across his face. "It’s not for everyone, I suppose."

It was strange seeing Malfoy this... normal . He was usually so tense around her.

And you weren’t around him?

Shut up.

"I tried to get into it, but it didn’t work," she admitted, taking a sip of her latte. "My dad even
bought us an espresso machine years ago, but I never used it. Ended up selling it online."

"Sold it online?" he asked and frowned.

"Yeah, I just posted an ad on Faceb…" She stopped herself, realising he probably wasn’t like
Theo or, to some extent, Daphne. "I mean, I found buyers through the Internet."

He shook his head and turned to the window. In the soft afternoon light, his eyes looked
almost grey rather than blue.

"Blaise is right. I'm awful at all these modern things," he muttered.

"Such as?"

"The Internet?" He rolled his sleeves up slightly.

Hermione glanced at his arms but quickly looked away. He probably still has the tattoo. I
doubt he’d want me to see it.

"And phones?" he continued. "Do you know what an angry bird is?"

She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. "Yes."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "I said that wrong, didn’t I?"

His eyes are grey. How did I never notice before? That’s an unusual eye colour.

"It’s Angry Birds , isn’t it?"

She nodded slowly. "Yes."

"Well, Scorpius loves it."

"All kids do. It’s addictive. I’m afraid I fell victim to it myself."

He almost laughed. "Seriously?"

"Yes, it’s fun," Hermione said defensively but then grinned. "Though I hated how much time
I spent thinking about it, so I just deleted it from my phone."

"Just like that? That easy?"

"For me, yes. I don’t think it would be for children," she said.

A lull settled between them, and Hermione nearly jumped when the espresso machine behind
the bar hissed to life.

Now what?

The silence was suddenly uncomfortable.

"He talks a lot about the Potters' kid," Malfoy said after a moment.

"Albus," Hermione corrected. "He does too."

She hesitated, debating whether to share Al's plans. In the end, curiosity won.

"He asked if he could come over to mine to watch films on the telly with Scorpius."

Malfoy frowned slightly.

Oh, so like that.

"Don't worry, I explained that it would be… somewhat unsuitable," she added quickly.

"No, it's not about whether it's… unsuitable or not," he said, his voice edged with irritation.
"It's just… two boys together. They might be a handful." He paused. "If Daph’s there with
you or something..."

"Oh, okay. Al will be thrilled."

Silence settled again. Hermione glanced around, searching for something to say.

"You spend a lot of time with him," Malfoy remarked eventually.

"I like him the most."

"Did you tell Potter that?"

"Yes."

He let out a short laugh. "Just like that?"

She shrugged. "I mean, I dressed it up with more polite wording."

"Got it." He nodded, still smiling. Is this the first time he's laughed with me? "So, what are
the other two like?"

Hermione considered for a moment, then smiled. "James is… well, he's exactly how I
imagine you thought Harry was back in school."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

"Talkative, proud, self-assured. Loves being the centre of attention."

He smirked. Ah, there it is. The Malfoy face.

"And Lily's only four, but she's full of energy. I can’t keep up. Pansy adores her, though." She
shook her head. "It’s too much for me."

He smiled again. It was strangely… refreshing. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.

"Yes, she has a special place on Pansy’s fridge."

"I imagine so," Hermione said. "What about Scorpius? What’s he like?"

"He’s everything I…" Malfoy started quickly but cut himself off. Instead, he took a breath
and continued. "Scorpius is kind, he listens, but he questions everything. He doesn't just
accept something because I told him to." His lips twitched at some memory. "He’s smart.
Smarter than I was at his age."

Hermione nodded. "I can see why Al likes him. They’re similar. But he is a bit shy."

Malfoy shook his head. "Oh, Scorp’s not shy. But he’s cautious. He doesn’t let just anyone
in."

"That’s good. Safer that way." She took a sip of her coffee.

"I agree."

He looked at her, as if about to say something else, but William arrived, cutting him off.

"Sorry, Miss Granger, you know how it is," her lawyer said, shaking her hand quickly. "Once
they start talking..." He waved his hands vaguely as he dug through his bag.

Hermione shook her head. "Oh, it's all right, William. Please, take your time."

Malfoy stood up. "I should go." He drained the rest of his espresso and nodded to William.

"Oh, no, sir, we just need to sign something and then I…"

"No, no." He was already pulling on his coat. "It’s time for me to go anyway. Nice talking to
you again, Granger."

"You too, Malfoy."

She watched him leave, following him with her eyes until the door swung shut behind him.

"Oh, that’s Malfoy?" William asked absently as he shuffled the papers into order.

"Yes," Hermione said, settling back in her chair. "So, what do I need to sign?"

She didn’t have much time to dwell on her conversation with Malfoy because her thoughts
were too occupied by The English Patient. She had watched the film the other night and,
naturally, decided to read the book.

And also because, the very next day, she saw him again.

Hermione had just left her team’s office and was on her way to William’s to return some
documents when they ran into each other on a narrow street.

"Another meeting?"

He sighed, exasperated. "Almost every day, yes. You?"

She glanced at the firm’s building. "Just dropping something off at my lawyer’s. I’m heading
home now."

"Oh, okay," he said, then looked towards the café from yesterday. "I spoke to Scorpius. About
your little movie… date… thing."

She rolled her eyes. "It was Al’s idea more than mine, but I take your point. So, is he
interested?"

"Are you serious?" Malfoy stepped closer. "I won’t have a moment’s peace until I give him
the exact time and date."

They agreed on the following weekend, the only time the boys were free from lessons, and
apparently, Daphne’s social life was nonexistent.

On Saturday, after lunch, Daphne and Scorpius arrived at her house, flooing directly into the
living room. Albus had already been there for an hour, carefully selecting DVDs for their
movie night. He had lined up a mix of Disney classics and family films, debating which
would be the best choice.

After much deliberation, they settled on Aladdin. Hermione found it amusing that, despite the
flying carpet and a genie granting wishes, the boys seemed most fascinated by the pet
monkey. Then again, growing up with magic probably made everything else seem ordinary.

To recreate the full cinema experience, Hermione made popcorn and brought out some fizzy
drinks. Scorpius, who had never tried Coke before, took a sip and promptly decided he hated
it.
Once the movie started, she dimmed the lights and pulled the curtains to set the proper
ambiance. She and Daphne sat at the island, a little away from the boys.

"I can’t believe this is how I’m spending my Saturday evening," she muttered, watching
them.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I’m sorry. Did you have to cancel other plans?"

"No, that’s what I’m saying. I’m spending time with children." She shook her head. "And
they’re not even mine."

"We’re having excellent wine… Do you want something to eat?"

"No, I’m good. I’ve got popcorn." Daphne took a few bites, then glanced sideways at
Hermione. "So, Draco said you ran into each other at some coffee shop?"

"Yeah, I was waiting for my lawyer, and he showed up."

"So you two can talk without supervision from me or someone else?"

"Yes, Daphne," Hermione rolled her eyes. "I am an adult who can behave in public."

"Okay, okay. I’m glad," she said, smiling. "It’s good you managed to sort out whatever it was.
He didn’t take it well when we all jumped on him."

"You had an intervention?" Hermione scoffed.

"Oh, is that what you’d call it? I suppose it was, but it wasn’t planned." Daphne narrowed her
eyes. "Pansy didn’t tell you?"

"No."

"So she really stopped gossiping. Wow." Daphne shook her head. "I still don’t know how to
feel about that."

“It is quite unsettling.”

The movie evening went well. They ended up watching both a cartoon and a live-action film.
Scorpius seemed more interested in the latter. His curiosity about muggle life made him an
eager observer. Al, eager to keep his friend engaged, promised to pick something better next
time.

There’s going to be a next time, huh?

Scorpius was already looking forward to their next movie date, according to Malfoy, who
casually mentioned it when they sat together while Hermione waited for William in the café.

Again.
She wasn’t sure how to feel about his frequent, unexpected appearances in her life.

"So, despite you offering him some terrible beverage, he’s still interested."

"You’re lucky he didn’t like it," Hermione chuckled, then frowned. "Those drinks are way too
sugary, and honestly, they’re bad for you. But kids love them, don’t they?" She paused, a
slight nostalgia creeping in. "I was never allowed to have them. They’re terrible for your
teeth. And my parents are dentists."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Dentists, huh?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes. That’s what they do. Fix teeth."

She wasn’t sure if he truly understood the concept of dentists, but considering his near-
perfect smile, he was clearly doing something right.

"Right…" He sounded amused but curious. "So why did they move abroad?"

She shrugged. "Well, lots of people retire to places like Spain or Portugal. They sold their
practice and decided to retire early. Bought a house and a little vineyard. That’s it."

"A house and a vineyard…" Malfoy nodded slowly, clearly impressed. "Sounds like a dream
retirement."

A few days later, Hermione stepped out of the office building, the cool evening air
immediately hitting her face, causing her to shiver slightly. It had been a long day with her
team, and she was exhausted, so tired that she felt she could fall asleep the second her head
hit the pillow. She looked around, taking in the bustle of the busy street, when suddenly she
spotted him across the road, standing with his hands full of shopping bags.

"Are you stalking me?" Malfoy asked, his voice carrying across the street as he smirked at
her.

"Me? Stalking you?" Hermione scoffed. "Of course not. If I were, you wouldn't know."

"It'd be hard not to notice..." He glanced her up and down with that signature Malfoy smirk.

She looked down at herself. Heating in the office had been ridiculous, so her hair was
probably bigger than usual. She wore a chunky green jumper, leggings, and wellies, and had
a pile of papers, colourful folders, and notebooks cradled in her arms.

"Well, you didn't notice when we were stalking you in school, so..." She started walking
toward the apparition point.

"Wait, what?" He called out after her.

Hermione turned before she reached the point. "Oh, we wanted to get some information, so
we followed you around a few times."
Malfoy blinked at her, confusion written all over his face.

"Did you notice my big hair, then?"

"No, wait. Are you serious?" he asked before she apparated away with a small smirk of her
own.

They met frequently, almost every time Hermione had a meeting with her team. After the first
few encounters, she found herself feeling more at ease around him, and they began engaging
in more conversations.

Hermione was careful with her words, steering clear of any topics that might bring them back
to the difficult conversation they'd had. She didn’t want to revisit that yet, not when things
between them were just starting to feel… normal. Despite their shared history, it was almost
like they were two strangers making small talk, which felt odd yet strangely refreshing at the
same time.

“I saw Goyle when I came back to London,” she said, taking a bite of her muffin. “You’re not
friends anymore?”

Malfoy shrugged. “He doesn’t live here. Moved to Scotland with his wife.” He paused. “You
know Millicent Bulstrode?”

“Oh, I know her. And her cat.” She grinned.

“We write sometimes, but not often.”

“I never saw you hanging out with Theo or Blaise at school.”

“They didn’t want to... they weren’t really like us. We spent more time together, you know, in
private. Common room, holidays…” He trailed off, a bit awkwardly.

“Oh.” Hermione shifted uncomfortably. “I always wished I could have seen your common
room. Harry and Ron said it was much more… opulent than ours.”

“I mean, I don’t know about yours, but…” He narrowed his eyes at her. “When were they
ever in our common room?”

She smirked. “I told you, we were following you.”

“Will you ever explain that? Really?”

He frowned, but strangely, there were no wrinkles on his forehead. His skin was practically
flawless. Lucky bastard.

Hermione leaned in slightly, her tone playful. “I’ve got two words for you.” She smirked
again. “Polyjuice potion.”
His confusion was evident. “Where did you… how did… when?”

She shrugged nonchalantly. “We made it in the abandoned girls' bathroom.”

“We,” Malfoy repeated, rolling his eyes. “Just say you. You made it. Are you telling me those
two gits knew how to brew polyjuice potion in school?”

Hermione blinked, slightly taken aback by his half-compliment. She probably even blushed.
“Hey, be respectful.” She paused, looking at him thoughtfully. “It’s true, but still…”

October drew to a close, and Hermione received news from Ron. He had proposed to Susan,
and she had said yes. They were officially engaged. Despite feeling genuinely happy for
them, a part of her felt a strange unease, something she couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t
jealousy, just... something else.

“Do you think that’s weird?” she asked Malfoy, as they sat in the cafe again.

“I don’t think so. It’s normal to compare ourselves to our friends.” He finished his coffee with
a sigh. “Big steps, big changes in their lives. We’re not comparing grades anymore. Besides,
he is your ex, so...”

“Yeah,” she replied, her voice soft, looking at him as he put on his coat. “Did you feel this
way when Pansy got married?”

“No.”

“Of course not,” Hermione said, correcting herself. “You were married then already, sorry.”

“Yes, but no. I meant… Pansy and I... I mean...” He fidgeted with his collar, clearly
uncomfortable. “How much did she tell you?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Unfortunately for you, a lot.”

He sighed, then pulled his scarf on, clearly trying to make it look more presentable, but
failing miserably. He ended up wrapping it around his neck like a child, and it looked odd
against the sharpness of his suit.

“Well then, you know,” he mumbled, looking almost sheepish for a moment, “Pans and I
didn’t have what you and Weasel did.”

“We all thought you and Potter had a thing. Did she tell you that?” He smirked again, clearly
trying to get a rise out of her.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “She did.”

“But Weaslette snatched him from you,” he teased.

“She didn’t snatch anyone from me,” Hermione said firmly. “Harry was always like a brother
to me.” She took her Kindle, making it clear she was now waiting for William and no longer
focused on their conversation.

“Right.” She could hear his smirk as he stood, ready to leave. “Nice talking to you, Granger.”

She waved her hand, not looking up from her book. “You too, Malfoy.”

Ron and Susan’s engagement party was a lovely affair. It was intimate, with only close family
and friends in attendance, and it was heartwarming to see them so happy together.

Most of the evening, Hermione found herself with George, as everyone else had paired off. It
had become their thing at parties, especially when Padma wasn’t around.

“So, do you think this will ever be you?” Hermione asked, glancing over at Ron and Susan,
who were wrapped up in each other.

George looked at the happy couple, then back at Hermione, his face contorting into a look of
mock horror. “You mean… getting engaged to my brother, or his now-fiancée? I don’t think
so, Hermione. What kind of weird stuff are you into?”

She rolled her eyes. “I swear to God, George…”

“A joke, darling,” he said, tapping her on the back. “But seriously, you on edge? Want
another drink?”

“No, I’m good.” She waved him off, her thoughts elsewhere. “I’ve got to read something
when I get home.”

He nodded sympathetically. “How’s the book going?”

“Surprisingly slowly,” Hermione sighed. “I’ve signed my name so many times recently, it’s
starting to make no sense to me.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You know when you repeat
a word so many times it just... loses all meaning?”

“Oh, yeah,” George chuckled. “But your name never really made sense to me. It sounds...
aggressive.”

“Aggressive?” Hermione blinked at him in surprise.

“Yeah,” he said thoughtfully. “It’s got all those Rs and Gs. It’s rough around the edges, you
know?”

She shook her head, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “Speaking of ‘aggressive’... have you
stopped spreading those rumours about me and Theo?”

George raised his eyebrows and frowned. “Yes, I have. And what do you mean, ‘speaking of
aggressive’?”
“Oh, that’s what I was going to become if you hadn’t stopped.”

“Got it.” Looking around the room, he spotted something else. “Susan’s mum seems nice.”

“She does,” Hermione agreed, her eyes following the two women. “Molly and she seem to hit
it off. They’re... similar,” she added cautiously.

George shook his head. “Yeah, poor Ron and Susan.”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, God, yes. One Molly is too much, but two?” She
blushed, realising her bluntness. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.” Control yourself,
Hermione.

“No, no,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re absolutely right.”

Hermione glanced over at the two women deep in conversation, then back to George. “Her
mum’s a muggleborn, right?”

“Yeah,” George nodded, his grin returning. “She’ll have so much fun with my dad.”

Hermione laughed, her voice low. “I might finally be replaced as the official representative of
muggles in this circle.”

George leaned in dramatically, his tone mock-serious. “Never,” he whispered with a wink.

Hermione felt reluctant to leave her cosy home during the first week of November. The rain
poured relentlessly outside, creating a melancholic atmosphere that mirrored her gloomy
mood. She’d been swamped with reading and correcting her latest chapters, and the dreary
weather didn’t help her motivation.

However, the news that her publisher had secured deals with German and Russian companies
to translate her books brought a spark of excitement into her otherwise mundane routine.
They’d even mentioned the possibility of a few translators visiting her.

After finishing a meeting with her team, Hermione made her way to the small café where she
usually met Malfoy. It had been almost a week since their last encounter. She’d missed Theo
and Blaise’s birthday party, which she assumed Malfoy had attended, and that only made her
more curious about his recent activities.

“Oh, you’re back,” he said, looking genuinely pleased.

Hermione had to admit, she was starting to appreciate their little chats.

“I am.” She gave him a quick glance. He was in his coat, holding a scarf. “You’re leaving?”

“Um... No.” He pointed to the empty table for her to sit. “Latte with extra foam, no sugar?”

“Yes.” She smiled, surprised he remembered.

“Busy week?” Malfoy asked as he brought their coffees. He had espresso again.

“Yes,” she sighed, exhaling long. “We finally made a deal with foreign publishers, the ones
who want to translate my book.”

She went into the details of the whole process, and Malfoy, with his pureblood upbringing,
didn’t show any boredom.

“Sounds like a big step. Congratulations,” he said.

“Thanks,” she said, blushing slightly and looking away. “I didn’t do much, really. The
company did all the hard work. I don’t know anything about how that side of business
works.”

“No, you just wrote the book,” he smirked.

Hermione used to find that smirk annoying, but now it seemed... different.

“What edition is this? Second? Third? You’ve made them a lot of gold.”

“I have a team,” she rolled her eyes, glancing at the table. “And we had good advertising.”

“So everyone else is responsible for its success, but you’re not?” He leaned back in his chair,
raising an eyebrow. “Why is it so difficult for you to accept praise, Granger?”

The way he said her name made her feel... strange. George was right. My name does sound a
bit harsh.

She rolled her eyes again. “You sound like my therapist,” she muttered. I should schedule a
session with her soon.

He was quiet as he watched her, so she explained. “I’m not really comfortable when there’s
too much attention on me.” A moment of silence passed before she changed the subject. “So,
how was the party?”

“Have you ever attended one of their parties?”

“Not in many years.”

“Well, you’ll have to. They get more lavish every year.”

She chuckled. “That extra?”

“They had dancers with snakes.” He sounded almost amused, and she couldn’t help but smile
at the typical Slytherin flair.

“I don’t know about Blaise, but I wouldn’t expect anything less from Theo.”

“They’re the same.” Malfoy rolled his eyes. “No one would pay attention to you there. They
were the stars of the show.”
Hermione smiled at that. It was probably true.

Malfoy looked at her, then glanced down at the table a few times before speaking again. “It...
slightly disappointed Theo that you couldn’t come.”

“I know. I apologised with a very expensive cheese.” She frowned a little. “He has very
refined tastes, your friend.”

Malfoy nodded slowly, his gaze softening.

Hermione’s mind raced as she combed through the latest draft of her book. With each passing
page, she realised that the new edition would be significantly longer than the previous one,
nearly one hundred additional pages. Her team had included new interviews they’d
conducted, and she had woven in references to other books written in the last couple of years.
It was an exhausting task, reading through them all and trying to ensure that she did justice to
each individual’s unique experience and perspective.

Somehow, she had secluded herself within her friends’ circle, hearing only their stories most
of the time. She had become so entrenched in their lives that she could recite their
experiences by heart. When she finally spoke with Silva during their floo session, she
apologised for having postponed it so many times before. Hermione knew she was fine, most
of the time. Until she wasn’t.

After reading one particularly gruelling experience, an interview her team had collected from
a woman who had suffered torture in her own home, where Death Eaters killed her husband
and older son in front of her and her daughter, Hermione had the nightmare again. But this
time, it was different. This time, when she was torturing the woman in Malfoy Manor, she
could see him too.

Malfoy, in her nightmare, didn’t look sad or disturbed, happy or pleased. He was just… there.
She had never dreamed about him before, so Hermione assumed that being in close proximity
to him in recent months had had an effect on her subconscious. But that wasn’t the only thing
troubling her.

She had been honest with Malfoy about what she felt regarding his role in the manor.
Hermione genuinely didn’t blame him for anything. She never, for a moment, expected him
to jump in front of his aunt to save her. After all, he didn’t know her, and they weren’t
friends. They were technically enemies, or at least acquaintances. Were they more than
acquaintances now?

She decided to ask Silva about it, but she told her that she didn’t need to define her
relationship with him with any formal label.

Does she not know me at all after all this time?

Hermione needed clear boundaries, and official terms.

“Do you think I should ask him about it?” she asked Silva.

“You mean, what the status of your relationship is?” she asked. “What do you expect to get
from his answer?”

“Clarification,” Hermione replied. “His interpretation and evaluation.”

“Why do you need that from him?”

“I don’t know. I’d like to know if we’re on the same page.”

“What page are you on?”

“I don’t know. I think I’ll know once I hear him.”

She had the superpower to never answer any question directly. Silva, however, seemed
pleased with the way Hermione had conducted the conversation with Malfoy.

“I didn’t have nightmares after talking to him. I was afraid I would.”

“Why do you think it didn’t happen?”

Hermione paused. “I don’t know. It was stressful,” she stopped, recalling the conversation.
“But good stressful, if that makes sense. Like finishing a challenging exercise. I never enjoy
running or lifting, but I feel lighter afterward.” I guess Pansy was right. I did need to hear
him apologise.

“How do you think he felt when you forgave him for the manor, but not for the school?”

Hermione thought for a moment. “I don’t know. Half-relieved, I guess?” she said. “He was
more worried about the manor, though. He kept staring at my arm.” She absently rubbed it.

“Did you speak about your boundaries?”

“No, there’s no need for it.”

“Alright. You said he was more worried about the manor?”

“Yes. He felt worse about it.”

“Should he?”

“I don’t know. I never put any blame on him for that, so I never really thought about him in
that context.” Hermione paused to reflect. “Do you think I should try to be friends with him if
I haven’t forgiven him for bullying me? Do you think he could be friends with me if I don’t
forgive him for everything and say it out loud?”

Silva was quiet for a moment. “I think you can define your relationship however you find it
to be most comfortable for both of you. There is no guidebook, Hermione.”

I wish there was.

Pansy accompanied Hermione to tea with Luna at her store a few days later. It was mid-
November, and she had been busy with her birthday preparations.

“I was thinking of inviting you all to my flat and having drinks with some music,” Pansy
said, swirling her tea.

Luna looked at her, confused. “That’s what we always do.”

“Yes, but dress better,” she glanced at both of them.

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” Hermione asked, looking down at her nice-fitting white
knit dress and heeled boots.

“Nothing, Hermione,” Luna shook her head. “It’s quite appropriate.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m only half-joking. You do dress well.” Pansy’s eyes widened. “Oh! We could all go
shopping, and…”

“No,” Hermione interrupted her. “I’m not going to have a makeover like in some cheesy
movie.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a popular trope in movies, you know, where a cool and popular cheerleader gives a
makeover to her nerdy friend from science class, and suddenly everyone notices her because
she straightened her hair and switched her glasses for contacts,” Hermione rolled her eyes
and said in one breath.

Luna blinked. “That sounds awfully superficial.”

“Anyway,” Pansy interrupted. “I’ll wear a nice mini sequin dress and Charlie has a suit, so
that’s something to keep in mind.”

“How many people are you inviting?”

“I don’t know exactly, but most of the usual crowd, with a few exceptions. You probably
won’t know some of them, but they’re from school,” she shrugged. “I think I’ll like it,
though. I almost never invite you to my flat.”

“Yes, why is that?” Luna asked. “I like your apartment. It has a very sensual aura.”

Hermione smirked. “The black marble is very sexy for a kitchen.”

Pansy just rolled her eyes. “You two have no taste.” She paused. “But I think it’s too small
for parties, which is why I’ve avoided it so far.”
“So, what changed?”

“Charlie can expand it a bit now. And Draco came with Scorpius not long ago, and we talked
about it. He said how welcomed he feels when he visits,” Pansy smiled.

“That’s because of you and Charlie,” Hermione said. “You’re both very welcoming.”

“Yes, but… he’s right,” Pansy nodded. “He’s coming to my party, too.”

“Really?”

Malfoy hadn’t been to anyone’s birthday parties recently. Daphne would always mention that
he’d take her out for lunch or dinner around the time, but he never seemed to attend social
gatherings. Hermione assumed the same would happen with Pansy.

“Yes, thanks to you, I guess,” Pansy looked pleased.

“Me? Why me?” Hermione asked quickly.

She shrugged. “Well, since you’re on good terms now, and all that.”

“You mean to say your friend wasn’t at your gatherings all these years because of me?”
Hermione babbled and blushed.

“No, no. I just think…” she hesitated. “Actually, I don’t know what I thought, but not that.
Definitely not that.”

“How good are you now?” Luna asked, raising an eyebrow.

“We… met a few times in a café after work,” Hermione mumbled. A few times, my arse.

She stopped counting after those two weeks when they saw each other every day.

“A few times?” Pansy raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, and?” Hermione snapped.

“Nothing! Don’t be so defensive,” she frowned, and Hermione backed off a bit. “It’s just
strange for me now, but not weirdly. More like ‘I’m so happy I can have them together in the
same room without human shields between them,’ you know?”

Luna nodded. “That makes perfect sense, yes.” She took Pansy’s hand in hers. “I imagine that
was difficult for you and Daphne.”

“It was,” she squeezed Luna’s hand, nodding. “Thank you for saying that.”

“Of course.”

Hermione observed the interaction with a frown, feeling a knot of annoyance in her chest.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you two.”
“Relax, I’m just happy we’re all adults now and can be friends, you know?” Pansy said,
sounding genuine. “I think it’s lovely that you two are… friendly now.”

Lovely?

She thinks it’s lovely that Hermione has coffee dates… Not dates! Not dates. Meetings.
Meetings with Malfoy.

I need to talk to someone about this.

Her team was nearing the end of their editing process, and Hermione felt a wave of relief
wash over her. They had incorporated everything they thought was important, and anything
else could wait until the next edition, if there even was one. With that in mind, she settled
into her cosy home and started sifting through the stack of contracts and documents William's
assistant had sent her. It was dull work, but she couldn’t deny the satisfaction that came with
crossing things off her to-do list.

But even the most mundane tasks could become tedious after a while, and Hermione soon
found herself needing a break. That's when she remembered she hadn’t practised Spanish in
months. Determined to remedy this, she decided to dive into reading some Spanish books.

After working through the few short novels she had purchased from Sofia, she longed for
something familiar and picked up Crime and Punishment.

The weather turned colder, her evening runs became less frequent, and she sought out an
alternative way to stay active. She decided to give yoga a try at the local gym.

The physical aspect of the practice was enjoyable. Stretching and challenging her body while
controlling her breathing felt good. However, the mental aspect proved to be much more
challenging.

Hermione struggled to quiet her mind and meditate, despite her best efforts. She wasn’t sure
if she was doing something wrong, but she was determined to keep trying. She didn’t like
doing things halfway, so she even asked Ginny to accompany her to class, hoping that a
familiar face might make the experience easier.

“You think me being there is going to make you calm enough to turn off your brain?” Ginny
huffed.

“Yeah, that was a stupid suggestion,” Hermione rolled her eyes.

Deciding to get Pansy a present with Luna, they bought her an elegant purse she had chosen
from a catalogue weeks before. Pansy was notoriously difficult to buy gifts for, even more so
when it came to returning them.

Hermione went to the Alley to pick it up. The boutique was one of those posh, unreasonably
expensive ones on a sidestreet. She was window shopping afterwards when a deep voice
behind her startled her.
“Okay, now I know you’re definitely stalking me.”

“Oh, is it my private detective outfit?” she asked Malfoy while checking herself out in the
store’s window.

He looked confused. “Pardon?”

“Oh, you know,” she gestured to her clothes. “The trench coat, hat, glasses…” She took them
off to get a better look at him.

Malfoy wore a different coat today. It was grey, almost the same shade as his eyes. His scarf
was all messed up again, wrapped carelessly around his neck. Can't he just fold it neatly? It
was starting to annoy her a bit.

“You know, like in the... Oh, right, never mind. I'm here to pick up a gift for Pansy.” She
shook the bag she was carrying.

“Her birthday is next week,” he said, as though it was still far off.

Hermione shrugged. “She ordered us to buy it now.”

“Oh, she ordered it?”

“No, no. I meant what I said.” She leaned in closer, speaking seriously. “She gave us orders
to buy it now.”

He chuckled. “Where did you go?”

“There.” Hermione pointed to the store as a nicely dressed elderly couple left. “I don’t know
much about wizarding brands, to be honest.”

“I can see that,” he said, his tone teasing. “Not many stores here sell clothes for… for spying.
Very inconspicuous. I barely noticed you there.”

She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Right. So, anyway…”

“Yes, anyway,” he nodded. “I came here to pick up some robes for my mother.” He smiled,
his voice warmer now. “Nice talking to you, Granger.”

“You too, Malfoy.”

She planned to meet Ginny and Harry at their place before flooing to Pansy’s place, so she
wouldn't arrive alone because Luna had other plans and would be arriving later.

With Pansy’s suggestion to dress elegantly, Hermione settled on a suit. The fabric was a rich
black velvet, but with a flick of her wand, she transformed it into a stunning emerald green in
honour of the snake. Daphne had suggested that all of them wear something green.
The high-waisted trousers hugged her curves perfectly, while she rolled up the sleeves of the
blazer to add a more casual touch. A black lace bodysuit and pumps completed the look,
adding a hint of sexiness. Hermione swept her hair up into a bun, allowing a few loose
strands to frame her face. Delicate golden necklaces and bracelets finished the outfit before
she flooed over to the Potters' place.

As she arrived, she caught sight of Harry fixing his collar in the kitchen window.

“Wow, don’t you look all smart,” she commented.

“Not as much as you,” he nodded at her. “Nice suit.”

“Why, thank you. Where’s Ginny?”

“Explaining to Molly where everything is. She’s staying here with the kids until we return.”

“Oh, good,” Hermione glanced around. “Can you give me something to drink? I’m a bit
nervous.”

“Why?” He opened a nearby cabinet and conjured a glass.

“No reason.”

“Really?” Harry raised an eyebrow.

Hermione sighed. “I think there might be a lot of people I don’t know. It gives me anxiety
sometimes.”

“Yeah, me too,” he handed her the glass. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

Ginny walked in, wearing a green satin dress. It had thin straps, and it was tight and mid-
length, just below her knees. “Starting already?”

“I need to mentally prepare for the unknown crowd,” Hermione explained. “You look great,
by the way.”

“I do, don’t I?” Ginny looked at herself in the same kitchen window. “Nice suit. Is that
underwear instead of a shirt?” Hermione smirked and nodded.

“Green is definitely your colour,” Harry said to his wife before giving her a quick kiss.
“Please don’t tell Pansy I said that.”

Hermione stepped into the flat from the fireplace, taking in the transformation since the last
time she visited. It looked much more spacious, though she couldn't tell if it was due to some
spell or if it had just been so long that she couldn't remember.

She gazed up at the ceiling and saw golden and silver balloons hovering above, adding a
festive touch to the room. Other decorations were scattered about, but it was hard to make out
the details in the dim light.

A small group of people had already arrived, chatting and drinking as they mingled about the
room. Hermione didn’t recognise anyone, so she made her way towards the kitchen area,
where she spotted George and Charlie engaged in conversation. When they noticed her, they
greeted her warmly, and she felt immediately at ease in their presence.

“Where’s the birthday girl?” Ginny asked them.

Charlie pointed to the hallway. “In the bathroom. There’s a problem with her hair.”

“I’m on it,” she nodded and went straight to it.

“Daph isn’t here yet?” Hermione asked.

George nodded behind her. “Oh, right on time, there they are.”

Daphne arrived with Malfoy and Theo, and they stopped to talk with someone they knew. It
was a Slytherin party, after all.

“Did you do something to the flat?” Harry asked, looking around. “Looks bigger.”

“Oh, yes,” Charlie explained. “This is a muggle building, so there’s no magic here except for
ours. I could expand the rooms from the inside. It took some time, though. It wasn’t easy.”

Hermione was impressed. “Nice. Can you make it into a penthouse?” she joked.

He chuckled. “No, there’s a limit. Both to how much I can extend and how much is legally
allowed.”

George passed her the martini she’d asked for. The glass felt cool and weighty in her hand as
she took a small sip, relishing in the crisp tang of the vodka and the subtle sweetness of the
vermouth. Tonight, she was feeling rather sophisticated with all the snobbish guests.

She looked around. They chatted and laughed, holding glasses of champagne and nibbling on
small hors d'oeuvres. A group of witches in sparkly dresses giggled by the window, while a
few wizards in suits stood near the fireplace, engrossed in conversation.

“Hey, everyone!” Daphne called as she approached, grabbing Hermione by the waist and
kissing her. “Very nice, sexy and bossy. I like it.”

“I like you too.”

Hermione admired Daphne’s halter emerald dress that was almost floor-length with a high
slit. Her blonde hair cascaded down her back in loose waves, framing her face in a way that
accentuated her striking features.

“It’s so nice when you let your hair down. It’s always tied back.”
“Yes, yes, hair up, hair down,” Theo interrupted. “You’re blocking the line, Greengrass.
Move.” He placed himself between them. “I don’t have all night to greet everyone. Hello,
you,” he hugged Hermione with one hand and kissed her quickly.

“Hello,” she answered as he moved on to shake hands with others.

Malfoy now stood beside her, while the rest of the group greeted each other with hugs and
kisses.

She looked at him and joked, “We don’t have to do this. ‘Hello’ is enough.”

“Hello,” he smiled. He wore a black shirt and trousers, all buttoned up and looking neat, as
always. “So where’s Pansy?”

“In the bathroom. Hair problems.”

“Ah. You’re not there to help? Seems like you’d know a thing or two about those,” he
glanced at her hair, looking smug.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Hilarious. But it’s more of a straight-hair girls’ issue. And as
you may have noticed, mine’s not straight.”

“Who’s not straight?” George asked while handing the firewhisky to Malfoy.

“Granger’s.”

George grinned. “You’re not straight? I knew it.”

Malfoy smirked.

She rolled her eyes. “My hair isn’t straight.”

“Are you?” George pressed.

“We’re not talking about this, George.”

He winked and mouthed “later” before returning to talk to Harry.

Malfoy was still smirking.

“Thanks for that,” Hermione said, taking a sip of her vodka martini. “I was planning to keep
you company until Daph returns, but now, I think I’ll leave you to the gym bros over there.”
She nodded at Theo and Harry.

His smirk melted into a frown. “I’ll need more firewhisky to handle that.”

“Then you should hurry up with that one.” She pointed to his glass and walked toward the
bathroom.

Pansy’s hair was done, and they were adjusting her dress. The black sequins shimmered in
the light, the hemline falling just above her knees, and she wore the most beautiful poison-
green pumps.

“Are you done? You look bloody fit, Pans.” My God, if George hears me…

“Yeah, just tie it around my neck a bit tighter, please,” Pansy said to Ginny. She glanced at
Hermione. “You should take that blazer off. It’ll look better without it.”

“Oh, I don’t think just yet…”

“Now, Granger.”

“Fine.”

She took it off and left it in their bedroom with the other coats and jackets.

More people showed up while she was looking around, so she had to search for her friends.
Ginny and Harry were now chatting with Theo next to the window, where he was smoking,
so Hermione decided to join them.

“Hot already?” Harry asked.

She rolled her eyes. “Pansy was about to yell at me, so I just wanted to avoid it.”

She took a moment to take in the atmosphere of the party. The lighting was dim, and the
golden and silver balloons on the ceiling gave off a warm glow. Soft jazz played in the
background, creating a mellow vibe, perfect for conversation and mingling.

It seemed George's temporary job was bartending. She watched him as he continued to wave
his wand around like a conductor, expertly mixing drinks for the guests. The group of women
standing near the bar seemed to be thoroughly enjoying his performance, and Hermione
couldn’t blame them. The sight was quite impressive.

Charlie and Pansy were exceptional hosts, circulating the room, chatting with guests, and
making sure the drinks were flowing. Daphne and Malfoy were catching up with some old
friends. Hermione recognised a few people from Hogwarts but didn’t know their names.

Padma, Parvati, and Luna arrived shortly after Blaise. He joined George, and together they
attracted the attention of a few more female guests, which made Theo suddenly regret not
learning bartending skills. But he joined them anyway.

Hermione wasn’t sure if Pansy had invited Ron and Susan, but they were there now, talking
to people Susan seemed more familiar with, while Ron nodded a few times and added just a
word or two. Hermione waved, and he smiled and winked back.

She was having a pleasant time. It was much more uptight than Harry’s party, but that was to
be expected with a bunch of Slytherins. Hermione had a few more martinis. She even
volunteered to try Theo’s first attempt at making it “shaken, not stirred,” and she pretended
not to know what he was referring to while he explained it passionately in front of the
admirers he’d gathered throughout the night.
Malfoy came over to ask for another drink, which caused most of the women to switch their
attention from Theo to him in a matter of seconds. He rolled his eyes and complained to
Hermione and Parvati, which entertained them endlessly. Something about how he didn’t
understand why women liked gloomy personalities and general disinterest, but they were
both too tipsy to care.

When most of the people she didn’t know had left, and their usual group was all that was left,
the atmosphere became more relaxed. They sat on sofas or armchairs, or around the kitchen
table, enjoying conversations with light music in the background.

She had lost count of how many martinis she'd had and was starting to feel a hunger pang.
So, she and Daphne sat at the table and began snacking on what was probably very luxurious
prosciutto and asparagus, enjoying every bite.

“Should I be worried that you're more drunk than me?”

“Hey, my best friend's birthday isn’t every day.” Daphne was tapping her feet on the ground
now, having taken off her shoes an hour ago.

“No, but it is every year.”

Daphne nodded. “Right. So not often.”

“Wait, I’m not your best friend?” Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve known her the longest.”

“So that’s it? It’s the length that matters?” Hermione huffed, feigning indignation.

“Size always matters. Speaking of…” Daphne smirked and raised her voice slightly. “Theo,
would you make me another martini, please? You got so good at it.”

He left the conversation he’d been having with Harry and Padma on the sofa and came to
stand behind the bar near them.

“What does that mean?” Hermione whispered.

“It means what you think it means,” Daphne whispered back, and they both laughed.

“Where’s the firewhiskey, Theo?” Malfoy leaned over the island.

His hair had lost its perfect slickness, and the strands now fell loosely around his face, giving
him a more relaxed look. Hermione found herself staring at him longer than she intended,
admiring how the soft lighting of the room cast a warm glow on his features.

Normally, when he sat up straight, he seemed unapproachable, like there was an invisible
wall around him. She noticed it even tonight, while he was talking with people. But now,
with his sleeves rolled up and his posture more relaxed, he appeared more open and
accessible. Hermione couldn’t help but think that he… actually… looked good. Wait, what?
“Malfoy,” she blurted before she could stop herself, her eyes still locked on him. “Do you
really enjoy firewhiskey that much, or is it just for the show?”

He arched an eyebrow. “What show?”

“The ‘I don’t drink anything fun or exciting, just some alcohol over rocks’ show.”

“I drink it neat,” he replied simply.

“Even more exciting,” Hermione said dryly. “By the way, it’s not even that good. Its muggle
counterpart is far superior.”

Malfoy shook his head in mock disappointment. Theo opened his mouth, looking offended.
Blaise protested from the nearby armchair. “You’re going to take that back, Granger. Right
now.”

Hermione smiled. “No, I stand by my statement. Have any of you even tried a good muggle
whiskey?” They blinked in confusion. “Do you have whiskey here?” she asked, nodding at
the bar.

“There are… two unopened bottles. I guess no one wanted them,” Theo smirked.

“Disrespectful, but it serves the purpose.” Hermione grinned. “How about an Old Fashioned
to change your mind?” She addressed the three of them.

“Old fashioned what?” Blaise asked, looking confused.

Hermione’s grin widened. “Oh, that's the name of the cocktail. Old Fashioned.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, amused. Theo gestured toward the bar. “Make yourself at home.”

She walked behind the bar and the three of them settled onto barstools, watching intently.
Daphne glanced over from the table, too busy with olives to pay much attention.

Hermione rummaged through the magically expanded bar, pulling out bitters, sugar cubes,
and cherries. She chose the better whiskey from the two options and found an orange in the
fridge. As she looked over at the men, she summoned three glasses.

“Wandless and nonverbal,” Malfoy smirked. “Twenty points for Gryffindor.”

Hermione smiled, not looking at him, but the subtle compliment stirred something in her
stomach. She placed sugar cubes in the large mixing glass and added bitters.

“I like these old glasses,” she remarked, waving her wand. A large ice cube appeared in each.

“How did you conjure them?” Blaise asked.

“I remembered I have them somewhere at home,” she shrugged, adding a bit of water to the
mixing glass to dissolve the sugar, but not all the way.
“I can only conjure them if they’re nearby and fresh in my memory. Impressive,” the other
two nodded in approval.

“Thanks,” Hermione said as she added some ice from the freezer to the glass. She opened the
whiskey and sniffed it. “I like bourbon more than rye. It’s sweeter because of the corn, you
know.”

They nodded, though it seemed like they didn’t quite understand.

I wonder if it's politeness from pureblood upbringing or just men not wanting to admit they
don't know something.

“This is so exciting,” Theo chuckled. “It’s like watching you at potions class.”

“I was better than her at potions,” Malfoy said smugly when she glanced his way.

“Yeah, well…” Hermione began while adding whiskey to the mixing glass. “Muggles have
this saying, even a broken clock is right twice a day, so…” He didn’t respond, just smirked,
but she could feel his eyes on her. “Now we stir, not mix. Very important.” She stirred until
she thought it was cold enough, then slowly strained it into the glasses.

“Now, I’m just going to add some cherries for garnish…” She murmured to herself as she
worked. “And orange peel. Look at this.”

They leaned forward to watch as she twisted the peel, releasing the oils in a fine mist over the
glass before rubbing it over the edge and placing it into the glass as garnish. “My dad always
let me do this,” she said quietly. “I liked how my hands smelled like oranges afterward.”

Malfoy was watching her intently.

“That’s it,” she said to them, mostly to him. “Try it.”

They sipped in silence, trying to contain smiles.

Oh, so they liked it.

They were probably coming up with witty remarks.

Hermione smirked and leaned over the bar, resting her chin on her hand. She finished the rest
of her martini and popped a few cherries from the jar.

“Well, since I’m not a muggle whiskey virgin like these two,” Theo gestured to them, “I
knew what to expect, but I actually quite enjoyed it.” He took another sip and smiled. “Good
job, Hermione. You’ll have to teach me. Five more points to Gryffindor.” He grabbed his
drink and returned to the sofa.

“I’m glad my first muggle whiskey experience was with you, Granger,” Blaise nodded. “My
standards are now high.” He winked and followed Theo.
 “I’m glad you liked it,” Hermione said, nodding at Blaise, before turning to Malfoy, who was
still smirking. “And you?” she asked, leaning a little closer. “What do you think?”

She saw his gaze linger on her lips even before she decided to lick the syrup off her fingers.
He was blushing just slightly, probably from the heat and the alcohol, but his expression was
serious now, and she didn’t want to break eye contact. What the hell am I doing?

“I think… I like it a lot.” His voice had dropped an octave, sending a shiver down her spine.
He leaned back, taking another sip, and she watched him swallow. “I’d like to see what else
you can do with it,” he said, his gaze flicking from her lips to her eyes.

His look sent a chill down her body too, pleasant chills.

Everywhere.

Everywhere?

All over my body?

Is that what I just…? Oh no.

Chapter End Notes

Pansy's birthday https://www.pinterest.com/tpzzz1105/in-the-mood-for-truth/pansys-

birthday/
 Draco

November and December 2012

"Any questions, Mr Malfoy?"

Agatha sounded more exasperated every time she asked. Draco dragged his gaze away from
the window, finally looking at her and the rest of the room.

"No, but if you could…"

"Yes, we’ll have the minutes owled to you as soon as possible," she interrupted, already
packing up her papers, clearly eager to leave.

One of these days, I’ll actually have to start listening to them.

"Right. Well, thank you."

Draco wrapped his coat tightly around himself as he stepped outside into the biting cold. The
wind sliced through him, sharp enough to make him shiver. He picked up his pace, heading
towards his usual café, the one he had started frequenting more ever since Granger began
showing up.

He hadn’t seen her all week. The last time they spoke had been at Pansy’s party. Pansy’s
fucking party.

There was a reason he didn't bother with those gatherings anymore. He’d wasted half the
night making polite conversation with people he couldn’t be arsed to care about and the other
half enduring Theo and Potter’s relentless discussion about weightlifting and protein shakes.
The only one who managed to hold his interest was Weaslette. At least she knew what she
was talking about when they got onto quidditch towards the end of the night. He and Blaise
had sat with her, with the drinks Granger had made them.

Draco had to admit that the cocktail had been good. Strong enough to burn, but not like
firewhisky. It had a bitter edge from something Granger had called bitters, self-explanatory,
really. He’d watched her twist an orange peel, rubbing it around the rim of his glass with
careful fingers before slipping it between her lips…

And that was when he knew he’d had too much to drink.

He had glanced at her a few times after, just to remind himself that it was Granger, of all
people. That alone should have been a sign to put the glass down.

He’d left soon after, already too late for his liking. His mind was playing tricks on him,
apparently. He had waved at Granger and Daphne as they ate at the table, and Granger had
waved back with the same fingers she’d just had on her lips before when she…

And that was exactly why he was relieved to be back in his dark, silent flat, where there was
no room for those thoughts to fester.

He was about to order his usual espresso but hesitated.

"Latte. Extra foam, no sugar."

The barista gave him an amused look. "No espresso today?"

Draco shook his head. "Trying something new. Just checking."

His cup was larger than usual. He sat at their usual table. Well, her usual table. She liked
sitting by the window, watching people pass by. He never really cared where he sat, though if
he had to pick, he’d probably prefer something away from the windows and doors,
somewhere with a little more privacy.

He had to admit, he enjoyed these little meetings with her. It felt... dull sitting here alone.

She wasn’t as busy with her book anymore, so she was probably at home, he figured. He
nearly glanced at the door, half-hoping she’d walk in, but caught himself just in time. If she
did, she’d see him drinking her coffee.

Not that it mattered. He’d only wanted to try it once, just to see what it tasted like. He was
curious, that was all.

But it was too milky for his taste, too weak.

He drained the cup quickly and left.

It was Friday, which meant Scorpius had his piano lesson, something Draco rather enjoyed
listening to. As usual, he was buried in paperwork.

His mother had just bought a painting from the art gallery owned by a woman she’d tried to
set him up with a month or two ago. A distant cousin’s daughter. He’d already forgotten her
name.

At his mother’s insistence, he had attended a dinner with them, fully expecting to suffer
through the evening. But to his surprise, the woman in question had shown no interest in him
beyond the obligatory polite conversation. It had been a relief. He hadn’t even needed to
bribe Scorpius into pretending he was tired so they could leave early. All in all, a rather
pleasant evening.

When the lesson was over, he exchanged a few words with the young, flirty tutor before
heading out. She was flirting less and less each time.

Oh, so you did get the hint. Great.

That night, in the potion room, Scorpius looked up from the ingredients table.
"When can I go to Miss… to Hermione’s with Albus to watch films, dad?"

Draco shrugged. "I don’t know. Some weekend again, probably. Careful with that ginger."

Scorpius was chopping it too large.

"Sorry." He adjusted the pieces and started adding them to the cauldron.

At the party, Granger had mentioned that Potter’s son had been asking about Scorpius again.
Apparently, the boy had loved it there. He hadn't stopped going on about the pirate film
they'd watched for days.

Draco sighed. "Do you want me to get us a television so we can watch it together?"

"Really?!" Scorpius whipped his head up in excitement and promptly dropped all the ginger
into the cauldron. It erupted in a burst of blue sparks, lighting up the ceiling.

"Oops. Sorry."

Draco flicked his wand, clearing the mess.

"But really?"

"Yes, really." He vanished the ruined potion and started over. "Maybe you could invite
Potter’s kid over to ours so we don’t have to bother Gr… Miss Granger."

Scorpius beamed. "That’s brilliant! I’d love that! Thanks, dad!" Then, after a pause, "But I’d
still like some of her DVDs. She’s got loads." He glanced around the room, as if searching for
a comparison. "Almost as many as books!"

Draco smirked. "She has a lot of books? Who would’ve guessed?"

"She does," Scorpius said earnestly. "So many muggle books, dad. I told her about some that
Mr Lewis mentioned we’d be reading soon, and she showed them to me."

"Such as?"

"The Little Prince. It’s French," he added importantly.

Draco raised a brow. "Can you read it in French, though?"

Scorpius rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right, Dad." He thought for a moment. "Oh, and The Hobbit .
She said there’s a film coming out soon too."

"Alright." Draco muttered, still focusing on getting the last of the blue sparks off the ceiling.

"And some others, but I can’t remember." Scorpius started over with the potion. Then,
hesitantly, "Maybe you could come with me too. You’re friends now, right?"

Draco stilled.
“Oh, Scorp, love, that would be…”

Unsuitable? Inappropriate?

He had told Scorpius that he and Granger were getting along better these days. He might
have mentioned that they’d shared a coffee or two. One or two? Yeah.

"I don’t think so. Some other time, maybe."

On Saturday night, he went to Theo’s for a drink with Blaise and took the opportunity to
question them about the right television to buy.

"You need to get the biggest one you can find," Theo declared, launching into an enthusiastic
spiel. "I swear to you, I went to one of their electronics shops the other day, and they had
some sports clips playing on one of the tellies," he gestured wildly as he spoke, "you could
see every blade of grass moving in the wind. You can't see that in our photos. It’s unreal."

"Yeah, big screen, obviously, but do you know what’s just as important?" Blaise chimed in.
"The sound. They’ve got these speakers you set up all around the room, so you hear
everything from every direction. It’s lit."

Draco frowned. "Can you order all this for me on the… from the internet?"

"I could, but you’re better off going in and talking to someone," Blaise said.

"I know literally nothing about Muggle technology. I just proved that."

"Neither do I, but that’s the fun of it," Theo grinned, already gearing up for another speech.
"Whenever I go, I just find a cute shop assistant and say, ‘Can you help me? I’m completely
clueless about this.’ And they love it."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course you would."

He decided he’d go alone next week, have a look around first, then maybe work up the nerve
to go inside and actually ask about the best option for him.

On a crisp Wednesday afternoon, Draco left his meeting and headed to the cosy little café. He
was surprised to see Granger sitting at her usual table, but even more surprised by the flicker
of excitement he felt at the sight of her.

Through the window, he could see she already had her coffee, with an espresso sitting neatly
at the other end of the table. As he stepped inside, she lifted her gaze from her rather large
phone and smiled.

"Hi, I was waiting for you."

"For me?" He tried to keep the surprise out of his voice.

"Yes, you." She pointed at the espresso. "I bought you a shot." She checked her watch.
"Exactly four minutes ago. So it’s not cold yet."

He blinked like an idiot before sinking into the chair. "How did you know I’d be here at this
time?"

Granger shrugged. "Most days, you’re unpredictable, but on Wednesdays, you’re almost
always on time."

"Wednesdays, I have meetings with one of the accountants,” he smirked, nodding slowly.
“They don’t talk too much. Unlike lawyers."

"Lucky for me," she murmured, leaning forward and almost whispering, "it made my stalking
job much easier."

His heart skipped.

Seriously? What was that?

He shook his head, playing along. "I knew you were following me." Shrugging off his coat,
he made himself comfortable. His gaze flicked to the device in her hands. "That’s a big
phone."

"It’s not a phone. It’s a tablet for reading."

"Oh?"

"Yes. And now I’m about to blow your mind." She turned the screen towards him. "See? This
is what I’m reading now, and these…" she tapped, bringing up a grid of small book covers
"...are all the books I’ve bought and can read whenever I want."

His brows lifted. "How many are there?" From the look of it, at least a few dozen.

"Close to a hundred, I think," she said, shrugging. "Not that I have time to read them all. I can
get loads of free books, and there are millions in the store."

Draco scoffed and took a sip of his espresso, savouring the rich, bitter flavour. "You’re
lying."

Granger raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely offended, like he’d just insulted her entire
existence. He found it amusing.

Come on, Granger.

"I’ll have you know," she said, crossing her arms, "there are at least ten million books in this
one store alone. Most in English, but loads in other languages too." She took a sip of her
coffee, gaze drifting out the window. "Yet another thing Muggles do better."
He didn’t argue. If it was true, then fine, she was right. But he wasn’t about to admit it.

Instead, he smirked. "What else do Muggles do better? Enlighten me." He started rolling up
his sleeves. She glanced at his forearms.

Good thing I don’t forget glamour.

"Anything that makes life more enjoyable," she said, leaning back in her chair.

"For example?"

"Art."

He rolled his eyes. "It doesn’t even move."

"We have films for that."

"A waste of time." He waved a dismissive hand.

A faint flush crept up her cheeks, and Draco… liked it. He decided, just for fun, he’d oppose
everything she said. Regardless of whether he agreed or not.

"Music."

"Most of it is just loud noise." He rolled his eyes again. "I don’t know how you can even…"

"Alcohol."

He stared at her. "Absolutely not."

"You didn’t complain when you tried it."

He shook his head. "You mixed a load of things, and…"

"You liked my wine," she cut in smoothly.

He narrowed his eyes.

"Daphne mentioned."

Of course, she did.

Draco exhaled, grudgingly nodding. "It was excellent wine." Then he frowned. "Until I saw
how you made it. I regretted it immediately."

"Pardon?"

"The photo. On Pansy’s fridge."

"Oh," she said simply, then seemed to consider it for a moment. "Fashion. Wizarding clothing
is severely outdated."
Draco smirked, casting a glance at her fitted beige jumper. "Yeah, you’d know. You only ever
wear Muggle clothes."

He was about to say something else when his mind unhelpfully reminded him of the lacy
black thing she’d worn at Pansy’s. It had looked like lingerie. And her skin had looked like…
Stop it, you creep.

He cleared his throat as she turned away, gazing absently out the window. "You’ve got a
meeting with William?" Draco asked after a moment.

Granger shook her head. "He finally felt guilty for constantly keeping me waiting, so his
assistant just owls the paperwork over now. I suppose he trusts me enough at this point, and
doesn't need to see me sign them in person anymore."

"He didn’t trust you before?" Draco chuckled.

"He says he’s seen my penmanship so many times he’s positive no one could possibly forge
it."

"Right," he nodded, smirking. She really did have awful handwriting. "So, why are you here?
Have you been working on your book with your team?"

"No, I told you," she said seriously, cheeks tinged pink. "I was waiting for you."

"Oh." His face warmed instantly. Gods, I hope she can’t see that. "Why?"

She sighed, crossing her arms on the table. "I’m just going to get straight to the point."
Clearing her throat, she hesitated for a few moments, suddenly looking very serious. "I told
you before. I had a therapist. A mind healer, if you prefer."

He nodded. Right. So this was going to be a serious conversation.

"I… I had to talk to her about you sometimes."

Of course she did.

"No." She shook her head quickly. "I didn’t have to. I chose to. I wanted to."

"Okay…"

"I know that’s not exactly something anyone wants to hear. ‘Hey, I talked to my therapist
about you,’" she said, laughing dryly. She ran a hand through her hair, as if steadying herself.
"But… I don’t know how to feel about this… thing between us now." She paused. "I was told
I obsess over things. That I need to learn not to. And the way to do that is to face them,
right?"

Is she asking me? Am I supposed to answer?

"Anyway," she continued, exhaling slowly, "I think we’ve built a… relatively good and, well,
cordial relationship these past few months, but…" Her mouth opened and closed a few times,
as if she kept changing her mind about what to say.

"Granger, just do your honesty thing and say it. Stop torturing yourself." And me, because
I’ve no idea where this is going.

She let out another breath, staring at the table. "When we spoke that time, I told you I can’t
forget what… happened between us at Hogwarts."

Draco clenched his jaw.

"You said you were okay with that. But that was before I expected to spend this much time
with you. And now…" She fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve. "Now it feels like we’ve built
something that could… maybe, someday… turn into a friendship. But I don’t know if that’s
possible. Or if you even want it. If I don’t openly say I forgive you." She looked up, blinking
a few times before adding, "I need to know if that’s necessary for you."

Draco didn’t move, barely even breathed.

"I really like talking to you, Malfoy," she said quietly.

His face definitely burned. He knew she could see it now, him, a grown man blushing like a
schoolboy. Just brilliant.

"I just… I really don’t want this to stop."

Draco nodded slowly, considering her words. He hadn’t expected to see much of her after
their last talk either. It was thoughtful of her to ask. But also… concerning.

"I don’t need you to say anything you don’t feel," he said finally. "But in the spirit of honesty,
I suppose I have to admit… it would make me feel better if you did."

She studied him.

"I’m not saying I need it," he clarified. "I just don’t know if you do."

She held his gaze.

"I like talking to you too, Granger," he admitted, his heart picking up speed. "Do you think
we can be friends if you haven’t fully forgiven me?"

I really hope you can. I didn’t think I’d enjoy this so much.

"I think we could," she murmured. "I feel like… you’re someone I’ve known for years but
never actually knew." She hesitated, then added, "It’s like when I do occlumency. I organise
my memories in a library, on bookshelves and..."

"Of course you do," he smirked.

She ignored him, but smiled. "And everyone has their own book. Yours is there too. But it
feels… empty now."
His smirk faded slightly.

"I want it to be filled with facts. From you. Not from my own assumptions or anyone else’s."

Draco frowned, thoughtful.

"I do that too," he admitted. "Not the library bit, but… You’re there too." He shook his head
before meeting her gaze. The light caught in her irises, making them look almost golden. "I’d
like to change those memories now. Make them more… accurate."

"Okay." Her lips curved into a small, uncertain smile. "I’m sorry," she added. "I made this
unnecessarily dramatic and…"

"It was necessary," he interrupted.

And, somehow, he meant it.

He looked at her for a moment. Her breathing had slowed, and she seemed more relaxed now.
Draco’s heartbeat settled, too.

"So, you're an occlumens?" he asked once he was sure she was calm.

She nodded.

"You organise your thoughts into bookshelves and think I’m predictable?"

She chuckled. "You’re right. At first, I thought I should organise it like folders in Total
Commander on my old Windows XP, but…"

Draco blinked. He didn’t understand a word of that.

"But now, seeing your utterly bewildered face, I think I should." She laughed. "Imagine the
look on a legilimens’ face if they saw that the inside of my brain looked like a computer
program!"

Granger had a delightful laugh.

It lit up her face.

And her teeth were nice too.

Why did I ever make fun of them? He knew now that Muggle dentistry could be expensive,
but he imagined her parents had taken great care of hers since she was a child.

"I’ve no idea what any of that means, so I’d say yes, you probably should," he admitted.

"I need the loo. I’ll be right back."

Granger stood up abruptly, brushing past him as she walked behind his chair. A sweet scent
lingered in the air. Draco frowned, trying to place the notes of her perfume.
Was it vanilla and sugar?

No, something more complex. Maybe caramel?

Whatever it was, it suited her.

She’d left her little reading device on the table. It looked like a phone, so it was easy enough
to use. He glanced at the screen. Granger was reading an absurd number of Russian writers,
some he recognised, others he didn’t.

Granger returned a few minutes later, walking past him again before leaning down to take
something from her coat pocket.

Draco did his best not to stare, but she was right there, close enough that he couldn’t help but
notice the details of her outfit.

It wasn’t a beige jumper after all. It was a knitted dress that hugged every curve, with a
turtleneck and long sleeves extending all the way to her knees. It was fitted enough to show
everything and nothing at the same time. Draco forced himself to look at the screen, his mind
whirring with thoughts he knew he shouldn’t be having.

"So, um… what’s with all the Russians?"

"Sorry?" she said as she sat down. Finally.

"You read a lot of Russian authors." He handed the device back to her.

"Oh, well… they have some incredible novelists who write a lot about life and its purpose,
our relationship with God and nature, social differences. Very philosophical."

"Sounds like it," he smirked. "I’m not sure how I feel about Tolstoy, but I liked Dostoevsky."

Granger looked startled, though she tried to mask it.

Yeah, that’s right. Write that down in your empty book of me.

"I… um… I don’t like Tolstoy as a person. I’ve read his wife’s autobiography, he wasn’t
exactly a great man," she admitted, still eyeing him curiously. "But I like his writing."

He nodded. "Alright, Granger," he said, his tone softer now. "I think we’re heading down a
rather depressing path here."

She chuckled. "Sorry."

"That’s fine," he said, then remembered. "Actually, no, it’s not. I feel terribly dejected now,
and I know exactly how you can make it up to me."

Granger looked mildly apprehensive. "Okay…?"

"My son managed to coerce me into buying a television, so I’m in desperate need of some
Muggle expertise."

Her shoulders relaxed. "Oh, well, I can help with that. But you could have asked Theo, you
know."

"I did." He rolled his eyes. "His advice was to get the biggest one, which even I know isn’t
the only important factor."

"No," she smirked. "Like with many other things, size is important, but it’s not the only thing
that matters."

Draco hesitated for half a second before realising. Merlin, was that an innuendo? He wasn’t
sure what to do with it, so he just smiled, watching her carefully to see if she’d get
embarrassed.

She didn’t.

I… wasn’t ready for this.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah," she said, thinking for a moment. "Do you want the telly in your living room?"

"Yes."

"Then size does matter," she smirked again, before continuing. "It depends on how big your
room is and where you want to place it. On a shelf or mounted on the wall. You’ll probably
want it in your sitting area, so the distance between the furniture and the screen matters too."

He sighed. "Do I need to do some complex mathematical equation to figure out the perfect
distance between the television and the sofa?"

"No, but it’s something to keep in mind."

"Can we go now?"

"Now?"

They went now.

She apparated them into a terribly narrow and filthy street that seemed to lead nowhere, with
not a single person in sight. But as they walked forward, the bustling energy of the city
swallowed them whole. Towering glass buildings glimmered in the bright sunlight, reflecting
the movement of people rushing past. Draco struggled to keep up, glancing around at
everything.

"Don't get lost," she called over her shoulder as they wove through the crowd.

"I'm here," he assured her, his eyes still scanning their surroundings.
Granger walked at an impressive pace, especially considering she was wearing heels. A pair
of sleek brown boots and a short fur coat made her look effortlessly sophisticated. He could
tell she worked out, but forced himself to look away from her… body. Unlike a few passing
men, who quickly averted their gazes when they noticed him walking behind her.

"I think we’ll find electronics shops here," she pointed towards a towering glass building.
"It's a shopping mall."

And indeed, they found themselves surrounded by an overwhelming number of stores. Draco
could already feel a headache coming on. Granger navigated through the maze of shops with
ease, leading him towards the electronics section. For the first time in his life, he used an
escalator.

She watched him closely, clearly amused, as they rode up. He had to admit, grudgingly, that it
was quite practical. No stairs to climb, no waiting for a lift. Muggles were oddly efficient
sometimes.

Then came the electronics shop. It was a sensory assault - bright lights, rows of sleek screens,
the steady hum of dozens of devices on display. Draco hesitated for a second, but Granger
wasted no time, marching straight towards the television section with absolute confidence.

"This one might be too expen… oh, wait." She turned to him with a small grin, lightly
grabbing his upper arm. "Forgot I was talking to you. No need to check the price tags. How
refreshing."

Draco barely registered her words.

He was too aware of the casual way she touched people when she spoke.

Not him, though. Not usually. But he remembered watching her at the party.

Yeah. Watching her. Like a creep.

Shut up.

She finally settled on a television. "This one apparently comes with an excellent sound
system. Means the audio quality is much better."

"Really? Never would’ve guessed," he deadpanned.

She rolled her eyes.

"What’s the biggest one I can get?"

She leaned forward slightly to read the label. "I think it’s 55 inches."

"Good," he said, using the moment to glance at her. "I need the biggest one to match all the
other large things I have."

Draco narrowed his eyes slightly, watching for a blush. She hadn’t before.
Granger straightened slowly and turned to face him, looking… amused. Still no blush.

He leaned in just enough to lower his voice. "My large living room, Granger."

She huffed and shook her head. "I'll wait by the cashier."

The television arrived at Theo’s house since he’d had muggle deliveries before and knew
how to deal with them. He and Scorpius were positively gleeful as they unravelled the cables
and pressed every button in sight, while Draco sat back and watched them pore over the
instruction manual as if it were a particularly cryptic tea leaves reading.

Eventually, miraculously they succeeded, and all three of them settled on the sofa, watching
some nature programme. Draco barely paid attention. Instead, he found himself reaching for
parchment and a quill, thinking he ought to send Granger a quick note.

Granger,

The television arrived today by your incredibly slow and unreliable mailing system. What
does 3 to 5 days even mean? That I’d had to stay at home for 5 days until it arrived?
Nonsense.

Anyway, it’s here now. Theo and Scorpius are learning about the migration patterns of some
English birds. I always wanted to know more about the birds I never noticed before and
where they stay during winter at places across the world I've never heard about. I'm very
excited about this.

1. Malfoy

She answered him later in the evening with a small box attached to the owl’s leg. It wasn't
heavy at all, but she wrote with big black letters FRAGILE. Draco opened it carefully and it
was a box with the movie disk. The film was called Titanic , and it had a man and a woman
on the cover. It was about the ship accident, apparently.

Malfoy,

I can not believe you have monogrammed parchments, but also, I don’t know why I'm
surprised.

My muggle “mailing system” works fine for everyone and 3 to 5 days seems perfectly
reasonable. What are you doing anyway but sitting with your lawyers or sitting with me in a
cafe? You’d find time to stay at home and sit some more, I'm sure.
I sent you a movie I would like you to watch. It’s a true story (for the most part) about the
most famous muggle shipwreck and I think you will enjoy it with your excellent speakers as
well. At one point, it had the most Oscars in history (it’s an award for movies). I remember
watching it at the cinema. It was a mind blowing experience.

P.S. It's a long movie and because of a few scenes, not for children, so have that in mind.

Hermione

“The woman was naked,” he said the moment they met two days later.

He’d written her a letter, claiming he had a lot of questions about the film and asking her to
meet him at the café after lunch. Granger, of course, knew everything about it. Apparently, it
was one of the biggest transportation disasters in muggle history. Even a century later, they
were still making films and writing books about it.

She shrugged, taking a sip of her coffee. “Yes, so? You’ve seen one before, haven’t you?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “You said millions of people have watched this film. And she was fine
with millions of people seeing her naked?”

“She’s an actress. Some of them do. Not all, obviously.” She shook her head. “Muggles are so
much more sexually liberated, it’s almost ridiculous.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” he muttered.

Granger narrowed her eyes and folded her arms over her chest. “What’s wrong with my
clothes?”

“That’s not what I said.”

She wore a tight black, slightly sheer jumper, just transparent enough that he could see the
outline of her bra, paired with those muggle jeans that… well... They looked fucking
fantastic on her, mostly because she had a fantastic arse. There, I said it. A bloody miracle
he’d held out this long without commenting on it.

“You didn’t have to. You meant it.” She glared at him. “Say it, Malfoy.”

The way she said his name when she was annoyed did something to him. Specifically, to the
southern part of him. This is new.

“It’s just… different.” He shifted uncomfortably.

“It is. Should I be worried or flattered that you pay so much attention to what I’m wearing?”

Both.

“Both.” What?!
“What?” She looked stunned.

“Nothing.” He shook his head and turned to stare out of the window. What the hell is wrong
with me?

She chuckled after a moment. “I do believe you’re blushing, Mr Big Artiste,” she purred, her
voice suddenly lower, more sensual.

She was quoting the bloody film.

“Oh, don’t worry, Malfoy,” she added, rolling her eyes, voice back to normal. “I won’t ask
you to draw me like one of your French girls.”

What the hell is wrong with her?!

Draco was distracted.

Which wasn’t ideal, considering he was brewing a potion with Scorpius that evening.
Fortunately, he’d picked an easy one, so he didn’t have to focus too hard.

“Dad, are you listening?” Scorpius asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

He gave his head a shake, trying to clear his mind. “Oh, sorry. What did you say?”

“I asked if we should lower the temperature now or wait for it to bubble first.”

“Er…” He checked the book. “Wait for it to bubble, then lower it to seventy degrees.”

“Okay.” Scorpius turned his attention back to the cauldron.

Was he thinking about her because she was genuinely attractive, or because he hadn’t got laid
in so many months that his brain was rebelling?

March.

No, April. You loser.

That had to be it. He was just pent-up. That’s all. It had nothing to do with Granger,
specifically. He was spending too much time with her, and his mind was confused. That’s it.
Definitely.

Except… Theo was right about her.

Draco had always known she was smart, but actually talking to her about serious things was
nice. She was so dedicated to her book, and he’d learned a surprising amount about the
writing process from her.

She hated meetings with lawyers and didn’t give a shit about the business side of things -
contracts, deals, sponsors. He’d explained a few things, and she’d even taken notes while he
talked about contract law.
She thought what he was saying was important enough to write down.

That had made him far too pleased.

And then there was the way she looked when she was focused. She’d frown, biting her lip,
and he’d struggle to concentrate on anything else. She was always so expressive, her hands
moving animatedly as she spoke, her hair shifting with her movements. He liked it best when
she left it down.

One time, she’d gathered it all up to tie on top of her head while talking, but halfway through,
she’d changed her mind, letting it fall back down her shoulders like a golden waterfall.

She had gold in her hair. And her eyes.

It glowed under sunlight.

“We should leave it for… eleven minutes now,” Scorpius said.

“Yes, let’s wait.” Draco nodded, hoping his son had been paying attention, because he
certainly hadn’t.

What he also hadn’t known before, but was painfully aware of now, was that Granger was
funny.

She made inappropriate jokes. Often. And he hated how much they got to him. It was
embarrassing, really.

“That sounds like a big house for a family of three,” he’d commented once.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, Granger.” He smirked. “Three floors? Four or five bedrooms? Sounds big to
me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “No, it’s just the ground floor, the first floor, and the attic. How many
bedrooms are there in your… manor?”

She barely ever mentioned it. Probably on purpose.

He shrugged. “I don’t know exactly. Too many, but…”

“You don’t know?” she interrupted, eyes wide. Then she scoffed. “What am I saying? Of
course you don’t. All of your Slytherin homes are like the fucking Palace of Versailles.”

She didn’t swear often, but when she did… well. He was very glad there was a table between
them.

Also when she got angry.

Or excited.
Or spoke passionately about something.

So, pretty much all the time?

Gods, I’m worse than Theo.

“I think this looks good. Should we try it?” Scorpius asked a few minutes later.

Draco glanced between the cauldron and the book to compare. “I think so too. Let’s see.”

They’d brewed a fast-growing potion for plant seeds. One drop should be enough to turn a
seed into a sprout.

He handed Scorpius the dropper. “Do you want to do it?”

His son nodded and carefully dropped a single droplet onto the seed.

“It worked!” he squeaked as a tiny green sprout shot up. “Maybe we can plant some herbs in
the kitchen. Dissy uses up all the parsley too quickly.”

Draco nodded. “Good idea. Let’s do that tomorrow.”

Later, when he went for a quick shower before bed, it turned into a much longer shower.

And a wank.

Because he… well. He couldn’t control his brain anymore.

Maybe he’d occlude the next time he saw her.

He’d tried thinking about literally anyone else, but all he could picture was the way she’d
licked the foam off her lips from her coffee. Or the way she sucked the juice from her fingers
when she was eating those cherries.

And then, of course, his mind went there.

He couldn’t stop imagining how her lips and tongue would feel around his…

Gods, I desperately need to get laid if I’m obsessing over some minuscule moment from
weeks ago.

Theo and Blaise wanted to go to a posh muggle bar in London on Saturday night, and Draco
had immediately refused. He didn’t like those places. He’d been to muggle cafés and
restaurants before, but a bar? Where people drank and danced and talked too much? No,
thanks. He didn't even have a good backstory like Theo or Blaise.

“Oh, I just say I’m an accountant,” Blaise had explained. “No one asks too many questions,
they just nod.”
Draco had to admit that was decent. He knew enough about accounting to keep up the
appearance.

On Friday evening, Scorpius was with Daphne, but she’d told Draco to pick him up before
she went out with her friends. So, he flooed to her place and arrived in the living room to find
Pansy lounging on the sofa, with Scorpius beside her and Granger bending over the headrest,
pointing something out on what appeared to be her reading device.

Pansy was already dressed to go out, wearing some short burgundy thing. But Granger…

Draco hadn’t expected that .

She was wearing black. A dress, or maybe just a top, he couldn’t see much behind the
fucking sofa, but it had thick straps and a surprisingly low square neckline. And her tits were
just there.

He had to look away when she glanced up and met his eyes.

“Oh, time to go home, Scorp,” Pansy said airily. “Daphne’s getting ready. We came earlier.”

Draco just nodded.

Scorpius stood obediently, then turned to him with wide eyes. “Dad, there are millions of
books here! Did you know?”

“I tried to explain, Scorpius, but he doesn’t believe me,” Granger said, smiling.

Draco was trying very hard to avoid her gaze, but he must’ve been doing a shit job of it,
because she was staring. Smirking. Looking far too smug when he glanced at her before
leaving.

Perfect.

He wrote a letter the moment he got home and sent it to Blaise.

He was going out.

He was going to finally get laid. And when he got it out of his system, he could go back to
having nice little chit-chats with Granger without thinking about shagging her.

No.

I never thought about that. Stop it.

He’d definitely have to occlude the next time he saw her.

The next day, he asked Scorpius to help him brew a hangover potion. It was more
complicated than what he was used to, needing to simmer for twelve hours, but it seemed like
a smart idea.

Scorpius just smirked. “Aren’t you too old to go out and get drunk with your friends?”

Draco gasped, pretending to be deeply offended. “Take that back. I’m only thirty.”

“A little more than that, Dad.”

They met at Theo’s flat for pre-drinks because, apparently, they needed to be relaxed before
going to a muggle party. According to Blaise, they partied hard.

And he wasn’t wrong.

The street outside the bar was bustling with people, chatting and smoking. Inside was even
more chaotic.

Thumping music, dim lighting, bodies pressed together.

As the night wore on, Draco found himself at the bar with a beautiful woman named Emilia.
She’d caught his eye earlier, and now they were laughing and flirting over wildly overpriced
drinks, as she put it.

Theo had spent the entire night at the bar with some blonde woman.

Blaise had also found a blonde and made a hasty exit, leaving Draco and Emilia alone.

She invited him back to hers, but he hesitated. He didn’t like going somewhere unfamiliar.
Instead, he led her outside, around the back of the bar.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit cold out here?” she managed between kisses.

Draco smirked. “I think we can find a way to keep warm.”

A discreet warming charm.

A subtle notice-me-not.

And then his hand was up her skirt, fingers between her legs.

It never failed to make him ridiculously proud and wildly turned on when he found them
already wet and waiting.

He made sure she finished first before he pushed inside her, lasting surprisingly long,
considering how long it had been.

Afterwards, she pulled out her phone and told him she’d texted a taxi. Apparently, you could
do that now. He’d assumed people just hailed them on the street.

When he told her he’d wait with her, she looked pleasantly surprised. It wasn't a common
practice, apparently, because she looked pleasantly surprised and smiled. Emilia even kissed
him before she left.
Muggle men really need to step up.

He apparated home close to two in the morning, reeking of smoke, alcohol, perfume, and sex.

A quick shower, then straight to bed.

Draco woke up to an empty bed. Scorpius wasn’t there to jump in, or maybe he was so tired
that Draco didn’t even hear him. There was, however, a vial of water-like liquid on the
bedside table - the hangover potion. He didn’t really feel the need for it, but decided to test it
anyway. A tiny headache, one he hadn’t even noticed forming, vanished within seconds.

I guess we brewed it properly.

“Did you take the potion? Did it work?” Scorpius’s voice drifted from the sofa, where he was
sitting with a bowl of cereal, watching cartoons. He didn’t even turn his head to look at
Draco.

“Good morning to you too, son,” he said dryly. “I slept well. How are you this morning?”

Scorpius chuckled. “Good morning, dad. I’m fine.” He patted the seat next to him. “Come
watch this cartoon with me. It’s really fun.”

Draco grabbed some oatmeal from the kitchen and joined him on the sofa. The cartoon
wasn’t as long as the ones Scorpius usually watched, barely lasting half an hour. It was
bright, colourful, and, Draco could see why, appealing to kids.

“So, he lives in a pineapple?” he asked, spooning oatmeal into his mouth. What would I do
without Dissy? “And it’s underwater? How’s that possible?”

Scorpius rolled his eyes. “He’s also a speaking sponge, dad. It’s not real.”

“That doesn’t even look like a real sea sponge,” Draco teased.

“I think that’s part of the joke,” Scorpius said. “So, did the potion work?”

“Yes, but I didn’t really need it,” he replied, considering it for a moment. “I wouldn’t say I
had a real hangover anyway.” He gave a small, serious look to his son. “Because I’m a young
man with full strength and can tolerate my drinks.”

Scorpius snorted. “Yeah, right. So, what did you do?”

Draco paused, his mind flashing back to the woman from last night, with short brown or
blonde hair, fringes, blue eyes. She was pretty, he thought vaguely.

“Um, you know, typical drinking night,” he answered nonchalantly.

“Yes, I know all about them.” Scorpius rolled his eyes again, but Draco didn’t take it to heart.
It was only a matter of time before the constant eye rolls started to get on his nerves, but he
wasn’t about to tell his son about last night’s activities with Theo and Blaise.

“Did you think about inviting Potter’s kid?” Draco asked, trying to steer the conversation
somewhere else. The cartoon had finished, and another episode with the same characters was
starting. “Is it starting again?”

“Yes, it’s a series. It has many episodes. And it’s Albus, dad,” Scorpius said, his attention
back on the screen. “I was thinking of inviting him before the holidays, maybe.”

“Sure.”

It was good that Scorpius mentioned it because he’d probably forget about holidays
otherwise. It was already December.

His mother would always ask him to spend Christmas at the manor, and while he obeyed, he
didn’t exactly enjoy it. Maybe this year he could convince her to celebrate it at his flat, or
better yet, they could go on a trip somewhere until New Year’s.

A change of scenery was long overdue. Maybe somewhere warm, sunny, like the French
Riviera. They hadn’t been to their villa there in years. It sounded perfect.

The hangover potion had given him a boost of energy, so he decided to go for a swim. It felt
good, especially after a month’s break following his shoulder injury. There was still a slight
twinge of pain when he did something intense like swimming the butterfly stroke, but the
injury had healed long ago, and today he could enjoy it without worrying or dealing with
Dissy’s disapproving looks.

Later, he joined Blaise and a few friends for a quick game of quidditch. Despite the freezing
weather, they managed to have a good time, the cold air biting at their faces but only adding
to the rush of flying. Scorpius, thrilled by the idea of getting on a broomstick, had watched
them from the ground, eager to join once the game was finished.

“Have you thought about holidays yet?” Draco asked his mother, as they sat down to lunch in
his flat on Sunday. Scorpius, finishing his dessert, moved to the sofa to watch television.

She seemed surprised by the question. “No, but did you have something in mind?”

“I was thinking we could go to France. We haven’t been to Grasse in so many years. Scorpius
has never been there.” He glanced at his son, then back at his mother. “Maybe we could visit
Cannes or even Nice, too. I know it’s not the same as in summer, but it could be worth it.”

“That sounds like a wonderful plan,” she said, sipping her wine. “What brought this on?”

“What do you mean?”

“You never plan something like this.” She arched an eyebrow, studying him.
Draco hesitated, thinking about how best to explain. He could brush it off, but instead, he
decided to try something a little more honest. The Granger method.

“Truthfully?”

“Please.”

He sighed, choosing to come clean. “Well, first, I haven’t been there in years, and... I know
you’d probably invite me to the manor for Christmas, and I’d say yes out of respect. But I
don’t want to. It suffocates me. I’m sorry.”

His mother was quiet for a long moment before nodding. “You don’t need to apologise,
darling. I’m trying... to change things.” She sighed, a touch of regret in her voice. “But I
guess it takes more than a fresh coat of paint and new curtains to do that.”

“I know,” Draco said, guilt tugging at him. He wished he could do more to help her, to make
things easier. “I’m sorry I’m not there for you, but... I just can’t. Not after everything.”

“I understand,” she replied softly, and for a second, it felt like they were on the same page.
“The trip sounds perfect.” She gave his hand a reassuring tap, then looked at Scorpius. “Do
you think it’s wise, though, that you bought him… the television?”

Draco met her gaze without flinching. “I’m giving him the chance to manage his own time.
He needs to decide how much time to spend on entertainment while getting all his lessons
and homework done. If he fails, I’ll step in.”

His mother raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, but did not push further.

“It’s not that bad, really. They use them in muggle schools, too, showing films about history
or science, things like that. Granger mentioned it,” he murmured the last part.

“Hermione Granger?” she asked, surprise lacing her tone.

“Yes,” Draco said, watching her closely.

“You spoke? About... television?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “We... We’ve spoken about a lot of things, actually.” The words
felt strange in his mouth, but it was easier than explaining everything.

“How did that happen?”

His mother seemed genuinely curious, so Draco told her the brief version of the story. They’d
bumped into each other a few times by accident (a few times my arse) in the same café near
her work.

“I see,” she nodded slowly. “It’s good that you could fix that relationship. For both of you, I
imagine, seeing how she reacted when we met during the summer.”

“There wasn’t really a relationship to fix. But yes, I think it’s for the best.”
His mother didn’t respond immediately, but her expression softened as she looked back at
Scorpius. “He mentioned visiting her home with Albus Potter.”

Draco nodded, keeping his tone neutral. “He did. Daphne was there too.” He hoped that
would help the situation, but he wasn’t sure.

“I see.” His mother looked at him then, and Draco felt an odd sense of tension in the air.

It was ridiculous, really. What was he so worried about? That his mother would discover he
had a female friend who he occasionally met for coffee? That was hardly scandalous. No, it
wasn’t that. You know what she would insinuate.

She would say it wasn’t proper for him to spend so much time with a woman he wasn’t
courting. The wizarding world, at least the part of it he belonged to, was so old-fashioned and
rigid sometimes. But then again, that wasn’t true for everyone. For him, though...

He was the descendant of two of the most noble and ancient families in wizarding history.

Toujours Pur, right?

Sanctimonia Vincet Semper, doesn't it?

The family mottos etched deep into his blood. The expectations placed on him were
enormous, but he wasn’t about to let them control his life. It was a constant battle, especially
since Scorpius had come into the picture.

Still, there was something in the back of his mind, something he couldn’t ignore. Was his
mother upset for a different reason? Did she still believe in those antiquated concepts that had
been woven into their families' histories?

He shook his head, finishing his drink with a sigh, knowing there was no point in dwelling on
it.

Later, as he scanned the bookshelf after his mother left, his eyes landed on Chekhov’s stories.
It was a book he had started but never finished. He didn't notice Granger was reading his
work when he looked through her reading list. Maybe she hasn't heard of him.

“Haven’t heard of him? Are you absolutely mental?!” Granger was clearly taken aback,
looking more than a little insulted by his suggestion.

Draco chuckled awkwardly, feeling a strange mix of amusement and embarrassment. “I only
didn’t see him on your... Tindle.”

“Kindle.”

“Yes, right. Do you have a favourite?”

She glanced out the window for a moment, biting her lip thoughtfully. “Story? Oh, I don’t
know... there are so many. Vanka, maybe? About the shoemaker boy.”

“Oh, right,” Draco said, grimacing slightly. “It’s depressing.”

“Most of them are,” she replied, her voice softening. She paused, then added, “So, I have to
ask. When did you start reading... these books?”

Draco inhaled, then shrugged casually. “When my... worldview changed, I guess. It was easy
enough to start with books. They didn’t judge.”

“So you didn’t read any when you were a child?”

He almost laughed. “Oh gods, no. Do you think my father would have approved?”

She gave him a look of pity, which was something new. And frankly, something he wasn’t
keen on. “What’s your favourite?” she asked, shifting the focus.

He thought for a moment, then smirked. “I’m going to go with The Death of a Statesman.”

“That was the first one I read,” she nodded, a smile tugging at her lips.

“Mine too,” he said, his eyes flicking to hers. “That’s why it grabbed me. It’s funny, but it’s
such a sharp commentary. Even today, right?”

“Yes,” she agreed, though there was that pity again. Or maybe it was sympathy. Either way,
Draco wasn’t sure he liked it. “You’re missing out by not reading some of them when you
were a child. Maybe you can read them with your son sometime. I’m not making fun of you,
I swear,” she added, holding up her hands in mock surrender.

Draco smiled and nodded. “I trust you. So, what else do you read these days, aside from
depressing Russians?”

“Salacious French.”

“Good,” he smirked, leaning in slightly. “Tell me more.”

“How do you feel about poetry?” she asked, her voice teasing.

“Not the biggest fan,” he admitted. “I’m afraid I lack the profound ability to understand the
deeper layers.”

She nodded, her eyes gleaming. “The Flowers of Evil by Charles Baudelaire. It was
forbidden in the 19th century because it was, oh, so scandalous.” She placed a hand on her
forehead dramatically. “You might be offended by it too.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

She rolled her eyes, clearly amused. “I mean, because you grew up in a very conservative
society, Malfoy.”
He couldn’t help but smirk at her emphasis. Gods, when she puts it like that...

“How would your ancestors feel about their pureblood prince reading about a muggle who
spent his entire life writing suggestive poetry, doing opium, and... well, having too much sex
with different women?”

Draco stared at her for a second, considering the question. “I don’t care what they’d think. I’d
say fuck them and give me the book.” He smirked, feeling oddly bold.

It was ridiculous how much her words could affect him, more so than he liked to admit. The
shag over the weekend certainly hadn’t helped matters.

“Look at you,” she said, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she leaned back in her chair.
She crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze lingering on him with a knowing smile. “They
must be rolling in their graves by now.”

“Good,” he replied, not breaking eye contact.

She smiled more broadly, and for a moment, the tension in the air shifted. There was a
warmth to her expression now, something more relaxed, maybe even flirty. Draco glanced at
her Irish coffee and realised it was probably the alcohol that had loosened her up a bit. He
wondered how far this flirting might go...

“So, do you read a lot of erotic poetry in your free time, Granger?” Draco smirked, hoping to
see her blush.

“Not a lot, only sometimes when I’m in the mood,” she replied nonchalantly.

“So, you’re in the mood now. I mean, you said it yourself,” he teased

“I need something to pull me out of the pit of misery the Russians put me in. And it provides
a fantasy, you know? Somewhere I can escape from everyday life,” she said simply.

“So where do you want to escape to? Paris?” Draco leaned on his elbows on the table, clearly
intrigued. “To read lascivious poetry, do opium, and have… a lot of sex with different women
every night?”

Great, that's exactly the picture I don't need in my mind right now.

Granger tilted her head again, narrowing her eyes, but smiled.

“Hey, your author of choice,” he teased again.

“No, not Paris,” she continued, “And I already escaped, remember? I lived in Spain.”

Draco hesitated, then decided to push the boundaries a little. She’ll tell me to fuck off if I
cross the line. “Did you fulfill those fantasies of yours there?” he asked in a quieter, more
measured voice. Please say yes.

“Not all the way through,” she replied with a sly smile.
“No?”

“I don’t do drugs. I mean, I don’t know... does weed count anymore?”

“I don’t think so.” Draco shook his head, rubbing his face in disbelief. “Granger, you just...
keep surprising me.”

“Why?” She looked at him, clearly amused.

“You’re nothing like I thought you’d be.”

She huffed. “So none of my so-called friends have shared my amazing personality with you?
No wonder you were avoiding me.”

“Avoiding you?” Draco frowned, his mind racing as he noticed the blush creeping up her
neck.

“Oh... um…” She stammered for a moment, clearly uncomfortable. “Pansy said something,
but she was joking. She didn’t mean it seriously.”

“What did she say?” Draco leaned in.

Her blush deepened.

“Granger. I would like you to be honest with me. Don’t keep it inside, remember?”

She narrowed her eyes, clearly wary. “This seems like a manipulation tactic.”

“Is it working?” he smirked.

“Yes,” she rolled her eyes and sighed. “She said the reason you didn’t avoid her party this
year was because we’re finally... cordial. Which led me to the conclusion that you weren’t
coming before because I was there.” She paused, frowning, and spoke quickly. “But when I
thought about it for literally a second longer, it seemed too self-centred to even imagine
something like that could be true.”

“No, it’s... there was no reason, really.” Draco looked away, his eyes fixated on his hands.
Since when did I become such a terrible liar?

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Granger stared at him, as if trying to catch him in a lie.

“Well... maybe.” He sighed, deciding to come clean. “I might’ve been a bit envious of how
much you all meet and go out, and I... Well, I don’t, so I thought…”

“So why didn’t you before?”

“It started because of Scorpius, and then one thing after another, and...” he waved his hand
dismissively, trying to downplay it.

“Right, of course. You’re a parent,” Granger nodded sympathetically. “You’re simply not
interested in their... debaucheries anymore.”

“Something like that,” he chuckled, relieved that she understood.

“So, how was your outing in the muggle world the other night?” Granger asked suddenly.

Draco’s head snapped up, as she was smirking at him.

“That good, huh?” she teased, clearly enjoying the reaction she was getting from him. “I saw
Blaise at Luna’s. He was buying some potion ingredients.”

Blaise talks too much, even when he’s hungover. He didn’t say anything important, though,
which Draco was grateful for.

He stayed with Granger until it got dark, almost eight o’clock and then decided to leave. “I
should go,” Draco said, checking his watch. “Scorp and I sometimes make potions at night.
He’ll be waiting for me.”

“Of course,” she nodded, standing up to get dressed. “What are you making?”

“Simple potions, something easy for him to learn,” Draco said, buttoning up his coat. “He
did, however, help me make the hangover potion.”

“Using child labour to help maintain your alcoholic lifestyle?” Granger smirked, eyeing her
reflection in the dark window. “I should report you to muggle child services.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “He volunteered.”

“Even worse.” She raised an eyebrow, glancing at him. “You didn’t pay him.”

Draco chuckled softly, his gaze shifting to the door. “I’ll make it up to him next time.”

They left the café after paying and walked down the narrow street together. Granger glanced
at him a few times while talking, her gaze flickering between his face and the scarf wrapped
around his neck. When they reached the apparition point, Draco turned to her, and noticed
she was staring at him, frowning slightly.

“Well, can I just say that you…”

“No, can I just say something?” she cut him off, her tone slightly irritated. “I find it so
annoying...” She started to remove the scarf around his neck, her fingers brushing against his
skin. “That you can always look so perfectly polished and neat...” she muttered, folding the
scarf in half and smoothing the edges with unnecessary precision. “And like nothing is ever
out of place with you...”
Draco tensed slightly as she looped the scarf around his neck again. Her fingers grazed the
skin just below his jaw, and he shivered involuntarily.

“But putting on a bloody scarf properly,” she continued, tightening it around his neck, “is
something you have trouble with?” She pressed the folded ends to his chest with a finality
that made him freeze. “There,” she exhaled, clearly satisfied.

She was so close to him now. Draco could almost feel her breath on his face, warm and soft,
as she finished adjusting the scarf. The streetlight cast a gentle glow on her features,
highlighting the delicate beauty he hadn’t allowed himself to notice before.

He saw the tiny freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks, each one a perfect
imperfection that only made her more... beautiful. His eyes lingered on the subtle lines near
the bridge of her nose, the kind that formed from years of constant frowning. But even those
couldn’t dull the radiance of her face.

Her lips were a soft, rosy shade, perfectly complementing the blush on her cheeks and he
couldn’t help but be drawn into her eyes. They were a brilliant golden hue, yet as they met
his, they seemed to darken ever so slightly, and something stirred within him.

She was looking at him in the same way he was looking at her - with longing, with a
desperation that mirrored his own. Am I imagining this?

But he didn’t have much time to contemplate the thought before she swallowed and stepped
back, glancing down at his scarf one last time.

“Well,” she said quietly, “I was just really annoyed by it, you know.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Draco replied, swallowing hard.

“So…” she trailed off, her eyes flicking between his lips and his eyes. “Nice talking to you,
Malfoy.”

“You too, Granger,” he nodded, the words feeling hollow as his mind raced.

With a soft pop, she apparated, leaving him standing there, alone, with an undeniable craving
for something sweet.

Salted caramel.

Vanilla.

The slight hint of burnt sugar and the delicate scent of candy floss, but refined, sophisticated,
just like her. That’s what she smells like.

I’m so fucked.
 Hermione
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

December 2012

“So, I was thinking of maybe coming over for Christmas. Is that alright?” Hermione asked,
speaking with her parents over Skype.

She could see the sunlight streaming in through the window behind them, casting a soft,
golden glow over the kitchen. Little touches of greenery dotted the room. She almost
imagined the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting from the counter, just waiting for her
parents to take their first sip.

“Oh no, you did? Goodness, Henry, did you hear that?” her mother feigned disappointment.
“Our only daughter wants to visit us. Looks like we’ll have to cancel the huge party we
invited all the people we know here.”

“Really?” he replied, equally convincing in his mock distress. “And I was looking forward to
a night of obscenity, cheap booze, and illegal substances to celebrate Jesus Christ’s birthday.”

Daphne giggled from the kitchen, preparing snacks while Hermione chatted with her parents,
perched on a barstool at the island.

“Gross, stop it.” Hermione rolled her eyes, a chuckle escaping her. “But I’m serious. Did you
want to travel somewhere, or something like that?”

“No, we sort of figured you’d want to come,” her dad replied. “So, when should we expect
you?”

“I’d say Christmas morning. I still need to ask Harry to prepare me some portkeys.”

“Yes, of course, darling, that sounds perfect. We can’t wait to see you.”

“Me too. So, we have a deal then,” Hermione replied, grinning. “Brilliant. I’m off now.”

“Alright, love, talk to you soon. Goodbye, Phoebe!”

“It’s Daphne, Henry,” her mother corrected, her voice tinged with amusement. “Honestly,
you’re not even that old. How’s your memory so bad?”

Daphne chuckled. “It’s fine. Goodbye, Mr and Mrs Granger!” she called, adding the final
ingredients to the blender. “They’re always so lovely,” she added once Hermione hung up.
“He’s hopeless with names, sorry,” Hermione admitted, shaking her head. “But they are. I
miss them.” The thought of the approaching holidays made her feel a little nostalgic, even
slightly lonely in her childhood home. She longed to see them again.

“I wish I missed my parents. Maybe I should finally move out,” Daphne joked, pouring olive
oil into the blender.

“What do you do together nowadays?”

“Have meals sometimes,” Daphne shrugged. “But it’s usually when Scorpius is around, too.
Other than that, we don’t really see each other much.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. Of course you don’t. Your estate’s the size of Kew Gardens.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said softly, genuinely meaning it.

She could see how much Daphne cherished her family, especially after Astoria’s passing.
Daphne adored spending time with her nephew and friends and was rarely alone.

“It’s fine,” Daphne replied with another shrug. “They’re not like your parents, remember?
They expect me to do certain things, uphold certain lifestyles and traditions I never really
respected...” She met Hermione’s eyes. “Especially not now.”

“I never really asked you,” Hermione asked. “Do they... ever say anything about your friends
now?”

Daphne rolled her eyes. “Where’s your Gryffindor courage, Granger? Go on, ask away,” she
smirked. “Are they upset I’m friends with blood traitors and muggleborns? No, they never
really cared about that. They don’t accept everything, but let’s say they’re... tolerant of what
the younger generation seems to be accepting as this new way of living.” She paused for a
moment, thinking. “So, in that sense, I had it easier. Not like Pansy. Or Theo, if his father
were still alive. That man was... simply terrible.”

Daphne absentmindedly added spices to the blender. Hermione, not wanting to interrupt, just
watched.

“I’m not sure how Narcissa feels about all the changes,” Daphne continued. “She’s very
clever, I can’t read her. But Blaise’s mother is fine. She was always more open-minded than
most of them, anyway.”

She put the lid on the blender, about to press the button, but stopped to continue talking.

“It helps when you get away from this place a bit. She travelled loads, lived in different
places. Oh, they’ve got this incredible room in their estate where she keeps all the artefacts
she’s collected from her travels.” Daphne’s face lit up, her excitement evident. “Oh! She’s got
this sealed clay vase with muggle wine from ancient Greece, found at the bottom of some
sunken ship in the Mediterranean. Can you imagine? It’s survived centuries intact. You’d
love it.” She caught herself when she saw Hermione’s smile. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”
“No, you’re not,” she shook her head. “We don’t talk much about these things. You never
complain.”

“What’s there to complain about?” Daphne shrugged. “They leave me to do whatever I want,
and in return, I try not to disgrace the family,” she winked. “At least, not too much.”

Hermione paused for a moment, letting the silence linger. “Okay,” she said. “Did you check
that everything’s connected properly?” she eyed the blender.

“I think so. So, I just press the button?”

“You pulse it first, then hold it to blend. When you release it, it stops.”

“Oh, I see.”

Daphne followed Hermione’s instructions, and soon enough, there was a smooth hummus in
the glass bowl.

“It’s rather loud.”

“Yeah, but you don’t usually use it for long, so it’s fine.”

They enjoyed the hummus Daphne had found on Pinterest. When she first discovered the site,
she’d spent days scrolling, writing down recipes she wanted to try. Hermione had shown her
how to save them to her own boards. After that, Daphne disappeared for a week, completely
absorbed in creating boards for every single interest she had, from baking to interior design.
Hermione had found it amusing, watching her newfound obsession take hold.

“Do you want to come with me to Spain?” she asked, suddenly.

“What?”

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t know if you’d want to spend Christmas with your parents or M... well,
someone else. But if you want, you can come along.”

“Really?” Daphne’s eyes widened.

“Yeah. And you heard what I said,” Hermione went on. “I want to leave Christmas morning,
and I’m thinking of coming back on the 31st. Then maybe we can do something here for New
Year’s Eve. What do you think?”

“Oh. I think I’d like that. Thank you!”

The end of the first week of December marked the final few meetings with her team as they
wrapped up the technical aspects of referencing and formatting. While she was relieved that
the workload was coming to a close, there was a twinge of sadness knowing she wouldn’t be
talking to them as often anymore.
Once the team submitted their work to the publisher, it would be up to them to determine
when to begin printing the new edition. Hermione had been eagerly anticipating celebrating
with them at the Leaky once everything was finalised.

In addition to the upcoming release, Hermione had arranged to meet with two translators
from Germany and Russia who would be visiting at the end of January. Though it wasn’t
strictly necessary for her to be present, they had asked for her, and she was equally eager to
hear their perspectives.

The excitement didn’t end there. The publisher informed Hermione that her book would be
available in countries beyond Germany and Russia. The German publisher sold it in Austria,
Switzerland, and several other EU countries, while the Russian publisher had a presence in
Central Asia and Eastern Europe. Despite the smaller readership, Hermione felt a rush of
excitement knowing her work would reach even more people around the world.

“That is so exciting,” Harry said, when they had dinner a day or two later. “Can you get me a
copy of the Russian edition when it’s published?”

Ginny laughed. “Why do you need it? You can’t speak Russian.”

“No, but I want to see how our stories look in Cyrillic,” he shrugged.

Our stories.

They were their stories.

And now so many more people would be able to hear them, in different languages.
Languages Hermione didn’t even speak. The same language Goethe wrote Faust and The
Sorrows of Young Werther, or Dostoevsky wrote The Idiot and Notes from Underground.
Hermione could cry if she didn’t feel like a complete idiot herself. Many people published in
different languages, she reminded herself. It wasn’t a big deal.

“It is a big deal. This is amazing, Hermione,” Parvati said firmly. She wasn’t one for
anyone’s false humility. “You’ve worked hard for this. Be happy.”

They’d met at the Alley because Padma had a free lunch break. Hermione and Luna had tea
together first, then met the twins at Leaky.

“It really is, and you should,” Luna agreed. “Do you think you could get me a German copy?
I’d like to read it.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you spoke German,” Parvati said.

“Oh, I don’t, but English and German are rather similar, you know,” Luna replied. “I think it
would be an enjoyable challenge for me. I’ve always wanted to learn another language.”

Parvati and Hermione exchanged a look.

Padma nodded. “That’s true, actually. English and German are both part of the same
Germanic language family.”

Hermione mouthed ‘Ravenclaws’ to Parvati, who smirked.

“But anyway,” Padma continued, “I called you for a different reason today. Remember that
thing I told you not to get too excited about?”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “No…”

She’d tried not to think about it, but thankfully, she’d been busy enough with other things.

“Oh, yes.” Padma grinned. “You can get excited about it now. They’ve approved the updated
curriculum for next semester.” She handed Hermione a piece of paper. “They’ll be teaching
from your book at the end of the summer term.”

There was a long list of subjects, from first to seventh year, both core curriculum and
electives. Padma had marked History of Magic for the seventh year in red, and beside the
standard textbooks every student had to study from, there was a short list of recommended
reading for seventh-years. Books that could earn students extra points. Hermione had read all
of those when she was preparing for her N.E.W.T.s.

“Oh my God.” She stared at her name next to those of other significant historians and
journalists.

“Oh, how wonderful for you,” Luna said, hugging her with one arm. “And for the students!”

“Congratulations, Granger,” Parvati teased. “You’re now officially part of the elite group of
writers who’ll torture the next generation at Hogwarts.”

“The department informed Minerva yesterday,” Padma explained. “So, I imagine if she
agrees, she’ll write to you any day now.”

And she did.

The next morning, an owl gave a light knock on Hermione's window, almost hesitant.
Groggily, she lifted her head from the pillow and opened one eye to see what the commotion
was about. When she noticed the official Hogwarts sigil on the letter attached to the bird's
leg, she instantly sprang up, wide awake.

She fed the owl some of the best biscuits she could find, then eagerly tore open the letter
from McGonagall. It contained the same information Padma had told her the previous night,
but with an added detail - the curriculum had been updated mid-year, without prior
notification to the students, resulting in a lack of available textbooks.

Without wasting any time, she fired off a strongly worded message to her publisher,
demanding that at least a dozen copies of the book be sent to the Hogwarts Library as soon as
possible. She knew it was likely too many copies, but she refused to let any student miss out
on the opportunity to learn. The priority was ensuring the students had access to the material
they needed to succeed.

She paced around her living room, re-reading the letter from McGonagall a few more times.
It was already ten o'clock. Knowing her friends were likely awake by now, she decided to pay
them a visit and share the news.

She found the Potters in the kitchen. Lily was the most excited, as expected, though not
entirely understanding what it meant. After a brief chat, she dashed over to Daphne,
interrupting her breakfast with Scorpius.

"I'm sorry, but I just came to say that they will teach from my book at Hogwarts!" she
announced.

“Oh, that’s amazing, Hermione!” Daphne replied, her face lighting up.

Scorpius glanced between them. “What does that mean?”

“It means that when you go to school one day, you’ll study from Hermione’s book.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Scorpius said simply, then returned to his food.

“It is! Anyway, I’m off. See you later!”

Next, she headed to Pansy’s house, where she found her and Charlie on the sofa watching
telly.

“Oh, great,” she said with a raised eyebrow when Hermione explained. “I imagine the
students will be positively thrilled with yet another tome to read.”

“You know, you should really spend more time with Parvati, with that enthusiasm of yours,”
Hermione said, before heading back home.

She called her parents via Skype to share the news as well. They were both thrilled for her.
Her dad was as excited as she’d expected him to be.

Hermione spent the rest of the day basking in her good news, her heart full of joy and her
mind at ease. Her book was doing wonderfully, soon to be translated and printed, making it
accessible to a broader audience. Students at Hogwarts would be studying her work in their
history classes. She was looking forward to her upcoming holiday with Daphne, where she
would visit her parents. Her friends were healthy and happy. Life couldn't have been better.
But there was a nagging feeling, a sense that something was missing, and she couldn’t shake
it.

Hermione had been feeling this way since the morning. She had shared all her good news
with the people she cared about, yet she found herself wanting to tell… someone else. It felt
strange, almost wrong, that the first person she thought of was him. She immediately felt
guilty, as though she was betraying the people around her. But she couldn’t help it.
Hermione wasn't blind, nor was she delusional. She knew what she felt - she was attracted to
him. It had hit her at Pansy’s party.

Malfoy had appeared more relaxed and comfortable than she’d ever seen him. His demeanour
was casual, and he looked… stunning. As I mentioned, I’m not blind.

He is an objectively attractive man. Tall, handsome, everything about him screamed

confidence. Usually, Hermione wasn’t attracted to lean types like him, but she had to admit
he was different. He clearly worked out, though he’d be annoyed if she asked about it. It
couldn’t all be quidditch, surely? What did they even do there except fly around chasing
balls?

His face was remarkable. She had always thought it too pointed and angular during their
school days, but now, it was different, more mature, older. The lucky bastard barely had any
imperfections, save for a few thin, barely noticeable scars near his cheekbones and eyebrow,
which she noticed when they stood under the streetlights.

And those eyes.

Grey, stormy, captivating.

His hair was practically a work of art. Whenever he relaxed, a few strands would fall over his
forehead, just enough to tempt her to push them back, leaving her fingers there for a moment
longer.

She’d thought her little inappropriate jokes would make him more relaxed, but every time she
did, he’d shift in his chair and cross his arms. It made her want to see just how far she could
go. She wasn't ashamed, it thrilled her to watch him blush, especially because of his pale
complexion. He must have sensed it, which was why he would often look away, either out of
the window or at the bar.

Hermione wasn’t naive, though. She could tell he was feeling something similar. Malfoy was
easy to read in that way. He was flirting. She was flirting back. He liked it. And, of course, he
would. Why wouldn’t he?

It was probably just as exciting for him as it was for her. It wasn’t something she’d planned
or anticipated, and she was sure he hadn’t either.

But Hermione wasn’t stupid, nor was she delusional. She knew nothing would come of it. It
was just… casual flirting, from an unexpected source. That was what made it thrilling.

Did she think about how he would feel if she came closer? Yes.

She’d seen the way he looked at her the last time. His breathing had deepened, just like hers.
He was looking at her face, her eyes, her lips, just as she was looking at his.

Did she think about how his lips would feel on hers? Yes. It’s not a crime.

But it’s not like she thought about what he would do next. With his hands. He had big hands,
something worth noting. Really? Whatever for?
She hadn’t thought… much about what would happen if he came closer, his body pressed
against hers. Well, not really. But now that I mentioned it…

Her thoughts were interrupted by the soft knock of the large eagle owl she’d once mistakenly
thought was from the Ministry. Speak of the devil, and he shall… write you a letter,
apparently.

Granger,

I heard from my son some good news about your book. However, since he is deeply
disinterested in anything other than a kitchen sponge living in the pineapple at the bottom of
the sea (?), he was very vague in his explanation. Would you like to elaborate better?

I imagine it’s a long story and if you write it in a letter, it would take a long time to decrypt
your penmanship and my 9-year-old is too busy with his cartoons to help me and interpret it
for me now.

I can meet you in an hour at the cafe, if you’re free.

1. Malfoy

Hermione hadn’t spoken to him since they met a few nights ago at the café. She had been a
little too familiar with him, and while she could blame it on the alcohol, the Irish coffee
wasn’t that strong. If it had been anyone else, she wouldn’t have given it a second thought.
But Malfoy was different.

He had a way about him that made Hermione think he wouldn’t appreciate the sudden shift in
their dynamic. She knew his routine almost too well, could remember what day he wore each
suit and coat. If she tried, she could memorise it all, but that would definitely make her seem
like a creep.

She would be lying if she didn’t feel a flutter in her stomach now. It was nice. He’d invited
her out. And it wasn’t a date. So, she picked up her pen and quickly scribbled a note on the
back of his letter, assuring him she’d be on time, before rushing to get dressed.

Her clothes slightly intimidated Malfoy. She’d caught him staring at her when he thought she
wasn’t looking, and it had given her a boost of confidence. So, she went for her favourite
high-waisted jeans and a loose, black silk shirt that was just a touch too transparent. She left
one more button undone than she usually would. Let’s see him try to look away. He looked
like a lost puppy every time he did.

Malfoy had this domineering presence whenever he entered a room. Hermione had noticed it
before, but she’d seen it up close at Pansy’s party, the way people looked at him, the way they
interacted with him. She didn’t want him to feel small or insecure around her, but at the same
time, she couldn’t help but find it fascinating.
Throwing on a big warm coat, she apparated ten minutes early, arriving at the café. She
peeked inside but didn’t see him yet, so she decided to wait outside. A few minutes later, she
saw him apparate in, though she didn’t hear him at all.

“Why are you out here? It’s freezing,” Malfoy said, finally wearing his scarf the way it was
supposed to be worn. He rubbed his hands together to warm up. His big hands. Stop it.

“How did you do that?” she asked, gesturing absently at the spot where he’d appeared.

“What?”

“You... apparated almost soundlessly.”

Malfoy smirked. “Yes, I can do that.”

“But how?”

He gave a little shrug. “I have a lot of hidden talents you don’t know about.” He said it with
such smugness that Hermione almost rolled her eyes. I used to be so annoyed by this.

“Are we going inside?”

“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “I don’t want coffee.”

“Well, what do you want?” Oh, let’s not go there.

Hermione hadn’t really paid attention to his voice before, but now… she found herself
listening.

“Something stronger,” she said, before adding, “I picked the muggle restaurant the first time.
Now it’s your turn. I’ll even let you pay.”

He stepped closer, his gaze intense. “So, I choose the place, and pay for your drinks this
evening?” He looked at her with challenge and amusement. “Sounds an awful lot like a date.”

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat.

“It’s not a date.” It really isn’t. “It’s more like celebrating a successful project, don’t you
think?” she added, attempting to shrug it off.

Malfoy rolled his eyes in return and grabbed her by the forearm lightly before apparating.
Hermione felt a familiar stir in her lower belly, but it wasn’t just from the transportation.

He led them to a pub Hermione had never been to before, a little further from George’s shop.
She had walked through this part of town a few times, but had never paid much attention to
it.

“Wait, shouldn’t you treat me then?” Malfoy asked, once they found a table. “It’s your
successful project, after all, not mine.”
The place was nice, modern even. Hermione would have assumed it was a muggle pub if not
for the unmistakable signs of being in Diagon Alley just a few minutes before.

“Yes, but you’re so much richer than me,” she replied, narrowing her eyes. “I plan on using
that.”

“Feel free to use me anytime,” he murmured, his gaze flicking to the drink menu.

Hermione let him choose something for them, not knowing much about wizarding alcohol
beyond firewhiskey and elf wine. Malfoy eventually ordered a deep amber drink that looked
enticing under the dim bar lights. As she took a sip, the smooth liquid slid down her throat,
leaving a warm, comforting trail. It tasted a bit like tequila.

He asked her about the book, and she launched into an explanation, telling him everything in
detail.

“What’s happening with translations?” he asked after a while, ordering another round for
them both.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you about that.” Hermione smiled, then explained about the translators
who were scheduled to meet her in January.

She sipped her drink, enjoying its smoothness, as she listened to Malfoy. His eyes sparkled
silver in the dim light, and she couldn't help but notice how they seemed to mirror the stars
outside the window. It was as if the very night sky had found a home in his gaze.

She glanced at her watch and realised over an hour had passed. Malfoy raised his glass.
“Another round?”

Hermione smiled, not wanting the night to end just yet. “Sure.”

They both ordered the same drink again, and she quickly found herself lost in conversation
with him once more.

“So, does that mean you’re not going back to Spain anytime soon?” Malfoy asked after a
pause.

“I don’t think so,” Hermione said with a shrug. “I talked to my parents, and they agreed.
Everyone’s here, and they’ve figured out Skype now…”

“What’s that?”

“It’s like a floo call, but on a computer. You see everything just like in the movies.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah,” Hermione nodded. “But Daphne and I are going to Spain for Christmas, actually.”

“Oh, that’s nice. I’ll probably go with Scorpius and my mother to France,” Malfoy added
casually.
“Oh, great. Where in France?”

“Just a small city in the south, Grasse. We have a villa there.”

Of course yo u do.

“You said you studied French. How good are you?”

She shrugged. “Not great at speaking, but I can read it and understand it. I watch French
movies with subtitles and get the gist of everything.”

He nodded. “Has Daphne ever been there with you? Tarragona, was it?”

“Yes, Pansy too. Padma and Luna as well.” Hermione paused and then remembered, “And
Ginny. She came with the kids. I think Harry spent the weekend cleaning the house.”

Malfoy smirked. “Weaslette on holiday with the kids, and Potter doing the cleanup. She’s
trained him well.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Not like that. The third floor of their house is full of dark magic,
remember when I told you about that?” Hermione asked. “Well, he’s been trying for years to
clean it up.”

Malfoy frowned. “You said he called someone from the Ministry to fix that.”

“Well, for some things, yes. But for others…” She looked at him, feeling cheeks flushing
slightly. “There’s a lot of blood magic involved.”

“Why didn’t he ask…?”

“Andromeda? He did,” Hermione interrupted. “She helps, but she can only do so much,
considering she’s been… disinherited and erased from the Black family tree.”

Malfoy thought for a moment. “Isn’t it dangerous? With children?”

She shook her head. “The entire floor’s been warded. He used the same protections that
Hogwarts has, just modified them a bit.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

Seriously? No one read Hogwarts: A History?

Hermione sighed. “If a Muggle stumbles upon Hogwarts, they see only a ruined building
with a sign that says ‘danger’ or something. He did the same for the whole floor and for the
underage wizards.”

“Yes, I know,” Malfoy said slowly. “I’ve read Hogwarts: A History.”

Oh, finally.
“So you can go there and see it, but the kids can’t? Smart,” he said and paused. “Maybe I can
do something about it.”

Oh no, Harry will kill me.

She opened her mouth but quickly shut it, then said softly, “I mean, it’s not really my place
to…”

“I know,” Malfoy cut in, rolling his eyes. “But I could write him a letter. Our sons are friends
now, didn’t you know?” His tone was a little playful, though his expression seemed slightly
displeased. “We’ve had a few parents' meetings.”

Hermione laughed. “I know. Harry told me he met with you a few times at Andromeda’s.”
She shook her head with a smile. “Imagine if someone at Hogwarts told you that you’d have
playdates with Harry one day.”

Draco raised an eyebrow at her, his gaze flicking to her chest before meeting her eyes again.
“It’s easier to believe that than if someone had told me I’d be on a date with you,” he said
with a slight shrug and an amused glint in his eyes.

Hermione’s smile faltered for a moment, her expression turning serious. “It’s not a date.”

“It looks a lot like one,” Malfoy drawled, clearly enjoying her reaction.

“If this is a date, then we’ve been on a lot of dates before,” she retorted, taking a sip of her
drink to hide the sudden flutter in her chest.

Malfoy nodded, a smirk tugging at his lips. “True.” He looked at her intently. “So, how many
more dates before you invite me back to your place?”

Hermione almost choked on her drink. “What?”

“What are the rules?” he pressed, leaning in a little closer, his voice lowering in that
dangerously attractive way. “How many dates? Three? Five? Fifteen?”

Yeah, fifteen. Like I could wait that much for him to… I mean, not him. Anyone.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, trying her best to look unfazed. “There are no rules.”

“Oh, come on, Granger. You love rules. Rules and boundaries.”

“There are no rules,” Hermione insisted again, though this time she wasn’t entirely sure
herself. “It depends on the person. If someone’s too eager to follow me back home, I never
invite them.”

Malfoy’s lips twitched into a grin.

“Sometimes I invite them immediately because I can see they’re not into me so they can get
scared of my forwardness and end the date."
He chuckled. “How very un-Gryffindor of you."

“Guilty,” she smiled. “And sometimes,” she leaned in a little, hoping he’d notice the extra
effort in her appearance, “I don’t know what they want from me, and I don’t know what I
want from them. So I forget about what I said before, and invite them anyway, just to see
where the night takes us.”

“I see.” Malfoy’s eyes flicked to her lips, and Hermione felt the intensity of his gaze before
he quickly looked away. She saw a faint blush creep across his face. I enjoy this way too
much.

“So, do you want to finish that and go back to my place for a nightcap?” She pointed to his
glass, now nearly empty.

“No, we can go now.” Malfoy didn’t hesitate for a second, standing up immediately, his
movements swift and sure.

“A… are you sure?” Hermione asked, startled by his sudden decision, but she tried to hide it.
Her eyes met his, noticing how much darker his gaze had become in the low light.

“Yes.” He took his coat, already prepared to leave. “It’s not really that good, anyway. You
probably have something better to try.”

Hermione couldn’t apparate them directly to her house, not with the wards in place, and
because Malfoy had never been there before. So, she focused on the closest, darkest corner of
her street and apparated them there. Just a short walk. I’m taking Malfoy to my house. What
the fuck am I doing?

“Nice neighbourhood,” Malfoy remarked, glancing around.

“Oh, it is. It’s quiet. I like it,” she replied.

“Yeah, so everyone here’s rich, huh?”

“What? Why would you say that?”

“I can see the houses. You’re rich too, Granger,” he teased, leaning in slightly to whisper,
“You can start paying for your drinks, then.”

“I’m not rich. It’s my parents' house,” she corrected him, a little defensive.

They walked a little further, getting closer to her home. As they approached, she reached out,
gently holding onto his upper arm to guide him through the wards. Walking through them
always felt like walking through a waterfall.

“Here we are,” Hermione said, her voice tinged with a bit of embarrassment. He grew up in a
bloody palace… She hated that he still had this effect on her.

Malfoy stopped as he noticed her car parked outside. “Oh wow, I forgot about this posh car
you’ve got,” he said with a grin, his hand brushing against the door and roof as they walked
past. “You’re definitely rich.”

“It’s not my car, nor is it…” She started to explain but then stopped herself. Why am I
embarrassed?

He was given everything by his family, who were also given everything by their ancestors.
No one worked for anything for generations in their family, probably. Her parents earned
everything by themselves and she’s working too. He should be embarrassed.

She took a deep breath, her annoyance rising. “Actually, I forgot I was speaking to a trust
fund kid. This is my fucking house, and it is my fucking car,” she said, slightly irritated.

“Good,” he said quietly, though there was a shift in his demeanor.

Hermione unlocked the door and led him inside. She threw her keys into the bowl on the
console table and hung up her coat. He followed, still scanning the space, his eyes flicking
around like he was in some sort of contemporary museum, which, for him, probably wasn’t
far from the truth.

“Ever been in a muggle home before?” she asked as she led him to the living room, though
he was distracted by the stairs to his right.

“Not really. Does Andromeda’s house count?” He asked, his gaze still roaming the room.

Hermione laughed softly. “Not really. She doesn’t use much electrical power.”

She flicked on the lamps around the sofa and armchairs. Crooks was sleeping in one of them
and blinked open his eyes when Hermione scratched behind his ears.

Malfoy looked at him, and frown. “I can’t believe that thing’s still alive.”

“Oh, you know him?” she asked, surprised.

Malfoy reached out to pet Crooks, but he hissed at him.

“Oh, he knows about you too.”

Hermione switched on the lights in the kitchen, and Malfoy’s eyes widened as he took in the
sight.

“What?”

“You have… a lot of kitchen devices.” He stepped closer, curiosity written all over his face.

She smiled and gestured toward the area. “Feel free to look around.”

Hermione walked over to the cabinet in the living room, where her father had collected some
of his best bottles over the years. She had started adding to the collection herself in the past
decade, picking up interesting spirits during her travels.
"I'll pour us some proper whisky. That one you tried last time wasn’t even that good,
honestly," she said, scanning the shelves for an open bottle of her favourite.

Behind her, Malfoy asked, "What else do you have in here?"

"Oh, take a look." She stepped aside to let him browse while she went to the kitchen for
glasses.

"This one’s Japanese," he noted, examining the label.

"Yeah, they make good whisky too."

He set it back and picked up another. "What’s ouzo?"

"It’s Greek. Clear, but when you mix it with water, it turns white, like milk. Tastes sweet,
like… anise and cardamom."

Malfoy nodded and returned the bottle before pulling out another with a golden-yellow
liquid. "Rakija."

She chuckled. "It’s pronounced rakia. It’s from the Balkans. I think that one’s quince. Very
popular there and very strong. You take two or three shots, and fifteen minutes later, you
can’t feel your legs."

Malfoy smirked and followed her back into the kitchen, stopping near the island.

"Neat, right?" she asked, holding up the bottle she’d finally settled on.

"Neat, please."

She poured them both a measure. "Cheers."

"Cheers."

She watched him swallow the whisky. I should probably look away.

"It’s good."

"Huh?"

"Your muggle whisky. It’s good," he said, taking another sip. "Better without all that other
stuff you mixed it with last time."

"Yeah," she said, watching him carefully. "You said before that you’d like to try it
differently." She took her own sip, and he flicked a glance at her lips before quickly looking
away. "So, I suppose I’m very good at pouring it into an empty glass," she added with a small
smile.

He smirked back, but his eyes weren’t their usual silver. They were darker now.
Malfoy frowned slightly and turned his attention to the large bookshelf along the wall. He
walked back over to it, scanning the shelves with curiosity.

"What’s the system?" he asked, gesturing to it with his drink. "How did you organise them?"

"No system. Everything’s random," she said, following him at a slow pace.

He rolled his eyes. "No, really."

"Yes, really," she insisted, standing beside him. "I told you before, I think." She hesitated for
a moment, then exhaled and looked at the books. "I obsess over some things. Order, rules,
boundaries." She glanced at him, and he smirked. "So this is me not obsessing. A bookshelf
with no clear system," she said, almost like she was confessing something.

He studied the shelves. "It’s a mess."

"But a wonderful mess, right?"

He didn’t answer, still analysing the arrangement.

"Sometimes I sort them by colour. See here?" She pointed to a section where the spines
shifted gradually from white to black, every colour in between. "And I put my favourites
here, at eye level." She gestured to a middle shelf. "But at the bottom…" she hesitated, "I
keep the books I don’t want people to question me about."

Naturally, that was the part Malfoy was most interested in.

He crouched down in front of the shelf, squinting in the low light as he tilted his head to read
the titles. Hermione rolled her eyes, already bracing for whatever ridiculous comment was
coming next.

"Granger, you have… an impressive number of books about sex," he remarked, his voice low
and teasing.

"I have books about everything," she said smoothly.

He kept reading, looking far too smug for her liking. Oh, you think I'm embarrassed by this?

"Especially things that interest me. A lot."

His smirk deepened as he scanned another spine. "Sapphic literature?" He flicked his gaze up
at her. "That interest you a lot too?"

"To an extent," she shrugged.

He shifted slightly, almost kneeling now as he looked up at her. Oh God, I like him in this
position.

"Is that why the Weasley bloke thinks you’re not straight?" he asked, and his voice was
deeper now. His fucking voice.
"Because of my books? Oh no, he never paid any attention to them."

She tried to sound normal, but her heart was hammering against her ribs. He was so close ,
looking up at her with that sharp, unreadable gaze, and she wasn’t sure if she could keep her
voice steady.

Then he stood.

She lifted her chin automatically, glad she was wearing heels, but he was still taller.

"Then why?" He tossed back the rest of his drink and set the glass down before stepping
closer.

Hermione swallowed. She flicked her eyes between his and his lips. He’s noticing. He has to
be noticing.

"Some… other things," she managed.

He didn't step back.

"What other things?" he asked, harsher now, almost demanding an answer. I shouldn’t like
that so much.

"I…" She took a slow breath. "I never really talked to him about any men I dated. But I did
foolishly mention… some women. And he just…" She exhaled sharply, eyes darting to his
mouth and back. "Wouldn't let go of it after that."

Malfoy nodded, but his focus was still on her lips. His breathing was slow, deliberate.

"Are you okay?" she asked, almost breathless herself.

"Yeah, I just…" He blinked quickly. "I need to… I need to go to the loo."

"Oh." The abrupt change caught her off guard. "Down the hall, door on the right, opposite the
stairs." She gestured vaguely in the dim light.

He didn’t need to see. He just nodded quickly and turned on his heel.

And just like that, he was gone, leaving her alone in the quiet, dimly lit living room.

What just happened?

Was he uncomfortable with the topic? He was the one who brought it up.

Hermione knew wizards tended to be far more conservative about these things. Well, if he
was offended, he could bloody well leave. She wasn’t going to apologise. It didn’t bother
Muggles at all, quite the oppo…

Oh.

He wasn’t offended.
The brightest witch of her age, my arse.

He had been in the bathroom for far too long now. Too long for anything decent to still be
going on, anyway. Maybe he couldn’t find something? It was a big bathroom.

After a few more minutes, she knocked.

"Malfoy? Everything all right in there?"

"Um… yeah," came his voice from behind the door, followed by the sound of it unlocking.

His face was slightly damp, stray droplets of water clinging to his eyebrows and the strands
of hair that had fallen loose over his forehead. More water trailed lazily down his neck,
disappearing into the undone collar of his white shirt. He'd rolled his sleeves up, exposing his
forearms, which of course were toned in a way that felt unfair.

With the dim light from the patio doors casting soft shadows over his features, he looked like
a bloody marble statue.

Oh my God. I’m so fucked.

"I couldn't open your… liquid soap thing," he said, far too nonchalantly for someone standing
there looking like that.

"Okay," she said, a little breathless, not breaking eye contact.

"So I had to use your shampoo to wash my hands," he chuckled, stepping closer.

"That’s alright. As long as your hands are clean," she murmured, not blinking.

"Your shampoo smells like vanilla and sugar," Malfoy ignored her entirely, closing more of
the space between them.

"It does."

"Like candy floss. I smell like your hair now," he mused, bringing the back of his hand to his
nose, inhaling lightly. "Like you."

"Technically, you smell like my shampoo, so…"

"Granger," he cut her off, voice low, almost a warning. "I usually appreciate when you make
your pesky little jokes with your smart little mouth, but right now, I don’t."

There was something about the way he said it. Something that sent a thrill up her spine. Why
am I enjoying this?

"Well, since you asked so nicely…" she murmured.

Another step closer.

She could see it now. The desire simmering beneath his carefully composed expression. He
was looking at her the same way she was looking at him.

She wanted to kiss him.

And she knew he wanted it, too.

But Malfoy, always the snake, wasn’t one to take risks.

Which meant, with only one of them being a Gryffindor, the courage to close the gap had to
come from her.

Just as she started to move, just as she was about to say something… the floo roared to life.
The sudden noise jolted them both, his gaze snapping towards the living room before flicking
back to hers.

Without a word, Hermione pointed towards the bathroom door.

Malfoy hesitated only a fraction of a second before slipping inside and clicking it shut behind
him.

“Hermione?!”

“H… Harry?” She blinked. He never came unannounced, especially not this late.

“Can you come watch Al and Lily? Ginny’s in Belfast, Andromeda and I were on the third
floor for just five fucking minutes, and she got injured,” he blurted.

“Is she alright?”

“Yes, yes, nothing life-threatening, but she got burned, and I need to take her to Mungo’s.”

“I’m coming immediately,” she said. “Can you go now and leave them alone for five
minutes? I just… I really need the loo.”

“Yes, of course,” he said, already moving back towards the fireplace. “Lily’s asleep, and Al’s
waiting for you in his room.” He turned back to her, looking guilty. “I’m so sorry for
bothering you. I didn’t know who else to call this late.”

She rolled her eyes. “Harry, for fuck’s sake, it’s fine. Go.”

He nodded and vanished in a swirl of green flames.

A beat of silence passed before she called out, “You can come out now.”

Malfoy emerged from the hallway.

“How much did you hear?”

“Everything.” He frowned. “She got burned?”

“A lot of things burn there.” Hermione frowned too. “I tried opening the doors to the library
once. Had to use bloody kitchen gloves, and even then, the books still burned me. Moody said
it’s because they’re…” she huffed, “warded against Muggleborns.”

Malfoy’s jaw tightened. “Charming.”

“I need to go.” She reached for her wand.

“I’ll leave too,” he said, heading towards the hallway to grab his coat.

She glanced at him, then cast the necessary spell. “I’ll unlock my floo so you can go. You
can’t apparate from inside.”

He scoffed. “You walk just to Apparate every time you leave?”

She chuckled. “No. I can Apparate. You can’t.” She smirked. “I have a few hidden talents
too.”

He tilted his head, considering her. “Yes, you do.”

For a moment, something unreadable flickered across his face. Then he smirked, stepped into
the fireplace, and nodded.

“Nice talking to you, Granger.”

“You too, Malfoy.”

And with that, he disappeared into the flames.

Harry came home after midnight.

Al had been asleep for hours by then, so Hermione had gone back to her place, grabbed her
Kindle, and returned to the Potters’ kitchen to wait. She sat there for nearly three hours,
reading and nursing a cup of tea until he finally arrived.

“It took a while to stop the burns from spreading,” Harry said, running a hand through his
hair. “Luckily, it wasn’t too painful. At least, that’s what she said.” He shook his head. “God,
Hermione, I just wanted to ask her about some bloody curtains the Ministry cleaners found.
They said they were safe. They looked normal. She barely even touched them.”

“Well, you couldn’t have known…”

“I should have.” His jaw clenched. “Everything up there is fucked up. I should’ve assumed.”

“She’s alright, and that’s what matters.” Hermione reached across the table and squeezed his
hand. “Stop obsessing over it. It’s weird when I’m the one saying that to someone else.” She
chuckled. “Maybe just… burn the curtains. I don’t know.”

He let out a small huff of laughter and nodded. “What were you up to before I ruined your
night?”
Up to no good, apparently.

“You didn’t ruin it,” she said smoothly. “I was out and had just got home.”

Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Okay. I’m sorry again.”

“It’s fine,” she assured him. “We should probably sleep now. It’s late.”

He followed her to the fireplace and pulled her into a quick hug. “Thanks again.”

Then, just as she was about to step into the floo, he gave her a once-over. “You look nice.
Were you on a date?”

“It wasn’t a…” she started, then stopped. “No. I was definitely not on a date.”

Harry arched a brow but didn’t press.

“Good night,” she added quickly and vanished into the green flames.

It was Sunday, which meant no work and no obligations. The weather was crisp and clear,
just as she’d hoped, so she decided to go for a drive. She was too restless. She needed to clear
her mind.

The countryside felt like the perfect escape, vast and open, with nothing but rolling hills
stretching endlessly before her. She found a small layby on the side of the road, parked, and
stepped out. The frost-covered grass crunched under her boots, the sound oddly satisfying.

Leaning against her car, she sipped the coffee she’d made earlier and let the cold air wake her
up.

Her thoughts drifted, inevitably, back to last night.

In hindsight, it was a miracle Harry had shown up when he did.

What the hell had she been about to do?

Kiss Malfoy?

Kiss Draco Malfoy?

In her own home?

Where he had willingly come?

It was all too much, too quickly.

And now, in the light of day, it made her feel like a hypocrite.
She believed he had changed. She truly did. But if that were true, why was she still surprised
every time he acted like the person she supposedly knew him to be now? Did that make her a
bad person? Had she really forgiven him if she still saw flashes of who he used to be?

It was strange, seeing him in her home. Her house. The place where she grew up, where she
spent years while they weren’t friends, when they were still enemies.

Are we friends now?

Old Hermione would say yes .

But if he had looked around more, if he had wandered past the living room, he would have
seen the photographs on the walls. Pictures of her from the years when they weren’t
speaking. When he still hated her.

Photos from the summer after second year, when she went on holiday to France with her
parents.

The same year he had called her that word for the first time.

The year the Chamber of Secrets was opened.

The year when Harry and Ron had pretended to be Crabbe and Goyle and told her, very
carefully, that Malfoy had said he wished the Heir of Slytherin would kill her next .

He wasn’t that person anymore.

But the words were still there.

He had apologised. Hermione knew that. It had probably been painful for him to admit it.

It didn’t make it hurt any less. Even after all these years.

Yes. It was a good thing Harry had appeared when he did.

Because otherwise, she would have let herself give in. To what? Lust? Curiosity? A moment
of weakness?

She had been drinking. It was late. He was close. They had talked about suggestive things, of
course her body had reacted the way it did. That was normal , wasn’t it?

She needed to talk to Silva about this.

She needed to know if this was just attraction, something fleeting, or if it meant something
more. And if it did… should she encourage it? Or step back?

Daphne texted her, asking if she’s home. Hermione went back to her car and texted her back
she’ll be home later.

For now, she just wanted to be alone with her thoughts.

And loud American pop music from the 2000s.

More than two hours later, Justin Timberlake was just finishing SexyBack as she pulled into
her driveway.

It was afternoon now, and she was starving.

She texted Daphne to let her know she was back the moment she stepped into the hallway,
only to hear a phone ringing from the living room.

Frowning, she walked in.

Pansy was perched on a barstool at the kitchen island, sipping wine. Daphne was at the
counter.

"I made more hummus," Daphne said.

"And I have made… no, who am I kidding?" Pansy laughed. "You'd never believe it. I bought
this pita bread and heated it up in your little oven over there."

"Microwave," Hermione and Daphne corrected.

"Yes, that ."

"Great, now I'm starving. How long have you been here?"

"Since I texted you." Daphne shrugged, setting a bowl of bright orange hummus on the
island.

"You've been in my house for hours without me?" Hermione sat next to Pansy, eyeing them
suspiciously.

"Wouldn’t be the first time."

"Really?" Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Do I need to block my floo?"

"I'll just use hers," Pansy said, nodding toward Daphne.

"Fine, whatever. What's going on?" She broke off a piece of pita and dipped it in the
hummus.

"Oh, nothing," she said, far too casually. "It's the weekend. We had nothing better to do."

"Where were you?" Daphne asked, eyes narrowing just slightly.

"Driving," Hermione said, nodding. "Around the city. Went north a bit. Through the
countryside. Saw a lot of cows and sheep."

"How exciting," Pansy drawled.

"It's relaxing," Hermione corrected. Then she looked between them. "Alright, what’s going
on?"

"With me?" Pansy said innocently. "Nothing much. Daph?"

"Same," she said, still watching her too closely.

A prickle of unease crawled up Hermione's spine. "You're being weird."

"Well. A weird thing did happen." Pansy turned to Daphne. "Would you like to share,
darling?"

Hermione folded her arms.

Daphne sighed. "You know how I don’t read trash magazines in my house?"

"Obviously." Hermione nodded.

Daphne had stopped reading most of the Prophet and wizarding tabloids after Astoria died.
They’d been acting like vultures.

"Well. I don't. But my mother does. She still reads the Prophet."

"Okay…?"

"So, we were having lunch together, and she shared a piece of gossip she'd read this
morning."

"Okay," she said, already dreading it.

"There was a brief article in the Prophet, in that section where they gossip about…
relationships and affairs."

Her heart skipped. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

"And?" she said, though she already knew .

"And… there's a photo of you and Draco from last night at Mint’s."

Of course. How could I be this naïve?

"What did it say?" There was no point pretending. They all knew exactly where this was
going.

Daphne showed her the photo of the article she took with her phone. “A disrespectful title
and a bunch of assumptions and insinuations.'' It was something about a date between the
former Death Eater and the Order member. She didn't even bother with the rest.

"It wasn't a date."

They both looked like they didn’t believe her.

"It wasn't!"

"Okay," Pansy said simply. "Then tell us what it was ."

Daphne just watched.

"We just met to talk about… about my book, that’s all," Hermione said, shifting in her seat
and abandoning her pita bread.

"You've talked about your book before?"

"Yes."

"You said you’d only run into each other a few times accidentally." Pansy had slipped into
full interrogation mode. "How many times was that?"

There was no point lying. It wasn’t even something to be ashamed of.

"Just a few. Accidentally. Then a few more. Intentionally."

"How many more?"

"Um…" Too many fucking times, Pans. I honestly can’t remember.

"How long have you been seeing each other?"

"Hey." Hermione frowned. "We are not seeing each other. This was not a date."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Okay. How long?"

"Since… October."

"So, just a few months now." She narrowed her eyes. "How frequently?"

"Um…" This wasn't going to look good. "A few times a week," Hermione mumbled.

They both stared at her.

"But sometimes not at all," she added quickly. Yeah, that didn’t help.

"So what is this?" Pansy was relentless.

"I… I… I don’t know. I don’t think I should talk about this with you."

"Why not?"

"Because you’re making it worse than it is. And you’re his friends."

"We’re your friends too," Pansy frowned.

"Yes, but you were his friends first." She glanced at Daphne, who hadn’t said anything since
Pansy started her interrogation.

"It doesn’t matter," Pansy pressed. "So what is this?" She folded her arms. "You can tell us or
not. Either way, I will question him. Let’s see how well your stories match."

"Do you like… fancy him?" Daphne asked at last.

"I… I…" Hermione huffed, rolling her eyes. "Can we all just be adults about this and not
freak out if I say that I think he’s… an objectively attractive person whom I sometimes like
speaking to?"

"Oh."

"Oh, wow."

"Oh yes." Hermione exhaled. "And I know we all agree on that." She shot them both a
pointed look, hoping she wasn’t blushing too much. "So it’s not a big deal. I’m not fucking
blind, and he’s interesting to talk to. Sometimes. Okay?" She dropped her gaze. "Can we eat
your fucking hummus now? Why is it so orange?"

"I added some roasted red peppers," Daphne mumbled.

Hermione looked up. "Daphne..."

This was suddenly very awkward.

Her sister had been married to him. They’d still be married if she hadn’t died too young.

"I don’t… I didn’t think…" I didn’t even think about this.

"I’ve said this so many times, I’m sick of it," Daphne muttered, frowning. "I don’t expect him
or want him to stay alone forever. It’s just…" She hesitated, cheeks slightly pink. "How is
this… thing… between you…" She trailed off, clearly struggling. "I mean, after everything.
Do you think it’s good for you? I’m only asking because…"

Hermione nodded. "I think I need to talk to Silva about this first."

"Good. Good. That’s… good," she agreed.

"So… can we eat now?" Hermione suggested, though she wasn’t even hungry anymore.

Pansy, of course, still had a thousand questions. Daphne, on the other hand, simply listened,
absorbing Hermione’s words without much reaction. Hermione managed to explain enough
without giving too much away, mindful that this wasn’t just her story to tell.

After all, they were his friends first. Then hers.

By the time they left, it was lunchtime, but Hermione wasn’t remotely hungry, not after
stress-eating half of Daphne’s (admittedly delicious) hummus.
How could she have been so careless?

She didn’t mind being seen with Draco, not really. But having their private lives splashed
across the papers?

That was a nightmare she never wanted to live through again.

She went to Andromeda’s that evening, but not before floo-calling her first. It was the
weekend, she was injured, and Hermione assumed her sister would be visiting. She definitely
didn’t want to run into her. Especially not today.

"I don’t know what I was really thinking," Andromeda said after recounting the incident.
"Grabbing the blasted curtains before considering they might be cursed."

"Well, you both could have acted a bit more wisely, in all fairness."

Andromeda raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Hermione took a sip of tea. "Harry shouldn’t have offered you the bloody things,
and you shouldn’t have touched them. I’m sure your curtains at home are more than fine."
She glanced around the living room.

Her home was lovely . She didn’t need any cursed curtains from the Black family’s ancestral
crypt.

"Uh-huh." Andromeda helped herself to another slice of lemon and poppyseed pound cake,
the one Hermione had picked up for her. It was her favourite.

"I can bring you some muggle ointments or creams for scars," Hermione offered, eyeing the
slowly healing skin on her arms.

If she were a Muggle, it would take months to regrow, but wizarding medicine was speeding
up the process.

Andromeda waved a dismissive hand. "They’ve already given me something. Showed me a

few spells, too, but I was never any good at healing."

"Can’t they just do it at the hospital?"

"They can, I’ve got weekly appointments."

"Oh. Well, that’s good. So, no more visits to the third floor for you."

"Yes, well, Harry was rather upset when he flooed this morning." She poured more tea.
"When does Ginevra get back from Scotland?"

"Belfast," Hermione corrected. "I’m not sure. Sometime next week. They’ve got a match
tomorrow, so… Tuesday, I suppose."

"How nice." She took a sip. " So , how did you spend your weekend?"
"It was… the same as always."

Andromeda gave her a look . The most Andromeda-like look possible.

" The same as always ?"

Hermione’s eyes flicked to the newspaper on the table. "Do you have something to ask me?"

Andromeda smirked. "Do you have something to tell me?"

Was that a family trait?

Hermione swallowed and dropped her gaze to her knees.

"It was not a date," she muttered.

"Ah." Andromeda cut another bite of cake. " He mentioned you’d say that."

Bastard.

Hermione felt relieved when Malfoy only sent her a letter the following week, apologising
for the inconvenience the article had caused. It was a welcome break from their weekly
meetings, she needed the space to process.

In her response, she was candid. She told him she wouldn’t have known about the article if
Pansy and Daphne hadn’t mentioned it and that she didn’t care about the gossip for herself.

Hermione knew how vicious the wizarding rumour mill could be, but she had long since
learned to ignore it. Most of her friends didn’t even read The Prophet , and the ones who did
were used to seeing their names splashed across its pages for one reason or another. Padma,
for instance, had texted her asking if she was dating Malfoy. Hermione had categorically
denied it. She didn’t want to give the impression that they were anything more than friends.

What worried her more was the strain this might put on her… whatever this was with Malfoy.
She valued it as it was and didn’t want to risk losing it because of a few stupid rumours. Even
Silva agreed when Hermione brought it up during their floo session.

They’d barely started talking three months ago. And it wasn’t as if one of them had been
living in another country, never visiting England. They had simply chosen not to speak. That
distance had been intentional.

Hermione needed to slow down.

That’s not what you said when you planned on kissing him.

Shut up.

"Why are you asking that?"

"I just need to know if it’s… I don’t know…” Hermione hesitated, but there was no point in
lying to her therapist, it would defeat the purpose. “Is it… morally correct for me to be
attracted to him, given our history?"

Silva adjusted her glasses. “Morally correct?”

“I mean, not morality per se… ugh." Hermione rubbed her forehead. "More like… Is there
something wrong with me for being attracted to him after the way he treated me? After
everything that happened during the war?"

Silva tilted her head slightly. “Wrong with you? We shouldn’t use those terms."

Hopeless.

This felt hopeless sometimes.

But she did manage to get some concrete answers. Like the one about distance.

So she hadn’t seen him last week. This was the last week before Christmas. She was
travelling with Daphne for another week after that. And who knew how long he’d be in
France?

She could go almost a month without seeing him.

That sounded… acceptable.

Good.

Fine.

Hermione officially finished working on the second edition of her book and went out with her
team to celebrate. It had been a busy year. Well, they had done most of the work, she’d only
actively participated in the last few months, but her team had been at it since spring.

They went to The Leaky, and the next morning, she was walking the streets of muggle
London with a slight hangover, looking for gifts for the kids and her parents. She passed a
few electronics stores before an idea popped into her mind.

I can get it now and give it to him after the holidays when I see him again.

Harry scheduled the portkey for Daphne and her at nine in the morning on Christmas Day,
again from his house. He’d invited her for Christmas Eve dinner so she wouldn’t be alone.

The night was filled with laughter and warmth. James was in a storytelling mood, and Albus
listened with rapt attention. Even Lily joined in, drawing a picture of Hagrid’s hut with
childish glee. When Ron and Susan stopped by before heading to the Burrow, Hermione felt a
sense of comfort and nostalgia wash over her.
For a moment, she felt like a carefree teenager again.

She went home after eleven, took a long shower, and planned to curl up in the living room to
finish a few more chapters of her book.

“Oh, finally. I was worried you’d drowned.”

Hermione jumped when she walked into the living room.

Malfoy stood in front of her bookshelf, glancing over the titles.

She frowned. “I’m sorry, what are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you,” he said, still scanning the books. “I never liked Thomas Mann.”

“Me neither.”

He was dressed in some expensive-looking shirt and trousers, while she was in a sleeping T-
shirt and shorts.

“I was in the shower,” she said, crossing her arms.

“Yes, I heard the water.”

Hermione frowned even more. “I could have walked in here naked!”

Malfoy turned around slowly, looking genuinely confused. “Is this your way of trying to stop
me from coming unannounced?”

“How did you even get in here?”

“You forgot to lock me out of your floo. You must have really wanted me to come back.
Subconsciously, at least.” He smirked.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You shouldn’t be here, it’s Christmas Eve. Where’s your son?”

“He’s nine, Granger,” Malfoy said, sinking into her sofa. “And it’s almost midnight, he’s
asleep.”

Hermione sat in an armchair, closer to him. Crookshanks was curled up peacefully in another.

“What’s that?” she asked, nodding towards a small package wrapped in brown paper beside
him.

“I got you something.” He handed it to her.

“Why?”

“Is this your first Christmas?”

She rolled her eyes again. “Give me that.”

Hermione snatched the package from his hands, frowning as she tore at the wrapping. But
when she noticed it was an old book, she slowed down, carefully peeling away the remaining
paper.

She flipped through the pages. It was in French. Then her eyes flicked to the title on the first
page and her breath hitched.

“What…?” Hermione’s voice broke. “Where did you…?”

“Apparently, I’m not the first disgraceful Malfoy in my family,” he said dryly. “We had some
strange great-great-great-aunt or something in France who was interested in muggle
literature.”

It was a first edition of The Flowers of Evil.

Hermione’s hands shook. It almost felt illegal to touch it without gloves.

For the second time that night, she felt dangerously close to crying.

“This was in your home?” she asked quietly.

“It’s not my home anymore, Granger.”

She lifted her gaze from the book.

“No, it wasn’t in the library, it was in my vault,” Malfoy said. “I assume someone didn’t want
it at the manor but understood its monetary value, at least.”

From his vault.

Hermione’s eyes widened. “And are there…?”

“More where that came from?” He smirked. “Yes.”

She stared at him, imagining what his vault must look like. Hundreds of years of collected
art, books, likely worth as much as a small museum.

“Would you like me to take you there someday?” Malfoy asked, looking smugly pleased with
her reaction.

She looked down at the book again.

“I’m not going to burst into flames if I touch the door or cross some line or something?”

“I’ll check with the goblins,” he said with a nod, smiling.

Hermione swallowed. “Thank you. I… this… this is…” She shook her head, struggling for
words. “I’m speechless.”

“That’s a first.” His smirk deepened.

“No, seriously.” She flipped carefully through the delicate pages. “If I put this up for auction,
I’d never have to worry about money again.” Some pretentious billionaire would probably
pay millions just to let it sit on a shelf, unread.

“Maybe I should donate it to a public library,” she mused.

Malfoy was silent for a moment.

“It’s yours,” he said simply. “Do what you like.”

She hesitated.

“So…” He tilted his head. “Are you going to?”

Hermione frowned, then clutched the book to her chest. “No, fuck them, it’s mine.”

He laughed. “It is yours,” Malfoy said, his voice warm and soothing.

The only sources of light were the fire she’d lit after returning from Harry and Ginny’s and
the small lamp by the bookshelf. It was nice. Different from the last time he’d been here.

“I got you something too,” Hermione said finally.

“Really?” He sounded genuinely surprised.

“Yes.”

She placed her new book carefully on the coffee table, as if it might disappear if she didn’t
keep an eye on it.

“I mean…” Hermione hesitated. “It’s meant to be shared, I think.”

She handed him a paper bag from the electronics store she’d passed earlier and sat next to
him.

“I’m sorry, it’s very unceremonious,” she admitted, feeling like she was blushing. “I didn’t
wrap it because… well, I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

Malfoy studied her for a moment before looking inside the bag.

“I linked my account to it,” she explained as he pulled out the new Kindle. “So you already
have access to all the books I’ve bought.”

He took it out of the box and turned it on, running his fingers along the edges as she moved
closer to show him how to navigate it. Their knees touched.

“There are about a hundred titles in there now,” she continued. “You should find something
you like. And if you don’t, you can always buy more. My card is connected to it, though, so
just so you know, I’ll see what you’re reading.”

Malfoy didn’t seem to be listening anymore. She felt his gaze shift to her face.
 “You should share it with Scorpius,” Hermione said, glancing at him. “It’s really useful.
There are instructions in the box…”

“Thank you,” he said, his voice quieter, more serious.

Then he blinked, and just like that, his familiar smirk was back.

“So I got you one book, and you had to better me by giving me a million?”

She rolled her eyes. “Actually, it’s around ten million, but who’s counting?”

They were too close, again.

He was looking at her lips.

And she couldn’t stop thinking about kissing him.

Again.

“I should go,” he whispered, breaking the silence between them.

“Okay.”

I need distance. Space.

But the scent of cinnamon and oranges surrounded him, warm and sharp, and it was too
much.

Malfoy made his way to the fireplace, and Hermione followed, lingering just a moment
longer.

He turned, about to say something, but before he could, she beat him to it.

I just need to feel him for a moment.

She rose onto her tiptoes, her fingers brushing the side of his face as she guided him down,
just slightly.

Her lips pressed against his cheek in a quick, feather-light peck.

He’s so warm.

“Thank you for the book,” she murmured, her breath catching in her throat as she looked up
at him. “It was… nice talking to you this year, Malfoy.”

Malfoy blinked, swallowing hard. “You too, Granger,” he said, nodding once, his eyes still
locked onto hers.

Chapter End Notes

The "non-dates" in the cafe https://www.pinterest.com/tpzzz1105/in-the-mood-for-
truth/the-non-dates-in-the-cafe/
 Draco
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

January 2013

Draco strode towards the owlery with a sense of purpose, the freshly sealed letter clutched in
his hand. The stone floor beneath him was littered with droppings, and the rustling of wings
echoed around him. When he reached the window, he pushed it open, and a sharp gust of
wind whipped through, ruffling his hair and sending a shiver down his spine.

An owl landed gracefully on his outstretched arm, hooting softly as he secured the letter to its
leg.

“Take this to Harry Potter, please,” he murmured.

Scorpius had been eager to watch some cartoons with his son, so Draco had written to ask if
Saturday would work. He’d also invited Potter over, just for a quick chat.

But truth be told, he couldn’t stop thinking about that bloody house of his. Too dangerous
because of old blood magic. His blood. His family. What a fucking legacy.

And to make matters worse, his aunt had been injured now. He’d even considered searching
the manor’s library for anything useful, but first, he wanted to hear if Potter would even
entertain the idea.

When he stepped out of the floo on Saturday afternoon, he glanced around and nodded. “Nice
place.”

Scorpius’ friend released his father’s hand and dashed towards him. “Good afternoon, Mr
Malfoy,” he said brightly.

Draco nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Good afternoon, Albus.”

The flat smelled overwhelmingly of burnt popcorn and butter. Scorpius must have asked
Dissy to prepare some. Meanwhile, he’d put on a cartoon featuring talking cars. Muggles did
love giving human emotions to inanimate objects.

“At least your kid has manners,” he remarked, watching as Potter glanced around.

He snorted. “Do you want a hug?” He adjusted his glasses. How was he a grown man and
still looked like a schoolboy?
“Please don’t.”

Potter kept observing the décor, and Draco could already tell where his mind had gone.
“What did you expect? Black marble, green rugs, and snakes winding round the columns?”

“No, don’t be ridiculous,” he muttered. “Not snakes. But gargoyles, maybe.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“You’ve got a nice telly, though,” Potter admitted. “I can’t stop hearing about it.”

“Don’t be cheap, Potter. Need a recommendation?”

“You? Did you forget I grew up with Muggles?”

“Yes, but your manners reminded me otherwise.” Draco headed to the kitchen. “Drink?”

“No, thank you.”

“I’ve got tea.” He gestured towards the barstools at the kitchen island.

Potter gave a nod and sat down. “Tea’s fine.”

Draco poured them both a cup and slid one across the counter before taking a seat. “I wanted
to talk to you about something.” He hesitated for a moment. “The third floor of your house.”

Potter sighed. More tired than irritated. “Are you going to tell me not to ask Andromeda for
help again? You don’t have to. My wife was very… vocal about it.”

Draco smirked. I bet she was. He’d seen her at some matches. That woman had a temper.

“No,” he said, sipping his tea. “Though now that you mention it, she probably shouldn’t go
there again.”

“She won’t, don’t worry,” Potter muttered, frowning as he took a sip.

I’m having tea with Potter in my flat. Un-fucking-believable.

Draco cleared his throat. “I was thinking… maybe I could.”

Potter blinked. “You?”

“Well, it’s a blood magic issue, isn’t it?” Draco swirled the tea in his cup. “The Ministry’s
cleaners haven’t managed much.”

He frowned. “No. They haven’t.”

“Yes, well. That’s because they’re not from the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.”
Draco flashed a dry, sarcastic smile.

“There’s… there’s a lot in there,” Potter said, his tone turning serious.
He nodded. “I can imagine.”

“I mean, a lot of dark artefacts. Really dark.” His voice had that clipped, professional edge
Draco assumed he used all the time at work. “It could take months.”

Draco smirked. “I’m not a… what do they call them? White-collar worker?”

Potter rolled his eyes. “Yes.”

“Well, I run my own business, Potter. I have time.”

He looked like he was actually considering it, which meant he must be desperate.

“You can’t go in there unprepared.” He dragged a hand through his already messy hair. How
much worse can it possibly get? “How much do you even know about blood magic and
curses?”

Draco clenched his jaw and glanced at Scorpius. More than you do.

Potter caught it and sighed, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive. I
shouldn’t…” He exhaled sharply. “Thank you for offering. If you could come and see it, that
would be… very helpful.” He nodded again. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” Draco muttered, now feeling awkward himself. Then, because he couldn’t
help himself, he added, “You’re an irresponsible parent, Potter, living in a house like that
with your family. I couldn't just let the poor kids suffer.”

He huffed, staring at his cup. “Yeah, you’re all charitable like that.”

Draco smirked.

“My protection wards are impeccable,” Potter continued. “I’ve even managed to block
Hermione.” He shot Draco a pointed look. “And… I’m sure you’ve recently learned just how
persistent she can be.”

Draco rolled his eyes, words slipping out before he could stop them. “Well, she did say
you…”

Oh.

Potter just looked at him, face unreadable.

Draco smirked, waiting. “Nothing to say? No… rehearsed warning speech?”

“Me? No.” Potter’s poker face was good.

Fucking auror training. Draco couldn’t read him at all.

“But,” he added, frowning, “when you stumble across my wife in your ancestral home, she
might have something to say. Gin’s not very subtle.”
Neither was he, but Draco had to admit, he respected that Potter hadn’t given him some
pathetic list of threats over simply being friends with her.

Are we friends yet?

He wasn’t sure.

Not in the way she was with Daphne or Pansy. Definitely not the way she was with Potter.
And… was she still good friends with Weasley? She barely mentioned him.

“I should probably look at it first,” he said absently, “before I start doing any research. Get a
sense of what needs tackling first.”

Potter glanced at the boys on the sofa. “I always make sure the kids aren’t home when the
cleaners show up.” He looked back at Draco. “Ginny can take Lily to her parents. Have you
got time now?”

Draco nodded. “Sure. We’ll just have a quick look.”

He told Dissy to watch the boys while they were gone and then, for the first time in his life,
he flooed to 12 Grimmauld Place.

It wasn’t what he’d imagined.

Draco had expected the house to be dark and dreary, befitting the family that once owned it.
But as he stepped out of the fireplace, his assumptions were immediately shattered.

The house was warm. Inviting, even. Clean walls, dark wooden accents, cosy, almost. And it
was undeniably lived in. Scattered toys littered the floor, clear evidence that children ran
rampant here.

His gaze drifted to the staircase leading to the upper floors. He took a few tentative steps
forward only to freeze when a house-elf suddenly appeared. His eyes widened in surprise at
the sight of him, and he attempted a deep bow, though his advanced age made it look more
like a precarious wobble.

“That’s not necessary, Kreacher. I told you before,” Potter said.

“Kreacher apologises to the master,” the elf said weakly. “Mistress ordered Kreacher to
inform her of the master's return.”

“I didn’t order, Kreacher. I asked nicely,” came Weasley’s irritated voice from the next room.
“Harry, should I… oh.”

She stepped into view, pausing when she saw them. Well, him . Her arms crossed over her
chest, amusement flickering across her face.

“It’s you,” she said.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Your son has a surprising set of manners, considering his parents.”
He could have sworn he heard the elf mutter something that sounded suspiciously like ‘it’s
true.’

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Malfoy’s offered to try and clear out the third floor a bit,” Potter explained. “I’m just going
to show him first.”

Ginny nodded. “Alright. I’ll take Lily to the Burrow, then?”

“Yes, please.”

She was up the stairs and back within a minute, carrying a little girl who looked entirely
unbothered by the presence of a stranger in her home.

“Say goodbye,” Ginny said. “You’re going to see Grandma and Grandpa.”

“Goodbye!” the small Weasley waved enthusiastically at the two men and the elf.

Kreacher. Draco made a note of the name.

They disappeared into the green flames, and Potter gestured towards the stairs.

“We’re heading up to the third floor, Kreacher. You can finish lunch if you want,” he said as
they walked. “I’ll call you if I really need you.”

Draco knew it was bad the moment they got close.

There was a slight discomfort as they approached the third floor, but nothing he couldn’t
ignore until Potter lifted the protection wards.

His wards weren’t just good. They were exceptional . Draco would never admit it, of course,
but he could feel their strength. And the moment they fell away, the house changed.

Darkness bled into the space like ink in water.

It was suffocating. Thick.

A palpable, malevolent presence seeped from every inch of the floor. Draco could feel it in
the air - cold and musty, curling around his throat. He could hear it in the groan of old
wooden floorboards beneath his feet.

He could almost taste it.

Bitter, like a potion that refused to go down.

“Told you it was bad,” Potter chuckled, though it sounded more desperate than amused.

“No, the manor is bad. This is… something else.”

Draco didn’t even know where to start. The entire floor felt wrong. A deep, thrumming
wrongness that clawed at the edges of his magic. Before he could fully process it, Weasley
appeared behind them.

“Shouldn’t you be hiding too?” he smirked.

“Although I do enjoy playing damsel in distress when it suits me, this isn’t the place,” she
said. “I’m married to this half-blood over here, and he can’t get inside there.” She nodded
towards the two doors on the left.

“It’s true,” Potter confirmed. “That one’s the library and it’s fine.” He gestured to the first
door. “But the other? I don’t know. Gin can walk inside, but she can’t tell me what’s in
there.”

“I can open the door, I can walk in,” she explained, “and I know I’ve been inside… but the
second I leave, it’s gone. Like trying to remember a dream after waking up.” She folded her
arms. “It’s probably got some spell preventing me from sharing whatever its secret is.”

Draco studied the doors, intrigued.

“Do you want to go in?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not a braindead Gryffindor.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Who in their right mind does that, Weasley? Just wandering into cursed rooms?”

“It’s Potter,” she corrected. “And it’s not like there was an enormous sign saying ‘beware,
this room is cursed.’”

“When you live in the ancestral home of a family whose name is literally Black,” Draco
hissed, “just assume everything is cursed and don’t touch anything, Potter.”

She narrowed her eyes and smirked. “How very Moody of you.”

He ignored her.

“Ferret.”

“Can we move on so you can see what we’ve done so far?” Potter cut in, gesturing to the
rooms on the right.

Draco stepped inside, immediately overwhelmed by the sheer amount of cursed objects. It
wasn’t just the artefacts though there were plenty of those, it was the house itself. The walls
felt alive, pulsing with the weight of the past. The very essence of the place seemed to be
screaming.

Too long in here, and the effects would start creeping in. Or they would.

And yet… Draco felt something else.

It was subtle at first, a whisper at the back of his mind. A warmth. A pull. A familiarity. He
exhaled, body relaxing despite the oppressive darkness of the space.

“With the possibility of both of you thinking I’m mad,” Draco hesitated, looking around.
“Does anyone else feel… nice in here?”

The room was dark and filthy, the air thick with the scent of mould, ash, and damp wood. The
shadows seemed to shift, and the old portraits on the walls glared at him with lifeless, glassy
eyes.

Potter looked around. “No. But it’s not surprising.” He crouched down, running a hand over
the thick layer of dust. “Moody said years ago that the sheer number of Black family artefacts
in one place does something. It interacts with the house’s existing magic and makes you
feel…” He paused. “Like you belong.”

Draco turned the thought over in his head.

“Sirius spent a lot of time up here after Azkaban,” Potter added. “He recovered remarkably
fast, considering he spent over a decade in a cell surrounded by Dementors.”

“And that was before the war,” Weasley said. “We’ve moved even more things here since.”

“Maybe we should focus on the wards first.” Draco nodded towards the doors behind them.
“Breaking down whatever’s stopping you from entering rooms. Granger said she can’t even
touch the doors.”

“Yes, but she can’t be here for long before it becomes too hot for her. And of course, she
can’t touch a lot of things.”

“Can you?”

“More than her. Less than Gin.”

“And you probably even less than me because I’m part Black,” Draco mused, turning to
Weasley. “Which means you’re in the most danger here, now that I think about it.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“You think your blood status protects you. And you’re being reckless because of it.” He
smirked. “How very Sacred Twenty-Eight of you.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Do you want me to look into lifting this restriction against Muggleborns? That might
explain why your Ministry cleaners weren’t very effective.”

“Yes.”

Weasley hummed. “They do hire a lot of Muggleborns and half-bloods these days…” She
raised a brow at her husband. “And we used to be a proper country.”

Potter sighed, smiling as he shook his head.

“Yes. Let’s deal with the wider picture first, before getting into details like… cursed mirrors
and rugs.”

It was easier said than done.

Draco spent the next week buried in the manor’s library, poring over ancient tomes for
countless hours, the weight of the past pressing heavily on his shoulders with every turn of a
page. The library was eerily silent, too silent. The only sounds were the occasional flutter of
moth wings, the scratch of his quill against parchment, and the slow, methodical ticking of
the old clock in the corner.

He found a few books that might help. They were old and musty, their brittle pages crinkling
under his fingertips. Some were yellowed with age and barely legible, while others were
stained with something that looked suspiciously like dried blood. More than once, he had the
unsettling sense that some of the spells and incantations he was reading were meant to be
forgotten.

The most ominous-looking tomes, the ones that felt wrong, he couldn’t bring himself to take
back to his flat. Instead, he remained in the manor’s library, absorbing as much knowledge as
he could, hoping to find something useful.

“Why are you doing this, again?”

His mother’s voice was light as she set a tea tray down, but Draco could hear the curiosity
underneath.

“I told you. Potter has an entire floor of his house that’s unusable because of some old blood
wards,” he replied, not looking up. “Andromeda got hurt helping him. I thought it would be
nice if she could go there without burning her arms to the elbows.”

Narcissa stirred her tea, unhurried. “Alright,” she said. “So you’re doing this for… for Harry
Potter and Andromeda?”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Is there a problem, mother?”

“No, of course not, darling.” She took a sip of tea, smiling faintly. “Whatever brings you here
to me.”
At least she was discreet. Not a single word about that article from last month, the one about
him and Granger. He’d expected her to ask when they were in France, but she never did.
They’d actually had a pleasant week together, exploring the city and watching Scorpius
struggle through his attempts at French.

His aunt, however, was a different story.

When he visited Andromeda after her injury, she waited precisely until his mother excused
herself to the bathroom before striking.

“So.” She narrowed her eyes. “How was your date?”

“She didn’t even close the door. You’re very impatient.” Draco smirked, but the look on her
face made him sigh. “It wasn’t a date. I took her out for a drink. She had good news to
celebrate.”

“How kind of you.”

“What do you want me to say? She says it wasn’t a date, and I…”

Andromeda arched an eyebrow. “She said that?”

“I say that too,” he shot back. “We just went for a drink.”

And then to her place.

Where she lives . Where she sleeps . Where he’d been too close to her in that dimly lit
hallway. Where she took exceedingly long showers, apparently. And too hot, judging by the
way she’d emerged flushed, steam curling behind her like a scene from some ridiculous
romance novel.

Why did women enjoy scorching showers? It was something worth researching too.

But first, he had blood wards to dismantle.

The monotony of paperwork and meetings was beginning to wear on him, and he needed
something else to focus on, something meaningful.

He’d just finished a quick lunch in the library when a sharp tap on the window drew his
attention.

Draco leaned back in his chair and smirked as he examined the letter. The ink was smudged
in places, the words scrawled in a haphazard manner, as if she’d been scribbling her thoughts
down without much care for appearances.

He could picture her now, frowning in concentration, probably chewing her bottom lip, her
tongue peeking out between her teeth as she focused.

He had no trouble reading her messy handwriting anymore.

But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t mock her for it.

Granger wasn’t bad at much. It was almost poetic that writing her thoughts was one of those
rare things.

Malfoy,

I cannot believe I was the one who told you about the third floor in Harry and Ginny’s house
and you went behind my back and offered them your assistance without telling me! Harry
says he hasn't heard from you in a week because you’re doing research. Are you planning on
combing your library, and reading every book about breaking curses by yourself? Because
you can’t and shouldn't, and I can help.

Bring the books you think could be useful to me. I have nothing to do until the end of the
month when I meet the translators. Use me as much as you can until then. Two heads are
better than one.

Hermione

He hadn’t seen her since he’d given her that poetry book she liked so much.

According to Daphne, she and Granger had spent New Year’s Eve in Spain, partying at some
club with her uggle friends. They were all supposed to go to the big event Theo had planned,
but they decided to stay an extra day.

Draco, meanwhile, had been watching the fireworks with Scorpius who’d fallen asleep
almost immediately after the countdown. He’d gone to Theo’s party for the sake of
appearances, stayed an hour at most, and then returned home.

Now, reading her letter, he grabbed a quill and scrawled a quick reply on the back. He then
selected four books with the most promising information, flooed to his flat, and less than an
hour later, was standing in her house again.

She wasn’t in the living room when he arrived.

Draco set the books down on her coffee table and, on a whim, attempted to pet the orange
beast lurking nearby. Predictably, it hissed at him.

Abandoning his feline adversary, he turned his attention to her bookshelf.

“Granger, I’m here!” he called out this time, deciding to announce his presence rather than
startle her.

“Oh, okay! I’ll be right there!” she shouted from somewhere upstairs.
Draco scanned her collection, intrigued by the variety of genres. The oldest and most well-
worn books were classics, their spines creased and pages yellowed with age. Cookbooks and
cocktail guides stood in stark contrast - glossy and colourful. He was surprised to find no
books on wine-making, considering her family’s business.

Then there were books on human behaviour. Psychology? Or was it psychiatry? He never
quite remembered the difference.

An orange book caught his attention, and he reached for it just as he heard quick footsteps
approaching.

“Self-help books, huh?”

He glanced up to see her leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, smirking.

“Is that what this is?” He turned the book over and read the back.

“Not always.” She stepped into the room. “I’m not a fan of popular psychology.” Psychology,
not psychiatry. Right.

“Is that why you don’t reread them?”

“Yes. That one’s good, though. It’s about healing childhood traumas. Mostly about
relationships with parents? Do you want it?”

“No, I don’t think I really need it,” he said dryly.

She laughed.

He liked making her laugh.

“Good evening,” Draco added.

She was in grey sweatpants and a black tank top, her hair piled on top of her head. A strong,
flowery scent lingered around her.

“Hello,” she said. “I was doing laundry.” Ah, that explained the scent. “Sorry to keep you
waiting.”

Draco shook his head. “I was just admiring your very impressive bookshelf.”

“You have an entire library, but my shelf is impressive?”

“This bookshelf is you. My library isn’t me.”

She tilted her head, studying him.

“I learned so much about you just standing in front of it,” he added.

“Yes, of course. Well, I’m nothing if not an open book. Or an open bookshelf, if you’d
prefer.” She moved to the coffee table, eyeing the four ancient tomes he’d brought. “So, this
is what you found?”

“Yes. The blue one? I started with that.”

She reached for it but hesitated. “Can I touch all of them?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “No, Granger, I was too lazy to check if they’d kill you first, so I
thought the fastest way would be if you just touched them.”

“Fine. God.” She shot him a glare before flipping the book open. “This one’s in Latin.”

“Yeah. That’s why it lasted this long.”

“Oh.” She picked up another. “I’ll start with the one in English. Make yourself at home,” she
gestured vaguely. “Or don’t. I don’t know how relaxed you are there.”

They read and talked for the next two hours.

Draco sat on her sofa, pulling the coffee table closer, while Granger settled into an armchair,
at first sitting normally, then tucking her legs under herself, then swinging them over one
armrest as she leaned against the other. Eventually, she abandoned the chair altogether,
making herself comfortable on the floor across from him, scribbling notes across dozens of
pages.

“Did you find something useful?” he asked as she filled out yet another page.

She frowned, not looking up. “Yes, but not for now. It’s for the reflective objects later.”

He rolled his eyes. “Focus on the wards.”

“Focus on your book.”

At some point, she got up to make them coffee, placing a plate of biscuits on the table after
reheating them in her small oven. She bit into one absentmindedly, and he almost couldn’t
believe it - Granger, eating food over a book. Over an old book, no less. But just as he was
about to say something, a few crumbs tumbled between the pages. Before he could express
his horror, she waved her hand, and they vanished.

“When did you learn to do that so well? Silently, and without a wand?”

She glanced at him, then back at the book. “When we were searching for Horcruxes. I knew
I’d eventually be without my wand. Especially if they caught us. So I practised. A lot.” She
rubbed her eyes. “When did you learn to apparate almost silently?”

He smirked. “Is that still bothering you?”

“Of course. I told you, I obsess over things.”

“I suppose at the same time you needed to cast spells silently, I had to learn how to travel
quietly.”
She looked at him curiously.

“I practised. A lot,” he added.

A while later, he came across a potion that caught his interest. It was designed to erase traces
of magic left behind in a location, intended for those who didn’t want to be found. But Draco
thought it could be useful for their cleanup.

“How much is Potter willing to spend on this?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Why?”

“I found a potion that could be useful afterwards. Think of it as disinfection.”

She leaned in to read the list of ingredients, and he found himself acutely aware of her
presence, the way her breath fanned across the page, the way her fingers brushed against the
parchment. Don’t be a creep.

“It doesn’t seem difficult to obtain these,” she murmured.

“No,” he swallowed. “But it needs to simmer for three moon cycles.”

“He works for the government. Let him deal with finding an appropriate facility.” She rubbed
her eyes again.

“Are you tired?”

“No, it’s my lenses. I’ll have to remove them,” she said, getting to her feet.

“Your what?”

“My contact lenses. They’re in my eyes. See?”

She leaned in, too close, her golden eyes widening slightly. Just her eyes, don’t look down.

“No, your eyes look normal.”

“Oh, the light is low.” She turned towards the hallway. “Come, let’s go to the bathroom.”

He followed, watching as she washed her hands at the sink using the same soap dispenser
he’d struggled with last time.

The last time he was here.

When he was hiding.

Because I got a raging boner when she mentioned she’d had sex with women? Stop it, you
idiot. Where are you going to hide now?

“Do you see them now?”

She stepped closer, and this time, he noticed faint circular edges around her irises, something
he hadn’t seen before. He fought the urge to reach out, to tilt her face up under the pretence
of seeing better. He wanted to feel her skin again, even for just a moment. Like when she
kissed him on Christmas Eve.

“Yes,” he said, his voice lower than intended.

“This is going to freak you out, I think.” She chuckled and, with her thumb and index finger,
plucked the lenses from her eyes.

“That’s… disgusting.” Well, whatever boner was forming again… “Does it hurt?”

“No, but it can if I poke myself by accident.”

Draco eyed the small container she placed them in. “And so what, those just… act like your
glasses?”

“Yes, but I have to replace them regularly.”

She blinked a few times, checking her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were slightly red
now.

“Is it better?”

“Oh, much better. Let’s go back.”

They read for another hour or so before Draco finally admitted to himself that he was getting
tired.

“I think I’m going soon,” he said, stretching his arms.

“Oh yes, your lab time.” Granger didn’t lift her eyes from the book.

She was wearing her reading glasses now. Fuck, she looks good with those.

“What are you making tonight?” she asked, blinking a few times.

“I’ll see what he had planned for me when I get back.”

“Do you think he might suggest an extremely difficult and borderline illegal potion for
cleaning up evidence of Dark Magic being used in a place, most likely after a violent crime?”
she joked, still scribbling something down.

He smiled. “I don’t think so.” Draco stood, gathering the Latin book and the notes he’d made.
“But I don’t doubt he’ll be interested if I suggest it.”

“I think we did a good job today, don’t you?” She was kneeling on the floor now, looking up
at him.

I need to get out of here.

“Yeah…” He turned towards the fireplace. “There’s still a lot more to go through, but yeah.
I’ll leave the other books here so I don’t have to bring them next time.”

“Yes, of course,” she said absently, already back to writing, barely paying him any attention.

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

Draco spent almost every evening of the next week at Granger’s house, reading and
translating the Latin book he’d found. His mother had asked why he wasn’t doing his
research at the manor, and he’d simply said he was more comfortable at home. Whose home,
he didn’t specify.

They’d found a few spells and blood rituals, none of which Granger approved of.

“We will not fight Dark Magic with more Dark Magic. That should be our last resort.”

He rolled his eyes. “Do you think we’re going to find any light solutions in these books?”

She frowned. “Keep reading until you find something that doesn’t involve… spilling your
blood over the doors.”

Despite her objections, she was meticulous in organising everything they found. She
compiled a list of spells he could use on objects after lifting the wards, and Draco had to
admit that he was impressed.

The pages were neatly divided into sections, the spells listed alphabetically with detailed
descriptions of their effects, uses, and necessary precautions. Some spells were permanent,
others temporary. Some needed periodic recasting, while others destroyed the object entirely
or simply locked the curse inside forever.

“So you just tap your wand here, on the column title, and it sorts itself by the chosen
criterion. Do you get it?” she said, demonstrating as the words on the parchment slowly
rearranged themselves.

Draco blinked. “Salazar, are you always this thorough when you research anything?”

She barely looked up. “Yeah, why?”

He just stared at her.

“Malfoy, I don’t like doing things halfway,” she said seriously. “Besides, this was easy. I
literally just made a spreadsheet.” She waved a hand dismissively. “It’s a computer thing.”

Before he could even ask, she moved on to the next book, which immediately proved
frustrating. Granger had a moral disagreement with the authors.
“Of course you don’t agree,” he muttered, struggling to translate a particularly convoluted
sentence. “They were fucking blood supremacists. They never intended for you to read any of
this. Fucking imbeciles and degenerates…”

He barely registered that she was smiling until he glanced up.

One evening, Draco decided he simply couldn’t sit and read for hours in his usual trousers
and shirt. Instead, he changed into something more comfortable, something he’d wear when
he was alone at home.

When he walked into her living room, Granger actually had to do a double take. She lowered
her glasses, visibly taken aback by his change in attire.

“Oh wow.” She smirked. “You finally decided to dress like a normal person for
uncomfortable sitting and reading.” She was wearing a different tank top and sweatpants
herself.

“Yes, yes,” Draco said. “Figured I didn’t have to dress nicely for you anymore.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You were dressing up for me?” she asked teasingly. “Were you
trying to impress me with your clothes?”

“Shut up, Granger.” He rolled his eyes and started translating.

Later, she ordered them some food and had a surprisingly long chat with the man who
delivered it. When she finally sat down, she declared she was starving and needed a break.

“I had a very good workout today,” she said between bites, eating with an enthusiasm that
was both impressive and slightly alarming.

“What did you do?” Draco asked, half curious, half horrified by her appetite.

“Went for a run in the morning,” she said, stuffing another bite into her mouth. “Then the
gym. Then the sauna.”

“What do you do in the gym?”

“Mostly lifting,” she shrugged. “It was leg day today, so tomorrow when you come, you’ll be
doing all the work. I won’t be able to stand up and sit down much. Do you work out?” she
asked, glancing at him.

“I go swimming.” He shrugged. “There’s a pool in my building. Gym too, but I rarely go. I
play quidditch on weekends when the weather’s decent.”

She huffed. “Is there even that much to do when you’re flying around on a broom?”

Draco narrowed his eyes.

“I mean, I’m seriously asking,” she added quickly. “It’s not like you’re running around.”

“You’re judging the sport a lot for someone who’s dated quite a few players.”

She frowned. “Quite a few? Who are you talking about?”

Her reaction amused him. Time for poking.

Draco smirked. “Well, let’s start with Weasel…”

She rolled her eyes. “He played in school. That doesn’t even count.”

“Wood’s a serious player.” Draco had never liked him, even when he played for the national
team.

She nodded. “Okay, yes. But I don’t think he and Viktor count as…”

“Who’s Vi…” He paused, then realised. “Wait. What? You were with Krum?” He gawked.
“When he was at Hogwarts?!”

His mind flashed to the Yule Ball. He vaguely remembered her wearing… blue? Or was it
purple? Everyone had speculated about them back then.

“What? Oh my God, no.” She looked appalled. “I was fourteen.”

Draco relaxed slightly.

“This was recent, a few years ago.”

That, however, did annoy him.

“Wait… if you weren’t thinking about Krum, who did you think I meant?”

“McLaggen.”

Granger groaned. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. How do you even know about that? Did he tell you?!”

“No, Daphne did.”

He thought teasing her about McLaggen would be fun, because really what were both
Daphne and Granger thinking? But now he was just irritated by this revelation.

“So… when did that happen?” he asked, trying not to sound too interested. “With Krum.”
What a ridiculous name, now that I think about it.

“A few years ago.” She shrugged. “He was playing for some team in France, so we met
occasionally, and… one thing led to another and, you know...”

Draco barely held back a sneer.

Marseille Roosters.
He wasn’t even that good.

They offloaded him to some B-league Italian club before he retired. He’s not even coaching
and that’s what they usually do when they’ve got no career left.

“So, was it… serious?” Why am I even asking? It’s none of my business.

“Um…” She hesitated. “I mean, it was a relationship. Just a long-distance one. But I couldn’t
do it.” She glanced at him, then smiled slightly. “I told you. I don’t like doing things
halfway.”

Draco was on the cusp of finishing his first book, while Granger was already making
significant headway into her second. They read in companionable silence, and he thought
about a plan to lift the anti-muggle wards. Her notes, combined with the texts she was
working through, had sparked several ideas.

He knew it wouldn’t be as simple as dismantling Potter’s rudimentary ward. The

enchantments on this property had been crafted centuries ago, reinforced across generations.
A single spell wouldn’t be enough.

But the challenge was exhilarating. He’d always been fascinated by magical wards, their
complexity, their layers. They were like puzzles, intricate and deliberate. And with Granger’s
meticulous research, he had a head start.

“I found a few more spells we can use when we go there,” she said, flipping through her
notes. “I’ll add them to the ever-growing list.”

“No, that’s good. The more the… wait.” Draco blinked. “When we go there? Who’s ‘we’?
You’re not going.”

She shifted on the floor. “I mean, yes, obviously not now because I’d probably feel like I was
being put in a microwave. But once you lift the wards, then…”

“There are probably things in there that’ll kill you if you so much as brush against them with
a fingernail,” he said flatly. “You’re not going.”

“Malfoy.” She straightened her back, meeting his gaze with unwavering determination. “I
didn’t bring this up to discuss it. I’m telling you.”

“And I’m telling you.” He leaned forward so she wouldn’t miss a word. “You’re. Not.
Going.”

She frowned.

“Even Potter’s not entirely safe, and Red’s a lost cause. She’d wander into a cursed room just
to see what would happen. So I’m going alone.” He turned back to his book, muttering, “If I
ever manage to figure out how to lift this fucking thing…”
“No,” Granger said firmly, standing up. “I’ve put in just as much work as you. You’re not
taking the fun part away from me.”

“The fun part?” He scoffed, closing his book with an irritated snap. “Is this a joke to you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Malfoy. When I’m in a goofy mood, I love reading ancient tomes
on dark magic and taking notes for weeks.”

“Do you not understand how dangerous this is?”

“Oh, no, I’ve never dealt with dark magic before. Ever. Not even once in my entire life.”

Draco exhaled sharply. “Can you answer a question like a normal person?”

“Can you ask a question like I am a normal person?” She glared down at him. “Do you
honestly think I’d just waltz in there and start picking things up like I’m in a fucking shop?”

“No, I didn’t say…”

“Do you think I’d blunder around like a bull in a china shop?”

Draco frowned. “Like a what?”

She huffed, pointing to the book in his lap. “You spent an entire week translating that bloody
thing before you even came here. Since then, I’ve read nearly two more, I compiled pages of
spells, I found two additional potions we can use after cleanup, and I researched extra
protection spells.” She jabbed a finger toward the table, voice rising. “And now you’re telling
me I can’t go there and wave my wand at a bunch of immovable objects? I will not need you
to nanny me when we go there! I'm not weak or stupid or reckless!”

The casual way she said it, like none of this was real danger, set him off.

“Don’t you fucking yell at me, Granger,” he said, more seriously now, standing up to meet
her glare.

She frowned deeper, nostrils flaring.

“I don’t think you’re a weak or reckless idiot,” he continued. “I think you’re a brave and
proud idiot, and…”

“What?! You…”

“And you have a track record of nearly getting yourself killed every time you get involved in
something dangerous,” he snapped. “If we run into something we can’t handle, I need you to
prioritise staying alive, and I don’t think…”

“You don’t even know what we’ll run into…”

“Shut the fuck up, Granger, and stop interrupting me!” Draco’s voice came out louder than he
intended. “I’m talking now!”
She just blinked at him, but he saw it, her eyes had darkened. Granger was angry. She was
breathing heavily, almost like the bull she’d mentioned earlier, her chest rising and falling in
quick, sharp bursts. And she was blushing furiously.

“I don’t think you need protection because I don’t think you’re weak,” Draco said, his voice
quieter now but no less firm. “I know you can take care of yourself. What I’m worried about
is that you’re going to pull some Gryffindor shit on me and do something noble if we run into
trouble. And I don’t want you dying on my watch in Potter’s fucking house.”

Granger was staring at him now, saying nothing, just breathing, arms crossed tightly over her
chest.

“Or,” he continued, “maybe you don’t die. Maybe you just end up cursed for life. And believe
me, old family blood curses are not something you want to mess with.”

Her expression didn’t change at first. But then, slowly, her shoulders relaxed. Her face
softened, only to turn a deeper shade of pink.

Yes, I did just use my dead wife as an argument.

And yes, it is working.

But Draco wasn’t stupid either. He needed someone there. And if he had to choose, he’d
rather have her. She had done all the work alongside him. She was good at handling shit like
this. She had survived everything.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. “If we go there together…” he started, his voice back to
normal.

Her eyes widened.

“I said ‘if.’” He pointed at her. “I need to know I can trust you not to do something reckless.”

“You can trust me.” She nodded immediately, like a child making a solemn promise. “And
we should probably define ‘danger’ before we go.”

Draco stepped closer. “Can we also agree that I know more about this than you, and that you
should listen to me?”

She nodded again, just as quickly. “We can. And I will.”

Her immediate compliance was… unsettling. Almost pleasantly so. He raised a suspicious
eyebrow.

“What?” she said. “I’m not unreasonable. I know what my limits are.”

“Good.”

He watched her for a moment.

I think I like her more when she argues back.

“Can we go back to work now?”

“Before this pointless argument? Sure.” She sat back down on the floor.

Draco followed, settling back on the sofa. “It wasn’t pointless,” he muttered.

“It really was. I didn’t agree to anything I wouldn’t have done anyway.” She was serious
now, her expression sharp beneath her glasses. “You have more knowledge and experience
with this than me. I know that. I’m not an idiot who would just waltz into a dangerous room
to see what’s in there. I don’t know what Ginny was thinking, honestly.” She adjusted her
glasses. “I’m not planning on experimenting with cursed objects either. I want to learn more
about this. And I want to help you with the cleanup.” She leaned forward slightly, eyes
locked onto his. “I started this. And I want to finish it properly.”

Her cheeks were flushed again, and she looked a little too intense.

I shouldn’t like her like this. It’s weird.

Draco dropped his gaze to his book and flipped it open, setting it over his lap as a distraction.
He frowned at the text, not actually reading a word.

It’s not weird.

She’s more passionate when she’s angry. Of course that’s why she looks so…

Good right now.

He could feel her staring at him.

If I just keep looking at this fucking book…

After a few moments, Granger let out a sharp sigh. “I promise I’ll behave,” she said,
exasperated. “And I’ll listen to you. And I’ll do or not do whatever you tell me. To an extent.
Okay?”

Oh no.

I like this even more.

Draco risked a glance at her.

Obedient Granger.

Thank fuck for this big old fucking book.

“…Okay,” he mumbled.

Draco spent the evening in the lab with Scorpius before inviting Theo and Blaise over for a
drink. Theo immediately made himself comfortable in front of the television, commenting on
the unfamiliar sport playing on the screen. It wasn’t football or basketball, but it looked
similar, except the men wore helmets.

“They’ve got extra protection on their shoulders too?” Blaise scoffed. “Pathetic. They’re
covered from head to toe.”

Draco glanced at the screen before turning back to his notes. “Why is it even called
‘football’? That’s not a ball.”

Blaise nodded in agreement. “And they mostly use their hands.”

“I don’t know, it’s American football,” Theo said with a shrug. “It’s not popular here.”

“So why are we watching it?”

“It looks more violent than actual football, so it’s more interesting.”

Blaise rolled his eyes. “It’s not called European football. It’s just football.”

“I know.”

Draco cut in before they could argue further. “Can you two find these ingredients
somewhere?” He handed them a piece of parchment with a potion recipe.

“Sure,” Blaise said, scanning the list before frowning. “What are you making? And do I even
want to know?”

Theo took the parchment from him to have a look as well.

“I’m fixing Potter’s cursed floor,” Draco explained. “This is for dark magic disinfection
afterwards.”

“Oh, right.” Theo nodded. “He said you’re working with Hermione. How’s that going?” He
smirked.

“Fine.” Draco kept his tone casual.

His friends hadn’t pressed him much after the Daily Prophet article or when he admitted to
meeting Granger for coffee a few times, but they clearly didn’t believe him when he insisted
nothing was happening.

“She’s great at reading and finding useful information, as we all knew before,” he added,
hoping to steer the conversation away.

“You have to let this simmer for three months,” Blaise muttered, still studying the potion
instructions.

“Potter said he can use a lab at work.”

“You think you’ll be done with all the cleaning in three months?”
“Hardly.” Draco sighed. “But once I lift the wards, Granger and I can start properly.”

Theo frowned. “I don’t think it’ll be safe for her even after that.”

“Well, tell her that.” He rolled his eyes. “She’s annoyingly stubborn. Says she can’t miss the
fun part.”

“What’s wrong with all of them?” Blaise asked, exasperated. “Do they have to be suicidal
before they get sorted into Gryffindor?”

“I don’t know, but we need to be careful. I think it’s infectious,” Theo said, looking genuinely
concerned. “Daphne told me she jumped from an aeroplane when she was in Barcelona with
Hermione.”

“She did what?”

“Yes!” Blaise said. “Ask Granger to show you the video. It’s insane.”

“It’s called ‘skydiving,’” she said, rolling her eyes the moment he appeared in her living
room the next day.

“Diving? In the sky? Are you absolutely mental?”

“Please, it’s perfectly safe.”

“Show me,” Draco said as he dropped onto the sofa, taking his usual spot. “Blaise said
Daphne showed him the video.”

Granger sighed but sat next to him, scrolling through her photos. He caught glimpses of her
and Daphne, along with a few unfamiliar faces, before she handed him the phone.

“Here.”

She leaned in as he watched, occasionally skipping parts she deemed boring. Her hair was
still slightly damp, strands tickling his arm. Vanilla and sugar.

“That’s absolutely insane,” he muttered, staring at the screen in disbelief.

“It is!” She grinned. “It’s not called an extreme sport for nothing.”

Draco studied her for a moment. “What else have you done like this?”

She tilted her head, thinking. “Jumped off cliffs into the sea… I go skiing and snowboarding
sometimes.”

At least I know what those are.

“Do you have a death wish?”

“No,” she said simply.

“But it’s dangerous.”

“Yes. That’s why it’s fun.” She rolled her eyes and shifted, kneeling beside him now. She was
wearing an oversized T-shirt, the hem brushing her bare thighs.

“I like it,” she continued, her eyes lighting up. “It’s exciting and scary at the same time, it
reminds me that I’m alive. That’s the whole point.”

He clenched his jaw. “There are other ways to be reminded of that.”

“Yes, but this is what I always wanted to do.” She nodded towards the phone still in his
hands. “So when I had the chance, I took it.”

Draco looked at her. Granger always talked with her hands when she got excited.

“It’s that easy for you, isn’t it?” His gaze flicked to her lips. She smells so good. “To just…
take what you want.”

I want to know what she tastes like. Fuck.

She studied him for a beat, then smirked. “Not always,” she murmured, before retreating
back to her spot on the floor.

One weekend at the end of the month, Granger had lunch with the Russian and German
translators, and they agreed with Potter to attempt lifting the wards before she left, so she
could test them once she returned.

With Weaslette away for practice, it was just the two of them in the house. Potter had taken
his kids to their grandparents, leaving Draco to wander the kitchen, where they’d been
drinking tea and discussing their plans just minutes ago.

The kitchen was similar to the others he’d seen in his friends' homes - spacious, with an
enormous table in the centre they definitely didn’t need and a massive fireplace. A pot of floo
powder sat on the mantelpiece, surrounded by an array of photographs.

Draco’s gaze lingered on the moving images of Potter and his family. Granger was right. The
eldest looks exactly like Potter did in school, minus the glasses.

Unlike Granger’s kitchen, Potter’s lacked the clutter of small muggle devices, but a well-
worn cookbook lay open on the counter, its pages stained and dog-eared from frequent use. A
glass cabinet housed an assortment of bottles, some recognisable firewhiskies, but most were
Muggle. A few contained brightly coloured liquids, while others bore unfamiliar labels, like
Jack Daniel’s, or Glenfiddich.

The sound of the floo flared behind him.

“I’m back,” Potter announced, brushing ash off his robes with a flick of his wand.

“Good. Let’s go.”

Draco had already been through the upper floors with Red a few times, detecting layers of
wards. Granger had found spells that could help identify them, and as expected, most were
designed to repel Muggles. They’d agreed to start by lifting those before conducting further
research.

Their last book had detailed spells and rituals for suppressing magic in Muggleborns, a
discovery that had left Granger furious . While she channelled her anger into refining
protection spells, Draco had forced himself to finish reading it. He hadn’t told her about some
of the horrors he’d found in its pages. He was considering burning the damn thing once they
succeeded.

As they climbed to the third floor, the change in atmosphere was immediate.

Black, green, and blue spores clung to the walls, and thick, damp mould had infiltrated every
crevice. The floor beneath them felt spongy, the peeling wallpaper revealing something even
more grotesque underneath. It was as if the house itself was holding its breath, waiting to be
freed.

“What do your kids see when they look up here?” Draco asked as they reached the landing.

“Just an ordinary ceiling,” Potter said, pulling out his wand. “Sometimes I cast an illusion,
make it look like the Great Hall’s ceiling, so they see the sky instead.” He glanced at Draco.
“Someone once told us that using good magic here might help suppress the bad .”

Draco wasn’t sure if that was true, but whatever they’d done so far seemed to be working.

He pulled a folded parchment from his pocket. “Granger made this. The order of spells will
change as we go.”

Potter smirked. “Of course she did. Change how?”

Draco scanned the corridor. “I’ll be using most, if not all of these spells, but the order
matters. This one, for example,” he pointed to the third on the list, “should lift the heat we
just felt when you removed your wards.”

“You think that’s an actual ward and not just a side effect?”

Draco nodded. “I do. Most of these are designed to make it physically unbearable to be here.
The soul-poisoning and magic-draining come later.”

“How nice of them,” Potter muttered.

“Yes, well. I don’t know which one was cast last, so I’ll need to figure out the correct order to
dismantle them.”

Potter frowned.
Draco sighed. “It’s like an onion. I can’t start peeling it from the inside.”

“Got it. So you start with the most recent and work backwards.”

“Exactly.” Draco tapped the parchment with his wand, demonstrating as the list rearranged
itself. “Once I identify the most recent ward, it moves to the top.”

“That’s smart.”

“It is.” Draco handed him the list. “Your job is to keep track as we go.”

Potter raised a brow. “And if something goes wrong?”

“I doubt it’ll kill me. My blood’s far too valuable for that, remember?” He glanced over the
balcony, two stories down. “But it might throw me across the room.”

“Right. Wait.” Potter murmured a spell, waving his wand around Draco. “You can apparate
anywhere in the house now if needed. And…” He turned. “Kreacher?”

The old elf appeared with a crack. “Yes, Master?”

“Malfoy is going to attempt lifting some of the wards.”

Kreacher gave Draco a wary look.

“If something happens, be ready to heal him.”

The elf’s eyes flicked between them before nodding. “Yes, Master. Kreacher will be ready.”

“Thanks,” Potter said as the elf disapparated. He turned back to Draco. “Alright. Let’s start
with this one.”

Surprisingly, things went smoothly at first, which, of course, meant they were due for trouble
soon enough. They managed to figure out the order of the wards quickly. Draco simply cast
each spell and observed the reactions.

Potter, as usual, had a sharp intuition. He correctly guessed that the wards causing radiation-
like side effects on Muggle-borns had to be recent. The next one they tackled would cause a
person’s internal organs to feel as though they’d been electrocuted if they tried to touch the
oil lamps along the walls.

Draco couldn’t help but find it fascinating. His ancestors despised Muggles, yet here they
were, using muggle knowledge to protect themselves.

Slowly but surely, they made their way through the wards, but a sense of unease gnawed at
Draco’s chest. Each ward they dismantled seemed to peel back another layer of the ancient
magic that had enveloped the property for so long.

His hands remained steady as he cast the spells, but there was an anxious tension in the air,
like the wards were daring them to go further. Every time they removed one, Draco could feel
the weight of that challenge hanging over him. The air crackled with magic, and he could feel
the static on his skin, like the buildup before a storm.

Draco watched as Potter cast the Patronus charm and a silver stag dancing around them,
pushing back the dark magic residue in the air.

They were sent over the fence twice but managed to apparate back safely each time. The
shockwave from removing the heating ward was the worst. It scorched his hand like searing
fire, but he gritted his teeth, unwilling to let the pain slow him down. He didn’t need healing.
He just needed to finish.

One particularly strong ward retaliated so violently that it felt like his throat was closing,
suffocating him. But Potter managed to apparate them past the property line with minimal
splinching, just before Draco could lose his breath completely.

When they checked off the last ward, a heavy sigh of relief washed over Draco. He glanced at
his watch, surprised to see that three hours had passed. It felt like an eternity, and he was
more than ready to be done.

“Let me apparate us downstairs. You look too weak,” Potter suggested, his tone tired. And if
Potter was worn out, Draco couldn’t even imagine how he must look, so he nodded in silent
agreement.

“You know what would have been useful here? Escalators,” Draco remarked dryly.

“Wouldn’t quite fit the décor,” he said, before waving his wand and apparating them both to
the kitchen.

Granger was already in the kitchen, three cups of tea on the table. As soon as she saw them,
she waved her wand, and Draco could see the steam rising from the cups.

“God, you scared me,” she said, standing up to assess both of them.

Draco must have looked worse than he felt because her frown deepened, even more than
usual, and she gently pushed him into the chair next to the fireplace.

“When did you arrive?” Potter asked, rubbing his forehead.

“Half an hour ago, maybe? Kreacher said you were having a few problems, and I didn’t want
to disturb you.” Granger bent over him, her brow furrowing as she scrutinised his condition.
“Are you alright?”

“Yeah. I’m just tired,” Draco replied, feeling too drained to even lift his head to look at her
properly.

“Here, take these.” Granger handed him two vials, then gave identical ones to Potter. “It’s the
Invigoration Draught and a Vitamix potion to replenish energy.”

Draco drank them without a word. They were warm and sweet, but the exhaustion in his
bones didn’t melt away as quickly as he had hoped. Instead, he felt like he could fall asleep
right where he sat. Resting his head on his crossed arms, he let the quiet conversation wash
over him.

“What did you do?” Granger asked.

“Played with your list, cast a Patronus, held shields, apparated us here and there. Malfoy did
all the hard work,” Potter answered.

“I have a blood replenishing potion, too.”

“It’s not necessary. No one was bleeding.”

“He’s burned.” Granger’s voice softened and then she sighed. “Did you at least manage to
lift any?”

“Any? He might have destroyed them all.”

“Really?”

“Why so surprised?” Draco smirked, feeling the potions begin to take effect.

“We’ll need to do this again for each room, I think,” Potter said, giving him an apologetic
look.

“Yeah, I thought so too,” Draco responded.

He stretched, his limbs beginning to feel less like lead. Granger glanced at his burned hand,
and he could tell she was thinking about the damage.

“But it’ll be easier. The rooms are smaller, and we already know the order, so we won’t waste
time.” Draco turned to her now, his voice more serious. “I’ll need you to show us some of
those other shields you mentioned. One particularly nasty ward almost suffocated us.”

She frowned, her lips pressed into a thin line, and sighed again. “I told you I should’ve been
here.”

“You wouldn’t have been able to go upstairs anyway,” Draco replied, rubbing his sore hand.
The burn was starting to hurt again, but it wasn’t anything that demanded immediate
attention.

“You can now,” Potter said. “We can test to see if it works.”

“Alright.” Granger removed her coat and left it on a chair, unbothered by their caution.

“Granger, don’t…”

“Yes, yes. Don’t touch anything and watch where you walk,” she rolled her eyes, clearly used
to their concern. “Yes, I know. Let the potions work, and relax,” she added, squeezing
Draco’s shoulder lightly before heading toward the stairs.
He watched her go, catching Potter’s gaze for a moment. Then, he sipped his tea, feeling the
warmth spread through his body, and gradually began to feel more like himself.

His hand was still sore, and he was damp with sweat, but there was a noticeable
improvement. His neck, stiff from the stress, had loosened, and he let out a slow breath, his
body starting to recover. A bath, not a shower. He would need one when he got home.

“It worked!” she called as they apparated back down a moment later. “I couldn’t go upstairs
in recent years without feeling like I couldn’t breathe. It was so hot.”

“And before?”

Granger waved a hand dismissively. “I was only upstairs once before the war. You know, to
go to the library. I told you about it. I burned my hand.” She caught sight of Draco’s burned
hand again. “Oh, yes, let me heal that,” she said, sitting next to him.

“Oh, it’s not a big deal. Dissy can…”

She rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Malfoy,” she said, before looking at the watch on his other
hand. “You’re left-handed?”

Draco nodded.

“Then it is a big deal.”

Granger’s fingers wrapped around his hand, sending a jolt of warmth through his veins. A
soft orange light from her wand heated his skin. Or perhaps it wasn’t the light. Maybe it was
just the sensation of her warm fingers on his skin, and he imagined the rest.

He watched her, captivated by the way she focused on channeling her magic into the healing
spell. The quiet room hummed with the subtle rhythm of her magic, a soothing contrast to the
chaos of earlier.

The silence between them stretched until Potter cleared his throat, jolting Draco out of his
trance. He jerked his head towards him, momentarily forgetting they weren’t alone.

“I’m going to pick up the kids. I’ll be back in a few,” he said, glancing between them.

Draco couldn’t quite decipher his expression. Fucking auror poker face.

“Okay,” Granger said quietly, her focus not shifting from the task at hand.

Draco heard the faint whoosh of the floo, and then they were left alone. The quiet lingered.
Granger gently shifted his hand, searching for more burnt skin.

“I’m not very good with healing spells, sorry,” she murmured.

“That’s alright.”
Draco’s gaze lingered on her face, noticing how her makeup caught the light, giving her skin
a subtle glow. He couldn’t help but admire the way the brown and gold tones around her eyes
made them gleam.

“How was your meeting?” he asked, almost without thinking, his eyes still drawn to the
delicate sparkles on her cheeks.

“Nice. We talked a lot,” she replied absently. “I felt like I was in one of those jokes,” she
added, glancing up at him to see if he’d understand. “A Brit, a German, and a Russian walk
into a bar, you know?” She sighed after a moment. “Maybe you should ask your house-elf
after all.”

“Are you giving up?” Draco smirked. “I thought you didn’t do things halfway.”

“I also told you I know my limits,” she replied, still holding his hand.

There was a soft tension in the air, the faintest electricity. Draco’s fingers lingered on her
wrist, tracing gentle circles over the pulse point. It was as if he couldn’t bear to let go of her
touch just yet, not quite ready to face the distance that would come once they did.

“Thank you,” he said softly, his gaze flickering between her eyes and lips. “You look very
nice.”

She almost whispered, “Thanks.”

The moment was broken when the floo in the hallway flared again, followed by the sound of
quick footsteps. The mini Weasley girl appeared, rushing toward Granger.

“Aunty Mione!” she cried, and Granger caught her in her arms, lifting her onto her lap.

“Hello, love! How are you? What did you do today?” Granger brushed the girl’s red hair out
of her face with a fond smile.

The little girl held up something round and plastic in her hand. “Grandpa gave me this!”

“Oh, um…” Granger started, glancing over at Potter as he shook his head in resignation.

“Yeah, don’t ask.”

Draco felt that maybe it was time for him to leave. “Well, if you don’t need me anymore…”

“Yes, thank you for today,” Potter interrupted, frowning slightly. “Maybe we should give it
some time before we try again.”

Draco nodded. “I’ll be fine in two or three days.”

Granger’s voice was thoughtful as she added, “Maybe a bit longer than that. This is just the
potions doing their work. When they leave your system, you’ll still need to recover.”
 “Next weekend, or the one after that,” Potter agreed, looking relieved. “You did more than
enough today. Thank you again.”

Draco nodded again. “Well, we’ll be in touch.” He reached over to ruffle the little girl’s hair,
making her laugh. “You too, Granger.”

She narrowed her eyes on him. “Rest.”

Chapter End Notes

The third floor of 12 Grimmauld Place https://www.pinterest.com/tpzzz1105/in-the-

mood-for-truth/the-third-floor-of-12-grimmauld-place/
 Hermione

February 2013

"If I may say so, Miss Granger, you have an exquisite book collection," Alina commented,
running her fingers along the spines of well-worn volumes.

"Thank you." Hermione poured them more wine. "It’s not just me, though. My parents had a
hand in it. Probably more than I did."

Lucas stood from the sofa and wandered over to Alina, adjusting his glasses.

"Then they influenced you well. I can see who’s taking centre stage." She smirked, pointing
at the Russian classics. "Only the best."

Hermione raised her glass in agreement.

Lucas polished his lenses against his tie before squinting at the shelves. "Will I find any of
my fellow countrymen in there?"

"Of course, but they’re more to the sides, that’s where I put most of the philosophers,"
Hermione replied. "Left or right, depending on their views."

He let out a polite laugh. "Good system. I should implement it in my own library."

They had met several times over the past week, but their conversations had mostly revolved
around her book and her experiences. Tonight, though, she was curious about them.

"Is it common for wizards to take an interest in muggle literature where you’re from?"
Hermione asked.

Lucas raised an eyebrow. "Of course. I suspect British wizarding society is far more
segregated than you realise." His German accent was more pronounced now that he’d had a
drink. "Before I left Durmstrang and started travelling for work, I assumed your Muggles
kept wizards at a distance, but I soon learned it was the other way around."

"Most of my classmates pursued further education at muggle universities," Alina added, still
scanning the bookshelves. "I studied philology at Lomonosov University, as you probably
saw when you looked me up. We don’t generally live separately from them."

He returned to his seat. "Wizarding towns and villages are rare where I’m from. When they
do exist, they’re more for commerce - shops, communal potion labs, gardens. Not so much
residential areas." He sipped his wine and gave an approving nod.

Alina settled back into her armchair, lifting Crookshanks onto her lap.
He purred.

A rare show of approval.

"I wouldn’t even call this ‘muggle literature’," she mused. "It’s just... literature."

"We don’t use that distinction as often in everyday life," Lucas agreed, reaching to stroke
Crookshanks.

He hissed, and Alina smirked.

"I doubt many languages even have a word for ‘Muggle’," he went on. "We just borrow
yours. Which is probably for the best, considering the few that do tend to use something
less... flattering."

Alina scratched Crookshanks absentmindedly. "In Serbian, they say ‘normalci,’ ‘the normal
ones’. Not derogatory, just descriptive."

"Oh, yes, I noticed that," Hermione said. "I visited Serbia and Bosnia with my dad last year."

She remembered struggling to find any well-known wizarding settlements, but when she
contacted the embassy, they directed her to hidden pockets of the magical community -
farmers’ markets, botanical gardens, tucked-away cafés.

Lucas swirled his wine. "It all starts with language, Miss Granger. It reflects our society, the
progress we make, or fail to make, over time."

Hermione had learned he was a middle-aged man with children who had attended
Durmstrang alongside Alina, though not in the same year.

"Words are sharp tools," he continued, "if you know how to wield them properly." They
nodded in agreement, and Lucas lifted his glass. "I’m glad we had this evening together."

"Yes, it was lovely," Alina said. "I’ve never been to London before. I must say, I enjoyed it."
She frowned. "The weather? Not so much."

Hermione chuckled. "Yes, I’m afraid you weren’t particularly lucky there."

She glanced out the window. Rain lashed against the glass. It had barely stopped since they’d
arrived.

Lucas smiled. "Hopefully, the next time they send us here, it’ll be summer."

After several hours of conversation, Hermione found herself with a wealth of new knowledge
about Durmstrang.

"So you had multiple professors teaching the core subjects, and if you wanted, you could
attend lectures by someone from your own country?" Hermione asked, swirling the last of her
wine.
Lucas nodded. "That’s right. As we moved into the later years, we had more electives in
smaller groups, often with fewer professors. They used translation spells so students could
hear the lectures in their own language."

Alina chimed in, "For example, my Ancient Creatures professor spoke Swedish, but I heard
him in Russian."

"Ancient Creatures?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," Alina said. "We studied chimaeras, sphinxes, pegasi, things like that. It was one of my
favourite courses."

Sounds much more interesting than Care of Magical Creatures.

"Oh, and I had a professor who was a Parselmouth. So we also learned to speak it ourselves,"
she said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Hermione stared at her, genuinely impressed. "That’s… incredible. I’ve only met a handful of
Parselmouths in my life, and they were all descendants of Salazar Slytherin."

Lucas gave a knowing smile. "That’s… a common misconception. There are plenty of
Parselmouths who aren’t descended from Slytherin. It’s just that, in Britain, the ability is
closely tied to the Dark Arts and, by extension, your Slytherin house."

Hermione nodded. "Why did you go to Durmstrang, if you don’t mind me asking? Rather
than… the school in Russia? I’m sorry, I can never pronounce it properly."

"Koldovstoretz," Alina said with a small smile. "My family moved to Germany when I was
young, and they didn’t want to send me so far away. Durmstrang was… closer."

The next morning, Hermione went to Grimmauld Place to help Ginny with the cleanup.
She’d taken the kids to the Burrow first, and Harry lifted the wards to let them in before
heading off to work. Malfoy, meanwhile, had removed the wards from all the rooms. The one
on the right, next to the large, cluttered room, turned out to be a small lavatory.

Ginny didn’t have practice that day, as the weather was miserable, so they decided to tackle
some of the objects left behind. Hermione ran through a few spells with her beforehand to
avoid any nasty surprises. They started with the big room the Ministry workers had attempted
to clear before, removing what they could one by one. Some artefacts could be discarded
easily, while others required both of them working together. As they went, they piled the
objects into the open hallway.

"Did you know they have to sign a binding contract to stop them from revealing the exact
location of the castle?" Hermione said absently, vanishing yet another potentially murderous
candlestick.

"I mean, sounds easier than casting a load of spells over an entire castle and its grounds,"
Ginny said, pointing her wand at an empty picture frame with an unnaturally dark centre.
"They should do that at Hogwarts too."

"Perhaps," Hermione murmured, waving her hand to push the candlestick into the hall with
the other cleared objects. She glanced towards the rooms on the left.

"When’s Malfoy coming to open those two?" she asked. "I want to see what’s inside."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "They won’t let us be here for that."

"Ugh, you just had to walk in there."

"You literally just said you were curious."

"Yeah, but I wanted to see it from a safe distance," Hermione clarified. "I’m not about to
stroll in there like it’s Covent Garden. It’s a shopping place," she added before Ginny could
ask.

They returned to the task at hand, sorting through the remaining objects in silence for a few
minutes before Ginny broke it.

"So… are you still having your regular non-dates with Malfoy?" she asked casually.

"No." Hermione rolled her eyes. "And define ‘regular’."

Their weekly coffee meetings had been replaced by research sessions in Hermione’s living
room. Despite her determination to put some distance between them over the holidays, she
couldn’t help but miss their discussions.

Her time in Tarragona and Barcelona with Daphne had been enjoyable. Meeting Sofia and
David was fun, but she still found herself missing hi… his little jokes and offhand comments.
So when he didn’t refuse her offer to help with the research, she was almost embarrassingly
pleased. It felt good to spend time with him again, but this time, on a more intellectual level.
She had never seen this side of Malfoy before.

Of course, she knew he was intelligent, he had always been an exceptional student, often
close behind her at the top. But now, watching him intently as he worked through a
translation, she found herself stealing glances at his face. He didn’t react much, but she could
tell when he was pleased with himself. He muttered nouns under his breath, testing different
declensions, and Latin sounded even more noble and mystical in his smooth, steady voice.

He was meticulous, his penmanship precise and elegant, taking his time over each line. He
worked with a pen and paper, not a quill and parchment, and the sight of him in her home, on
her sofa from Ikea, in joggers and a T-shirt, felt almost surreal. Thank goodness he’d started
wearing T-shirts.

She could observe him much better now than she ever could in his usual crisp button-downs.
He was tall and lean, and it was obvious he hadn’t been lying about swimming regularly. He
had the build for it.
Once, he’d arrived straight from a shower, his hair still damp around his face, and she’d
caught the faint, expensive scent of whatever products he used. He probably had a different
product for everything. Moisturisers, aftershave, something specifically for his hair.
Definitely not a three-in-one bottle from Tesco for a fiver. No, Malfoy clearly took care of
himself.

He was glamouring his tattoo and, she suspected, some other parts of his arm. Probably scars.
She didn’t ask.

As he gradually lowered his walls, Hermione found herself more and more drawn to him. He
was different now, more relaxed, more real, and it only made him more attractive.

She couldn't stop thinking about the way he’d held her hand a week ago. God, I’m so
pathetic. Getting all randy because a man touched my wrist. Who am I, a Victorian maiden?

She remembered that scene from Pride and Prejudice, when Darcy touched Elizabeth’s hand
and flexed his fingers afterwards. Well, at least I’m more discreet than he was.

Did I just compare myself to Mr Darcy?!

She was becoming obsessed. She needed to let this out, somehow.

Hermione cleared her throat. "What are the chances of me complaining about something and
you not sharing it with your husband?" she asked, her gaze drifting to an empty vase on the
floor.

"Depends on what it is. Harry’s been quite the gossip lately," Ginny said, casting spells to
tidy up the room. She sighed dramatically. "Fine, I won’t. What’s going on with Malfoy?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"What? Do you think I’m stupid?" Ginny smirked.

"No, I just don’t like to think of myself as predictable."

"You’re not," Ginny said. "For example, I don’t know if you just want to shag him, fancy
him, or want to marry him and live in a castle somewhere."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Okay, let’s not push it."

The vase was being difficult, and Hermione’s back was turned to Ginny, so she didn’t have to
face her while speaking. "Probably the first one," she mumbled.

"Probably?" Ginny laughed. "Alright. I mean, it’s fine. We’re not blind. He is very good-
looking."

Hermione rolled her eyes again. "He’s not very good-looking, Ginny. He looks like
Michelangelo sculpted him," she said, frowning.

He really did.
She couldn’t stop thinking about his hands, his fingers, and the most indecent thoughts she
didn’t want to share with Ginny.

"If you say so. You know I only have eyes for my husband." She chuckled lightly, and
Hermione huffed. "Seriously though, what’s the actual problem?"

"You know what the problem is," she muttered, still distracted with the vase.

"Didn’t you talk about it?"

"We did, when I thought I just needed to be civil with him for the sake of civility," Hermione
explained. "And then again, when we got closer, I wanted to see if we could be friends. But
this..."

"Then try talking again?" Ginny suggested, moving to the next frame.

"I don’t know..."

The vase finally cracked a little when Hermione changed spells. She levitated it beside
Ginny’s frame.

"Do you think he feels the same way?"

"Oh, I know he does," Hermione said quickly. "It’s just..."

Ginny crossed her arms, smirking.

"Oh, come on, men are simple." Hermione rolled her eyes. "I wore a basic black tank top, and
he looked at me like I was wearing a garter belt and stockings. What would that say to you?"

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "Okay. So what’s the problem, then?" she asked, genuinely
serious now. "I mean, you’re both single adults, attracted to each other. Just do it and think of
the consequences later," she shrugged.

"That’s... the worst advice ever." Hermione shook her head. "Don’t tell Harry."

"I won’t, and I don’t have to. He’s suspicious already," Ginny smirked again, focusing back
on another frame.

When the weather improved over the next few days, Ginny was gone, and Hermione was left
alone with the cleanup. It became a bit dull and, at times, scary, especially when she
encountered more difficult artefacts.

Every day after work, Harry would check the items she'd cleaned up and either invite some
clerks from the Ministry to dispose of them or take the ones Hermione said posed the most
trouble. One evening, after Harry returned from the Ministry, Malfoy arrived.

“What are you doing here?”

Hermione didn’t hear him. He was just suddenly there, standing in front of the door, walking
in like he owned the place.

"Fuck, Malfoy, you scared me!" She frowned at him. “Apparate louder, or better yet, away
from here so I can prepare.”

“What are you doing here alone?” he crossed his arms, his brow furrowed.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, nothing, just enjoying some tea with this delightful young lady over
here.” She pointed at a particularly creepy-looking porcelain doll. It was missing an eye but
still in decent shape. "Not very talkative, but a good listener."

“Have you been here alone every day?”

“Not every day. Since Ginny went off to practice, yes,” she shrugged, squatting down next to
a small jewellery box that held a pile of bobby pins.

“Why are you being so irresponsible?”

“I’m really not,” Hermione smiled and pointed to a corner. “I found that cabinet buried under
piles of blankets, which I disposed of successfully. And not only have I not opened it, I didn’t
even think about it. See?” She tapped her temple with her wand. “Very responsible.”

“Do you want an award?” he wasn’t amused, his expression growing more serious and, to her
surprise, angry.

“No, but if you could remove that pleasant look from your face, I’d appreciate it.”

He didn’t change his expression.

“Seriously, nothing’s happened. The only thing that scared me today is you.” She stood up.
“And that portrait the other day. So I just avoid looking at it.” She shuddered, remembering
the image. It reminded her of Munch’s The Scream, still, yet with eyes that moved and felt
too human.

He glanced back at the hallway, clearly not satisfied with her answer. “You did all of that
since Red left?”

“No, I did it all today.”

He frowned even more. Hermione wasn’t sure that was even possible at this point.

“I really don’t have anything else to do. Kreacher made me lunch, and I’m going home as
soon as I’m done with this box. It’s the last hair-related item I could find.” She gestured at the
box. “I think I’ll need to find something that can cast multiple charms for small objects like
these.” Hermione chuckled lightly. “Not even I have this many bobby pins.”

Malfoy, still serious, wasn’t laughing.

“Oh, come on, I even made a joke about my hair. You love doing those. Why are you mad?”
He rolled his eyes, clearly frustrated. “Because, Granger, your sense of self-preservation is so
ridiculously low that I don’t know how you’ve managed to survive this long.”

“Wow.” Well… now I’m annoyed too. She huffed, squatting down again next to the box. “I
guess I just got lucky, then.”

“What?”

“I guess my personal qualities and abilities couldn’t possibly be the reason for that.” She
focused on the bobby pins, avoiding his gaze.

“Stop with the self-depreciation, it’s...”

“Self-deprecation? I’m not feeling self-deprecating, Malfoy. I’m just interpreting what you
said.” She didn’t want to look at him. “I have a rather high opinion of my survival skills.”

“Granger.”

She ignored him, her frustration building. Why does he still have this power to make me feel
so...

“Granger? Don’t ignore me. I’m just worried that...”

“Well, don’t be, okay? I’m fine.” She took a deep breath. “Fucking cursed bobby pins and
dolls,” she muttered under her breath. “I’ve dealt with worse, you know.”

Malfoy let out a long sigh, stepping closer. “I… I know. I know you have. That’s why I’m
saying this.” He hesitated, the words stumbling out. “I don’t want... I don’t want something to
happen to you because of my family... again. In another one of their homes.”

Oh no.

Hermione stiffened.

It had never occurred to her before.

She felt it in her chest, a sudden lurch that seemed to seize her heart, pushing it up to her
throat. It was his family again. Their house. Her house.

Her heart beat wildly, too fast, as if it were trying to escape her body.

"Granger, I'm sorry," he blurted out, and she heard him move closer. "I didn’t mean..."

"It's fine. I..." she stood up abruptly, feeling the blood rush to her ears. In her haste, she
kicked the small box on the floor, sending bobby pins scattering everywhere.

She froze, waiting for something sinister to happen.

Just a moment.

But nothing did.

Okay.

"It's okay, I didn’t die," she muttered, though she couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

Her breath came too fast, her chest tightening as if the walls of the room were closing in on
her. She needed to get out.

"Don't move... anything. I'll deal with this... tomorrow." Her voice was strained, but she
forced herself to walk past him, desperate to leave the room.

It felt too hot.

Too suffocating.

"Granger, don't, I’m sorry..." he reached out, grabbing her arm.

She froze at his touch.

"Don’t touch me, please," she whispered, the tremor in her voice barely recognisable, even to
her.

"Okay." His tone shifted immediately, stepping away as though she might break under his
fingers.

She couldn’t bear it.

With a flick of her wand, Hermione apparated to the hallway, her mind in turmoil. She risked
splinching, unable to focus on anything but escaping. Her legs felt like they might betray her,
and she was sure she couldn’t face the stairs. She marched through the kitchen, not sparing a
glance for the people at the table.

"I'm done for today! See you tomorrow!" Her voice sounded fake, too high-pitched, even to
her own ears.

She heard Harry’s voice faintly, “Oh, don’t you want to stay for din...” before his words were
swallowed by the green flames that whisked her away to her own living room.

It’s fine now. I’m home. My home.

She collapsed onto the floor next to the armchair where Crooks usually slept. Breathe. She
looked up at the two paintings above the sofa. Breathe. Her wand shaking, she closed the
fireplace with a flick. Breathe. She glanced at the basket of fruit on the coffee table. Fresh
fruit, bought yesterday. Breathe.

The carpet beneath her fingers was soft, a welcome contrast to the hard, cold floors of the
house that used to belong to them. It was warm. Safe. Breathe.

Crooks, likely sensing her distress, jumped onto her lap, purring loudly as he kneaded her.
His soft, short orange fur was a comfort. Not long and dark.
Not like her hair. She’s dead. I’m not. I’m here. Breathe.

She reached for an orange, peeling it slowly, methodically. Breathe. The scent of the citrus
filled the air, cutting through the overwhelming tension in her chest.

She could hear the slow drip of water in the kitchen sink. Water. Not my blood on the floor.
Water. Breathe. She turned her gaze toward the window. Crooks purred louder, his soft body
comforting in her lap. Breathe. A car passed by on the street. Breathe.

The sweet scent of the orange filled her senses as she finished peeling it. A little tang of the
bacon she had for breakfast lingered in the air. Breathe.

She hadn’t opened the window to let in fresh air. It didn’t matter. It smelled like home. My
home.

Hermione took a piece of the orange and tasted the sweet-sour juice. But it was fine,
refreshing. She wasn’t even hungry, but she chewed and swallowed just to taste something.
Breathe. She hasn't had fruit since yesterday. When she ate the whole thing, she felt like she
could breathe again.

She sat still for a few more minutes, her mind racing. She decided it was best to reach out to
Silva immediately. Grabbing her wand, she activated the floo and quickly apologized for the
late, unscheduled call to her secretary who connected them quickly.

“Hermione, it’s good to see you again,” Silva’s voice came through, though it lacked much
enthusiasm.

“Nice to see you too,” Hermione replied flatly.

“What happened?”

“I had another episode,” she replied, nodding as though to soothe herself. “But I managed to
ground myself.”

“I see,” Silva said, scribbling something down. “When did this happen?”

“About… half an hour ago, maybe.”

“Okay. How are you feeling now?”

“Not great. My breathing and heartbeat are normal, but I still feel… off.”

“You were able to stabilise yourself, though,” Silva noted.

“Yes, I did the exercise again,” she confirmed.

“That’s good. Could you tell me what you think caused it?”

Hermione briefly described her new routine, trying to bring Silva up to speed, including her
recent conversation with Malfoy at his aunt's former house.
“He touched my arm to stop me from leaving,” Hermione added, feeling the familiar unease
settle in her chest. She hated that she was disgusted by it.

“Your left arm?” Silva inquired.

“Yes,” Hermione replied. “I didn’t tell him about my boundaries, though. I didn’t think I
needed to.”

“Why not?”

Hermione shifted uncomfortably, her face flushing with embarrassment. “I don’t know. We’re
not close enough for that kind of… familiarity.” She sighed, rolling her eyes. “It’s ridiculous,
really. He’s touched me before. I’ve touched him. I even kissed him.”

“You kissed him?” Silva repeated.

“To thank him for the gift. Not romantically,” Hermione clarified quickly. “And I was also
healing him, holding his hand. He was holding mine at the time. I’m not uncomfortable with
his touch in general, but…”

She trailed off, unsure of how to finish. Silva watched her with a kind, knowing gaze.

“But he moved far away when I told him not to touch me. And now I feel like he’ll never
touch me again,” Hermione whispered, the feeling of shame lingering at the back of her
throat.

“You don’t know that,” Silva said gently. “He probably stepped away because you looked
upset. You told him to stop touching you, and he reacted instinctively. He didn’t want to
make you feel worse. Why is that your primary concern?"

“It's not my primary concern, but it is one of them,” Hermione said, almost rolling her eyes.

“What are the others?” Silva asked.

“That these attacks will happen more often now that he’s around. He was there when it
happened before. I’ll have to go back to clean up that room, and I’m afraid I’ll always
remember this moment. What if it spreads to the whole floor? To the house? What if I can’t
even go to Harry and Ginny’s without worrying I’ll suffocate in their fucking kitchen?” She
exhaled sharply, her shoulders sagging. “I’m sorry,” she added almost in a whisper.

“That’s alright,” Silva said. “Have you felt this way about the house recently?”

Hermione paused, reflecting. “Not recently. After the war, yes. For a while. But Harry and
Ginny turned it into a proper family home, you know? Nice wallpaper, cheerful paintings. No
portraits screaming slurs at me.” She managed a bitter smile. “It’s a miracle, really. It doesn’t
look anything like it used to. And I let it slip from my mind, I stopped thinking about who the
house once belonged to. But now…” Hermione faltered, the weight of it all creeping back.
“What do I do if I get these attacks when I go back there? Or when I talk to him?”
“You don’t know if that will happen,” Silva said, narrowing her eyes slightly as if considering
something. “But you know what you’re doing now?”

She huffed in frustration. “Obsessing and overthinking. Do you have an exercise for that?”

“You can try the one you do most often. Your favourite.''

Hermione smiled humorlessly and nodded.

“Be honest. Share your boundaries,” Silva said. “You can always make a mess on your
bookshelf again, if you want to.” Was that a joke?

“It’s a very organised mess."

Hermione was about to head to the bathroom for a long, much-needed bath when she heard a
knock at her door. It was late, too late for anyone she expected to visit. Frowning in
confusion, she walked over to the door and peered through the peephole.

She frowned further, then unlocked the door.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“You locked your floo,” Ron shrugged. “Had to use the primitive way of knocking.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Yes, as opposed to the more civilised method of bursting through
the fireplace in the middle of the room.” She narrowed her eyes. “Unannounced.”

Ron laughed it off. “May I come in?”

She sighed and stepped aside, allowing him entry. “This is awfully coincidental.” They went
to the living room, and Hermione settled onto the couch. “What are you doing here?”

Ron scratched Crookshanks' head.

The two of them now have a cordial enough relationship.

“Here’s a sentence I never thought I'd say: Malfoy said you were upset and that someone
should follow you to make sure you're okay.” He looked at Hermione’s confused expression.
“I was in the kitchen with Harry when you stormed in like a banshee,” he explained.

“Oh, I didn’t see you,” she muttered, feeling embarrassed.

“When you stormed in like an upset banshee,” he corrected with a teasing smile.

“Yes, yes.”

“Harry tried to floo right away,” Ron continued. Of course he did. “I told him to wait an hour,
so you’d have time to calm down. I had to convince him it’s what you needed.” Of course
you did.
Hermione couldn’t help but chuckle, despite herself. “Thank you for doing that. I can’t
believe I call that man my friend. He doesn’t know me at all.”

“He always acts before thinking.”

“How is he good at his job? I’ll never understand it.”

“I think they give him a lot of passes. You know, saviour of the world and all that.” He eyed
her more seriously now. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. “I talked about it with my healer.”

Ron didn’t press, instead asking gently, “Do you want to talk about it with your friend?”

At those words, she felt her tears welling up. As she looked at him, they began to spill over,
her body trembling with emotion.

“Come here,” Ron said softly, opening his arms.

She leaned into him, tears soaking his shoulder as she cried on the sofa. He simply held her,
not rushing her, as she poured her heart out, explaining everything that had been troubling her
recently. Well, almost everything.

He didn’t flinch when she mentioned Malfoy spending weeks in her living room working on
their potions and spells. Nor did he blame Malfoy when she explained what had triggered her.
Ron simply waited, letting her words come without interruption.

When Hermione was done, he waited patiently, his hand gently stroking her hair as she
calmed. Finally, he spoke, his voice soft but sure.

“I know what you’re thinking, you know,” he murmured. “And you’re wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not weak, Mione,” Ron reassured her. “We’re all dealing with this in different ways.”

“Then why does it feel like it’s only me who’s dealing with it so badly?” she asked, her voice
breaking.

Ron let out a sigh, looking at her with a mixture of understanding and sadness. “Has it ever
occurred to you that maybe you had it a bit worse than we did?”

Hermione lifted her head, surprised. “Ron, you’ve lost…” Your brother. Bill’s forever
changed. “We’ve lost so many people.”

“I’m not talking about losses,” Ron interrupted gently. “I’m talking about everything else.
You had to erase your parents from your life. Or rather, you had to erase you from theirs.
Then you had to fix them. Before we had a year of madness while you tried to fix me and
Harry and clean up Dumbledore’s mess. Then there was that whole thing… in the manor.
And you tried to fix society, the government, even our relationship,” he shook his head. “You
only started fixing yourself a few years ago, right when you moved to Tarragona, right?”

Hermione nodded, her throat tightening as she reflected on the years gone by.

“If you’d started earlier, maybe it would be easier by now. But you’d still have years of hard
work behind you,” Ron added.

She stayed silent.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re allowed to feel this way. And you’re not weak,” he
said firmly, pulling her into a tighter hug. “You’re the strongest person I know. And now…
you’re also exercising, so you’re a double threat.”

Hermione chuckled.

“How much do you lift?”

“I can deadlift almost twice my weight,” Hermione said with a shrug, though her sniffles
betrayed the attempt at levity.

“And how much is that?” he asked, clearly joking now.

Hermione snorted softly.

“I’m joking,” Ron added quickly.

“Thank you,” she said after a while, feeling comforted by his words and embrace. “Thank
you for this. I’m sorry I ruined your dinner.”

“You haven’t,” he replied, removing his arm from her shoulders. “Susan and Ginny are there
now. You should come.”

“No, it seems like a couples’ night. I’m sorry again.” She blushed, embarrassed by the way
she’d hijacked their evening.

“I said it’s fine,” Ron insisted, giving her knee a gentle squeeze. “But you can make it up to
me by unblocking the floo so I don’t have to walk.”

“Where did you apparate from?” she asked.

“Near the school.”

Hermione gave him a pointed look. “Ron, that’s like a hundred metres away. Maybe you
should hit the gym too.”

He laughed and they moved to the fireplace.

“Can you tell him not to come? I don’t want to talk to anyone right now,” she said.
“Of course,” Ron nodded, then looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Another sentence I never
thought I’d say: Malfoy said to inform him about your well-being as soon as I return to
Harry’s.” His expression shifted from curiosity to mild confusion. “Harry had to force him to
go back to his own house.”

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. Relief and anxiety swirled together.

“Do I want to ask?”

“No,” she replied honestly, not meeting his gaze. “There’s nothing much to say, really.”

Ron gave her a look of surprise, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he excused himself,
leaving her alone to stew in her thoughts.

After he left, Hermione took a long bath, letting the warm water wash over her while she
reflected on his words. She ate a quiet dinner, read a book, and, for a while, felt like the world
had slowed down. But despite her best efforts not to think about it, a nightmare came anyway.
It was the first one since summer, since the night Pansy had stayed with her. Now, there was
no one to comfort her, and she was left to face the remnants of her fears alone.

She arrived at Harry's place in the morning, and he greeted her with coffee and a concerned
expression.

"I can't talk about it again. And I can't have coffee," she said flatly.

Harry immediately slipped into his auror mode. "That's alright. I've heard both Ron and
Malfoy's versions, so I’ve got about eighty percent of the story," he said, studying her face
carefully. "You shouldn’t work today."

Hermione shook her head. "I need a distraction."

"Is this really going to help you distract yourself?"

"I don’t know yet."

"I can’t have you there if you're not absolutely calm and focused," Harry warned.

"I’m both."

He wasn’t convinced. "Are you?"

"I took a calming draught," Hermione explained. "That’s why I can't drink coffee. It’s not
advised."

"Your reflexes might be slow, and don't even get me started on your focus," Harry pointed
out.
If the calming draught hadn’t worked, Hermione would have been offended. "Nothing moves
in there. What do I need perfect reflexes for? And I’m always attentive."

He stepped closer and looked her in the eyes. "Can I count on you to be your responsible
adult self and stop when you feel it’s too much?"

"You can," she replied, more firmly now.

"Fine. You're stubborn as a mule," Harry muttered and went back to his seat to drink his
coffee. "So, in the name of full disclosure, I’ll have Kreacher watch over you the entire time."

"Great, my senior citizen bestie and I will have a great day," Hermione said, trying to make
light of the situation, but there was a note of exhaustion in her voice.

It wasn’t so bad, really.

Just more boring than the previous day.

She spent the morning clearing away bobby pins and moving them to the hallway. As she
tidied up around the vanity, she cast a spell to cover all the mirrors in sight. Her thoughts
drifted to Malfoy’s books as she remembered a note about reflective surfaces having many
functions, especially those made with silver.

She wasn’t sure if Malfoy would show up again after Harry’s return, so she left before Harry
usually came back from work. She headed home, read her book, then took a bath and tried to
sleep. But once again, her sleep was interrupted by another nightmare.

Tomorrow felt like it would be the same.

She worked.

Came home.

Went to sleep.

Had a nightmare.

When the same thing happened after the third day, she went to Harry's in the morning and
said she won't be able to do it in the next few days. That routine was not good for her and she
needed to change it. See? I'm being responsible.

She tried to fill the next few days with activities that offered her comfort and a semblance of
normalcy. She went to the gym, did some shopping with Daphne, and had tea with Luna and
Padma. She had missed them all, especially after being so consumed by her work with
Malfoy for nearly a month, followed by a week of working with translators and another week
spent cleaning.
One particular day, Hermione took Albus out for a car ride. He chatted animatedly about the
films and cartoons he had watched with Scorpius. Daphne had had him over for a sleepover,
and Hermione wanted to share in the simple joy of a car ride. It was a new experience for
Scorpius, and his excitement was absolutely infectious.

Daphne, on the other hand, wasn’t exactly thrilled but tolerated it, as always. The only times
she’d ever been in a car were when she was too drunk to care.

They also took the boys to a toy store, where they eagerly showed Hermione all the
merchandise from their favourite shows. The boys were thrilled, and Hermione couldn’t help
but smile at the happiness on their faces. Daphne, surprisingly, was equally charmed,
especially when she bought Scorpius a cute blue and yellow SpongeBob pyjama set.
Hermione let Albus pick out a sweatshirt for himself.

“I want the one with Toy Story,” Albus pointed at a design with wide eyes. “Hey, we’re in the
toy store now, and I’ve got a Toy Story shirt!” He laughed, clearly pleased with himself.

Later, as they sat down for ice cream, Scorpius continued to chat excitedly. "So, are we ever
going to find out the secret recipe?" His wide eyes looked up at Hermione expectantly.

"I don't know," she said, trying to think it through. "I haven't watched all the episodes.
They're still making them. Maybe someday, though."

Luna's birthday was always a special occasion for their friends. With Valentine's Day right
after, it was the perfect time to have some fun with the girls and let loose. Luna had suggested
celebrating somewhere muggle, so Hermione found a club she thought they'd enjoy. But
before hitting the town, they stopped by Luna’s shop to try some herbs and weeds. They were
all more than relaxed afterwards, except for Pansy, who declared that someone had to stay
sober and take care of them, and of course, Ginny, because she was an athlete.

When they arrived at the club, Padma and Daphne were in their element, dancing wildly to
the beat. Parvati wasn’t as keen on the electronic music, but she kept drinking and dancing
anyway. Luna had also invited Cho and two other Ravenclaw women Hermione didn’t know
well. One of them was muggleborn and knew almost all the songs, so she spent most of the
night dancing with her.

Despite the excitement of the night, the combination of herbs and alcohol left Hermione with
a terrible hangover the next day. She woke up with her head pounding. No way am I going to
the gym this morning.

Hermione took a painkiller, cursing all the indulgence from the previous night, but strangely
feeling slightly grateful that she hadn’t had a nightmare. That’s it, then. All I have to do is
become an addict.

The medicine barely helped, so after breakfast, she floo-called Pansy to make sure she wasn’t
interrupting anything. When she was certain she wasn’t, she flooed to their flat and collapsed
on the sofa as soon as she arrived.
“The night was that good, huh?” Charlie laughed from an armchair.

“Yes. Don’t you see how fantastic I feel today?” She barely lifted her head from the pillow.
“Where’s Pansy?”

“In the bathroom.”

“Oh, I just came to ask for some hangover potion. Can you give me one so I can leave you
two alone?”

“I don’t think we have any. Pans!” Charlie yelled, and Hermione felt like an entire orchestra
was playing inside her head. “Is there any hangover potion in there?!”

“No, but whichever inebriate is there can now reap what she sowed!” Pansy yelled back.

“Come on, Pans, you promised to take care of us,” Hermione called, slightly louder. “This is
not taking care of me!”

“My official duty expired the moment I delivered you to your home!”

Hermione blinked. Come to think of it, I don’t even know how I got back home.

Pansy smirked at Hermione when she leaned over the headrest. “Go to Theo. He always has
some in the stack.”

“Can you do it, please?” she asked. “I don’t even know if I’m allowed through his floo. I
don’t remember the last time I was there.”

Pansy sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine. Stay there.”

“If I could literally never move from here, I wouldn’t,” Hermione said. She glanced at
Charlie. “This sofa is so comfortable.”

“It helps when you don’t buy your furniture from a store that makes you put it together like a
puzzle,” he smirked.

She frowned. “Since when are you such a snob?”

“Here it is.” Pansy returned sooner than expected, holding a small vial. “And I’m sorry, but it
comes with a price.” She stepped aside, and Theo walked in, grinning.

“Well, hello there,” he greeted everyone, looking at Hermione with an amused glint in his
eye.

She rolled her eyes and sat up. “What do you want?”

Pansy handed her the vial.

“To ask my good friend Charlie something. Business-related.” Theo smirked, observing
Hermione like she was a rare animal. “I’ve never seen a sloshed Granger before. It’s like the
aurora borealis, a rare natural phenomenon. I didn’t want to miss it.”

“That's a fairly common sighting,” Hermione said, feeling better the moment the potion
touched her tongue. “So is me being drunk. I just never ask you for help.”

She winked at him, feeling fully energized in an instant, with no headache whatsoever. With a
glance at the other two, she exited through the fireplace.

“Have a nice Valentine’s Day!”

Hermione walked into her kitchen, her eyes scanning the counters and shelves for any
ingredients or utensils that might be out of place. She remembered the salmon in the freezer
and placed it on a plate to defrost on the counter, mentally reminding herself to prepare it for
dinner. She then moved on to her least favourite task - house chores.

With a flick of her wand, the vacuum cleaner sprang to life. She then turned next to the
ironing board and waved her wand to smooth out the wrinkles in her clothes before using her
wand as well to wipe down the surfaces with a cleaning solution, grateful for magic that
made these mundane tasks a breeze.

When she was done, she grabbed a quick leftover lunch and set timers on both the oven and
the rice cooker so the dishes she’d prepared earlier would be nearly ready when she returned
from the gym.

The workout was grueling, but the post-sauna relaxation helped. The loud beats of 2000s
music on the car stereo kept her pumped up as she drove back home.

As she walked into the house, humming along to a Britney Spears song that had somehow
gotten stuck in her head, she made her way to the kitchen, eager to check on the salmon.
Things were going according to plan, and dinner would be ready soon… until she walked
into the living room and froze, her heart skipping a beat.

Malfoy was standing there, looking far too comfortable in her space. “Don’t be scared,” he
said, his gaze lingering on the spines of the books.

She raised an eyebrow. “Well, it’s too late for that. What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you,” he replied, still fixated on the books. “What’s with all the Chinese
religions?”

“They’re not religions, they’re philosophies,” Hermione corrected him, frowning more. “And
I don’t appreciate you just appearing like this. What are you really doing here?”

He finally turned to face her, frowning as well. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, his voice
low, sending an unwelcome chill down her spine. “What’s so special about… taoism?”

“I need more harmony in my life and to learn how to connect with myself,” she deadpanned,
walking towards the kitchen. “And I’m not avoiding you.”

She checked the oven and the rice cooker, her mind on dinner. Fifteen more minutes. Perfect.
Malfoy stepped closer, but kept a safe distance by the kitchen island. “You left the oven on
while you were away,” he said, his tone oddly serious. “What if something burned your house
down?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “It’s a timer. It’s meant to be used like this. I’m not doing anything
out of the ordinary. It’s perfectly safe.” Frustration was creeping into her voice. “Why are you
here?”

“I told you,” he said, his gaze turning more intense. “I’ve been waiting for you. Because
you’ve been avoiding me.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “And now you’re here. So what?”

Malfoy glared at her, his annoyance evident, as Hermione let out a heavy sigh and placed her
palms flat on the kitchen island. Alright, this is the exercise now.

"Not all the time," she began, trying to sound composed. "For the first two or three days after
I nearly had yet another episode in front of you, I left the house every day before you would
show up. After that, I couldn’t go because my nightmares got worse, and I assumed it was
just the stress. So, I had to separate myself from the source of it, the house, for a moment."
She took a deep breath. "I haven’t been avoiding you since."

Malfoy’s expression softened, no longer angry, but now showing concern. That’s just great.

"I just did other things, things I normally do. We simply don’t run in the same circles," she
continued, trying to remain calm and get the words out before her nerves got the best of her.

He just watched her.

"Satisfied?"

"No," he said, shaking his head.

Hermione rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. "Listen, Malfoy, I just came back
from the gym. I want to take a nice shower, have a quiet dinner, and…"

"Of course, don’t worry," he interrupted, nodding politely. "Sounds great. Can’t wait to try
it." He turned and sat down on the sofa, settling into his usual spot. "I’ll be waiting for you
right here."

“Excuse me?” Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, I just assumed you’d invite me to stay since I saw you prepared two of whatever that
is," he added, gesturing lazily to the kitchen while flipping through a self-help book he once
claimed he didn’t need.

She frowned. "Salmon with herbs, butter, and lemon slices."

"My favourite," Malfoy said in a flat tone, still not looking at her as he turned another page of
the book. "How did you know?"
"You're messing up my plan for the day," she grumbled.

"Take your time," he replied, as though it didn’t matter in the slightest. "I’ll keep myself
busy."

Hermione resisted the urge to storm off like a petulant child. Instead, she made her way to the
bathroom for a quick shower, the anger and frustration of the past few days bubbling up
inside her.

In her rush, she forgot to bring in the clothes she intended to wear after the shower. With a
frustrated huff, she ran upstairs and grabbed whatever was on the armchair. She hastily put on
the tank top she’d been sleeping in, paired it with sweatpants, and rushed back downstairs.

Malfoy was sitting in the same spot, watching her every move as she crossed the room to
grab her wand.

"That was fast."

"I had fifteen minutes left on the timer."

She glanced at her reflection in the window, using a drying charm on her hair but stopping
before it was fully dry. Her curls always looked better when left to dry naturally. From the
corner of her eye, she noticed Malfoy eyeing her up and down.

"What happens after that?"

"The house explodes," she said sarcastically, not even trying to hide the annoyance in her
voice.

Malfoy didn't respond immediately, but Hermione heard him release an annoyed sigh, and
she suddenly felt embarrassed by her behaviour.

"Nothing, it just beeps when it’s done and turns off automatically," she added quickly, her
tone softening as she walked back to the kitchen. "I just like to… follow the schedule I
made."

Malfoy moved closer and sat at the chair across from her at the island. His eyes followed her
movements as she checked on the salmon fillets cooking in the oven.

"Of course you do."

Hermione hesitated before speaking. "I… I don't appreciate it when people ridicule me for
these things."

Her voice was careful, and she focused on the salmon as if it would give her the strength to
say the next words. She picked up the fillets in parchment and placed them on the plates.

"I'm not making fun of you, I swear," Malfoy said seriously, and Hermione caught something
genuine in his expression. She looked at him, meeting his gaze, and he added, "You respect
time and schedules. Yours and others'. That’s admirable. And it’s not uncommon for people
to have these little… idiosyncrasies. You may see them as imperfections or whatever, but I
don’t. It shows that you’re mindful of the little things."

Hermione thought for a moment, the sincerity in his voice disarming her. "Sometimes it’s…
overwhelming," she admitted. She found herself wondering if she should share something
like this with him. "I have to stop the microwave countdown five seconds before it rings."

"Why?"

"The sound bothers me," Hermione admitted, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. “That’s why
I wanted to stop the oven before it beeps too.”

"Why five seconds?"

"It’s… comfortable when numbers end with 5 or 0. It seems… clean," she replied, feeling
more embarrassed the longer she spoke, but the words were already out.

Malfoy shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, I suppose I have my own quirks too. I can’t sleep with
a shirt on, for instance. They suffocate me. The collar and hems around my neck or wrists,"
he said seriously, before adding, "And I always have to wear different socks when I play
quidditch."

"Different socks? Really?"

"Hey, they’ve brought me plenty of victories."

She chuckled. "Do you really like salmon?" she asked as she placed a bowl of rice between
them.

"I do," Malfoy nodded, watching her as she opened the parchment, releasing the steam. "I
don’t think I’ve ever had it cooked in paper before."

"It’s just to keep the moisture in during cooking," Hermione explained, mixing the rice with
melted butter and the juices from the salmon. Her mother had always done it this way. "I can
remove it if you prefer."

"No, it’s not a problem at all."

"Would you like the whiskey you had before?"

"Yes, I’ll get it."

Malfoy moved to the cabinet, as though he were completely at ease in her home, retrieving
the bottle and glasses. It was strange but pleasantly surprising how familiar he seemed with
her space. He poured them both drinks, and they ate in companionable silence.

"This is very good," Malfoy said after a moment, his plate nearly empty. "I didn’t know you
were such a good cook."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about? You’ve eaten here so many times
before."

"Yes, but you always ordered takeaway or just baked something from the store."

"Oh, right," she nodded, shrugging. "We’ve been busy with the books, so I guess I didn’t
really have time to cook. Plus, this isn’t that difficult to make."

Malfoy finished his meal before Hermione and sat back, drinking while his eyes lingered on
her. The weight of his gaze made her feel self-conscious for no reason. Wanting to break the
awkward silence, she decided to fill the space with conversation, her thoughts drifting back to
their first talk months ago in a restaurant.

"What would you like to talk about?"

"Many things."

"Did you make a list?" she joked weakly, trying to keep the mood light.

"Yes, mentally," he replied seriously, and for a moment, Hermione wasn’t sure if he was
joking or not. I shouldn’t be making jokes either.

"Should I explain what the problem was, so I can preemptively answer some of your
questions? Then you can ask additional ones when you need to," she suggested.

Malfoy clenched his jaw, clearly trying to contain a smile. "That sounds... more efficient.
Okay."

Hermione took a moment to compose herself before she spoke, gathering her thoughts.
"I’m… not sure how to begin explaining this rationally when the core of it is rooted in an
irrational fear," she began, sighing as the words left her lips. “The entire house looked like
the third floor when we spent time there before the war, and for a couple of years after. If I…
say that I don’t have pleasant memories of those years, it would be a severe understatement,”
she chuckled weakly, glancing down at her hands. “Being there didn’t trigger anything
immediately, until you reminded me of it,” she added, her voice trailing off.

He didn’t move or speak.

"Not only that, but you reminded me of who that house belonged to." Hermione frowned and
shook her head. “It completely slipped my mind over the last few years. Harry and Ginny
turned it into such a beautiful and warm home where I feel welcomed. And safe,” she paused,
trying to steady her emotions. “I… they know not to talk about these things with me,
especially certain events, or certain people. I don’t like hearing their names. I only talk about
these things with my therapist, because she’s a stranger. Someone who wasn’t there.
Someone who hasn’t experienced it. And she’s a professional, so it’s her job to be objective,
understanding, and non-judgmental," she explained, meeting Malfoy’s gaze, looking for any
sign of understanding. “You touched my arm,” she continued, her voice quieter now.

She rubbed her hand over her chest in an attempt to calm her breathing.
He didn’t move, didn’t say anything. Malfoy just frowned, his jaw tightening.

“I usually… don’t have a problem with that. I glamour it so that other people aren’t upset by
it. The kids grab me all the time," she added with a small chuckle. "But maybe it’s different
because they don’t understand. I don’t know," she admitted, rubbing her forehead now.
“When someone forgets themselves, they just release me quickly and move on. It’s not that
big a deal anymore. But I explained this to them before, and they’re aware. I…” She paused,
looking down at her drink, then back at him. “I didn’t tell you because… Well, we were never
close enough to have that conversation.”

Her eyes flickered to his face, searching for his reaction.

“And I don’t mean the fact that we haven’t been speaking for years. I mean recently. We
haven’t been familiar enough for you to… touch me, in any way, really.”

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, the weight of her own words settling heavily on her. I
hope I’m not blushing like an idiot now.

"I don't know if any of this makes sense to you. Do you have any questions?" she asked
quickly, finishing her drink and setting it down with a little more force than necessary.

He thought for a few moments in silence before responding. “You answered pretty much all
of them. You were right, as always,” he said, offering a weak smile. “Your way was better. I
mean, talk first, questions later.” He nodded and frowned. “I’m sorry… for causing you
distress.”

“No, it’s my fault, really,” Hermione replied, trying to sound less upset. She didn’t want him
to apologise endlessly for everything. “For not disclosing it to you. People aren’t responsible
for catering to my triggers. I need to learn how to navigate them, either by distancing myself
or confronting them,” she explained.

He squinted as if he had more to say. “What happened when you went back home that
evening?”

“I think I had a panic attack, I think, but I managed to ground myself,” she said simply. “The
room reminded me that I’m safe in my home and not in… yours.”

Malfoy blushed at this.

“I called my therapist, and we had a talk.”

“Weasley said no one should follow you,” he remarked.

She nodded. “I didn’t want to talk to anyone, especially not in a state like that. I experience
palpitations, trouble breathing, it gets too hot, and people suffocate me. I’m a bit dizzy,
sometimes I feel sick. It’s better if I’m alone,” she explained. “So Ron was right.”

“Does it happen often?”

She huffed. “Every time it happens is too often,” she replied, then added, “But no, it most
recently happened when I… when I was working on my book and reading some interviews.
Before that… when I met you and your mother at Andromeda’s.” She shifted uncomfortably,
trying to explain further. “All of you together and… and she… um… she looks like your…”

Realisation hit him, and he blinked. “I see.”

“It took me a long time to adjust to it. But they’re nothing alike, so it was easy to
differentiate,” she chuckled nervously. “But all of you were in the same room. And it’s
just…”

“Yeah, I understand,” he said, taking a deep breath.

For a moment, it seemed like he wanted to reach out, take her hand, but at the last minute, he
left his hands on the island. Hermione felt embarrassed, but there was a certain warmth in the
gesture.

“I’m not scared of you, Malfoy. I don’t mind you touching me,” she said, her voice softer. “In
fact…” She hesitated, then decided to say it anyway. I know he wants to. She sighed. “In fact,
I wouldn’t mind it if you did it more,” she said quietly. “It’s just that… I have boundaries,
and this is one of them. I don’t like it when people touch my arm there.”

He nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “Do you have other boundaries? Other than the
topics you mentioned and your arm?”

“No,” Hermione replied quickly, looking away, not meeting his gaze.

“No?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes. But they’re of… different nature, so it’s not relevant,” she blurted, wishing he’d take
the hint. Please understand this, so I don’t have to elaborate.

He nodded, looking down at his hands. “Okay.”

They lapsed into silence for a few minutes, the discomfort creeping back between them.

“Do you have anything else to ask me?”

“Not now, but if I remember later, may I?” he asked, so innocently that she had to relax a
little.

“Sure. And if that happens to be two days from now,” she said, squinting, “I wish you
wouldn’t just show up in my living room when I’m not even here.”

Malfoy chuckled. “I’m sorry. But I checked a few times to see where you were and you
weren’t here,” he started babbling. “So I looked around, saw that your oven was on, and
assumed you were in here somewhere.” He poured them both more whiskey.

Hermione blinked. “That’s not helping your defence right now, whatsoever. Buy a phone and
text me next time.”
He raised an eyebrow. “So you can ignore me there, too?”

“Yes,” she said, without any shame he tried to draw from her. “How long were you here
before I showed up?”

Malfoy shrugged. “Half an hour, maybe.” He took his glass and strolled over to the
bookshelf, scanning the titles.

“And you were reading a book you don’t really need to read?”

Hermione followed him, settling into the armchair that Crookshanks wasn’t occupying. She
was glad they were moving on. She missed talking to him.

“Yes,” he glanced back at her. “I wanted to take it with me, and not tell you, because I
assumed, and now I see I was right, that you’d be insufferable about it.”

She studied his back as he looked around the shelves. He wore grey sweatpants, much like
the ones she was wearing, but a white t-shirt instead. The muscles on his back flexed as he
checked the books, a sight she tried not to linger on.

“I might be insufferable, but if you went along with your plan, that would be breaking and
entering,” she teased. “Maybe you’ve stolen something when I wasn’t looking. Should I
check my pockets? My hidden stacks of all the money and jewels I own?”

He chuckled. “I knew you were rich and pretending. That’s the worst kind.”

“I’m not rich… Oh, fuck off, Malfoy,” she muttered, more to herself.

“Language, Granger,” he said with that smooth, deep voice that sent pleasant shivers down
her spine this time. “Do you know what I just noticed?”

“What?”

“You don’t have any photos.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, no photos anywhere. Why’s that?”

She shrugged. “Most of them are upstairs.”

Malfoy looked up, as if he could see through the ceiling. “What’s upstairs?”

“Bedrooms and bathrooms,” she said. “I turned one of the bedrooms into my study, but I
rarely use it.”

“Of course you did.”

“You didn’t check upstairs when you came to my home to commit this non-violent offence?”
she joked.
“Of course not,” he said, glancing again upstairs.

Hermione smirked. “Do you want a tour?”

As soon as she turned on the lights, Malfoy scanned everything in the hallway upstairs with
an avid curiosity, as though he were standing before the walls of an art gallery. The
photographs that decorated the walls captured her parents in their younger days, showcasing
their travels, holidays, and Hermione's achievements from primary school, including her
piano and French certificates.

"You play the piano?" he asked, pointing at a framed diploma.

She let out a small sigh. "Not very well, I'm afraid."

"Uh-huh, so I’ve found something else you’re not good at," he teased, his lips curving into a
sly grin as his eyes continued to dart around the room.

"Something else?"

"Your penmanship is atrocious."

She shrugged, unfazed. "Well, when one’s mind is idle, it’s easy to obsess over the superficial
aspects of writing," she said, glancing at the photos with him.

He rolled his eyes, but she placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I’m only joking," she said in an overly gentle, reassuring tone. "You have beautiful
penmanship and you’re incredibly intelligent." She quickly removed her hand, realising the
proximity.

He gestured towards an old photograph from the '70s or '80s. "You look just like your mother
in this one. Where was it taken?"

Hermione studied the picture for a moment before replying, "I think it was in Brazil. They
were probably attending a dental conference or something."

"You definitely take after your mother, but you have your father's hair."

“Not anymore. He lost almost all of it.”

Malfoy looked around in silence for a few minutes before asking, "Where are your more
recent photos?"

"In my bedroom," she said.

He stiffened his posture slightly. I’m just going to ask.

"Do you want to see them?"

"Um… sure," he said, but did not sound like it.

Hermione led the way into the room with its doors wide open, flipping on the lamps to
illuminate the space. Malfoy looked surprised, but not in a good way. She couldn’t help but
find it amusing.

"It’s my old bedroom," she informed him casually, leaning against her desk.

He stayed by the door, looking unsure of what to do.

"I don’t actually sleep here. It’s just where I keep most of the stuff I have no place for in my
actual bedroom."

"Thank Gods," he said, sounding relieved. "I thought..." He gestured awkwardly around the
room. "It’s too... juvenile." He laughed, more at ease as he looked around the pink bedroom.

"I haven’t had anything done to it since I was thirteen or fourteen, maybe."

He walked up to the mirror where she’d taped a lot of recent photographs and observed them.
She stood back, silently watching him. Draco Malfoy, in my childhood bedroom. Who
would’ve guessed?

"You drink a lot," he said. "All of you."

Hermione crossed her arms defensively. "Hey, it just happens that the trips we take involve
wine tasting."

"Right, it just happens," he teased. "When you book it yourselves in advance."

She rolled her eyes playfully. The warm glow from the floor lamp cast a beautiful light on
him. She couldn’t help but feel drawn to him, even in this dimly lit room. Especially in this
dimly lit room. I brought him to my bedroom, and now I’m ogling him. Like a predator. Stop
it.

"You won’t find anything interesting there," she told him as he walked towards the bookshelf.
"It’s mostly children’s books and textbooks I read before Hogwarts."

"So, you’ve always loved reading."

"Does that really surprise you?"

"I don’t know," he said with a shrug. "Everything about you surprises me."

Hermione paused, the words catching in her throat. "You keep surprising me too."

"How come?" Malfoy turned to look at her.

She took a deep breath and leaned against the edge of the desk, the proximity between them
almost too much. "I never could have imagined you in my home." In my bedroom. "Willingly
here."

"You did invite me, you know," he smirked.

She rolled her eyes. "You came here unannounced."

"I meant your bedroom."

He walked towards her, standing before her with the bed behind him. The light around him
seemed to highlight every sharp angle of his features. There was a hint of moonlight on his
face too, making him look even more sculpted than usual. God, why was he so beautiful?

His eyes locked onto hers, intense and determined. "Could you ever imagine inviting me
here?"

"No," she said simply, but her voice betrayed a deeper longing. I want him to touch me so
badly.

As if he could hear her thoughts, he frowned slightly and stepped closer. His fingers brushed
a strand of her hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. She stood motionless, her
breath hitching as she looked up at him, unable to blink.

"Do you think she would regret it?" Malfoy’s voice was deeper now, vibrating through her.
He let his hand linger on the side of her neck, just a little longer than necessary.

"She?"

"Old Hermione."

She blinked, her mind catching up.

Malfoy had never said her name like that.

In fact, she couldn’t remember him ever saying it at all. The sound of it now, coming from
him, felt like a physical touch. It stirred something in her, something that made her desperate
for him.

Her words escaped in a breathless whisper, almost as if she were afraid to say them out loud.
"I don’t know if she would regret anything... I just know I am." She closed the distance
between them, her body moving almost instinctively.

Malfoy’s breath quickened. His eyes roamed over her face, her body, as though trying to
memorise every detail of her.

"What are you regretful for?" he asked, swallowing hard.

"For not inviting you here earlier."

Hermione’s heart raced, her pulse hammering in her ears. She knew what she was about to do
could change everything between them. That thought both thrilled and terrified her. She had
been grappling with these feelings for months, unsure if she was reading the signals right.

But now, she was done second-guessing.

Instead of throwing herself at him, she stepped closer, her hands sliding up to the back of his
neck. The heat of his body was undeniable, and when she kissed him, it was simple.

Not impulsive.

Not frantic.

But exactly what she needed.

I did it. I’ll think about the consequences later.

Her heart raced as his lips met hers, and she was momentarily taken aback by the gentle
softness of his kiss. I’m kissing Draco fucking Malfoy.

His scent enveloped her, rich and intoxicating. She didn't know much about men’s perfumes,
as they all seemed to smell the same to her, but he was different. At first, she hesitated,
unsure, but the feeling of his hands on her waist gave her a surge of confidence. Alright, so
I’m not going to be rejected. Good.

She pressed her fingers harder into the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Her kisses grew
faster, more urgent. She couldn’t resist running her fingers through his hair, the sensation
sending sparks through her veins. When she opened her mouth slightly, Malfoy eagerly
responded, kissing her back with his tongue, deepening the kiss.

His grip on her waist tightened, and she could feel his fingers inching towards her hips. The
desire to feel his body pressed against hers overwhelmed her. She moved her hand from his
neck to his chest, then to his waist, pulling him even closer.

Malfoy moaned softly as her tongue slid into his mouth, and Hermione relished the sound.
Oh, I like it already. Make more noises, please.

He broke the kiss momentarily, his eyes dark with desire, more intense than she had ever seen
them. She watched as he licked his lips, and a shiver ran down her spine.

Without warning, Malfoy placed his hands on her jaw and neck, pushing her gently but
insistently against the desk behind her. The kiss became more frantic, more desperate. She
could taste the whiskey on his tongue, a flavour she knew well, but it never tasted as good as
it did in that moment.

The heat between them built, and she couldn’t resist the urge to pull him closer once again,
gripping him by the waist. She didn’t care if she seemed desperate. All I want is to feel him
everywhere on me.

Caught off guard by her movement, Malfoy stumbled forward but quickly regained his
balance. He stopped abruptly, looking at her with an unreadable expression. "Granger, I..."

Hermione was breathing heavily, her body aching with anticipation. His sudden pause, his
hesitant words, sent a wave of anxiety crashing through her chest. Is this it? Is he going to
reject me now?
Before she could speak, his expression changed. It shifted from hesitation to frustration, as if
he had been holding himself back for too long. With a fierce determination, he pressed his
hips against hers, and she felt the undeniable evidence of how much he was affected by this
as well.

Hermione’s body trembled as Malfoy’s hand traced the curve of her neck, his lips trailing a
path of hot kisses down her skin. The sensation made her shiver, and she let out a soft moan,
urging him on.

Her fingers tangled in his soft hair, pulling him closer as he lavished attention on her neck
and jaw, leaving marks that would surely be visible in the morning.

She tugged at his hair, and Malfoy made that noise at the back of his throat again. He likes
this.

She did it again, this time pulling harder, and he bit her neck, pressing himself against her
even more. The feeling of his lips and teeth on her skin was almost too much to bear, and she
found herself moving her hips against him, desperate for more. But Malfoy stopped her
quickly.

He lifted her onto the desk and positioned himself between her legs, his hands firm and
possessive as they roamed over her thighs. He grabbed her with more force than she had
anticipated, but she didn’t mind.

He was too tall for the desk, and Hermione couldn’t feel him between her legs like she
wanted to. So, she broke the kiss, slid off the desk, and led him back to the bed behind him.

When he touched the bed with the back of his legs, he was forced to sit, his eyes dark and
intense, as if seeing her for the first time.

"Granger, you are..." Malfoy trailed off, his gaze roving over her as though searching for
words. The tension between them thickened, the air heavy with unspoken need. "This is
fucking..." he finally managed, his voice rough and low.

But Hermione didn’t need words anymore. She straddled him, feeling the heat radiating from
his body as she inhaled the intoxicating scent of his cologne.

"Language, Malfoy," she teased. Hermione didn't know what had got into her. He, eventually,
I hope.

She wrapped her hands around his neck, kissing him with a desperate hunger. Her lips were
messy, unrestrained, in their need for him, and he responded in kind, firm, demanding,
unwilling to let go. He gripped her hips, moving her against him, and she finally felt him,
hard and urgent beneath her.

She could feel the heat building between them, the press of their bodies and the soft friction
of sweatpants that couldn't hide the evidence of their desire. If she didn’t know just how long
she’d fantasized about this exact moment, she might have felt embarrassed by how quickly
she’d gotten so wet, how aware he must be of it by now.
"I've wanted this… wanted you like this for so fucking long, Granger," he growled, his voice
low and husky as he grabbed her bum, pulling her closer.

His words made her pulse quicken even more. He bit her neck, almost painfully, the sensation
making her pulse race even faster.

"Why didn't you say anything?" she breathed out, grinding herself against him, desperate for
release. It’s been so long.

"Because I'm a fucking idiot," he muttered, his hands sliding under her shirt, nails lightly
scraping against her skin. Hermione tugged at his hair, her power in the moment sending a
wave of satisfaction through her as he let out a ragged breath.

"We could have been doing this for weeks, you know," she said, her lips brushing over his as
she moved back slightly, looking down at him.

"Since when?" he asked, his hands moving slowly down her body until they reached her
chest, making her shiver with each gentle touch.

"Since… Since..." She paused, remembering. The memory flooded back, but she couldn't
bring herself to say it aloud. He’ll think I’m weird.

He made that low sound again, his touch sending shockwaves through her as he gently
squeezed her breasts, his fingers grazing her hardened nipples.

“Tell me, please,” he urged, soft and desperate.

Hermione hesitated for a moment, the truth feeling so raw, so vulnerable. But she needed him
to understand. She needed him to see her, to know what she truly craved. Like that day in her
living room.

"When you… when you..." she started, her voice barely above a whisper.

He bit her nipple through her shirt, and she shuddered. Yes, that’s what I need. More.

"When you got angry... when I kept interrupting you... when you didn’t want me to go to the
floor," she whispered, breathless.

For a moment, he stopped, his breath hot against her chest. But then he kissed his way back
up to her neck, tightening his grip on her breast, as if he knew exactly what she meant.

"Yes?" he said through gritted teeth, biting her softly just beneath her ear.

His hand left her breast, dragging slowly down her body, his fingers lingering at the
waistband of her sweatpants. Please, touch me.

“You told me to shut up and listen to you, and I wanted to push you down on that fucking
sofa and ride you until you made me scream,” she confessed.
Malfoy groaned and moved her from his body and off the bed, walking her forward to the
desk that was too short for him. He turned her around, and she could see that the shutters
were luckily closed, their blurry figures reflected in the window.

She could feel his hardness pressing against her. She reached out to grip the edge of the desk,
arching her back and pushing herself against him.

Malfoy wasted no time and slipped his hand inside her sweatpants and knickers, his long
fingers finally giving her the touch she had been craving for so long. Hermione let out a
whimper as she felt his lips and breath against her ear and neck.

“You’re so fucking wet. I… I can't believe you… You…” Malfoy whispered as he lazily
dragged his fingers over her. It wasn’t enough. She was desperate for him to touch her the
way she wanted it.

“Malfoy… I need you to…”

He took hold of her hair and swirled it around his hand gently. “Are there any… boundaries
of a different nature I need to be aware of now?"

The sensation of him just barely touching her hair was suddenly too much for her to handle.
She would tell him anything he wanted to know. Anything.

“I don't want to have my arms or hands restrained,” she blurted out. Please don't ask me to
elaborate.

He nodded against her face and tugged her hair slightly. “Anything else?” he asked, finally
focusing on her clit, making her feel like she would come in less than half a minute if he just
kept everything the same.

“I don’t like… ah…” he rubbed her faster, so she moved faster against him too. She wanted
to feel him in her hands. “You don’t have to be gentle with me, but I don't like hitting or
spanking or anything like that.” Hermione found his waistband behind her and managed to
put her hand below it.

Malfoy nodded again. “Good. Me neither.”

He stepped back slightly, making space for her hand. She found him in his underwear, hot
and hard and leaking, making her feel better about the state she was in right now. He stiffened
and pulled her hair more, coming close to her ear again.

“I have my boundaries too."

“Yes?” she breathed, starting to pump him as best as she could from behind her back. She
could see him in the reflection, fighting to focus on whatever he was about to say.

“I need to know…” She could see him looking down between them where she was holding
him. “I need to know that…'' He moaned into her ear. Keep doing that. Keep being loud.
“I need to know if you usually like things to get a little rough and controlling or… or is it
only because it’s me."

Hermione slowed down her hand. What the fuck does that mean? “I… usually like it,” she
said simply.

Malfoy relaxed when she gave him her answer. His hand moved with newfound purpose,
rubbing her with a deliberate rhythm until he slipped a finger inside her. Yes, don't ask. Take
whatever you want from me.

"More, please. I need more," she begged.

She could feel his hot breath on her neck as he added another finger, the pace quickening.
She was so close to coming, she felt as if she might die if he changed anything and ruined it
for her after all of this.

"Tell me what else you need," he almost whispered in her ear.

"Pull my hair harder," she said without hesitation.

And he did, also without hesitation. The pleasant pain softened as he began to kiss and suckle
the exposed skin of her neck.

"Yes," she moaned, "keep doing that. Don't stop, please." Shivers ran down her spine.

Her legs trembled, weak and sweaty with the intensity of it all. She had to release him, to
focus on her own orgasm first. The stimulation was overwhelming, and when she finally
came, it was a wave of pleasure unlike anything she had experienced in a long time. Malfoy
released her hair and rested his hand on her neck, continuing to kiss and touch her, but it was
too much. She had to push his hand away, sated but still wanting more.

She leaned over the desk, grasping its edge, gasping for breath. She hoped he couldn't see
how her legs trembled. Glancing up at the window, she saw him stroking himself slowly with
the hand that had just been inside her.

"You feel wonderful," he said, a smirk playing on his lips.

Hermione started to turn, to reciprocate, but he stopped her. Perhaps it was for the best, as she
was unsure how to face him in that moment.

"No, finish me off the same way you started," he insisted, pressing against her.

It was awkward from this angle. "It's easier if I…"

"Don't argue," he said sharply. "Finish what you started. You don't do things halfway, do
you?"

Hermione couldn't help but feel a surge of anger, mixed with an intense arousal, at the way he
was speaking to her. Yet, she obeyed him, moving her hand in the same way she had started,
feeling him stiffen and quiver beneath her touch. With each stroke, she pushed him closer to
the edge.

She brushed her fingers over his tip.

"Fuck, yes. Do that again," he urged, his breath hot against her ear.

She could see his blurred reflection in the window, his face contorted with pleasure, his eyes
closed in ecstasy. And she felt a fierce sense of power, knowing that she was the one bringing
him to this point.

Malfoy pressed more urgently into her hand with desperate movements. She responded by
quickening her pace. The desk shook under his grip as he clung to it for support, his other
hand briefly wrapping around her neck.

The sensation took her breath away, the touch and the knowledge that he was completely
under her control. But as she tightened her grip and moved faster, he suddenly slipped his
hand into her tank top and took hold of her breast, almost painfully. Despite the slight
discomfort, a fresh wave of wetness surged between her legs, the pleasure and pain mingling
together.

She could tell he was close. His breathing grew ragged, his movements more desperate. And
then, with a final moan, he came, the sound he made was both beautiful and animalistic. She
felt a pang of disappointment that she couldn't see his face in that moment.

Malfoy rested his forehead against the back of her head, his breath still ragged as he came
down from his high. Hermione remained still, letting him take his time. She didn’t even mind
the sticky residue of his release on her hand.

“Is your wand here?” he asked eventually, his voice still uneven.

Hermione shook her head and lifted her left hand as if preparing to catch something. “Accio
wand,” she murmured.

A sharp whooshing sound filled the air, growing louder until her wand smacked into her
palm. She caught it effortlessly, barely even glancing at it.

“Impressive,” Malfoy muttered, pressing a quick kiss to the back of her head.

The gesture caught her off guard. His fingers had been inside her just minutes ago, and yet…
this felt too intimate?

She flicked her wand, cleaning them both up before leaning back against the desk, now
facing him as he sat on her bed. They were both still breathing heavily, their gazes locked in a
moment of quiet.

“It’s late,” Hermione said at last.

“You’re kicking me out of bed already?” he joked.

“No, I just… I just…”

He looked at her, waiting.

“Yes, because I don’t know how to talk to you now,” she admitted.

“Do you even want to talk?”

“No,” she said honestly. “I’d like to avoid you for a few days so I can clear my head.”

“Alright,” Malfoy said with a slow nod. “A few days, then.”

He got up and headed for the door, and Hermione followed. As they descended the stairs, he
scratched the back of his head absentmindedly, and she had to bite back the entirely
inappropriate thought of where those fingers had just been. Stop it. Pull yourself together.

“Why are you okay with this?” she asked when they reached the living room.

He shrugged. “I got what I wanted from you, and now I don’t care anymore.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, and he smirked.

“We have time. We’re not going anywhere. You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready
for. And… since you’re always so brutally honest,” he went on, “I feel I should be too. I
don’t know how to talk to you now either. So a few days sounds good.”

“Thank you,” Hermione murmured, relieved but still unsettled.

Malfoy picked up a book from the sofa, flipping through it absentmindedly. “I got through
the first ten pages and felt like I was staring into a mirror.”

Hermione huffed a quiet laugh. “I know. Terrifying, isn’t it?”

He smiled and nodded, but then his gaze flicked to her body, and something shifted in his
expression. Before she could process it, he tossed the book back onto the sofa, crossed the
space between them in two strides, and kissed her so hard she stumbled backwards.

His hands were everywhere, desperate, claiming. She fumbled to keep up, grasping at
whatever she could reach. He bit her lip, drawing a sharp hiss from her, before finally pulling
away.

“For the next few days, I won’t stop thinking about what you said about that sofa,” he said,
breathless. He bent to snatch up the book again, then pointed it at Crookshanks. “Make sure
he sleeps somewhere else next time I’m over. We’re not fucking savages.”

“We’re not,” she agreed.

 Draco

February 2013

Draco carefully poured the potion he and Scorpius had brewed into two vials. The liquid
shimmered a pale green, reminiscent of fresh spring leaves, and carried a sharp, earthy scent,
like freshly cut grass.

“Can we try it now, dad?”

“Of course, but make sure to spread it evenly over the soil,” Draco instructed, handing him
one of the vials. “You’ll want to see the full effect.”

Scorpius nodded and began pouring the potion over the soil in their rectangular planter,
moving his hand back and forth in a steady zigzag motion. Where the potion touched the
earth, vibrant green blades of grass sprang up almost instantly, speckled with tiny yellow,
pink, and purple flowers.

“Brilliant,” Draco murmured, admiring the sudden burst of life. “Let me try mine now,” he
said, lifting the second vial and carefully pouring it into the empty patches of soil.

As the potion seeped in, more grass and flowers bloomed, weaving together in a lush,
colourful display. The planter now looked like a perfect slice of a countryside spring
meadow.

Scorpius glanced from the planter to his father. “Is this real now?”

“It is. It won’t vanish after a while. Where do you want to keep it?”

He thought for a moment. “Maybe on my nightstand?”

“What about your desk? It’s next to the window, it’ll need light.”

“Oh, right. That’s better.”

They tidied up the potion lab before heading back to their rooms.

“Dad, I was thinking of inviting Al again, if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” Draco answered absently. “The weekend again, I assume?”

“Yeah. He’s busy for the next few days,” Scorpius explained. “He’s got an exam to study
for.”

“Probably best not to disturb him, then.” Maybe I can ask him. “Scorp, out of curiosity, when
you say ‘a few days’, how many do you actually mean?” Merlin, I can’t believe I’m this
pathetic.

“What?”

“I mean, when you hear ‘a few days’, do you think two? Three? Seven?”

Scorpius frowned. “No, not seven. But maybe less than five?”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“I don’t know, it just sounds right. Why?”

“No reason. Alright, thank you. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, dad.”

Less than five.

I can work with that. I’m already halfway there.

And this was only one person’s opinion. Maybe he should ask someone else. What exactly
counted as ‘a few days’? It was annoyingly vague, completely imprecise. He wished she’d
said something like ‘three to five working days,’ at least then he’d have a framework to cling
to.

It was only Tuesday.

Two more days before he could see her.

That wasn’t so bad. He could wait.

Probably.

He forced himself to push thoughts of her aside and focus on his routine. Easy.

He was just going to sleep now. Not think about her. Not think about the sounds she made, or
the way she felt when he slid his fingers inside her…

Stop it.

He groaned, rolling onto his back. I’m never going to survive the next two days.

The next morning, he woke up hard again, thoughts of her invading his dreams. With a sigh,
he took care of it in the shower, no longer bothering to feel any shame. She had let him touch
her, after all. Eagerly.

He wanted a chance to fulfil what she said, riding him on that sofa.

My gods.
Granger on his lap.

Naked.

She’d better have that bloody cat out of the living room. I meant it.

Draco had a string of meetings with shareholders and accountants today, but first, he wanted
to check what Potter had been up to in the last few days. Likely not much, Weaslette had
been busy with the match they’d won, and Granger still hadn’t returned to the house.

Granger and her… Stop it.

He floo-called into their kitchen, finding it empty. Would the old elf even respond to me?

“Kreacher?” Draco called, slightly unsure.

With a soft crack, the elf appeared and gave a slight bow. “Yes, mas… Mr Malfoy?”

He would.

“Good morning. Is anyone home?”

“Only the mistress, Mr Malfoy,” Kreacher replied, glancing upstairs. “Shall Kreacher inform
the mistress of your arrival?”

“Please.”

Draco stepped out of the kitchen and opted to take the stairs instead of apparating. It felt
impolite when he wasn’t alone.

Red stormed out of what looked like a sitting room.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“I just wanted to see what you’ve done in the last few days,” he said casually.

“Well, Harry’s at work. And the wards are up, obviously.”

“Oh, I can lift them. He showed me.”

She raised an eyebrow, folding her arms. “Beg your pardon?”

“Oh, you didn’t know?” Draco smirked. “Interesting.” He nodded and continued upstairs.

Weaslette let out an irritated huff and followed him. “When are you going to start on the other
two rooms?”

“I think I can start Monday. I’m not too busy next week.” He paused just before reaching the
third floor. “Scorpius wants another film weekend. That alright?”

“Sure. If Al gets an acceptable grade on his test.”

“Oh, don’t take it out on the poor boy,” Draco smirked. “It’s not his fault your husband
doesn’t trust you enough with his protective wards.”

She rolled her eyes. “I see what you’re doing. Can you see what I’m doing? I’m ignoring
you.”

She was watching closely as he lifted the wards Potter had shared with him. She probably
didn’t believe him. Draco felt rather smug when she huffed again.

“Sure you are,” he murmured, turning to her with an almost pitying look. “Should I even let
you in? Without permission, that is?”

She rolled her eyes again. “You’re not going to get to me.” She swept past him into the large
room they’d been working on first.

Draco smirked. “I think I will, eventually.”

As he stepped into the room, he immediately noticed an improvement. It still needed work,
but at least it no longer looked like a complete disaster.

The walls, once cluttered with portraits and mirrors, were now bare, though faint outlines
remained where the frames had hung, the paint around them slightly faded and discoloured.
A few bright red napkins or pieces of cloth stood out against the neutral tones of the walls
and furniture.

“What are all these?” he asked, pointing at them.

“Hermione covered all the mirrors so we wouldn’t accidentally look into them,” Weasley
replied, waving a hand dismissively. “Something about silver and how it can steal your soul,
or magic, or both. Better safe than sorry, I suppose.”

It was definitely less cluttered than when he’d last been here, shortly after Granger had taken
a break from cleaning.

“When was she here last?”

“Last night.”

“Last night?”

“I mean, last evening. When Harry got back from work.” She glanced around. “She wanted to
check if she’d be alright coming back.”

“Was she?” Draco kept his tone carefully neutral.

It wasn’t just a concern. Granger was unfortunately good at what she did, and if she couldn’t
return, it would slow down the entire process.

“Yes. She said she’s fine now.” Red looked at him. “She’ll be here around ten, actually. She
wants a distraction? Well, she’s welcome to clean this cursed mess as much as she likes.”
A distraction from what, though?

From what happened here or what happened in her bedroom?

She glanced back towards the hallway. “So, you’re planning to open the library and the other
room on Monday?”

“Hopefully,” he said, his expression turning serious. “Why? Miss wandering into dangerous,
cursed spaces with no clue what you’ll find?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t remember. Guess I’ll have to go in there again and find
out.”

“You might think you’re being sarcastic, but given your track record, I’m not sure you’ve
earned the right.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Wow, Malfoy. I’d have thought you, of all people, would be more
forgiving of past mistakes.”

“Low blow, Red,” he muttered. “Low blow.”

“Oh, come on,” she said, uncrossing her arms. “I remind Pansy at least once a month that she
tried to sell Harry to Voldemort.”

The way they all said his name so easily still managed to both annoy and impress him.

“That sounds like her problem,” he said flatly. “She should’ve known what would happen
when she got too friendly with Gryffindors. I don’t plan on…”

“Associating with too many Gryffindors? That’s adorable,” she cut in, smirking. “So… how
was dinner with Hermione?”

Draco opened his mouth to respond, then thought better of it. “Well, I think I’ve got
everything I need, so I’ll be off to work,” he said, turning to leave.

“Did you have a nice Valentine’s Day?” she called after him, her tone teasing.

Fuck.

It was fucking Valentine’s Day.

“I’ll send Potter a note about the film weekend,” he replied curtly.

Weasley chuckled. “Deflecting, are we? She was just as vague when I asked her about your
little date.”

Draco was about to snap back, but she cut him off before he could.

“I know, I know, the not-date ,” she said, clearly enjoying herself. “Quite a change from her
usual obsession with truth and honesty.”
He ignored her, making his way towards the kitchen. Pausing by the fireplace, he turned
back. “Does your son have any allergies we should know about, in case they eat anything
other than popcorn?”

She shook her head. “No, he’s fine.” Leaning against the table, she gave him a knowing
smile. “It’s going to be so much fun next week, don’t you think? Opening the hidden rooms,
the library… Too bad only you two will be around to witness it.”

“Why? Where will you be?”

“Oh, you know how it is when you’re a professional athlete.” She glanced at her nails before
looking up at him. “Oh, that’s right. You don’t.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“I’ll be in Edinburgh. Few days of practice, then the match, then celebrations if we win. And
so on.”

“That’s nice.” He reached for the floo powder. “Off travelling while someone else cleans
your house.”

“I’m sure you’re positively distraught, Ferret.” She smirked.

He absolutely wasn’t. But if he was going to spend a lot of time alone with Granger, he really
should talk to her soon and sort this out.

At the meeting, Draco actually paid attention this time. He supposed he ought to, considering
he’d be taking the next week off.

“We’ll send you the minutes of the meeting, Mist…” Agatha drawled, not even looking up.

“Oh, no need.”

“Oh?” She paused in the middle of packing her bag to squint at him.

“Yes, everything was perfectly clear. Have a good day.”

She gave him a suspicious look but didn’t argue.

Scorpius had French and English lessons in the afternoon, both scheduled after lunch, so
Draco went swimming to kill time and, hopefully, to clear his head.

That evening, an owl arrived from Potter with an update on the progress of the challenging
potion they planned to use once they’d finished the work on the floor. He’d delegated the
brewing to a few temps, who were being supervised by the Ministry’s experts.

The potion itself was borderline illegal, and there was no real justification for using it beyond
sheer necessity. As far as he knew, this was the first time in centuries that anyone had
attempted to cleanse an old manor of deep-rooted dark family magic. Naturally, the Ministry
had to supervise and approve the entire process. They’d already sent someone to inspect the
rooms and confirm exactly what kind of dark magic they were dealing with.

It had been brewing for a month now, with two more to go. Draco had assumed three months
wouldn’t be nearly enough to clean the entire floor, but Granger had surprised him with her
efficiency. She’d already managed to cleanse a shocking number of objects on her own, and
he expected progress to pick up even more once he joined her next week.

But before that, I need to talk to her. See her.

Potter’s letter also mentioned a change of plans for the kids:

Managed to convince Ginny to buy a TV and DVD for the kids. Al would like it if Scorpius
came over to watch the film or cartoon at ours.

Draco smirked. Managed to convince. Potter was absolutely whipped.

When he passed the news along to Scorpius, his son was clearly excited. He hadn’t been to
Potter’s house before.

“Teddy said that’s the house Aunt Andromeda grew up in,” he said later in the lab.

“It was,” Draco confirmed. “Your grandmother’s as well.”

“Oh, right. Why don’t they live there anymore?”

“Well, um… They both got married and moved in with their husbands.”

A perfectly acceptable half-truth.

Scorpius seemed satisfied with the answer, so Draco shifted his focus back to choosing a
potion for the evening. He settled on a simple healing draught, nothing groundbreaking, just
something to speed up the healing of minor wounds, like paper cuts or scratches.

If they were already brewing, it might as well be something useful for the cleanup. He knew
the necessary healing spells but wasn’t particularly skilled at them. Neither was Granger, as
she’d admitted when she’d tried, and failed, to heal his burned hand completely.

Her hands had been warm and gentle, hesitant as though unsure how to touch him.

Unlike the other day.

That day, she’d known exactly how to handle him.

She hadn’t been gentle, and she hadn’t been timid.

Stop it.

“Is it really dangerous?” Scorpius asked suddenly. “The rooms you’re cleaning?”
“It is, but Pott… Mr Potter, used powerful magic to contain the dark magic upstairs. So the
rest of the house is perfectly safe.”

The potion’s ingredients were fairly common, but the method was different, which made the
brewing process longer. As Scorpius’s bedtime approached, he excused himself to shower
before bed, leaving Draco to finish the potion alone.

Once it was done, he left it to simmer for eight hours before heading upstairs.

After checking the potion in the morning, Draco decided to visit Theo before his meeting to
ask about restocking some ingredients. He half expected him to still be asleep, as he had a
well-earned reputation for staying in bed until nearly noon, but an unexpected group of
people greeted him when he arrived.

Lovegood and Blaise were seated on the sofa, Theo occupied one armchair, and Charlie
Weasley sat in the other. A stack of papers and parchments cluttered the coffee table between
them.

Theo glanced up from his notes, looking mildly surprised by Draco’s sudden appearance.
“Oh, hello. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, nothing,” Draco said, taking in the room. “I just needed to ask about some ingredients,
but I can come back later.”

“Nonsense, Draco, we’re just having a business meeting,” Lovegood chimed in,
absentmindedly playing with her hair as she skimmed a document. “You’re not interrupting
anything important.”

“Sorry for wasting your time, Luna,” Blaise teased.

“Oh no, I only meant that these meetings aren’t terribly important in the grand scheme of
things.”

“The grand scheme of things? Compared to what, wars and famine?” Blaise asked with a
grin.

“Yes, exactly.” Lovegood nodded solemnly.

Charlie shook his head in amusement before turning to Draco. “Theo asked me to put him in
touch with some dragon part dealers,” he explained. “There’s only one shop selling them in
Diagon Alley. The other’s in Knockturn. So…”

“So the idea is to open another one,” Blaise supplied. “Monopolies aren’t great for
customers.”

“Agreed. It’s quite undesirable in a free market,” Lovegood added vaguely, still reading.

Draco glanced at Blaise.

He nodded. “It’s true.”

“But we don’t know if it’ll be successful straight away,” Theo admitted. “People have been
buying from the same apothecary for years. So, for now, we’re thinking of introducing the
stock through Luna’s shop first, see how it sells.”

“I don’t think it would aesthetically fit with my store’s theme,” Lovegood mused, tilting her
head. “But I’m happy to help.”

Blaise inclined his head in appreciation. “And we appreciate it deeply.”

“That’s very kind of you,” she said.

Draco observed the exchange, slightly bewildered but silent. He listened as they discussed
ideas, offering the occasional suggestion when relevant.

After a brief lull in conversation, Lovegood turned to him. “What kind of ingredients were
you looking for?”

“Oh, just the usual,” he replied, fishing a note from his pocket. “Lacewing flies, fluxweed
stems, and so on. Used most of them last night.”

She took the list and scanned it before nodding. “I have these. You should stop by today or
tomorrow. I just got fresh batches a few days ago.” Then, after a moment’s pause, she added,
“Maybe I can recommend some nice tea blends to help with your anxiety.”

Draco frowned. “I’m not anxious.”

She looked mildly surprised. “You’re not? Oh, I’m sorry. You just look like someone who’s…
anxiously anticipating something.”

Draco found it oddly specific. He nodded slowly, then asked, “Lovegood, just a quick
question. When you say ‘a few days’…?”

“I usually mean three to five days,” she answered absently.

The next day, Draco went to Lovegood’s store to pick up all the ingredients he needed, along
with a few new ones. He thought about attempting something more challenging to brew on
his own. He also bought the tea blend she’d recommended, mainly because she’d insisted it
would help him. She’d mentioned she was picking up “desperately jittery and inflamed
vibes” from him.

He had to admit, the bloody tea cleared his mind. While listening to Scorpius’s piano lessons,
Draco filled out some reports. The slow, relaxing piano tune was soothing, and he could tell
Scorpius was improving. The missed notes were fewer, and Draco thought it was a
confidence issue.
The tea was slightly more bitter than he liked, but Lovegood had warned him not to add sugar
or milk, or it would defeat the purpose and could even cause a babbling effect. Whatever the
tea was supposed to do, it seemed to be working. Now, he could focus on his work instead of
obsessing over Granger and the nagging feeling eating him from the inside - the possibility
that she regretted their little after-dinner activity.

Wait. That’s what I was anxious about? I didn’t think I was.

No. She wouldn’t regret that. She said it herself. She regrets not starting this sooner.

Starting what? We didn’t start anything.

And besides, she said that before everything happened. After it, Granger hadn’t wanted to
talk to him.

Maybe that’s normal for her? Not dealing with things right away, but letting them sit and
marinate before making any decisions. Yes, that sounds right and…

Wait, decision? What decision?

Draco wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t know how to talk to her either. He hadn’t known
what to say right after. He wasn’t exactly experienced in this area. Usually, after sex…

Wait, we didn’t even have sex.

Whatever.

Usually, after sex, he would linger for a few minutes of polite conversation, trying not to look
like an utter arse who just wanted to leave immediately. He wouldn’t be able to do that with
her. Nor did he want to.

Not now, especially after finally getting a taste of her. He could feel his mind shutting down
just thinking about how she kissed him. The way she tasted, the way she smelled, the way she
moved.

She wanted him.

She wanted him.

Draco couldn’t believe Granger had let him kiss her, touch her, and… No. Stop. Stop thinking
about her like that.

He hated being used or fetishized for who he was. He couldn’t do that to her. No matter how
tempting it was.

The idea of her grinding against him, the little noises she made when he finally touched her
where she needed him… and when she told him exactly what to do to make her come. Gods,
if I could have just one more chance to make her tremble for me...

Stop it.
He adjusted himself, mortified for obsessing like a teenager instead of an adult, and focused
on the report in front of him. He glanced at his cup. What the hell was in this tea?

He didn’t have half these thoughts or worries before.

You did. Don’t lie.

Fine, maybe he did, but he didn’t acknowledge them. Is that how it works? He’d have to ask
Lovegood about it. Or Blaise. He mentioned enjoying her tea blends and often went there.
Maybe he should go to him now.

So he did.

Draco entered his manor almost automatically. He moved through the empty living room and
headed towards the study, where he found Blaise buried beneath a mountain of papers.

"Hey. What are you doing?" Draco asked, his voice cutting through the stillness of the room
as his footsteps echoed.

"Just reading some regulations about renting space in the Alley," Blaise replied, his tone
laced with frustration. "The Burkes own half the buildings there. I guess I'll have to invite
them to the next gala my mother organizes. You got any vacant buildings?"

"In the Alley?" Draco mused absently, pacing around the office and taking in the books,
flower pots, and paintings. "No, sorry. I was thinking of buying office space in the business
district in muggle London, but that's not really your thing."

"No, I don’t know what the muggle laws are on selling dragon parts ethically," he teased with
a grin. "What brings you here, though?"

"Well..." Draco hesitated, his thoughts racing.

He’d been going mad, especially after that strange tea Lovegood had given him. It was
making him question every decision he’d made over the past week. He scratched his head
nervously.

"Something happened," he admitted, quickly turning his back on Blaise to study the
bookshelves.

He sighed. "What did you do?"

"What’s with the tone? I’m not Theo."

"You wouldn’t say it like that if it was anything good," Blaise drawled. His expression shifted
to one of genuine concern. "Is Scorpius okay? Narcissa?"

Draco waved his hands dismissively. "No, no, they're fine. Nothing like that."

He sank into the chair, relaxing a little. "Okay, so what’s going on? Why are you so...
jumpy?"
"I think it’s the bloody tea Lovegood gave me," Draco muttered, rubbing the back of his
neck. "It’s not a big deal, really, but..." He cleared his throat. "It’s Granger."

Blaise’s expression slowly morphed from frowning into a sly smirk. "I knew it. I bloody
knew it. I knew you weren’t doing all this for Potter alone."

"No, that has nothing to do with it."

"Sure," he smirked. "So, how long’s this been going on?" He crossed his fingers on the desk,
clearly enjoying himself.

"It’s not 'on.' It’s not continuous. It just happened once, a few days ago, and..."

"Wait, wait, wait. Something actually happened? I thought you were just admitting you fancy
her, but you’re saying something actually happened?" he asked in shock.

"I don’t f…" Draco paused, then sighed quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, I do.
How do you even know about it?"

Blaise shrugged. "I have a sixth sense for these things. Also, you’re painfully obvious, and I
only saw you two interact once."

"And?"

"And Theo noticed how you talked about her," Blaise continued. "When he pointed it out, it
was easy to see." Great. Theo and his fucking big mouth.

"So," Blaise continued, leaning forward, "What happened? Did you shag her?"

"No," Draco replied quickly. I’m planning on it, though. Can’t stop thinking about it. He
sighed, rubbing his temples. "Not… exactly. Well, I'm not going to tell you the details. You
know her, she’s not a stranger. It’s weird."

“That’s exactly why I want to know the details,” he insisted, his smirk widening. “So what,
you just… snogged a bit?"

“No, definitely more than that,” Draco admitted quietly. “There were a lot of… hand actions.
Everywhere.”

Talking about it didn't help because he remembered how she felt and sounded when she
came. Vividly.

Blaise nodded, his smirk stretching from ear to ear. "Nice. So what now?"

"Now, nothing," Draco shrugged, trying to push aside his obsessive thoughts. "She said she
needed a few days to sort her thoughts, so I’m giving her that." He paused, glancing over at
Blaise. "By the way, what is ‘a few days’ to you?"

Blaise thought for a moment. "I’d say three to five days seems about right. Not more, not
less."
"Yeah, that’s what Lovegood and Scorpius said as well," Draco muttered, still lost in thought.

"You... you told them?"

"Salazar, no. I just asked them what 'a few days' meant to them."

"Oh," Blaise said, nodding in understanding. "Want a drink?"

Draco nodded, and they sat down, sipping Blishen’s Firewhisky. Draco wasn’t sure if it was a
good idea to be drinking after the tea. Lovegood had warned him against adding sugar or
milk because it would enhance the effect, but she hadn’t said anything about alcohol.

After a few moments of silence, Blaise chuckled. “I can't believe you shagged Granger.
Going to! Going to shag Granger.” He corrected himself before Draco could.

You and I both, mate.

"You know, I think I’m going to ask Luna on a date," Blaise added casually.

"Really?"

"Yeah," he drawled. "She’s beautiful, nice, and funny. She’s weird sometimes, but I like
that."

Draco nodded absently.

"She’s calm and kind," Blaise added, causing Draco to nod again. "I bet she’s wild behind
closed doors. Those people usually are."

"Yeah."

"Same as Granger?"

"Yeah..." Draco replied, his voice rough before he could stop himself. "I mean..." Blaise’s
smirk grew wider, and Draco huffed in annoyance. "Fuck off."

Draco planned to floo with Scorpius to Potter’s house tomorrow after lunch. His son had
been excited to go somewhere else for a change. When they arrived, he looked around the
kitchen before spotting his friend. The two boys greeted each other quickly and then ran
upstairs to one of the living rooms where they’d put the telly.

"So, what’s on the repertoire today?" Draco asked.

"One of the most famous films ever made. The Lord of the Rings," Potter said. "Lots of
magic. Hobbits, wizards, elves, that sort of thing. Muggles think of it as fantasy fiction."

Draco smirked. "And we call it a… documentary?"

"More like historical fiction. It’s a long one, though. Three hours or so. Did you have any
plans with him tonight?"
"No, but we usually spend some time together in the lab before bed. He can skip a night, I’m
sure he’ll survive."

"Good," Potter said, nodding. "You’re starting on Monday with the other rooms?"

"Yeah. I shouldn’t have a busy week, so I figured I’d just skip all the meetings and catch up
on the weekend."

"Do you want to wait for me after I get back from work?"

Draco shook his head. "No, your wife said Granger was here earlier to check if she’s
comfortable being upstairs again," he said casually. "So I won’t be alone."

Potter looked at him, his expression shifting into that unreadable auror face. "I don’t trust her
not to push herself too hard. She’s careful after she hits the wall, like recently. She’s good at
damage control, you know. Not so much at prevention."

Draco nodded. "I see."

"Can I count on you?"

"What? To tell her to back off?" Draco huffed. "I did, and she had a panic attack."

"That was different. You weren’t aware of certain limits. I know she explained them to you
now."

Draco nodded. She explained some other boundaries to me, too.

Stop thinking about it now, you fucking idiot.

"You know she’d hex you if she knew you were basically asking me to look after her."

Potter rolled his eyes. "I’m counting on your discretion. She was here half an hour ago,
threatening to report me to the WSPCMB if I made Kreacher follow her around again."

"What’s the WSP… whatever?"

"The Wizarding Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Magical Beings."

"That’s a mouthful," Draco muttered. "So she was here?"

"Yeah," Potter said, watching him closely. "She just dropped off some DVDs for the kids. Did
you two discuss next week’s plan?"

Not really. I was thinking about discussing something else with her first.

"No, but now that you mention it, we probably should. I’ll… owl her when I get back home,"
Draco said, stepping toward the fireplace. "See you in a couple of hours."

He rushed back home and debated whether he should floo to her place immediately. Trying to
curb his impulsiveness, he made himself a cup of Lovegood’s calming tea.
It didn’t work.

In fact, it did the opposite.

It had been a few days, and he couldn’t wait any longer. He needed to see her now.

Without further hesitation, he flooed into her living room unannounced, startling her yet
again.

"Are you absolutely mental?!" she said, pressing a hand to her chest.

Draco winced. "I'm sorry..."

"Why didn't you try floo-calling first?!"

"Um… I don’t know."

"Jesus," she sighed, shaking her head. "Well, don’t just stand there." She gestured vaguely for
him to move around.

Draco stepped aside and took in his surroundings. Granger was seated on the floor next to the
armchair, scribbling notes into one of the books he’d brought her from the manor. The room
smelled warm and inviting, like freshly baked biscuits with cinnamon and chocolate. He
noticed she’d filled more pages since the last time he was here.

"What are you working on?"

"Mirrors," she replied, jotting something down before setting her pen aside. "They can be
incredibly dangerous if cursed. The ones in the house may not be, but I’d rather err on the
side of caution." She fixed him with a gaze, blinking through her glasses.

Draco shifted uncomfortably, feeling like she was assessing him. To break the tension, he
turned to inspect her bookshelf.

"Is this weird for you?" she asked suddenly.

He glanced at her. "What?"

"Me being here when you arrive." She smirked. "I’m usually not in this room when you show
up unannounced."

Draco turned to face her fully. "I usually check your books, as you can see. You're disturbing
my routine."

"Apologies," she said lightly, heading to the kitchen. The sound of dishes clinking and
cabinets opening filled the room. "Did you finish your book?"

"No. It asked me to do an awful number of exercises," he muttered, tilting his head to read
the book spines. "I'm not sure I care enough. And I already know my parents fucked me up."
Granger chuckled and returned, handing him a small plate with a slice of cake. "I think you
should read it. I don’t often recommend self-help books, but The Child in You is very good."

Draco eyed the plate. "What’s this?"

She rolled her eyes. "Beans on toast," she deadpanned. "A chocolate cake, Malfoy. What do
you think it is?" She sat back down, resuming her writing while he took a bite.

It was good.

Draco hummed in approval, turning back to her shel. "What kind of writer is Poe? I’ve heard
of him, but I’ve never read his work."

"Are you a fan of macabre art?"

Draco scoffed. Have you seen where I grew up? "Of course."

"Then you’d like Poe. He wrote very spooky stories and poems."

"Not a lot of Americans here, are there?"

"A few of the really famous ones. Hemingway, Poe, King," she listed off. "Stephen King also
writes haunting stories."

Draco sank into the sofa, feeling more at ease now.

Granger adjusted her glasses and looked at him. "Have you ever watched a horror film?"

"No," he said simply, licking the last of the cake from his fingers.

She looked away. "Huh," she muttered.

That was it.

No teasing, no follow-up question.

Draco frowned slightly. "It’s great. The cake. Did you make it?"

Granger nodded. "Yes."

"Didn’t know you could bake."

She frowned slightly but didn’t look up. "You’ve had my cooking before," she reminded him.

"Only once," he shrugged. The last time I was here.

A silence fell between them and not the comfortable kind. It felt… strained. Like she was
holding something back.

Was what they did a mistake?

If things were going to be this awkward, maybe it was.

Draco cleared his throat. "Do you need help with that?" he asked, more to fill the silence than
anything else.

Granger, however, had a different idea. She sighed and looked at him. "Do you think we
should talk about what happened?"

He didn’t hesitate. "Yes."

She sighed again and removed her glasses, rubbing her eyes. “I still don’t know what to
think. I don’t really have a habit of doing…” She gestured vaguely between them. “This with
my friends, so I don’t know what to do after it.”

So we’re definitely friends.

“Do you regret it?” The question was out before he could stop himself, and he regretted it
instantly.

Granger would tell him the truth, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it. But the speed with
which she shook her head sent a thrill through him.

“Do you?” she asked.

“Fuck no.” It came out harsher than he intended.

She frowned slightly, jaw tightening. “You were, um…” She stood and walked to the
window, crossing her arms. “Too understanding when I said I didn’t feel like talking.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. And too understanding is bad because…?

“I felt like you were…” She exhaled, leaning against the glass. “Relieved. Like you just
wanted to leave.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off.

“I know, I know. You said we had time and that we’d talk. It’s just…” She glanced at the
floor, then back at him. “People say things they don’t mean all the time.” Her fingers tapped
anxiously against her leg.

Draco ran a hand through his hair, exhaling through his nose. “Is that what you’ve been
thinking about these last few days?” I swear to all the gods, I’m never using this phrase to
describe time ever again.

“A little.”

He took a step closer.

“But then I remembered Silva said I overthink and obsess without confirmation first, so I just
shoved it to the lowest shelf.”
Draco blinked. “Silva?”

“My therapist,” she clarified. “Dr Carolina Silva.”

That answered one question.

Draco nodded slowly. “Okay… But ‘shove it to the lowest shelf’?”

Granger shifted, a faint blush creeping up her neck. “It’s… an occlumency thing.” She
frowned. “If I put something on the bottom shelf, then…”

Draco’s eyes flicked to the actual bottom shelf of her bookcase, filled with interesting titles,
and smirked. “No one questions you about it?”

She rolled her eyes. “Something like that.”

“And you had to occlude?” he asked, this time more seriously.

“Oh, not all the time,” she said quickly. “Just a bit before sleeping.”

Draco moved in, drawn by the way she instinctively tilted her head. His hands found the
curve of her jaw, fingertips brushing the warm skin of her throat. He felt, rather than saw, the
way she swallowed.

Her eyes roamed over his face.

“Granger,” he murmured, “I meant what I said. I’ve wanted this… wanted you for quite a
while now.”

His forearms nearly rested against her chest, and he could feel the rise and fall of her
breathing.

“And I don’t know if you meant it when you said it, but…”

“I did,” she interrupted, gripping his hands and nodding.

Her hair was piled up in that messy way of hers, and Draco noticed her wand somehow stuck
in the knots.

He clenched his jaw. Desire coiled in his stomach, tightening as he watched her. His eyes
dropped to her lips.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” he murmured.

“Doesn’t matter, Malfoy.” Her breath hitched slightly. “That entire evening, I didn’t say a
single thing I didn’t mean.”

Her expression was steady, resolved, but her body told a different story. She was breathing
harder, her gaze flickering to his mouth.
Draco let out a slow breath and took a step back. Out of the corner of his eye, her cat
sauntered out of the living room.

When he turned back, disappointment was written all over her face.

“See?” He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling up. “This is exactly why I wanted
to leave as soon as possible. Because you don’t even do anything. You just say something
like that, and I…”

He stopped, looking at her.

She had that look in her eyes again and he switched.

“You know what?” His voice dropped. “We’ll talk later. Fuck it .”

And then he reached her in two steps, pressing his lips to hers in a heated kiss.

He had intended to speak to her first, he really had, but Draco couldn't resist the urge to touch
her again. It had only been a few days since he did it the first time, but it felt like an eternity.
He knew what she wanted now, and he yearned to give it to her just that.

He kissed her, one hand resting lightly on her throat, the other cupping the back of her neck,
pulling her closer. Her hair felt incredibly soft beneath his fingers.

He pressed his hips against hers, feeling his own arousal building. Granger pulled him closer
until there was no space between them.

The window loomed behind her, and he lifted her onto it, moving as close as he could until
she wrapped her legs around him. He felt the familiar warmth spreading through him, but his
trousers threatened to impede the moment.

"Wait," he gasped, breaking away from her lips.

He pulled his wand from his pocket and with a flick, his trousers transformed into something
more casual.

Granger looked up at him with eyes dark with desire. "I prefer these," she murmured.

"Do you now?" He trailed kisses down her neck, pausing at that sweet spot that made her
shiver.

His hands slid beneath her shirt, and he inhaled sharply as he discovered she wasn't wearing a
bra. Fuck. I need to feel her more.

"I don't know," she moaned as he sucked on her neck. "There's something about..." He
pressed himself more firmly into her, and she began to move against him. Oh yes, I can feel
you now. “Men in... grey sweatpants.”

"And here I was trying to impress you with my suits," Draco chuckled. "I should have just
shown up in my quidditch uniform. You'd prefer that, wouldn't you?" he joked, kissing her,
and she nodded.

"Quidditch uniform, but after practice." She gripped his behind, pulling him closer.

"Bloody hell, Granger," he muttered through his teeth.

He didn't want to waste any more time, not like last time. He slipped his hand inside her
knickers, eager to see how wet she was this time. She moaned against his lips and began to
move faster.

Last time, he hadn't been able to see her face when she came. This time, he would watch. He
wanted to see every inch of her body tremble and writhe as she came.

With a firm grip on her hip, he halted her movements, taking control. He found a rhythm that
matched her own, not too fast, but with just the right amount of pressure, and she surrendered
to his touch. The wetness between her thighs was intoxicating. Because of me. I made her...

Stop that.

Granger moved more slowly now, allowing him to dictate the pace. She was so warm, so wet,
and he was growing harder just thinking about how she would feel when he finally entered
her. He slipped one finger inside her, and she tightened around it.

Last time, she had said she needed more, but before he could even consider going further, she
was kissing and sucking on his neck, her nails digging into his skin. He couldn't help but let
out a low groan. Don't stop holding me like that.

"More," she breathed against his skin. The sensation of her warm breath against his neck was
almost as exhilarating as the flick of her tongue. How’s that even possible? "I want more.
Please." Fuck yes. Beg me.

"Yes, yes," he drawled. "Don't be impatient."

She bit down on his neck, eliciting a low groan of pleasure from him. Whether she enjoyed
inflicting pain on him or simply loved hearing his reactions, he didn't care. All that mattered
was the way her body was grinding against his, the way she was begging for more.

Draco's hand moved swiftly from Granger's hip to her throat, wanting to see her face as he
slid another finger inside her. He held her lightly, just enough to lift her face to meet his gaze,
but when she grabbed both of his hands tightly, he immediately released her and withdrew his
finger.

"Boundary?" Draco froze with concern.

"No," Granger shook her head, her grip on his hands unwavering. She licked her lips, her
eyes never leaving his. "I want… I need you to hold me tighter."

Draco's cock throbbed at her words, even though she hadn't even touched him yet. He wanted
to fuck her against the window and hold her wherever she wanted, as hard as she needed him
to, for as long as he could. With a newfound determination, he pushed his fingers inside her,
eliciting a moan and a clench from her.

He began to pump them, rubbing her clit, relishing the sound of her whimpering. He leaned
in closer, resting his cheek against her temple, unable to look at her.

"Beg me," he said. He tried to sound assured, but could hear the tremor in his own voice. He
just hoped she couldn't.

"W… what?"

"You heard me," he replied harshly, meeting her gaze. She probably likes that more. "You
want your choking? I need my begging. You don't need to mean it, I just want to hear you say
it."

Granger's cheeks flushed a bit, but she didn't look away.

"In fact…" he said, tracing his thumb slowly over her bottom lip.

She parted her lips slightly, and he pushed his finger inside, just a bit, to see if she'd let him.

She did.

"I would prefer it if you didn't mean it. I want to see just how much you really need it if
you're willing to lie. To be dishonest."

Granger closed her mouth, clenching her jaw. Her frown was almost cute, but he knew better
than to comment on it. She grabbed his hands tighter, sinking her nails into his skin, but he
welcomed the pain. He could feel her breathing deepen, almost angrily.

"Please," she said, her voice calm but forceful. "Please, I need you to choke me harder." Her
warm breath caressed his hands, sending shivers down his spine.

Draco complied with her request, feeling her pulse racing under his fingertips as he tightened
his grip around her throat. She held onto his hands, urging him to apply more pressure, as she
moaned quietly.

He quickened the pace of his fingers inside her, rubbing her clit with his palm, and she was so
close to coming, he could feel it in the way her body trembled under his touch. But just as she
was about to tip over the edge, he abruptly stopped, leaving her hanging on the brink of
release.

She cried out in frustration, almost pushing him away. "I don't like edging," she complained.

He smirked. "I do. That was for me." He lifted her off the window sill and carried her to the
sofa, sitting down with her on his lap.

She seemed to forget her annoyance as she pressed herself against him, kissing him, biting
his lip, and pulling his hair.
But then she grabbed him harder, making him gasp, tilt his head back, and warned him in a
low, threatening voice, "If you do that again, I'm kicking you out. Is that clear?" She never
sounded this… intimidating and he never felt harder.

"Yes," he managed to say weakly before she released him. Granger was looking at him while
she was sliding her hand inside his underwear.

"You wouldn't want me to play with you like that now, would you?" she said when she finally
took him in her warm hand and started pumping him lazily.

Draco's mind was clouded with desire, and he couldn't help but let out a groan. "Don't," he
pleaded.

But she only chuckled, teasingly swiping her thumb over his sensitive tip. "I know, Malfoy.
Don't worry," she smirked.

He closed his eyes, leaning his head back. He had just begun to truly enjoy the feeling and
sound of his leaking cock in her hand when she jumped slightly.

"I almost forgot," she said, retrieving her wand from her hair and casting a spell over the
fireplace.

Draco couldn't take his eyes off her as her hair cascaded down her shoulders.

She was so fucking beautiful.

"I don't want any more unannounced visitors," she smiled, glancing at the empty armchairs.

Draco pulled her closer, kissing her neck and inhaling the sweet scent of caramel and vanilla
that surrounded her. "He left a few minutes ago," he whispered.

She drew her hands over her back until she found the hem of his t-shirt and began to pull it
upwards. "He's very intelligent. He must have remembered what you said last time."

Draco laughed and started removing his shirt, and she used that opportunity to jump off his
lap and stand in front of him. Granger looked at him and frowned slightly.

"Take off your shirt," he said, and she raised an eyebrow. "I took off mine, it's only fair."

She smirked, and Draco felt a surge of anticipation as he watched Granger remove her shorts.
Even better.

He stood up to remove his sweatpants and sat back to watch her. He grabbed his cock lightly,
looking at her, hoping to see her blush again, but she tilted her head, watching him touch
himself lazily over his underwear, so she bent over and removed hers.

He swallowed hard.

Draco couldn't see anything because her fucking t-shirt was too fucking long, but she was
there. Almost naked. In front of him. So he did the last thing he had to do and lifted himself
to remove his underwear.

Granger glanced down at him and… Oh, there it is again. She finally blushed slightly.

She walked again towards him and straddled him without hesitation. Draco felt like he was
dreaming.

He could feel her. Wet and warm on his cock.

He almost moaned at this simple contact, but tried to contain himself.

Granger couldn't, it seemed, because as soon as she sat on him she started kissing him and
rubbing herself against him, but this time? This time, it was different. There was nothing
between them. He could feel her wetness mingling with his, and the obscene sound they
created.

He grabbed her by the hips and moved his hands up around her waist. Draco was tired of her
t-shirt covering everything he was desperate to see, so he dragged it upwards. When she
finally decided to take it off, he didn't know where to look first. To her cunt on his cock or
her perfect tits and body in front of his face or her hair that again fell like a waterfall over her
shoulders.

He attacked her lips like a starved man and helped her move faster over him.

I can definitely come like this. I just hope I won't.

They moved together, and he kept exploring her body with his mouth and hands, kissing and
licking his way down to her tits. He grabbed them, perhaps harder than he should have,
causing her to whimper. Draco paused, waiting for her to say something before continuing
with a gentler touch.

He was licking and sucking on her nipples, but he yearned to touch her hair. It was so
inviting, smelling so good, and she loved it when he pulled it. Draco couldn't resist it any
longer, reaching up to grab a fistful. She gasped, and he used it to pull her closer, kissing her
harder.

Granger slid her hand between them, lifted herself up and slowly sat down on him, causing
them both to moan loudly.

It was a feeling of pure ecstasy, like jumping into a pool after a long and tiring day.

Fucking finally.

Granger rode him slowly, and Draco felt his desire build to a boiling point. Her teasing pace
was maddening, but he didn't want to risk ruining the moment by demanding more. He could
feel her warmth and wetness engulfing him, inch by inch. He wanted to grab her hips and
thrust into her with all that he had, but he restrained himself because he had her, Granger,
riding his cock, naked in her living room.

It felt like a scene from someone else's life.

His need grew, and he couldn't help but grab her ass, wanting to control her movements and
feel her body even closer to his. If I pull her hair more, maybe she’ll ride me faster.

So he tugged her a bit more, and she did, her moans following each thrust. Granger's hands
slid up to his neck, her fingers digging into his skin as she held on tightly. Yes.

The thought of marking her with half-moon bruises made his blood pulse with excitement.
He gripped her hips harder and pulled her hair, exposing her neck to him. He took a deep
breath, savouring the scent of her, before biting down on her delicate skin.

“Malfoy?"

“Yeah?"

“The last time you were here…"

“Yes?"

“When you said what… ah…” she gasped as he bit the place between her neck and shoulder.
“When you said what your boundary was…"

Draco slowed down, his heart beating faster as he looked at her. Her eyes were fixed on him,
searching for an answer.

“Yes?"

“Why did you say that?” Her voice was quiet but insistent. He looked away, blinking rapidly.
"Don't lie," she added. Not now, Granger.

He thought about it for a moment or two, his hand moving slowly over her body, just to touch
her, to feel the dampness of her skin.

“Someone…” he began slowly. “A few women actually asked me to…” He frowned a bit.
“To hurt them more than I would be comfortable or excited about and…”

He couldn't look at her as he spoke the words, couldn't bear to see the disgust or
disappointment on her face. But she wanted honesty, and he owed her that much.

“To call them some words I don't use… anymore,” he finished, his eyes flickering up to hers.

She was frowning.

“When you said you liked it when I… when I raised my voice at you, I just… I just needed to
know if… if you were asking for it just because it was me.” He could feel the heat rising in
his cheeks as he spoke, a sudden wave of vulnerability washing over him. “I wanted to know
if you would like that from someone else, too.” Someone else?

The thought of someone else making her feel the way he did, of anyone else touching her like
this, was almost… too much. His grip on her hips tightened even more, his body tensing with
the sudden surge of baseless possessiveness.
Granger looked at him before her lips trailed down his neck, causing him to moan softly. Her
touch was like a wildfire, igniting every nerve in his body. Draco could feel her hands
gripping his neck, making him feel both vulnerable and hungry for more at the same time. He
moved his hands between her legs to help her come faster. I can't take this teasing anymore.

Her breath was hot against his ear and he shivered as she licked and nibbled on his earlobe.

"Keep doing that," he whispered in response.

Granger obliged, and her tongue traced the outline of his ear, sending chills down his spine.

"Is that something I need to ask you?" she spoke suddenly.

After a few moments of silence, her hot breath tickled Draco's ear, making it harder for him
to focus on her words. Her tongue, teeth, and lips sent shivers down his spine as he worked
his hand between her legs, eager to make her come so he could fuck her faster afterwards.

But then, she pulled his hair and forced him to look at her as she spoke with that threatening
voice.

"When you ask me to beg you. Do you always want to hear it, or is it only because it's me?"

The question hung in the air, and Draco's mind raced to come up with an answer. He wanted
to lie, to keep up the facade of dominance, but he knew he couldn't fool her.

His brain couldn't function properly because all of his blood was rushing to his cock right
now. It took him too long to answer, so it was probably clear to her now, but Granger was
stubborn and waited for his response.

Eventually, he breathed out, "Only because it's you," and closed his eyes in surrender.

Granger shifted, and Draco braced himself, thinking she might ask him to leave. But instead,
she moved closer, settling herself on his lap. Draco mirrored her movements, moving to the
edge of the seat. She grabbed his cock with even more confidence than before and they both
moaned as she took him all the way in, feeling impossibly deep inside her now.

"Why?" she asked while licking and sucking his neck and ear.

Draco liked this position more, feeling her deeper while he encouraged her to fuck him faster,
just how he wanted her to. He was now completely lost in the pleasure she was giving him.
She sucked his earlobe and clenched around him again, causing him to groan. He knew she
was waiting for an answer, and he didn’t have it in him to lie to her, not now, so he opened up
like a faucet.

"I still can't believe you let me touch you," he whispered, holding her tighter and rubbing her
clit faster. "I can't believe you let me kiss you. I had my fingers inside your cunt for only a
few minutes, and I couldn't stop thinking about you for days.”

Granger stopped what she was doing to his neck and held his face, looking at him intently.
He looked back at her and continued, "I won’t be able to think about anything else if you
never let me touch you again after today."

Draco gripped her hip tightly, probably too hard, as she frowned but moaned and rode him
faster. He could feel her getting closer.

"I want you to hurt me and punish me for everything because I know I don't deserve to have
you," he said, his voice rough with desire.

Granger slowly grabbed his neck, and he groaned louder.

"But also… I want you to let me hurt you as much as you need it and fuck you as hard as I
can."

Draco managed to lean forward to suck and bite her nipple and she increased her pressure on
his throat.

Yes, do it. Hurt me more.

He took a deep breath and continued, "I've known you almost my entire life, and I never
imagined you like this before, but now it’s all I can think of. I don't know if that makes me a
fucking creep."

They were both sweaty and the smell of them together was overpowering. He gripped her
hair again and she whimpered.

"I want you to beg me to let you come on my cock because I need to feel like you're
desperate for it as I am," he said through his teeth, looking at her intently and she was so
beautifully flushed all over her neck and chest.

Granger nodded rapidly, her eyes glowing with desire. "Yes, I am. Please, don't stop. Don't
stop, I'm begging you," she breathed, her pleading more convincing this time.

She didn't scream like she said she wanted, but whimpered so softly near his ear when she
finally came.

Draco could feel heat radiating from her face. She was grabbing his throat as he kept rubbing
her clit slowly to follow through her orgasm and holding her thigh to feel her muscles
contracting just to prove himself he didn't imagine any of this. His brain was a mess, and he
didn't even come yet.

After a few moments of silence filled up only with her soft panting, Granger delicately
removed his hand from between her legs and she shivered.

She leaned in to kiss him, taking it slow and sensual. He shut his eyes and ran his hands over
her damp back, his fingers tracing over the two dimples that he liked seeing so much and
goosebumps on her skin.

“You don't have to pull out,” she said quietly, cradling his face in her palms as she brushed
away the sweaty strands of hair that clung to his forehead.
His gaze met hers, and he couldn't help but feel like his heart was lodged in his throat.

“I'm on the potion. You can do whatever you want to me now. Just don’t pull out,” she
implored, the desperation in her voice sending shivers down his spine. "Please."

Draco needed no further encouragement. He resumed kissing her and the heat between them
grew once again, their bodies slick with sweat and writhing with pleasure. He wanted nothing
more than to lose himself in the sensation, to slam into her with abandon.

But the sofa was too fucking small for what he was feeling right now, and it limited their
movements. So without hesitation, he lifted her up and dropped them both onto the floor,
where he was free to indulge in her without any constraints.

He was so close to her now. Their tongues in each other's mouths. His body pressed flush
against hers, his cock buried deep inside her. Granger gripped his waist and arse, urging him
to go deeper, harder. He held her by her neck and pounded into her with all the strength he
could muster. He needed her just like this, after what he had just shared.

It didn't take long before he came, his body convulsing as he came inside her just like she had
requested. This time, when she asked him for it and begged him not to stop, her plea sounded
genuine and raw, spurring him on even further. Draco didn't care how he sounded or what he
looked like at this moment. Nothing could be more humiliating than what he had already
confessed to her.

He was lying on top of her as she slowly drew her fingers on his back until their breaths
stabilised. He remained like that for a few minutes, enjoying the feel of her body beneath
him, until he realised that it might be uncomfortable for her. Slowly, he rolled off and lay
beside her, but the lack of physical contact left him feeling empty.

Despite the warmth of the room, the air felt cold against Draco’s damp skin. The only sounds
were the dripping water in the kitchen and the ticking clock on the mantle, punctuated by
their soft breathing. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her, so he fixed his gaze on the
ceiling, lost in thought.

Finally, he spoke. “I’m sorry.”

Granger didn’t turn her head. It seemed she, too, stared at the ceiling.

“Whatever for?”

He swallowed, feeling a lump form in his throat. “For the things I said.”

“You’ve said a lot of things,” she replied, and he stole a quick glance at her. There was no
anger on her face. “You don’t have to apologise for anything you said… in the heat of the
moment.”

Draco let out a humourless chuckle. “Now you’re being too understanding.” He paused,
gathering himself. “It’s all true.”

“I know,” she said simply. “You’re too worried about it now for it to be a lie.”
She crawled over to the sofa, took her wand, and muttered a charm to scourgify them both
before returning to the floor next to him. Their arms brushed, and Draco felt suddenly
unnervingly dry. He preferred it when he was still slick with her, when her touch lingered,
grounding him.

“I don’t think we need to be ashamed of what turns us on,” Granger said softly, breaking the
silence. “Unless, of course, it’s unethical or illegal.” She shot him a look, but there was no
judgment in her eyes. “I asked my therapist something once I realised… I feel attracted to
you.”

His heart skipped a beat, and he turned to her, eager to hear more.

“I asked her if it’s… morally acceptable to be attracted to you, given our past.”

“Morally acceptable?” Draco echoed, his mind racing. He thought about that, too.

Does it seem indecent or…? Is it wrong to have her touching him like she did after
everything that he has done to her years before?

Was he allowed to want her?

“Yeah. I wondered if it made me vile, immoral, or just plain... weird.”

Weird.

The word echoed in his head, rattling him in a way he didn’t want to admit. He wanted to
know the answer to that question as much as she did. “And what did she say?”

Granger let out a sigh, her eyes now studying the floor. “She told me not to be so harsh on
myself when talking to her.”

Draco chuckled. Well, that’s money well spent.

She ignored the sarcasm, her expression growing more serious. “But I have some theories.”

“Of course you do.”

He could practically feel her rolling her eyes. “Do you want to hear them, or not?”

“I do,” he said, shifting slightly, placing his arms behind his head and settling back onto the
floor, still looking at the ceiling.

Draco waited as Granger collected her thoughts, preparing to speak as if she were about to
give a presentation. He couldn't help but smile.

"Neither of us expected this to happen, but it did," she said softly. "It was unplanned."

She leaned over on her side to face him, her warm hand coming to rest on his cheek. He
closed his eyes and exhaled, feeling her fingertips tracing over his lips.
"I never looked at you like this before," she admitted, "But I felt the same way you did."

She trailed her fingers down his neck and over his chest, causing him to swallow nervously.

"I never thought of you as someone I would want to kiss or touch. Like someone I would
allow to touch me or see me like this."

Draco turned his head, admiring her flushed face, her pupils dilated. She swung a leg over
his, drawing him closer. He could feel the heat emanating from her body as she continued to
touch him, and he felt goosebumps forming as he shivered.

"But I do now," she said, her touch becoming more deliberate. "That's what makes it so
tempting, I think."

Granger’s fingers brushed over his stomach, and he gasped as she accidentally or
intentionally grazed his now hardening cock.

"I'm fascinated by you like this. The fact that many years ago neither of us would even
consider it, for different reasons. But we are now."

She took him in her hand, stroking him slowly, and a low groan escaped his lips.

Draco rubbed his face in disbelief at what was happening to him again. He knew he would
come within seconds if she continued to talk like this.

"I meant what I said the other night," she continued, stopping her touch for a moment as he
looked at her.

With the same hand, she reached herself between her legs, returned her wetness to his cock,
and he closed his eyes, feeling overwhelmed by the sensations. He remembered how it felt to
be inside her, and the memory only added to his pleasure.

"I could never imagine you in my bedroom before," Granger said, and her voice was steady
despite the intensity of the moment. "But now I can't stop thinking about it. Because it is
you."

Her voice hasn't changed at all since she started talking. How does she have so much self-
control? I'm losing my mind here.

“I like it when things get a little rough,” she said and squeezed him. “Not always, but often
enough."

“Tighter, please,” he hissed.

She obeyed, her strokes growing faster, more urgent.

“I like the feeling of surrendering control to someone else for a change.” Me too. “But with
you… I feel I have another reason,” she said and grabbed him even tighter.

He almost cried out, but covered his face with his palms to stop himself.
“I want you to hurt me, so I can hurt you back.” That almost made him come.

Yes, hurt me as much as you want, just don't stop.

“Do you think that’s weird?” her voice was now more hurried.

“I don't know,” he barely managed to moan.

Granger was doing that thing with her fingers over his tip and that’s all he could focus on.

“I think it is. But I can’t help it. I don’t want to help it. Not now when I got to enjoy you like
this,” she admitted.

Draco felt a surge of desire at her words, barely able to contain himself. "Don't help it then,"
he breathed out, wanting more. "Do whatever you want to me. I will take it all."

Granger didn't say anything in response, just focused on her hand movements.

He came if possible even harder than before and she slowed, holding him as the tremors
subsided, still holding him as he got softer. He lifted his hands to rub his face again, feeling
his sweaty forehead.

Granger leaned against his shoulder and he could smell her hair. He tried to slip his arm
around her shoulder to bring her closer, and she allowed him to do that. She was resting her
head on his chest now, and he looked at how her eyelashes moved when she blinked. They
were laying like that for a couple of minutes until she spoke again.

“Do you want to have a shower?” she murmured, her breath warm against his skin.

“Yeah.”

Granger stood up, and he watched her walking into the dark hallway to the bathroom. After a
few moments, he heard water. Draco stood up to find his wand to quickly scourgify himself
before following her.

He didn't even mind the fact that the water she was showering with was scorching hot.
Granger was naked and wet in front of him. He washed himself quickly, used her shampoo to
wash his hair and felt just a tad excited that he would smell like her for at least some time.

He tried not to miss any moment of her routine. Draco observed every step she made with
different shampoos, some that she massaged diligently into her scalp and the others only on
her hair, but they all slid off her body effortlessly and he felt hypnotised.

“What are you looking at? Trying to get some tips on hair care?” she said as she washed out
the last product, he hoped.

“From you?” Granger, please.”

She splashed some water towards him and rolled her eyes.
“You used so many products."

“My hair is curly, it requires different care."

“Does that include scorching water?"

“No, that’s a personal preference. Besides…” she stamped closer and pulled her fingers
through his hair.

Draco closed his eyes for a moment and let her do it.

“We’re not all blessed with perfect hair that always stays in place. God, it’s so annoying."

He pinned her against the cool shower wall, the water cascading down their bodies.

"Are you jealous?" he asked before leaning in to kiss her.

The kiss was different now, raw and electric. Their skin, slick with water, clung to each other.
Her lips and tongue seared him with heat.

Draco's hand left her waist and slid between her legs, exploring the slickness that awaited
him. She quivered in his arms, and her lips parted in a silent gasp. She stopped the kiss to
gaze at him, her voice barely above a whisper.

"A little," she said before biting down on her lip.

Granger leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes, seeking support from his
arm. He kissed her neck, trailing his tongue along the delicate curve. He lingered over her
nipples, teasing them with his tongue. Her breaths were ragged, and her chest heaved with
each exhale.

Draco swallowed every reaction, tracing circles around her clit with his fingers. He didn't
rush or push too hard, just taking his time to feel her and watch her.

She was breathing heavily now, her grip on his arm tightening. When she came, the sound
she made was the most beautiful music to his ears. He couldn't take his eyes off her, drinking
in the sight of her flushed cheeks, her slightly furrowed brows, and her glistening eyes.

Granger looked up at him, her eyes still sparkling with ecstasy, before launching herself at
him in a fierce, passionate kiss. She stopped his hand when she thought it was too much and
Draco let her find her breath again. When she eventually did, she was back in her standard
mode.

“Do you want us to make a plan for next week before you leave?"

“Of course, Granger."

 Hermione

February 2013

“I slept with Malfoy.”

Padma and Luna froze in front of the fireplace.

“That’s… quite the bombshell to drop on us the moment we walk in,” Luna remarked
casually, sinking onto the sofa.

“You’re joking?” Padma asked, still standing in stunned disbelief.

Hermione shook her head. “No. Not at all. Right there, actually.” She gestured to the empty
seat next to Luna.

Luna glanced at it, then back at Hermione. “How was it?”

“It was fucking amazing.”

“Well then, I’m happy for you,” she said, making herself comfortable.

Padma, still reeling, stared between them. “I’m sorry. I need a moment to process this. You
slept with Malfoy?”

“Yes.”

“Slept, as in, you had sex with Malfoy?”

“Yes.”

“Draco Malfoy?”

“Well, the only other age-appropriate Malfoy is his mother, and I’m not really into older
women, so…”

Luna chuckled.

Padma exhaled sharply. “Right. Okay. I’m going to need you to explain this to me. Slowly. In
great detail. While still respecting both of your privacies, of course.” She lowered herself
onto the sofa beside Luna, only to jolt upright and move to another seat.

One that, presumably, hadn’t been the scene of the crime.

Hermione took a deep breath before launching into the full story.
She told them everything - the months of bottled-up emotions, the moments she’d kept to
herself, and why she was only telling them now. Padma’s logic and objectivity, combined
with Luna’s supportive yet… unique perspective, made them the perfect confidantes. The
others wouldn’t have been as helpful.

Pansy and Parvati would demand every intimate detail, Ginny would be even worse, and the
thought of discussing Malfoy’s cock, which, if she could say so herself, was spectacular in
front of Daphne was nothing short of horrifying.

So, she told them about the first time. Then the second, which had only happened a few days
ago.

Padma remained in stunned silence, her mouth slightly open. Luna, as expected, took it all in
stride, treating the revelation as though it were no more surprising than news of a slight
change in the weather.

“And that’s it,” Hermione finished, finally settling into an armchair after pacing the room.
“We’ve seen each other nearly every day this week at the Potters’. We’ve worked together.
And we haven’t really talked about it.”

“Does he act differently?” Padma asked.

“He looks at me when he thinks I’m not noticing. And he’s more reserved when Harry’s
around. But when it’s just us…” She hesitated. “He talks like before. Maybe a little more
restrained, but… he hasn’t tried anything again.”

“Maybe he’s waiting for you to make the next move,” Luna suggested thoughtfully. “He
seemed anxious but tried to hide it after Valentine’s Day.”

“How do you know?”

“I saw him at Theo’s. And now I’m connecting the dots.”

“Oh.” Hermione absorbed that. “Well, I can do that,” she nodded, mostly to herself. “I mean,
I told him, multiple times actually, that I wanted this to happen.”

“Just sex, or something more?” Padma asked.

Good question.

“I’m not sure,” Hermione admitted. “I… like him. More than I thought I would. And now
that I know what it’s like to…” She paused, the memory flashing vividly in her mind. “I’m
not sure I can keep it purely physical anymore.”

Padma arched an eyebrow. “Sounds to me like you are sure. Do you think he only wants
sex?”

Not after what he said. Not right there on that sofa.

A shiver ran down her spine.

“I don’t think so,” she said carefully. “But he’s not saying anything.”

“I can see you’re overthinking this,” Luna said, gesturing vaguely at Hermione’s head. “For
years, I thought it was wrackspurts, but no, it’s just your confusion and insecurities working
overtime, making all these little sparkles buzz around you.” Ouch. “I don’t think there’s any
need for that. Just tell him.”

“I actually don’t have an opinion,” Padma admitted. “On one hand, I understand you don’t
want to risk rejection. But on the other, you want verbal confirmation from him.”

Hermione nodded.

“Well, then,” she said matter-of-factly. “You’re the Gryffindor here, not him. Do something
about it.”

“I was the one who kissed him first,” Hermione pointed out, slightly defensive.

“So?”

“Well, I don’t want to seem desperate.”

But he already knew she was, didn’t he?

I need to feel like you’re as desperate for it as I am.

Yes, I am, she had told him.

As I am, he said.

That was all right, then. As long as they were equal.

“You’re not being very helpful,” Hermione muttered.

“Sorry,” Luna said with a serene smile, “but you already know the answer. You just need to
say it out loud.”

Hermione rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, she pushed herself to her feet with a sigh.
“What would you like to drink?”

“Whatever helps you loosen up and spill those spicy details,” Padma quipped, tying her hair
into a ponytail and adjusting her glasses. “I’m rather excited about those.” She grinned.

Over the next few hours, Hermione shared as much as she could without crossing any lines.
She wasn’t about to go into explicit detail, not just out of respect for herself, but for him too.
She wouldn’t want him talking about her like that, either.

The next morning, after finishing her coffee and breakfast, Hermione flooed to the Potters’.
When she stepped into the kitchen, she found Harry and Malfoy having coffee together.
I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.

“Good morning,” she greeted. “How come you’re always here before me?”

Malfoy shrugged. “Scorpius is an early bird. I’ve been up since six.”

“When does he go to sleep?”

“Around ten, usually.”

“Well, there you go. Maybe he should stay up later?” Hermione suggested.

“No. Absolutely not,” Harry and Malfoy said in unison.

“You cannot give them the option to change their bedtime,” Harry explained, shaking his
head with the air of someone who had learnt this the hard way. “Otherwise, they’ll be up past
midnight and won’t wake until noon.”

Malfoy nodded in agreement.

“I see. This is a… parenting thing,” Hermione mused, glancing between them with a small
smile.

She sat in an empty chair and turned her attention to the large piece of parchment spread
across the table.

“So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

“Well, let’s consult your perfectly organised schedule,” Malfoy said, pushing the parchment
towards her.

It was quite organised, wasn’t it?

Hermione had drawn up a timetable resembling the ones schoolchildren used, but with
magical enhancements. If they tapped on a task, the box would expand to reveal
subcategories, additional explanations, and any necessary notes. More functions could be
added as they went, allowing them to restructure it as needed. Essentially, it was a
spreadsheet, just better.

According to today’s plan, she and Malfoy were set to investigate a cabinet she’d discovered
on the day of the incident. He was going to open it with her. If it turned out to be empty or
something easily dealt with, they could move on to sorting books. She was half hoping it
would be just that, a cabinet, so they could spend the rest of the day in the library instead.

“I think it’ll require a joint spell,” Malfoy remarked, scanning the schedule. “I checked its
defence mechanism, and it’s too strong for one person.”

“Alright.”

“Do you have any idea what’s inside?” Harry asked.

“No. Could just be a boggart. We’ll be careful.”

“Let’s hope it’s only that,” Harry muttered.

On Saturday night, they made a plan together before Malfoy left to pick up Scorpius. By the
following day, Hermione had transformed their rough ideas into a meticulously organised
spreadsheet. On parchment, of course.

By Monday, Malfoy had unlocked the library and the other room, and for the past four days,
they’d been working together to clear everything out.

It was still strange to find him in Harry’s kitchen that first morning after everything but she
managed to survive. He kept a bit more distance while Harry was there, but once Harry left
for work and they were alone, he relaxed.

Each day, she felt more at ease, almost comfortable enough to hold a full conversation with
both of them in the same room and meet their eyes. It was impossible to ignore the fact that
she and Harry had once considered Malfoy an enemy and now, here he was, helping Harry
renovate his home while she… had slept with him just days ago.

But she was trying to move past that thought.

After the conversation with Padma and Luna, she’d changed her mind. She wasn’t going to
bring up anything to Malfoy. She wanted to see where things went naturally, without
schedules or plans. When they’d first started talking, she’d been desperate to define whatever
was happening between them, to put it in a neat little box with clearly drawn boundaries. But
now… she wanted to feel liberated by the lack of expectations.

Yes, that would be good for me.

We’ll see how long that lasts before I start obsessing again.

They worked well together as they cleared out the rooms. On the first day, Malfoy had
hovered around her as if she were disarming landmines rather than levitating dusty pillows.
But by now, he’d relaxed, no longer supervising her every movement like an overzealous
shop clerk.

Each evening, they reported their progress to Harry when he got home. If he had noticed any
change in their dynamic, he hid it well under his stupid auror face.

When they finally managed to open the cabinet after a series of joined spells, they found it
completely empty.

“Well, that’s a bit… anticlimactic,” Hermione remarked as they levitated it out into the
hallway.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry, did you want to see your boggart in here?”

She froze.
His expression shifted immediately. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“No, you’re right.” She grabbed his hand before he could overthink it. “I wasn’t thinking. I
haven’t seen one since Hogwarts.” She let out a soft scoff at the memory. “Back then, my
boggart was McGonagall telling me I’d failed all my exams. Can you imagine?” She shook
her head, blushing slightly. “God, how sheltered my life was back then.”

Malfoy chuckled. “When you were a child? I should hope so.”

He gave her hand a small squeeze. It was the first time they’d touched since that evening, and
yet… it felt oddly normal.

“Yeah, well…” She glanced at the cabinet. “It’s a marvellous piece of furniture. Wooden.
Antique.”

He nodded.

“Do you think I could take it home?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Okay.”

The library was smaller than Hermione remembered but still just as fascinating. Malfoy,
however, seemed far more preoccupied with cautioning her every few seconds, and his
incessant warnings were beginning to grate on her nerves.

"Watch where you're…"

"Malfoy, if you say that one more time…"

"Well, you're not exactly being careful."

Hermione let out a sigh. "Stop it." Her temper was rising. "Would you like me to go sit in the
tiny bathroom and let you handle all the interesting stuff?"

"Yes, actually, I would," he replied, muttering something under his breath that sounded
suspiciously like, ‘fucking Gryffindors.’

"What was that?" she demanded, narrowing her eyes.

"Nothing," he said dismissively. "Shut up and work."

She moved to the shelf nearest the window, where there was enough sunlight to see properly.
The wood was damp and mouldy from the room’s humidity, and she made a point not to
touch it. Drying spells helped, but they didn’t do much for the air.

“Do you think we can catch a respiratory infection from all this mould and dust?” she asked,
casting a linked spell she’d recently learned.
After the tedious business of individually cleaning each enchanted bobby pin, she’d been
inspired to study more efficient spellwork. Now, she could remove the anti-Muggle curse
from two or three books at a time, which made the process far less maddening.

“I don’t know,” Malfoy muttered. “Never had one.”

“Well, me neither, but I’ve also never been in a room this…” She glanced around.
“Overgrown with mould. There are some funny-looking fungi over there.” She pointed
beneath the heater. “We probably shouldn’t go near them.”

“Probably.”

He was oddly quiet.

Malfoy was far more focused on the task than she was, scowling at the shelves and
occasionally muttering under his breath. Every now and then, he’d read a title and shake his
head, caught somewhere between annoyance, anger, and disbelief.

Three hours in, he practically growled in frustration. “This one’s on the proper ways to use
human skin in bookbinding.”

“Splendid,” Hermione muttered.

“What kind of people…?” He exhaled sharply, rubbing his forehead. “Fuck. I…” He shook
his head. “Nothing.”

She studied him carefully. His shoulders were tense, and she could almost feel his magic
humming with barely restrained frustration.

“Let’s take a break,” she suggested. “Downstairs. I’ll make tea.”

He didn’t argue.

Minutes later, Malfoy was slumped at the kitchen table, arms crossed, face buried in them.
Hermione watched him quietly as he took slow, deep breaths.

“Do you want to stop for today?” she asked.

“No. Why?”

“Because you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset,” he said sharply.

“You are. And that’s fine. It’s natural, even.”

He huffed. She imagined he was rolling his eyes, too.

“And I don’t mean it in the ‘Oh, you’re a good man, Malfoy, of course you’re upset that
Muggleborns were turned into book covers’ kind of way. What I mean is that we’ve been
pouring our magic into counteracting centuries of Dark spells, and it’s draining you.
Physically and mentally.”

“You’re not drained,” Malfoy pointed out.

“Yes, but I'm an incredibly powerful witch, so it doesn't bother me,” she said, and he rolled
his eyes now. “I am, actually. But maybe…” She trailed off, meeting his gaze. He looks
exhausted. “I enjoy this,” she admitted. “I’m excited that we’re getting rid of these foul
books. But you …” She hesitated, debating whether to say it aloud.

Malfoy averted his gaze.

“You blame yourself for their existence. For being connected to all of this.”

He said nothing. Instead, he looked around the kitchen, as if searching for something.

“I hate everything about this,” he finally muttered.

“That hate is consuming you,” she said gently.

He shot her an annoyed look.

“And I don’t mean that emotionally. I mean it in the context of your magic.” Hermione stood,
rifling through the kitchen cupboards. “Although, really, I don’t think we can separate our
emotions from our magic,” she mused.

After some searching, she found a box of chocolate biscuits and held them out to him.

Malfoy shook his head and stood, dropping his empty cup into the sink. “I’m not hungry.”

“Chocolate raises serotonin levels,” she remarked. “It’s like… a happiness hormone.”

He rolled his eyes, but a reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he reached for a
biscuit.

“I know , Granger.”

Leaning against the countertop, he started talking about Dementors, chocolate, and Hogwarts.
Hermione barely listened. Instead, she watched the way his tired eyes lit up with a faint
glimmer of amusement.

He still looked so vulnerable, and she knew he needed comfort.

So, she waited until he finished his biscuit and, without really thinking about it, stepped
closer and kissed him.

His lips were soft against hers, hesitant at first, before he responded, his arms wrapping
around her waist, pulling her in. The kiss deepened, slow and lingering, and Hermione felt
warmth spread through her, melting into him.
When they parted, he stared at her. “What was that for?” he asked eventually.

Hermione shrugged. “Nothing. I just wanted to kiss you, so I did.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You always just… do whatever you want in the
moment. Say whatever’s on your mind.”

“Not always,” she admitted, stepping back slightly, suddenly self-conscious. “Should I… I
shouldn’t have done that?”

“No.” He reached for her quickly, his fingers curling around her wrist before she could move
further away. “Don’t.”

His eyes held hers for a long moment, something unspoken passing between them, and then
he leaned in again, kissing her with more urgency this time.

For a moment, nothing else mattered. Not the cursed books, not the damp, musty library
upstairs, not even the war-torn memories that had brought them here in the first place. Just
him and the lingering taste of chocolate on his tongue.

When they finally broke apart, he exhaled a quiet chuckle. “It’s refreshing. Hearing all your
intrusive thoughts.” He smirked, hands sliding to her hips as he tugged her closer. “Especially
when I benefit from them.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Wow. Can you be any more Slytherin?”

He laughed, and before she could protest, he turned them so that she was the one leaning
against the counter. His lips found hers again, slow, deep, teasing, and she sighed into him,
her body responding instantly.

It had been days since they’d last done anything like this, and she was already starving for
more.

“Hey,” she murmured, interrupting the kiss. “Don’t get any ideas. We have work to do.”

“Yeah, I know.” He nodded, brushing his lips against her neck, just beneath her ear. “I’m just
trying to increase my serotonin levels.”

He kissed her there, and she shivered.

Hermione shifted slightly and he was already hard.

She smirked. “And an increased blood pressure is just an unplanned complication, then?”

Malfoy smiled against her skin. “More like an expected side effect.”

She let him kiss her again, let herself sink into it for just a few more moments until reality
came crashing back, reminding her exactly where they were and what they were supposed to
be doing.
“Yeah, we should really go upstairs,” she said, and the second he let her go, she apparated
before he could stop her.

The short break seemed to do Malfoy some good. He was in a noticeably better mood and
had finally mastered the connected spells she’d taught him the day before. Over the next two
hours, they nearly finished clearing the small shelf by the window, until he started frowning
at the book titles again.

“Do you think maybe some of these aren’t worth saving?” Hermione asked, levitating a few
books into the safe pile in the hallway.

“I haven’t found a single one worth saving,” Malfoy muttered. “I’d burn the lot if you hadn’t
asked otherwise.”

“Well, let’s burn some, shall we?” Hermione suggested, picking up a particularly offensive
title. “Like this one. I doubt anyone would, or should, be interested in…” She clenched her
jaw. “Half-Breeds and Mudbloods: The Degradation of Wizarding Society.”

Without hesitation, she flicked her wand and sent it flying into the fireplace, where it burst
into flames.

“Or this one.” She plucked another book from the shelf, sneering at the cover. “The Rituals of
Pureblood Supremacy: Sacrifice, Blood, and Dominion.” That one joined the first in the fire,
catching slowly.

She reached for a particularly thick tome with a cover so dark it almost seemed to absorb the
light around it. It was heavy, and she had to shift her grip just to turn it over and read the
embossed title.

"The Blackest Book of the Blacks," she muttered.

Malfoy barely glanced at it. “It’s one of those self-writing family lineage books. Most of the
old houses have them.” He frowned. “Never seen that one before, though. It’s a lot bigger
than the one about the Malfoys.”

Hermione nodded, running a hand over the spine. It had probably stopped updating after
Sirius' death. The thought sent a pang of sadness through her, but she pushed it aside and
placed the book in the keep pile.

Malfoy did the same with a few books, though he seemed reluctant, admitting in a tight voice
that some could be useful.

“They might help with removing curses,” he muttered. “Gods know there are plenty of
them.” He scowled as he pulled another title from the shelf. "The Dark Arts of Blood
Curses."

Hermione knew exactly what he was insinuating.

She considered saying something a few times, asking about Astoria, about why he was
interested in that particular book, but no matter how close they’d become, it didn’t feel right.
Not yet.

Instead, she tried to lighten the mood.

“Oh, I found one for you,” she said, pulling out a slim, pompous-looking book. "The
Pureblood Redemption: A Comprehensive Guide for Returning to the Right Path."

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

“You should read it,” she teased. “You’ve surrounded yourself with all sorts of unsavoury
people.”

With only ten books and a handful of objects left on the shelf, it was close to five o’clock
when Malfoy suggested they go downstairs to wait for Harry and show him their progress.

“No, you go ahead. I’ll finish up here,” Hermione replied.

“We can do it tomorrow.”

“I know. But I want to finish it now.”

“Why?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Um. No reason, it’s just…” She glanced at him, where he stood near the door, arms crossed,
watching her expectantly. “Because…”

His expression turned smug. “Yes?”

She huffed and spun back to the bookshelf to avoid looking at him.

“Because I’m this close to finishing for the day, and I don’t want to stop now! Look how little
is left,” she gestured angrily at the shelf, her voice rising in frustration. “I want to start fresh
with a new one tomorrow. And if I leave it like this, so nearly done, I won’t be able to sleep
tonight!” She exhaled sharply. “There. Are you happy now?”

Malfoy chuckled and stepped up behind her, slipping his arms around her waist and resting
his chin on her shoulder.

“Yes, I am,” he murmured. “I told you. I want to hear all your intrusive thoughts.”

Hermione huffed at his words, but her heart stuttered when he pulled her into a slow
embrace. The warmth of his body seeped into hers, and when he began pressing soft kisses to
her neck, a thrill shot through her.

“I thought that only applied to the ones you could benefit from,” she said, trying to maintain
some semblance of composure.

“I can benefit from this knowledge,” he countered, his lips still trailing along her skin.

“Yeah? How?” Her breath hitched as he drew her hips closer to his.
Malfoy hummed against her throat. “I like that you never leave things unfinished,” he said.
“You’re thorough. Tireless. Tenacious.”

Hermione let out a small laugh. “That’s a lot of adjectives that start with T.”

“Would you like to hear more?” he asked, his hand moving from her waist to her throat,
pulling her back against him until her head rested against his shoulder.

She swallowed, pulse fluttering as she nodded.

“Thrilling,” he whispered. “Tender.”

His fucking voice is killing me.

Her pulse pounded against his fingertips, and judging by the way his thumb skimmed along
her throat, she knew he could feel it.

“Toned,” he added, smirking. “I can tell you’re serious about your workouts.”

“I am,” she breathed.

His hand slid from her waist to her breast, squeezing just enough to make her gasp.
“Titillating,” he said, voice low with amusement.

She chuckled, feeling her body relax into his touch. “That’s… an interesting choice of word.”

He smirked against her neck. “Tasty,” he murmured, lips brushing her skin.

Hermione let out a sigh, shifting against him, but he tightened his grip on her hip, keeping her
firmly in place.

“Tantalising.”

Heat coiled low in her stomach as he pressed into her more, fingers flexing at her throat.

“Teasing,” he murmured. “But I don’t like that.”

Are you fucking serious?

She had to laugh. “I don’t think you understand the definition, otherwise we wouldn’t be
here.”

His grip on her throat tightened slightly, sending another pulse of heat through her. I can’t
believe I’m this horny in a dirty, cursed library. Her breath grew uneven, and she swallowed
against his hold.

“I don’t like being teased,” he muttered, rolling his hips against hers as he sucked on her
neck.

Hermione bit her lip, fighting back a moan before remembering exactly where they were.
"Well, do tell me if I ever behave that way," she said, trying to speak full sentences. "I don't
want you to feel tense. Or tormented and tortured." But he bit her and grabbed her stronger
and she had to let out a moan this time.

Shit.

She needed to put a stop to this before they got carried away.

“Malfoy,” she said softly, forcing her brain to work through the haze of arousal. “I really, and
I mean really, don’t want to, but I think we should stop.”

His grip loosened instantly, the sudden loss of pressure making it feel as though he’d stepped
three paces away, even though his arms were still around her.

“Yeah,” he said after a beat, voice low and rough. “I know.”

Malfoy exhaled, and Hermione could tell he was about to say something. She turned to face
him, catching that same expression she imagined was on her own face, something between
hesitation and want.

“You know,” he murmured, tugging at the waistband of her jeans. “I really like seeing you in
these.” His hands slid down to her bum, squeezing, and she squeaked. “But they’re so
impractical.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? And maybe that’s the whole point. Look, but don’t touch.”

He huffed. “Impossible.”

Malfoy kissed her again, slower this time, before pulling away just enough to meet her gaze.
He looked like he wanted to say something.

“Scorpius has a sleepover with Daphne tonight,” he said, fiddling with a strand of her hair
instead of looking her in the eyes.

Interesting.

Was he unsure about something too?

“Great,” Hermione smirked. “You’ll have loads of free time to catch up on reports. Or
paperwork. Or… whatever it is you do all day.”

He rolled his eyes.

“I know, it’s Thursday,” she added before he could speak. “I’ve noticed that’s usually when
she’s too busy to hang out at night.”

Malfoy nodded. “Yeah. He doesn’t have tutors on Friday, so he can sleep in if he wants.”

He glanced at her again. I know what you want, so just ask. I’m not making every first move.
“Can I… I want…”

Hermione smirked, watching with amusement as he struggled to put his request into words.
He was serious, she could see it in his eyes, but he was also hesitating.

A faint flush crept up his neck before he finally huffed, regaining his composure.

“I’m coming over tonight, Granger,” he said, as if he were making some grand declaration.
“It’s…” He cleared his throat. “It’s very inconvenient for me not to touch you every time I
see you, and I see you a lot these days.”

His fingers brushed against her temple as he tucked a curl behind her ear, his touch gentle
despite his firm tone.

“You don’t have to exile your cat this time,” he added. “You do have other rooms.”

A tingle shot down Hermione’s spine. “Okay,” she said, then hesitated. “Do you want to stay
the night?”

Is it too soon to ask?

The answer came without hesitation. “Yes.”

I guess not.

But then he frowned. “Are you going to make me sleep in your pink, childish bedroom?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “No, I told you. I don’t sleep there. I sleep in the room for grown-
ups.”

“Good.” He smirked. “Now let’s finish the rest of these books so you can sleep peacefully
tonight.”

They made quick work of the remaining books and even managed to get rid of the entire
shelf, which turned out to be even more mouldy on the back. Hermione stared at the dark,
festering patch on the wall and wondered, not for the first time, if they needed muggle
antifungal spray or some sort of magical purification charm.

By the time she returned home, after Harry had arrived and they’d reported their progress for
the day, she wasted no time in taking a long, hot shower.

Later on, Hermione stopped by the supermarket, picking up groceries and browsing the
cleaning section for antifungal products, but when she returned home, the sound of clinking
glasses drifted from the kitchen. Malfoy had been making himself more and more
comfortable in her space lately, something that pleased her but also slightly, just slightly,
irritated her.

However, when she walked in, it wasn’t Malfoy. It was Pansy.

“Oh, hey,” she said, rummaging through the cabinet above the sink, shifting glasses around.
Well, shit.

“You let yourself in? Again?” Hermione asked, heading straight to the counter to unpack her
groceries.

Pansy rolled her eyes. “In my defence, I did floo-call first. Waited for a response. Heard
nothing. So I walked in to find wine glasses, but they’re all gone.” She glanced around.

“They’re in the dishwasher.”

“Oh.” Pansy opened it, pulled out two glasses, and used her wand to wash them. “How lazy
of you.”

Hermione stared at her in disbelief since she just used magic to wash two glasses and walk to
the living room. “So, what’s up?” she asked, following with a bottle in hand.

“Nothing. Daph’s got Scorp tonight, and I was bored at home.” Pansy flopped onto the sofa,
kicking off her shoes.

Hermione arched a brow. “So I was your second option? After Daphne stood you up? Red or
white?”

“Red, please,” Pansy said, stretching out comfortably. “And were you trying to make me feel
bad? Because it’s not working. I know she’s your first choice too.”

She shrugged. “That’s fair.” Hermione poured two glasses and picked up Crookshanks,
settling him onto her lap. “Where’s Charlie?”

“At the Burrow. Weasley dinner night.” Pansy rubbed her temples. “I had to skip. Terrible
day at work. Didn’t fancy a terrible evening, too. Arthur mentioned they invited you last
month,” she added.

Hermione nodded. “They did, but I was swamped with publisher meetings. And now this,”
she gestured at the books stacked on the coffee table.

The Weasleys had a tradition of inviting them over for dinner once a month. Since she was
staying in England longer this time, they’d extended the invitation again. She did miss them.
If they invited her next month, she’d make the time.

“Why would it be terrible, though?”

Pansy sighed. “Fine. Not terrible. Just annoying .”

“So what happened at work?”

With an exasperated groan, she launched into a rant about a client who had conveniently
forgotten to report all his revenue, making her life hell.

Hermione nodded sympathetically. “Sounds exhausting.”

Pansy took a sip of her wine. “How was your day? Did you and Draco have fun?” She
squinted suspiciously.

Hermione looked away. Oh, we had fun. I nearly jumped on him in an infectious library.

“Yes,” she said with a shrug. “It’s fun most of the time. Some of the books in the library
are… interesting.”

Pansy snorted. “Interesting? That’s the word you’re going with?”

“Well, we burned some of them.” Hermione took a sip of wine. “Some of the content was
illegal. And disturbing.”

She eyed her warily.

So Hermione took a breath. Might as well prepare her now. “Oh, and Pans. Malfoy’s
probably coming by later.”

Her brow lifted.

“Just to pick up the books we were using for research,” Hermione clarified, gesturing toward
the stack. “So don’t make it into something it isn’t .”

Quick thinking. Good for me.

Pansy squinted. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Fine.”

Pansy poured them more wine and mentioned that Daphne was serious about throwing a
grand spring celebration in her gardens this year. Since Pansy had some free time, she’d
taken it upon herself to help.

Hermione, in turn, shared that she’d had lunch with Luna and the twins over the weekend.
Apparently, Lavender and Neville had broken up. Parvati said Lavender had been the one to
end it for… personal reasons. Hermione hadn’t pressed for details. Meanwhile, Luna’s little
business venture with Theo and Blaise was finally coming to fruition.

She was kind of hoping Pansy would get bored of all the gossip and leave before Malfoy
arrived. But as time passed, it became clear that wasn’t happening.

At precisely eight, the green glow of the floo startled them both.

Malfoy stepped out, looking nothing but his usual self.

“Hey, Draco,” Pansy greeted, sitting up.

He glanced between them. “Good evening. Am I interrupting something?”

“Nothing,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “Just drinking and talking.” She gestured
towards the book on the table, hoping he’d get the message. “Here, you can take it. Just don’t
remove my notes from between the pages.”

“No, of course not.” Malfoy picked up the familiar blue book, the one that had troubled him
for weeks.

Pansy eyed him. “What are you researching now?”

“Well,” he said, flipping through the pages, “Granger is currently investigating soul-
collecting mirrors, so I figured I’d focus on portraits with similar functions.”

“Most of them are just family portraits, though, aren’t they?”

“They are, but that one you said creeps you out?” He turned to Hermione. “With the moving
eyes? They don’t look like paintings. They look human.”

“Really?” she asked, intrigued.

“Really.”

Someone’s soul might be in there. “Wow.”

“Sounds disturbing,” Pansy muttered.

“It is.” Malfoy nodded. “You should see the shit we found there.”

“Well, sit and tell me.” She tapped the spot next to her. “You have anywhere else to be?”

“Well, I was planning to read this, but…”

They can survive Pansy for one evening. “We had a long day, Malfoy. Sit. Have a glass with
us.”

He hesitated for a beat before giving in.

As Hermione walked to the kitchen to grab another wine glass from the dishwasher, she
heard Pansy talking.

“You look very… casual.”

“Well, I was planning to spend most of my night in bed,” Malfoy said dryly. “But I see that’s
not happening, so…”

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling.

“Red or white, Malfoy?” she called, washing the glass in the sink.

“Um… you’re having red, so red it is.”

She poured him a glass and handed it over.

“Thank you.” He took a sip before glancing at Pansy. “Where’s Charlie?”

“Family dinner.”

He smirked. “And you’re not invited anymore?”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “I chose not to go, you prick. They love me there.”

“I’m sure they do.”

“No, they do,” Hermione cut in, unable to help herself. “It’s actually rather surprising.”

Pansy raised an eyebrow at them both. “I am delightful. I don’t know what you’re talking
about.”

Hermione listened to them talk with a sense of detachment, only interjecting when necessary.
It was odd seeing him so at ease in her home, with Pansy. She couldn’t recall ever hearing
them talk like this before. It made her wonder if he was this comfortable with everyone he
was close to.

He was growing more relaxed around Harry and had some weird rapport with Ginny that
involved a lot of snarky remarks and subtle insults, friendly even, in their own way. But this
was different.

I wonder if he’ll ever be this relaxed with me.

Was that even a reasonable expectation? Was their relationship different because they were
sleeping together?

Wait… are we even sleeping together? Regularly?

It had only happened once. Twice, technically. And it would have happened again today if
Pansy hadn’t shown up. Did that count as a regular thing?

Her thoughts drifted to their conversation earlier, when Malfoy had said he wanted to be with
her again. Was it just sex, for now?

There was no denying he was ridiculously good-looking. And he’d proven to be incredible in
bed. He listened to her, took note of what she liked and didn’t like, and… Merlin, she
couldn’t remember the last time she’d come like that. It had been almost overwhelming.

For a moment, she’d thought she might even cry.

Especially after his confession.

She meant what she told him. The thrill of it all came from the fact that it was him. She never
expected to want Malfoy, but… did that mean she was fetishising him, like those women he
mentioned?

The thought of him being with anyone else suddenly made her uneasy. She shifted in her seat.
He clearly said he wasn’t comfortable with that. But then, is anyone?

And what about his request, for her to beg? He’d said it only felt right because it was her.
Was that strange? Or was it just something he enjoyed?

Hermione didn’t find it weird, and it wasn’t something she wouldn’t do for him. They were
just words. But… should I think it’s strange?

This… thing between them was still new. However, she couldn't forget that they both had
preconceived notions about the other that wouldn't just disappear overnight. They were there
for more than a decade. I'm gonna have to talk about this with Silva.

Hermione yawned at the thought. She was tired. And on her third glass of wine.

Malfoy stood up, taking the book he didn’t really need, finishing off his drink.

“Well, I should go. It’s getting late, and you look tired.”

“We’re not doing anything, really,” she shrugged.

“Never mind. See you tomorrow, Granger. Bye, Pans.”

And with that, he stepped into the fire.

Hermione could feel Pansy’s eyes on her.

She’s going to ask.

I have to give her at least something, she’ll become suspicious.

So she took a sip of wine and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I don’t know
where to look when they wear those grey sweatpants.”

Pansy let out a sharp laugh. “Right?”

“Yeah.”

“So… what’s happening with your little crush now that you two spend so much time
together?”

“I don’t have a crush on him.”

Oh my God. I do have a crush on him.

“Oh, please.” Pansy rolled her eyes and mimicked a high-pitched voice that sounded nothing
like Hermione. “‘He’s good-looking and I like talking to him.’ Isn’t that the definition of a
crush?”

“Is it?” Hermione frowned, considering, before shaking her head. “I don’t know, Pans, I
just… I just want to get more comfortable with him.”
I got comfortable with him right there where you’re sitting.

Stop it, brain. Please.

Hermione cleared her throat and changed the subject. “It was interesting watching you two
just now. I never really hear you talk.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, he’s usually… reserved when I see him with other people, but he’s so relaxed with
you.”

She shrugged. “We’ve known each other all our lives. Maybe it’s the same as how I feel
about Harry or Ron. They don’t talk to me and you the same way.”

“You’re right.”

Pansy studied her for a moment before speaking again. “I care about him, Hermione,” she
said softly. “Just like I care about you. And I’m glad that two people I love have found some
common ground.”

Hermione glanced at the floor.

That’s not the common ground she had in mind. Focus.

“It’ll be easier to have you at gatherings,” Pansy added cheerfully.

Hermione nodded.

“So… whatever this is that you’re managing right now…” she lifted her wine glass. “I’m
happy for you both.”

Charlie texted Hermione around ten to let Pansy know he was back home.

“You should really get a phone,” Hermione said.

“Absolutely not. I enjoy having you relay my personal messages.”

“You’re a businesswoman, Pans. You can’t avoid it forever.”

She just waved a dismissive hand.

Despite everything, Hermione had enjoyed the evening. If Pansy hadn’t essentially
cockblocked her, she might have even admitted she liked talking to her one-on-one. Usually,
nights like this included Daphne or Ginny as a buffer. The two of them never really spent
time alone together.

After a quick shower, Hermione headed to bed. She was pleasantly tipsy and expected to fall
asleep quickly. But it felt like only minutes later when the sound of the floo jolted her awake.

She sat up, groggy, listening.

Someone was downstairs.

Hermione swung her legs over the bed and made her way to the landing, peering down.

“Who’s there?”

“Oh. It’s me.”

Malfoy stepped into view, glancing up at her. “I was looking into cursed portraits and… were
you sleeping?”

“Yeah. What time is it?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Just after midnight. Sorry, you’re almost always awake at this
time, so I assumed…”

“No, it’s… fine.” She rubbed her eyes, glancing toward the living room. “Did you turn on the
lights?”

“No, they were already on when I walked in.”

Frowning, Hermione padded downstairs and switched off the lights she’d apparently
forgotten.

“That’s why I thought you were awake,” Malfoy added. “I really didn’t mean to wake you.
I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, really.” She stood near the floor lamp, hesitating before glancing back at him.
“Pansy had great timing.”

“Yes, she did,” he muttered, watching her. Then, after a pause, “I should go. Sorry again.”

I’m just going to ask.

He can reject me if he wants to.

“You can stay if you want,” she said. “To sleep. I’m really tired.”

She braced herself, heart beating a little faster. When he blinked in surprise, she wondered if
she’d made a mistake. Maybe this was just about sex for him. Maybe…

But then he smiled.

Nodded.

Relief flooded through her.

“There are no pink wallpapers or teddy bears,” she added quickly. “It’s a perfectly suitable
room for adults.”

He chuckled. “I’m sure it’ll do.”

“Do you need anything? A towel? Toothbrush?”

“A toothbrush.”

“There’s a box under the sink. Just pick one.”

She returned to her room and lay in bed, waiting for him.

I’m waiting for Malfoy to come to my bed and sleep next to me. God.

He wasn’t gone for long. A few minutes later, she heard his footsteps approaching. He
walked in, glancing around.

“Neutrals. Very grown-up. I like it,” he said, sitting on the other side of the bed.

“It was my parents’ bedroom,” she explained. “But I took it over the first time I came back
from Spain.”

“How did you even hear me from here? The living room’s quite far.”

“I forgot to close the door, and I’m a light sleeper,” she said. “What kind of sleeper are you?”

“It depends,” he shrugged, then pulled off his shirt.

The glamours were still in place on certain parts of his body. She wished he’d lift them.

“Dissy says I never hear her when she calls me,” he continued, “but I wake up as soon as
Scorp opens the door.”

“That’s… sweet.” He’s a fucking parent.

He has someone he’s responsible for. Forever.

“You’re a… parent.”

Malfoy tilted his head, watching her. “Yeah, I didn’t tell you I have a son? He’s about this
tall…” he lifted his hand in the air, “and we have the same hair. Oh, and he’s been here, in
your house, once or twice.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re hilarious. Now get ready for bed. I can’t stand the light
anymore.”

He stood and removed his sweatpants, folding them neatly before placing them on the
armchair near the window.

That simple act, precise, deliberate, was almost as exciting as watching him stand there in his
underwear, his lean body illuminated by the moonlight or maybe the streetlight.

She suddenly felt more awake.

Malfoy glanced out the window and squinted at something. “Your neighbours have a pool?”
“Yeah.”

“Do you have a pool?”

“No, my dad prefers gardening and a nice lawn. Besides, our garden is smaller than theirs.”

“Oh. I didn’t see it.”

Hermione turned off the lamp, leaving only the dim light filtering through the shutters.

“I’ll show you tomorrow morning,” she said, suddenly annoyed that he always came at night
, when he couldn’t see anything.

Or when no one could see him.

She tried to push the thought away.

There’s no need to feel insecure. He’s here now.

He got comfortable beside her, and for a while, they both stared at the ceiling, lost in thought.
The silence stretched until Hermione finally spoke.

“Do you have trouble sleeping in different beds?”

“Depends on the bed.”

“What about this one?”

“It’s… soft.”

“Is that a good or a bad thing?”

“Just… soft,” he said after a pause.

“I changed the mattress. It used to be too hard for me,” she explained. “I like to be
surrounded by pillows and blankets.”

He chuckled. “You definitely have plenty of those. And I have to admit, knowing you’re the
only person who’s slept on it makes it even more comfortable.”

Well…

He hesitated. “Not... that’s not what I meant. I just mean it’s nice that your parents haven’t
slept on it. That would be weird.”

She laughed. “Yeah, fair point.”

“Do you snore?” he asked, shifting the topic.

She grinned. “No. Do you?”

“When I’m drunk, I think.”

“I drool on my pillow when I’m drunk.”

“That’s certainly an image. Good to know how graceful you are.”

She swatted his arm, leaving her hand there, enjoying the warmth of his skin.

The comfort of his presence made her drowsy.

“Can I hug you?” she blurted before she could overthink it.

“Of course.” He lifted his arm, making room for her.

Hermione nestled her head against his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist beneath the
covers. He flexed his stomach a few times when her fingers brushed against his skin. He was
probably ticklish.

Malfoy draped an arm over her shoulder, his fingertips tracing absentminded circles on the
bare skin between her top and shorts. His slow, steady breathing was oddly soothing, and
before she knew it, her own heartbeat matched his rhythm.

“I forgot how nice it feels to have someone sleeping next to you,” she murmured.

“Me too,” he said softly, sighing.

Hermione didn’t remember falling asleep.

But she was awake now.

The early morning sunlight filtered through the shutters, casting soft streaks of light across
the room. She blinked at the plants on the dresser, remembering she needed to water them.
Just like the ones in Spain that suffered under her care. I don’t even know what I’m doing
wrong. I follow all the instructions.

The alarm hadn’t gone off yet, which meant it was before seven.

She turned slightly, finding Malfoy still asleep, his back pressed against hers. She didn’t want
to wake him, but she wanted to check the time. Slowly, carefully, she reached for her phone,
only to be stopped by the sudden and firm grip of his arm tightening around her waist.

Hermione sighed, relaxing into his embrace, allowing herself to simply feel the warmth of his
body, the security of being held so intimately. His leg was tangled with hers, his breath slow
and steady against the back of her neck.

She’d missed this.

The closeness. Waking up next to someone. The lazy warmth of it all.

Still, she tried again to reach for her phone.

“Where are you going?” Malfoy murmured.

“Just checking the time.”

“What is it?” His voice was low and husky, vibrating against her skin.

“Quarter to seven.”

Malfoy muttered something unintelligible and pulled her closer, his breath warm through her
hair. A shiver ran through her as his hand slipped under her top, fingers gliding lazily from
her stomach to her chest. The slow, deliberate touch sent sparks of electricity through her.

I definitely missed this part of sleepovers.

“You smell so good,” he almost groaned as he toyed with her nipple, rolling it between his
fingers. His deep morning voice did unspeakable things to her.

“You’ve mentioned,” she breathed, trying to keep control of herself. “I hope my hair didn’t
smother you all night.”

“No,” he murmured, dragging his lips along the curve of her shoulder. “But I wouldn’t mind
if it did.”

She was about to respond when his thigh shifted between her legs, pressing firmly against
her. She let out a quiet sigh at the sudden pressure, and Malfoy, clearly noticing, pressed
higher.

At this point, Hermione gave up. She closed her eyes, laced her fingers with his under her
shirt, and let him do whatever he had planned.

He kneaded her breast slowly, deliberately, while grinding against her from behind. She
pushed her hips back against him, feeling the hard outline of his cock against her bum.

“You’re so hot,” he murmured. “I can feel how warm you are on my thigh.”

He pressed against her just right, and she exhaled and moaned softly.

“Do you think you can come like this?”

Well, this was all happening… surprisingly fast.

She craved more than just the friction of his thigh against her core. She wanted to feel his
fingers deep inside her, to be filled up and consumed by him.

“No,” she panted. “I need more.”

Malfoy chuckled, his breath hot against her ear. He continued rubbing against her, slow and
purposeful. “What do you need?”
“Your fingers,” she demanded. “Inside me. Now.”

He chuckled, grinding against her harder, but still agonisingly slowly, and she arched her
back in response.

“I like how bossy you are, Granger.”

His hand left her breast, fingers tracing idle circles on her skin as he edged lower, slipping
beneath the waistband of her shorts. The moment his fingers finally found her, she let out a
sharp, silent gasp, and he chuckled darkly in response.

“You’re already so wet,” he murmured, his touch slow and deliberate. “Why is that, huh? I
haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

Hermione reached behind her, wrapping her fingers around him through his boxers. He
twitched at her touch, and she smiled.

“Because you’re like this against me,” she whispered, pressing herself back into him as he
focused on her clit with renewed intent.

In response, she slipped her hand below his waistband, trailing her fingers along his length
and teasing the spot she knew drove him mad.

He shuddered, breath hitching.

“I like that you were this hard before I even touched you.”

Malfoy parted his lips as if to reply, then stopped himself. She’d caught him off guard.

“Take this off.” His voice was low and commanding as he tugged impatiently at her shorts
and knickers, dragging them down over her hips.

She kicked them off, reaching back for him, but he was already gripping himself, rubbing the
head of his cock against her slickness. She moaned, pressing her body against his.

“You said you don’t like teasing,” she breathed.

She could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

“No,” he drawled. He dragged himself against her again, sending a shiver up her spine. “You
weren’t paying attention during our English lesson yesterday. I said I don’t like being teased.”
He slid his tip over her again, making her gasp. “But this… this, I enjoy. You don’t?”

She shook her head.

“What do you want then?”

“I told you,” she panted. “To stop teasing and start fucking me already.” She swallowed.
“Please,” she added quickly for good measure.
That did it.

Without another word, Malfoy guided himself into her, inch by inch, giving her time to
adjust. She clenched around him instinctively, feeling the stretch, and let out a small
whimper. He stilled, his hand slipping between her legs, fingers pressing in tight circles
against her clit.

“Are you in pain?” he murmured into her ear. “Should I stop?”

“Fuck. No, no, no,” she gasped. “I’m not in pain. Don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop.”

He withdrew his hand, only to slide it up to her jaw. “Open your mouth, please.”

Hermione did as he asked, wrapping her lips around his fingers, licking and sucking as he
pushed them inside. She tasted herself, the act sending another spark of arousal straight
through her.

“I like it when you talk like that,” he murmured, moving his fingers deeper into her mouth.
“You’re so fucking perfect all the time, but I love it when you get all fucked up and sound
like this.”

She bit his fingers, making him chuckle and hiss at the same time.

When he didn’t return his hand to her, she took matters into her own hands, literally, slipping
her fingers between her legs and touching herself the way she liked it.

The moment he realised what she was doing, he froze for a second, twitching inside her.

“Fuck, Granger…” His voice was rough, desperate.

Malfoy moved his leg between hers, opening her up more, filling her deeper, but still keeping
his slow, torturous pace. He pulled his fingers from her mouth and grasped her throat,
applying just enough pressure that made her whimper with excitement.

“Keep doing that,” he urged, his grip tightening around her neck. “Please, don’t fucking stop.
I want to know how you feel when you make yourself come on my cock.”

His words sent her straight to the edge. Her fingers moved frantically, the pleasure almost
overwhelming, tightening in her core, building… and when he moaned, that low, breathless
sound in her ear sent her spiralling, her orgasm crashing over her in waves. She clenched
around him, pleasure rolling through her in deep, throbbing pulses.

Malfoy’s breath was ragged behind her, his body slightly sweaty now too. He groaned again,
thrusting deep as he came after her a few moments later.

The heat between them was suffocating now, the covers almost sticking to her skin. He
released her, and with a flick of her wand, she cast a scourgify, clearing them both up before
she reached for her clothes.
“Well, this is certainly a nice way to start the day,” Hermione said once her breath had
steadied.

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “I know my serotonin levels are quite high now.”

“That’s good. It was my plan all along. To make you as efficient as I know you can be.”

Malfoy smiled and stretched, yawning. “Why do you have like five hundred toothbrushes
under your sink?”

“I have a lot of overnight visitors,” she said airily.

He huffed.

“My parents brought loads of stuff from their practice when they sold it. I go through
toothpaste, mouthwash, floss, and all that quickly, but not the brushes.”

He nodded, but before he could say anything, his stomach growled. Loudly.

She grinned. “What do you fancy for breakfast?”

Malfoy insisted on making it himself, settling on eggs and bacon. He stood at her stove in
nothing but his sweatpants, and Hermione perched on a barstool, quietly admiring him.

“You’re not wearing a shirt, and you’re standing next to hot oil. That’s very dangerous.”

“Yes, but if I were wearing a shirt, I wouldn’t have you pretending not to stare at me,” he
smirked.

“Who’s pretending?” she frowned. “I am staring at you.”

Malfoy chuckled, shaking his head.

They had breakfast, discussing their plans for the day. She noticed that he’d left the eggs a bit
runny, not her preference, but she didn’t complain. However, she considered telling him the
next time.

The next time he makes me breakfast after spending the night? Sure. Okay.

When they were finished, he levitated the dishes to the sink, but Hermione stepped in to wash
them. She didn’t want to deal with it later when she was exhausted from work.

“Why don’t you just use your wand?” he asked. “Or the… washing machine for dishes?”

She smiled. “I like using my hands more.”

Malfoy stepped behind her, bracketing her against the counter, and pressed a kiss to the back
of her head.

“You smell like bacon now,” he murmured.

“Yeah, I’ll shower before we go.”

“Yes, we should,” he said, his breath warm against her ear. “We have time.” He exhaled
slowly. “I want to see your backyard.”

Hermione assumed he’d glanced out the window behind them and been reminded of it.

“Is that a euphemism for something?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He laughed, rolling his eyes.

“Because if it is, then it’s another boundary. Sorry.”

“No, it’s…” He sighed, shaking his head. “Shut up. You’re impossible.”

Hermione smiled because he was blushing, just the tiniest bit.

“I’m going to the loo quickly,” he said, “and then you can show me.”

It was cold outside, and Hermione didn’t have anything for him to wear, so she offered him a
large blanket. But, of course, he refused. Typical man.

Still, he looked almost ethereal in his white shirt and grey sweatpants as he stood in the
gloomy bluish-green garden on a chilly February morning. His hair was nearly white, and
Hermione couldn’t stop looking at him. He was so beautiful.

The garden didn’t look as tidy as it had when her dad took care of it. She hadn’t mowed the
lawn for a while, not with all the rain.

“You mow the lawn?” he asked, sounding surprised.

“Yeah,” Hermione replied. “It’s not that difficult.”

He shrugged. “I just thought it might be more of a task for men, you know, heavy work and
all.”

Hermione blinked and frowned. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

He smirked.

“There’s a machine with blades and wheels, and you just push it around. It’s not hard,” she
explained. “I don’t know how you mow it, but... Well, you probably don’t, so…”

“Sorry,” he said, though he didn’t look the least bit remorseful. “I imagine it’s just a stupid
stereotype. Women not doing heavy housework and all that.”

“It is,” Hermione said flatly.

He paused for a moment before casually asking, “Is it also a stereotype that women are bad
drivers?”
She frowned. “It is.”

“So, are you a good driver?”

“Yes, I am. Why do you ask?”

“Huh,” Malfoy looked around, clearly unfazed. “How can you be a good driver, but you're
scared of brooms?”

“I’m not…” Hermione shook her head. “Never mind.”

He leaned in closer, his smirk widening. “Is something bothering you, Granger?”

“Nope. Nothing.” She wanted to punch him in his smug face. He was doing this on purpose.
“It’s cold, and I have to go to the loo.” She left him there, heading for the bathroom.

Eager to get rid of the bacon smell from her hair, Hermione hurried to wash it before Malfoy
joined her in the bathroom.

“Couldn't wait for your turn?” she asked, still feeling a bit annoyed when he walked in.

“I prefer saving water,” he shrugged. “Don’t you care about the environment?”

She rolled her eyes. “What do you even know about it?”

“Enough,” he replied casually as he started shampooing his hair.

Hermione couldn’t help but stare at how the foam glided smoothly down his skin, but she
quickly averted her gaze.

“I know that your little sports car isn't helping,” he continued after a few moments.

Now she was sure he was trying to provoke her, but she didn’t know why.

“What?” Malfoy smirked. “You can travel almost instantly using floo or apparition, and you
choose to burn... fossil fuel instead?” He raised an eyebrow, causing Hermione to barely nod,
frowning and breathing faster. “It’s a bit selfish, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask you,” she said quietly, applying conditioner to the ends of her hair.

Malfoy glanced at her. “I’ve noticed you use a lot of plastic packaging too.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Do you recycle?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “How do you even…”

“I live in an apartment complex near muggle buildings,” he interrupted. “I’m not completely
ignorant.”
She huffed.

“I’m sorry?” he asked, standing closer now, and it appears they both silently agreed to ignore
his obvious boner.

“Nothing,” she said, stepping behind him in the shower to rinse the conditioner out. She
turned her back to him. “It’s just that you not being ignorant about muggle things will never
cease to astonish me.” She squeezed and scrunched her hair a few times. “Also,” she added,
“I see what you’re trying to do. You’re not going to succeed.” She started to step out of the
shower. “You’re not going to rile me up.”

But before she could move, Malfoy grabbed her by the hair. Though it wasn't painful, the
sudden and unexpected grip caught her by surprise.

"Where do you think you’re going? I'm not done talking," he said close to her ear, and his
breath was sending tingles down her neck.

Hermione could feel his body close behind hers, and his fingers tugged gently at her hair,
causing her to shiver, but she didn’t speak.

“It’s so soft,” he said gently and swirled the ends of her hair around his fingers. “I watched a
lot of documentaries on television recently, you know. Too bad all these soapy, fragrant
chemicals you use on your body are poisoning our oceans.”

She sighed and didn't say anything again.

Malfoy moved even closer, his cock pressing against her back and bum, and she breathed
deeper as he pulled her hair tighter. Her knees weakened and she had to lean back against him
for support.

“Why are you ignoring me?” he demanded, slightly frustrated. “I don't care if you're riled up
or not, I just want to see how wet I can make you,” he whispered, his warm breath tickling
her ear.

Hermione's skin prickled with desire as she felt him pressing against her from behind.

Malfoy tugged on her hair, making her lean against him more, and she could feel the heat
radiating off his body. Her heart pounded as she sensed he was stroking himself behind her.

He leaned even closer and his lips were touching her ear as he spoke. “I don’t think you
understand what it does to me when I simply imagine that you are wet for me . When you
can't wait for me to fuck you,” he murmured against her ear.

Hermione's body trembled with need, and she longed for him to stop talking and do
something about it.

“It’s your problem that this excites you, I'm just willing to do what it takes,” he said, his
fingers trailing down from her hair to her spine.

Oh, so that’s what we’re doing now?

“Still quiet? That doesn't happen often,” he remarked. “I'm not sure if I like it, Granger. Tell
me something, please. If I touched you now, just to check if you’re soaking wet, would you
still be silent?” he asked, his fingers tracing circles on her lower back.

Hermione was too overwhelmed to answer, and instead, she let out a frustrated huff. What a
stupid question.

“Well, that’s just a dumb fucking question, isn’t it?” he smirked, finally giving in to her
unspoken desires and touching her where she needed him.

Her breath caught in her throat as she whimpered, her body arching against him in pleasure.

He moved his fingers excruciatingly slowly, teasing her to the brink of insanity. He avoided
her clit and instead, rubbed her in languid circles. When he dipped two fingers inside her for
just a moment before withdrawing them, she groaned in frustration.

Malfoy finally let go of her, and she turned to face him, watching as he licked his fingers. "I
was right. You are tasty," he said with a smirk.

She went feral.

If they weren’t in the shower and he could be injured if she just pushed him down to sit on
him, she would do it. So instead she attacked his face and kissed him just to be able to taste
herself in his mouth.

Malfoy grabbed her thighs and bum and pushed her against the wall, and she wrapped her
legs around him tightly to prevent any more teasing. They moved against each other urgently,
and he bit her neck hard and sucked enough to leave a mark that she would have to glamour
for days . The thought that he would leave traces of himself on her made her shiver with
anticipation.

"Tell me, Granger," Malfoy spoke against her neck. "Tell me how much you want me to fuck
you. I can already feel it." He pressed himself against her, and she could feel him hard and
wet. "I can see how you're rubbing yourself on my cock like a fucking..." He stopped himself
before finishing the sentence. "Now I want to hear it," he demanded.

Malfoy's hot breath tickled her earlobe as he licked and nipped at her neck, forcing whimpers
and moans from her. Hermione tugged on his hair, pulling him away from her neck and
making him look at her. His eyes were dark and intense, his jaw clenched with a hint of
anger. She could feel his need for her radiating off of him.

"Please," she breathed, licking her lips. "Don't… tease me anymore. Just fuck me already."

With a slow, almost painful thrust, he buried his cock inside her. Malfoy wasn't abnormally
huge, but he was a bit bigger and thicker than she was used to. Especially like this. The
sensation of him filling her up was both pleasure and pain, and she moaned loudly as he
began to move immediately at a punishing pace.

But she wanted him like this.

"Harder, please," she begged, her moans growing louder as she adjusted to his rough thrusts.

Malfoy's breathing was ragged and he gripped her hips tightly to keep her still as he pounded
into her. The sound of their wet bodies slapping together was almost too much for her to bear,
but she couldn't get enough of him.

At one moment, he accidentally slipped out of her, so he grabbed her even stronger to hold
her still while he continued to fucked her faster and groaned louder. Hermione drew her
hands from his hair to his neck and Malfoy's eyes widened slightly before he stuck his tongue
inside her mouth. He likes this a lot. So she squeezed him tighter.

He picked up the pace, his hand snaked down between her legs to rub her clit, sending sparks
of pleasure shooting through her body. She knew she was close to the edge, if only he
wouldn't change anything.

“Don’t stop, please, don’t stop now,” she moaned and felt like crying almost. It was all too
much suddenly.

Luckily, he didn't and when she came, it was like an explosion, and she bit down hard on his
lip, almost drawing blood. Malfoy growled in sudden pain, but didn't stop moving, and
Hermione clenched around him uncontrollably.

She watched his face intently, waiting for the moment when he would reach his own orgasm.
When she thought he was getting close, she adjusted her hands around his throat and
squeezed again.

When he was done twitching inside of her, and he slowed down and stopped moving
altogether, Hermione released her grip, but he grabbed her hands frantically to keep them
there, so she did what he wanted.

Their chests rose and fell as they gasped for breath, beads of water and sweat trickling down
their bodies from the steamy shower. Hermione's thighs burned with the effort, and she could
only imagine the discomfort Malfoy must be feeling after holding her for so long.

She wanted to step down and relieve him of her weight, but when he whispered, "No, please,
stay," she couldn’t bring herself to refuse.

Malfoy’s arms wrapped around her back, pulling her closer as he turned and leaned against
the shower wall for support. With an almost casual and clumsy motion, he sank down onto
the shower floor, cradling her in his lap.

Hermione’s fingers sifted through his wet hair, pushing it back from his forehead. She
couldn’t help but admire how the water and sweat glistened on his flushed skin.

Bloody bastard. And I probably look like a witch out of a muggle cartoon.

"I almost called you..." Malfoy’s voice faltered as he looked at her, a faint flush creeping up
his cheeks. "Something… insulting."

“I guessed.”
“Sorry, I… I don’t know what I was thinking," he muttered, rubbing his forehead in
frustration.

Hermione leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. "You didn’t say it," she reassured him.
She studied his face for a moment before speaking again. "If you want to say something like
that next time, just do it. I’ll let you know if I mind."

"I’m not sure you should be this understanding about everything."

She chuckled softly. "I’m not doing this just for you, Malfoy. I’m figuring things out for
myself, and you happen to be here."

"How romantic," he muttered.

"Would you like me to be more romantic?"

"Be whatever you want," Malfoy replied, his arms tightening around her waist as he rested
his head on her chest. "Just… just be."

They sat there like that for a few minutes, the only sound in the steamy bathroom being their
steady breathing.

When they finished their shower, Hermione flooed to Grimmauld Place first while he made
his way home to change.

Harry and Ginny were in the kitchen, he was reading the newspaper while she flicked
through a magazine.

“Oh, you’re back?” Hermione said, placing a bag of antifungal products on the table.

Ginny raised an eyebrow. “I’m glad you care about your friend’s career. Yes, we won, and
I’m back.”

“Great, I’m happy for you. Though, I haven’t the foggiest idea about any of it,” Hermione
said, glancing around. “Oh, did I beat Malfoy here? Finally.” She winced internally. This is so
embarrassing. “Are you working with us today?”

“I can, until noon, maybe. After that, I’ve got practice again.”

“Great.” Hermione turned to Harry now. “Did you sort the Ministry workers for next week?”

“Yeah, they’ve got two experts who can come on Wednesday or Thursday, and a few temps
who can be here all week. You’ll need to show them the spells you and Malfoy used.”

He’d be returning to his usual work next week, while Hermione still had nothing lined up, so
she was keen to stay and help. Not to mention, it was exciting.

“Perfect. I was thinking they can tackle the big room cleaning, and I’ll focus on the mirrors.”
She pulled a stack of papers and a schedule out of her bag. “I did some extensive research on
them, don’t want all that work going to waste.”
The fireplace flared green, and Malfoy stepped out.

“Look at you two, dressed almost the same,” Ginny pointed out, glancing between them.
They were both in jeans and turtleneck jumpers, only his was white, hers beige.

“I knew muggle clothes would grow on you,” Hermione teased.

“Um, yes,” Malfoy muttered, giving her a glance before looking at the others. “Sorry I’m
late.”

“Yeah, what happened?” Harry asked, still reading his paper. “We were all surprised when
she showed up first.”

“Did you oversleep?” Hermione asked him.

Malfoy met her gaze. “No, I was up on time. But… had a busy morning.” He turned to
Ginny. “So, you’ve decided to lend a hand, Red?”

“Just until noon. After that, I’m off again,” she replied dismissively. “You’ve gotten so good
at cleaning, I might hire you to check out my children’s rooms afterwards.”

“You didn’t hire me,” Malfoy huffed. “Hiring implies payment.”

“Think of it as volunteering.”

“A charity.”

“More like… altruistic work.”

“Right. Do I need to stay at home today?” Harry asked, rubbing his temples.
 Draco
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

March 2013

"Granger, are you absolutely sure you know what you're doing?"

"If you're scared, just say so," she replied, rolling her eyes as she fastened her seatbelt.

Draco watched her carefully, then mimicked her actions, securing his own belt.

"I am scared," he said, shifting in his seat. "I've got no experience with this, nor do I have any
verified proof of your driving skills."

She rolled her eyes again and started the car. He could feel the vibrations beneath him.

"I've driven your son a few times."

"Yes, and that's precisely why he's no longer allowed to visit the madwoman with the death
machine," Draco shot back.

Granger laughed, turning to glance behind her seat as she reversed. "He loved it. Don't tell
me the nine-year-old is braver than you."

Draco watched as she smoothly guided the car onto the road outside her house. "He doesn't
have life experience," he muttered.

"Relax, Malfoy. It'll be fun. I want you to see the countryside properly, not just the city."

Granger had been driving for over an hour, leaving behind the busy streets with their endless
cars and towering buildings, exchanging them for a world of rolling hills and open fields. She
had put on some obnoxious music, something, she claimed, that had been popular in the early
2000s. He, on the other hand, much preferred muggle music from the 1970s.

As they drove, she occasionally pointed out things of interest or got unreasonably excited
about the sheep and cows they passed. Draco found himself wanting to ask her questions
about the car or the scenery, but every time he glanced at her, she seemed content, her focus
relaxed yet steady. It was clearly something she enjoyed.

It reminded him of how he felt when he flew. Not quite the same, of course, flying was
exhilarating, freeing. He wasn’t confined like this, trapped inside a metal box. In the air, he
could feel the wind, breathe it in properly.

"Can I open the window?" he asked.

"Sure, but we're moving fast. It'll be loud," she warned, pressing a button.

The glass slid down into the door, and a rush of cold air blasted inside.

Draco barely lasted a few seconds before she smirked and pressed the button again, sealing
them back in.

"Your hair's a mess," she commented, amused.

He tried to check his reflection in the small mirror outside the car, but she pointed upwards
instead.

"Use that one."

Draco frowned, glancing at the mirror attached to the ceiling. "What are the ones outside
for?"

"So I can see who's coming up on your side," Granger said, her attention still on the road.

He peered at the wing mirror. "It looks too... exposed. Can’t another car just knock it off?"

"It doesn’t happen often. People can’t drive too close without risking an accident."

"And what's stopping them?"

"The law? Common sense?" she said, shrugging with a chuckle. "Besides, cars are more of a
luxury than a necessity. Most people take good care of them."

It was clear she did, too.

The interior was spotless, everything in its place, and the faint scent of her lingered in the air.
Even the floor had some kind of protective covering, rubber or plastic, presumably to stop
dirt from getting in.

Draco thought back to when he was a child, flipping through the books and magazines his
father had shown him about Muggles. They had been filled with images of cramped, cluttered
homes, filthy old cars stuffed with rubbish, awful seat covers, and suspicious stains. His
father had wanted to show him how dirty they all were.

Draco caught his reflection in the window.

I can’t believe I swallowed all that without question.

Granger had slowed down now. They were in an area dotted with fields and farmhouses, the
kind of rural setting he rarely had reason to visit. She drove carefully through a small town,
following the road signs.

The town barely lasted a few minutes before they were out of it again, climbing higher
ground. From his side of the car, Draco had an excellent view of the landscape stretching out
before them.
After just over two hours, she started to slow down.

"We'll stop here, okay?" she said.

"Sure," he replied, gazing at the view.

She parked the car by the side of the road, and they both stepped out. Granger perched on the
bonnet of the car, sipping the coffee she’d made earlier, while Draco wandered around, taking
in the view.

They were about fifty miles from London, if he had to guess, based on her speed and the time
it had taken. He’d never been to this part of the country before, and he could even see the sea
from here. It was so close.

What else have I never seen?

The air was crisp, colder up here on the hill, but warm enough when he sat next to her on the
car.

"I like it here," she said and exhaled. "It’s quiet. I can think. The cold air clears my head."

Draco breathed in deeply. "I like the smell. Wet earth, grass, and rain."

"You like that?" she asked, turning her head slightly to look at him.

"Yes."

"When we were at Hogwarts, my Amortentia smelled like freshly mowed lawn and mint
toothpaste, among other things. I think it reminded me of home."

Draco let out a small huff. "I don’t think I ever smelled it back then, but it certainly would
have smelled like my home."

She looked at him, and reached out to take his hand. “I’m sorry.”

"Don't be," he said, squeezing her hand and holding it firmly in his.

Her palm was warm from the coffee cup she held, but the other side was cold from the wind.
Draco wrapped both of his hands around hers, interlocking their fingers. I don't think I’ve
ever held her like this. He suddenly didn’t want to let go.

Despite spending a lot of time together lately, it still didn’t feel like enough. Over a month
had passed since they first slept together, and he realised he couldn’t get enough of her. He’d
admitted to himself long before that he fancied her, but now he missed her whenever she
couldn’t spare time for him.

He was busy with meetings, while she spent her days overseeing the progress at Potter’s
house. In the evenings, he was with Scorpius, and she with her friends or at the gym. They
met almost every day, even if just for half an hour before bed.
They’d talk about the book he was reading, or she’d update him on the progress of the
cleanup efforts. Granger had even started compiling her notes into a guidebook, so that others
could benefit from the research they’d done.

She gazed out over the fields, her curls tumbling in the wind, framing her face. The chilly
breeze had given her cheeks and nose a rosy glow, and Draco noticed, with a jolt, the small
lenses she’d put in her eyes. They framed her warm brown irises, which caught the sunlight
and shone golden.

He was struck, for what felt like the first time, by how truly beautiful she looked.

Not just pretty or good-looking in an objective sense, but simply stunning.

Enchanting.

He couldn’t believe it had taken him so long to see it.

Her freckles were less noticeable now, the sun not catching her face like it had when she was
outside in Spain.

Spain.

Draco’s heart raced as he struggled to find the right words. “Granger, I… what are we
doing?” he blurted out, unable to hold back the uncertainty that had been bubbling inside
him. He paused, studying her face for any sign that she understood.

“What do you mean?” Her gaze shifted to meet his, and he could feel his palms growing
clammy.

“What are we doing? Together? I mean…” He trailed off, his words caught in a tangled mess
of thoughts. “We’re not teenagers anymore. Should we… have a conversation about what’s
happening between us, or is it clear?"

Granger’s expression softened, and she turned her eyes to the rolling fields stretching out
before them. "I didn’t want to pressure you,” she said quietly.

“Did you want to? Talk about this?” Draco asked, trying to keep his voice level, though his
heart was thundering in his chest.

“I don’t know. At first, yes, but then I thought I liked the uncertainty... the not knowing, the...
whatever this is, existing without a label,” she said, her voice trailing off as she sighed.
"But... I’d feel more comfortable knowing where we stand."

Draco nodded slowly, processing her words as his gaze fixed on the landscape before them.
This was unfamiliar territory for him, and he wasn’t quite sure how to navigate it.

“When are you going back to Spain?” he asked, a twist of unease knotting in his stomach.

“I… I don’t know,” she replied, her fingers slipping from his. “I came here to finish my book,
and it was done before New Year’s, as you know. So, I’m here because I want to be.” He
didn’t like the sudden absence of her touch.

“That’s not enough of an answer,” he pressed, worry creasing his forehead. I don’t want her
to go.

Granger stood from the car and started walking. "I know, I’m sorry. I think I want to stay
longer, but I didn’t expect…” She turned back to lean on the car and let out a long breath. "I
like you,” she said, meeting his eyes. “Being with you. Spending time with you. I want to see
what more can happen.”

His heart fluttered at her words.

“I have no plans of leaving anytime soon,” she tried to reassure him. “In fact, I was thinking
of finding a job here so I wouldn’t have to rely on my savings. But if I stay here… what will
happen?” Her voice softened, uncertainty creeping in.

“I don’t want to sneak around with you,” he said firmly.

“I know. Me neither.”

“We’re not doing anything wrong, or something we shouldn’t be.”

“I know we’re not. It’s just…” She sighed, her gaze dropping to their hands. “What about
your family? You have a son. Have you ever… have you ever introduced him to anyone
you’ve been… seeing before?"

“Well, that’s another thing,” he smiled uncomfortably, trying to ease the tension. “I haven’t
been with anyone long enough to even have this conversation.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And how long have we been together, exactly?"

“It's different because…” He paused, his voice softening. “It’s different with you. I like you
too, Granger,” he admitted.

It felt liberating to finally say it out loud, even though they both knew it already.

“I… I didn’t expect to like you this much, this quickly. I…” He stumbled for words, his
emotions overwhelming him.

“I know,” she nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Granger sat back on
the car, fully facing him now, and took his hand in hers again. "I didn’t realise how lonely I
was,” she confessed. “How much I wanted someone to be there for me. Like a partner, not
just as a friend or a parent."

He squeezed her hand in return, feeling a deep sense of connection that he hadn’t realised he
needed. The idea of being with her openly, without fear, felt like a breath of fresh air.

She looked down at their hands and frowned, falling into a thoughtful silence for a few
moments. “Do you think that maybe, before we talk to anyone about this, you should talk to
Scorpius?”
“Yes, I was about to say that.”

Draco’s thoughts were always tied to his son, and his opinion mattered more than anyone
else’s.

And he already liked Granger.

I hope he can understand and accept this.

She stared at their hands for a long while before speaking again. “You never talk about
Astoria.”

“I… there was never a good time to mention her.”

“I don’t think there’s ever a good time to talk about her.”

Draco let out a long, held breath. “Honestly?”

“Please.”

He paused and sighed. “I loved her, Granger, I really did,” he said after a long moment of
contemplation. “It was an arranged marriage, but we were both lucky, considering who else
we could have ended up with.”

He tried not to look at her too much, but she was persistent.

“She waited for me. To be released from Azkaban. We were young, and finally free from…
everything before.” He tried not to frown, but he did. “I don’t have a single bad memory of
her. And I know that’s because we were married for such a short time, and of course,
everything was perfect. Any marriage is like that at the beginning, I suppose.”

“That’s good,” she said, squeezing his hand lightly. “At least you have that to look back on.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “She was the same as Daphne, but you probably already know that.
Didn’t care about any of the societal rules. But when I wanted to move out of the manor, to
make our own home somewhere else, she insisted on staying there until Scorpius was born. I
suppose she wanted to respect the least harmful traditions,” he huffed. “But her health started
deteriorating in the third trimester, and… I don’t know what you’ve heard or if Daphne said
anything, but it was a blood curse.”

Granger frowned and blushed a bit.

“She thought it had skipped her because she’d been fine her whole life. Her mother and
grandmother, too. Even Daphne. The pregnancy must have triggered it if it was dormant. I
don’t know.” He rubbed his forehead, troubled by the memories.

“There could be many reasons. It wasn’t just one,” Granger said, her voice soft.

He nodded. "I even thought…" Draco met her eyes, and for a second, he worried she’d think
he was an idiot. "I know it sounds stupid, but I even thought the manor did something to her.
You’ve seen the third floor of Potter’s house. You know what those people and centuries of
their magic could do to a place.”

Granger nodded slowly.

“I didn’t want my son to grow up there,” he sighed. “Mother’s trying to change it now, but…
I don’t go often. I can’t.”

She nodded again, and they fell into a long silence.

“Malfoy, I have to ask. I’m sorry,” Granger said after a few moments, her cheeks flushing
even more as she spoke. Draco hoped it was just the wind. “When we stop hiding, what…
What’s your mother going to say?”

Draco’s jaw clenched. “I honestly don’t know,” he admitted, trying to keep his voice steady.
“But I’m my own person, and I don’t need her permission for anything.”

Granger shifted uneasily. “Maybe not permission, but approval, perhaps.”

“Do you need your parents' approval for everything you do?” he countered.

“Not for everything. But acceptance… yes. Advice, sometimes.”

Draco looked at her, suddenly envious of her connection with her parents. “I think your
relationship with your parents is different from mine with my mother,” he said. “I used to
seek her… or their approval, but not anymore.”

Granger nodded in understanding.

They sat in silence again for longer than Draco would have liked, so he had to speak again.

“I’m sorry if I startled you with all of this.”

“No,” she shook her head quickly and held his hand tighter. “No, it was necessary. I tried to
be one of those modern, open-minded people who don’t need to label anything,” she rolled
her eyes, and he chuckled. “And… thank you for sharing about Astoria,” she said more
seriously. “I never knew how to approach the topic.”

“I didn’t know you wanted to.”

“Well, I didn’t want to, but I felt it was necessary. I don’t know how to deal with the
seriousness of your past, you know,” she said, and he frowned. “I mean, I’ve never dated
someone who was married and had a child.”

Dated?

“Oh, wow,” she blushed.

We’re dating.
“That sounded…”

“Yeah. It’s going to take some time, I think,” he said, and she chuckled.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, and it was her turn to break it when he shivered.

“Are you cold? Should we go?”

Draco hesitated for a moment before responding. “I’m not cold,” he said, but his teeth
chattered as he spoke.

“Oh, okay,” she said and rolled her eyes, walking toward her door. “Because I thought if you
were, we could take a nice warm bath together once we get back, and you can stay there until
it’s time for you to pick up Scorpius.”

His eyes went wide. “I’m freezing,” he admitted dramatically. “This arctic wind has made me
lose all my senses. We should probably go right now.”

“No, that’s fine,” she smirked. “We probably shouldn’t waste water. It’s bad for the
environment. Or so I’ve heard.”

They did end up having that bath, with plenty of warm water and the bubbly stuff she always
uses that makes her smell so good. Draco found all of his senses back with her in there, the
way he always did.

“I think maybe I should talk to her about…” she waved her hands between them. “This.”

“Okay,” Draco replied.

They were in her living room, and he was just about to head out to pick up Scorpius from his
sleepover at Daphne’s.

“I might invite her tonight or tomorrow, or something like that.”

“Have you seen her recently?”

Granger rolled her eyes. “Yes, she was shouting a lot, and Pansy was calm and collected. I
honestly thought floo had sent me to another universe.” She sat on the floor near the coffee
table, slipping on her reading glasses. “Or do you think I should wait until after the party?”

“Or during, while she’s drunk,” Draco smirked and Granger rolled her eyes again. “I’m
joking. Tell her now, take her mind off all the preparation. Or do you want me to talk to her?”

“No,” she said. “Actually, I think I should wait for you to talk to Scorpius first. That should
be the priority.”

And it should be.

Draco arrived at Daphne’s a few moments later. It was close to one o'clock, and as usual, he
found Scorpius sprawled out on the sofa with her phone in hand.
“Hey, dad,” he glanced at him but didn’t stop playing his game.

“Hey,” Draco raised an eyebrow. “I hope I’m not interrupting something terribly important.”

“No, you’re not. You’re just in time,” Scorpius said, unaware of the tone. “I’m done. Are we
going?” He left the phone on the sofa and stood up.

“Yes. Where’s your aunt?”

“Talking with Aunt Pansy in the kitchen.”

“Just Pansy, I’m not your aunt!” came a voice from the kitchen, and Scorpius laughed.

Draco walked into the kitchen to find the entire island covered in papers and parchments.
Pansy was sipping wine casually, and Daphne was rubbing her forehead.

“So, I take it this is going well?”

“I don't know who gave me the idea. I don’t know who did it. And why on earth did I even
agree to it?” Daphne sighed. “But no more. Never again. If I survive the next few days, that’s
it. I’m not organising anything like this ever again!”

“How many people are expected?” Draco asked, walking closer to the island to look over the
papers.

“A few hundred.”

“A few h… Daphne.”

“Don’t,” Pansy said, holding up a hand. “These aren’t birthday parties, Draco. They’re
seasonal celebrations. People expect them to be grand.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well, it’s just a bit longer, Daph,” he said, glancing at the papers. “Oh,
and I hope Scorpius hasn’t been a bother.”

She waved him off. “Nonsense, he’s an angel. And I needed the distraction.”

Good to know.

Draco spent most of the weekend at home with Scorpius, watching documentaries on
television. If he was going to spend half of his leisure time in front of the screen, he wanted it
to be worthwhile. He found himself particularly captivated by a science programme about
Muggles’ achievements in space. It was humbling to see the great strides they had made.

As scientists talked about a telescope, Scorpius broke the silence. “Why aren’t they going to
the Moon again? I’d like to watch it on telly. Bet the picture would be much better now.”
“I don’t know. I guess it’s too expensive, and there’s not much to see there anyway,” Draco
shrugged. “Gr... Miss Granger mentioned that they sent a small vehicle to Mars to collect
data about the planet. They’re looking for water.”

They were at her place when the topic came up again.

She was absolutely thrilled about the car on Mars that American scientists had sent the
previous year. Her face flushed, her hair swayed as she spoke, and she waved her hands
around animatedly. Draco found himself captivated by her passion.

“Why?” Scorp asked.

“Because water is the most essential element of life. If they find it, that means maybe one day
people could live there.”

“Why would we live there?” Scorp frowned. “It’s all sand and rocks. Everything’s red.”

“I don’t know. Maybe if something goes wrong here, we could move there.”

“Why? What’s going to happen?” his eyes widened.

“No, no,” Draco chuckled. “Not like that. I mean, much, much further in the future. We won’t
be around forever.”

“Oh.”

Draco glanced at him for a moment, then cleared his throat. “I don’t know much about it, but
if you’re interested, I could ask Miss Granger to come over and explain it better.”

“Sure. Sounds good,” Scorp said, already turning his attention back to the interview.

Draco hesitated for a moment, then said, “We’re friends now, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I… really like her now.”

“She’s nice,” Scorp nodded. “I’ve read almost all the books she chose for me on Kindle.”

“That’s good. I’ll ask her to find more for you once you finish all of them.”

The following week, Draco made a stop at Potter's house before his meetings to see what was
going on. Upstairs, Granger and Red were busy with six other people. The room, once
cluttered with massive furniture, now seemed much more spacious with the bed and two
wardrobes removed.

Granger reported that she had found thirteen mirrors so far, which seemed quite fitting
considering their situation. After testing them all, she determined that four were definitely
cursed, but she wasn't completely certain about the others.

One large, opulent mirror caught her attention in particular, and she expressed her desire to
take it home with her once she was sure it wouldn't harm her or anyone else. To Draco's
pleasant surprise, Weaslette vehemently opposed the idea, telling Granger that she was crazy.
Granger continued to argue, but Draco was content to see someone else bear the brunt of her
wrath for a change. It seemed that Weaslette knew how to handle her well.

The library was also much tidier, with half of the shelves cleared out. Granger had already
made a towering stack of books deemed worthy of saving, while a larger pile awaited the
fireplace. They’d decided not to risk burning the cursed ones anywhere else in the house.

“So, one more month until the potion is finished, right?” Red asked, eyeing the ministry
temps who were carefully sifting through the books. “How does it work? Do we just spray it
around or…?”

“No,” Granger interjected quickly. “We pour the potion into a container, put it in the centre of
the room, and let it sit. The idea is for it to absorb all the dark magic residue. The picture in
the book showed a jar filled with this dark, oily liquid.”

“It depends on the size of the room and the amount of magic it needs to absorb,” Draco
added, leaning over the papers. “We might need a bigger jar or even a barrel. We’ll just have
to observe and see.”

“So that’s the last step?” Red asked, glancing between them.

“Yes,” Granger nodded. “But I’ll probably try using more of those antifungal products on the
walls too.”

Last week, she tried using the products she bought earlier in a muggle store and sprayed it
directly on the wall like the instructions on the bottle suggested. She wasn't prepared for the
fungus to react.

It created a shockwave that threw her luckily through the open door and she flew all across
the hallway and hit her back on the wall next to the small bathroom. Kreacher healed her
shoulder, but she was still feeling some pain and was a bit bruised.

“Why, you planning on dislocating your shoulder again?” he huffed.

“Don’t exaggerate. It wasn’t dislocated.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll be more careful. I’ll
levitate it next time. It’s fitting to use Muggle products to kill it, anyway.”

“Are you bringing the vacuum cleaner next?” Red teased, grinning.

“Please, she doesn’t even vacuum her own house,” Draco said, crossing his arms.

Granger frowned.

“What? The box it came in was almost intact. I saw it under your stairs. Don’t lie.”
“When did you even…”

“When I was looking for kitchen rolls,” Draco shrugged casually, then paused as if
remembering Red was there. “That… time when we… um… when we were doing the
research.”

Weaslette raised an eyebrow. “Wow, you have such an excellent memory.”

“It’s an odd, loud muggle contraption, Red. Of course I remember it.”

“Odd, loud and muggle. Same as you, Hermione,” she joked, and Granger waved her hand,
looking through the schedule. “But, it is a bit poetic, isn’t it? Using all these muggle products
to clean up the mess.” Weaslette narrowed her eyes at Draco, her smirk widening. “And
you,” she said, looking him up and down. “If only your ancestors could see what you two are
doing. Together. They’d be rolling in their graves, wouldn’t they?” she said, waited for a
reaction and walked downstairs after a few moments.

Draco waited for Red to leave before turning to Granger. “Did you tell her something?”

Granger shook her head, her focus still on the papers in front of her. “No, but she's not an
idiot. Besides, I did ask for advice once about what I should do with you.”

“Oh, really?” Draco folded his arms, scowling. “And what did she say?”

Nothing good, probably. Red doesn’t like me.

Granger looked up at him, blinking as she considered her response. “She said I should just go
for it if I really wanted it, and worry about the consequences later.”

I totally misread her.

Draco smirked. “That’s… the most Gryffindor advice I’ve ever heard,” he remarked dryly.
“But I’m glad you followed it.” His grin softened a little. “I would’ve bought her something
to thank her if I wasn’t already working for her for free.”

“Well, I had to follow it,” Granger said, still focused on her work, but glanced at him. “If I’d
waited for you…” Her voice trailed off teasingly. “Your arrogance wouldn’t have allowed
you to consider the possibility of rejection, would it?”

“Arrogance? Me?” Draco feigned shock, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “Who do you
think you’re talking to?”

Granger smiled at him but didn’t look up from her schedule. Draco noticed her glasses
perched on her nose. He’d never quite understood the appeal of glasses before, but on her… I
never thought glasses could be this sexy.

“So, what are you doing tonight?” he asked, stepping a little closer.

Too bad they were not alone.

He has been imagining her in that library against bookshelves far too often.

“I’m going to the gym,” she sighed, stepping away from him. “And then I’ll relax with a
book and get an early night. Tomorrow, we’re spending almost the whole day at Daphne’s,
and I’ll be wearing uncomfortable shoes, so I need my rest.” She squinted at him. “Are you
getting the message?”

“Unfortunately,” Draco rolled his eyes.

Later that evening, after a long day of meetings, Draco found himself in the café he hadn’t
visited in weeks. Before Granger, it had been a regular part of his routine, but now, it felt
empty without her there. Her absence had drained the charm from the place.

He ordered his usual espresso and pulled out a book or more accurately, his Kindle, a gift
from Granger. She had introduced him to reading in a way he never thought he’d enjoy. He’d
even tried reading the French poetry collection she’d recommended. It wasn’t as salacious as
she’d made it sound, but he imagined that, for its time, it must have been rather scandalous.
He even entertained the thought that his mother would clutch her pearls if she read it now.

When Draco returned home, Dissy informed him that his mother had invited herself for
dinner at his flat. It was certainly better than the alternative - being summoned to the manor.
Scorpius had finished his lessons for the day, so they decided to go for a swim before his
mother arrived.

“So, what time do you leave tomorrow for the celebration?” his mother asked between bites
of her steak, the sautéed vegetables adding a pleasant aroma to the meal.

“I don’t know, probably sometime after lunch. There’s going to be a cocktail hour first,”
Draco replied.

“I know,” she said with a small, scrutinizing squint. “Are you escorting anyone?”

“Um…” If she suggests someone… “No. Why?”

“Perhaps we could go together,” she offered smoothly and Draco chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry,
darling,” she added, waving her hand dismissively. “I just need you for the arrival. You can
spend your time with your friends, and I’ll be with mine.”

“Of course,” he said. “I didn’t know you were going.”

“I won’t stay long,” she replied casually, cutting another piece of steak. “Just for cocktails,
maybe. I imagine the evening will be more suited to you.” She paused before adding, “I can
come back here if you'd prefer to stay with Scorpius until you return.”

“Sure, that would be lovely. Thank you.”

Draco wasn’t entirely sure Scorpius would appreciate the arrangement, as he was looking
forward to some time alone with only the occasional inspection from Dissy.
He wondered who Granger would bring to the event. The Weasley bloke, probably. Everyone
else seemed to be paired up.

Should I have asked?

No, she wouldn’t have wanted that now. She likely wanted to tell her friends first, in her own
time.

Still, should I have asked?

He hadn’t even considered the possibility of dates until his mother had mentioned it. There
hadn’t been anything about it in the invitation. He shook his head.

I can’t think about this. It’s silly. We’re not teenagers anymore.

Draco was preparing the lab for his and Scorpius’ evening brewing session when he decided
it was time to tell him about Granger.

“What are we making tonight?” he asked as he strolled into the lab and settled into the chair
beside Draco. “Do you need more potions for your headache tomorrow?” he added with a
smirk. The little brat.

“No, we made enough last time, and I haven’t needed it since,” Draco said, scanning the
ingredients. “I picked up some fresh lavender and chamomile yesterday. What can we make
with those?”

“Hmm… something calming?” Scorpius mused.

Well, isn’t that appropriate?

“Okay. Um… do we have any valerian root left?”

Scorpius hopped over to the shelves and rummaged through the section where they kept the
ingredients. “Yeah. How much?”

“I think with this one, we measure by eye. It depends on how much stress you need to reduce.
I don’t feel particularly stressed right now.” I will soon. “Do you?”

“Nope. So… not a lot, then.”

“Exactly. Just grab a handful of everything and grind it into a fine paste. I’ll prepare the
water.”

Scorpius did as instructed.

“Just pour it here,” Draco said. “Make sure you scrape everything in properly.”

Scorpius used a silicone spatula, something he’d picked up from watching Daphne cook.
“How long does it have to simmer?”
“Until we can smell it. Depends on how fresh the flowers were.”

“Okay.” he leaned in, sniffed a few times, then shook his head.

They kept waiting.

Draco took a slow breath and exhaled. “There’s… something I want to talk to you about,” he
said, glancing at his son.

Scorpius looked up from his book, suddenly alert. “Yes? Have I done something wrong?”

“Not that I know of. Have you?”

“Nope,” he replied with a chuckle. He leaned over the cauldron again, still trying to catch the
aroma.

“Good,” Draco said, hesitating slightly. “The other day, I… I mentioned Miss Granger to you.
Do you remember?”

“Yes.”

“I told you we were friends.”

Scorpius nodded and inhaled the steam again.

“Well… we’re more than friends now.”

“Oh.” He looked puzzled. “Is she your best friend now? I don’t think Uncle Theo is going to
like that.” He grinned.

Draco smirked. “It’s a little different from that. We started spending more time together after
I apologised. Remember when I told you I sometimes met her for coffee?”

Scorpius nodded.

“Then we spent time working on Albus’ father’s house.”

Another nod.

“And then… even more time together after that… and, well, we started liking each other.”

Scorpius frowned slightly. “More than friends?”

“Yes,” Draco confirmed. “She’s um… she’s my girlfriend now.” Gods, she’s right. It does
sound strange.

Scorp blinked. “Your… your girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

His frown deepened. “And… you’re her boyfriend?”

“Yes.” Even weirder. Merlin.

“But…” Scorpius shook his head. “Aren’t you too old to have a girlfriend?”

“What?”

“I mean… she’s not… and you’re not…” He trailed off before asking hesitantly, “Are you
going to get married?”

“Oh… no, no, Scorp,” Draco said quickly. “People don’t get married just because they’re…
old like me.” We’re going to have a talk about his perception of age later. “People need to be
together for some time first, sometimes even years, before they even start talking about
marriage.”

Scorpius blushed and looked down at the table, abandoning his attempts to smell the potion.
Draco extinguished the fire beneath the cauldron and covered it.

After a moment, he asked, “Is she going to live with us?”

“No. She has that big house of hers, you’ve seen it.”

“You’ve been there?” His frown returned.

“Yes. I told you. We were studying how to fix dark magic,” Draco said, starting to feel
uneasy. “But… nothing’s really changing. Maybe I’ll go to her house more often to see her.
Maybe you can come with me sometimes if you’d like. You liked that orange cat that sleeps
all the time, didn’t you?”

Scorpius huffed but didn’t protest. “Okay.”

“And maybe…” Draco hesitated. “Would it be okay if she came here sometimes?”

“I guess,” he shrugged, still avoiding his gaze.

“Do you have any questions for me?”

He hesitated, his face reddening again, but this time, he held Draco’s gaze. “Are you… do
you…” He swallowed before blurting out, “Are you going to have babies with her?”

He blinked before offering a reassuring smile. “No, Scorp.” He kept his tone light, hoping to
ease his nerves. “People usually have babies after they get married, and I told you, that can
take years.”

Scorp dropped his gaze back to the table, silent.

It wasn’t enough, Draco could feel it.

He knelt in front of him, taking one of his hands in his own. “Scorpius.” He looked up, his
eyes glistening. "I told you first, son. Before your grandmother, before any of our friends."
Draco clasped both of his hands now, giving them a gentle squeeze.

He took a slow breath before continuing. “You are, and you always will be, the most
important person in my life. What you think, how you feel about this… that’s what matters to
me the most.” I am not my father.

Scorpius’ breath hitched, and before he could say anything, Draco stood and pulled him into
a hug, pressing a kiss to his hair. His son clung to him, his small frame trembling slightly.

They stayed like that for a moment, neither speaking.

“I love you,” Draco murmured.

“I love you too, dad,” Scorpius whispered back.

Draco held him a little longer before finally releasing him, absentmindedly smoothing his
hair. He wasn’t sure if his own father had ever held him like this.

Scorpius sniffled, breaking the silence. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “No need. I understand.” He studied his son’s face, watching him
carefully. “Are you okay?”

Scorp nodded, a small, slightly wobbly smile forming. “We picked a good potion for
tonight,” he chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

Draco smirked. “I suppose we did. Just so you know, I didn’t plan this. You’re the one who
picked the potion.” He reached over and wiped a stray tear from Scorpius’ cheek. “Are you
sure you’re okay now?”

“Yeah,” he said, exhaling deeply. He seemed ready now.

Draco strained the potion into two vials, and they drank together. The effect was subtle, just
enough to take the edge off.

Scorpius took a slow sip, closed his eyes, and then, after a brief pause, spoke again. “If
you’re going to snog a lot, can you not do it in front of me?”

Draco almost choked on his potion. “What? Where did you even…? Of course not!” He
coughed, his face heating as he busied himself tidying the table, hoping his son wouldn’t
notice his sudden discomfort.

Scorpius, clearly enjoying himself now, helped clean up. “Can I still call her just Hermione?”

“She already told you you don’t have to call her ‘Miss’ anything. Oh, and since we haven’t
told anyone yet, maybe don’t mention it to your grandmother or anyone else just yet.”

“Okay.”
They chatted a little longer until Scorp began yawning, and Draco realised it was time for
bed. Once his son had finished in the bathroom and settled in for the night, he headed to his
own room.

Yet, instead of going straight to bed, he flooed to Granger’s.

He found her curled up on the sofa, wearing a ridiculously fluffy pink bathrobe. A greenish-
blue mask covered her face, something she claimed improved her skin . He had no idea what
needed improving.

He wanted to crawl into her bathrobe and stay there forever.

Granger, however, was too excited to notice his musings. The moment he told her he’d
spoken to Scorpius, she demanded every detail, down to the last word, before finally forcing
him to go home.

The next day, Draco skipped his last meeting to have an early lunch at home and wait for his
mother’s arrival. She had informed him that Andromeda and Teddy would be coming as well.

It was Easter holiday, which meant Teddy was back from Hogwarts. He would stay at the
party for cocktail hour with his grandmother before heading home. Draco fully expected the
evening portion of the event to be decidedly unsuitable for teenagers.

He’d caught a glimpse of Daphne’s plans, strewn across her messy kitchen island, and they
involved copious amounts of alcohol, an array of potions, and at least three different types of
magical herbs. He didn’t ask questions.

Outside, the sky was grey and uninviting, but Daphne had told him that Potter would be
putting the entire garden under weather protection, shielding it from rain and the inevitable
cool breeze later in the day.

Draco asked Dissy to prepare a suit. He settled on a beige three-piece with a white shirt.
Granger had said he should wear something that didn’t scream busy day at the office, so he
opted for linen.

Andromeda and Teddy arrived first, stepping out of the floo. Teddy’s hair turned stark white
the moment he saw Draco, but within seconds, it shifted back to its usual brown. He was still
struggling with controlling his transformations sometimes.

He looked taller, too. Then again, the last time Draco had seen him was over Christmas, and
teenagers had an annoying habit of sprouting up overnight.

When his mother finally arrived, they made their way to Daphne’s living room. Draco had
arranged for them to floo directly in, so they wouldn’t have to trudge through the gardens if it
started raining.

The four of them walked through the elegant wing of the mansion, their footsteps echoing
against the high ceilings. As they approached the main hall, the murmur of conversation grew
louder. A few guests nodded in acknowledgment as they passed, offering polite smiles.

Outside, the warmth of the garden was an immediate contrast to the cool air of the house. The
sight before them was breathtaking. A picture-perfect display of spring. The vibrant hues of
blooming flowers stood out against the lush green grass, their colours soft and delicate.

Everything was decorated in pastels, and most guests had adhered to the dress code, dressed
in light, airy colours. The entire setting had a whimsical quality, one Draco could almost
appreciate.

Small bar tables were scattered across the lawn, some guests standing and chatting, others
lounging comfortably. Floating trays hovered above the crowd, carrying champagne flutes
and delicate finger foods, weaving between people with just enough precision to avoid
disaster. Draco watched them warily, half-expecting someone to blunder into one and send an
entire tray of drinks toppling over an unsuspecting guest.

He glanced up at the sky. Not a single cloud in sight. It had been dreary and overcast at his
flat, but here, the sun was shining, golden light spilling across the garden. Somewhere in the
background, soft music played, blending seamlessly with the murmur of voices, the
occasional burst of laughter, and the occasional chirping of birds and buzzing of bees. Draco
hoped that they were just enchanted and not real. It would be a mess if they were.

“Oh, there’s Violet. Shall we go and say hello?” Andromeda asked, her gaze landing on an
elegantly dressed witch by the linden trees.

Teddy frowned slightly.

“Maybe Teddy and I will have a look around first,” Draco suggested. “Where will you be?”

His mother checked her invitation. “By the linden tree.”

With that, she and Andromeda drifted off, leaving them alone.

“Thank you,” Teddy muttered the moment they were out of earshot. “She always asks me to
change my face into something. It’s rather annoying.”

“It’s fine. I always hated being dragged to these things, too.” Draco nodded politely at a
passing couple before adding, “It gets easier when you’re an adult. I can drink now.”

Teddy chuckled.

They wandered for a bit, Teddy eventually spotting a few friends from school who had also
been dragged along by their parents or older siblings.

And then, at last, Draco saw someone he knew.

Daphne, deep in conversation with a man and his partner. She was wearing long white
trousers and a matching top, though it seemed like it was all one piece, like a dress with
trouser legs.
He tapped her lightly on the arm, and she turned, eyes lighting up when she saw him.

“Hey, you two,” she greeted, glancing between him and Teddy. “You came together.”

“We arrived with my mother and his grandmother, so naturally, we needed an escape.”

She chuckled and pulled Teddy into a quick hug. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He mumbled something about catching up with friends and slipped away, leaving Draco
alone with her. Her expression shifted, still warm, but more serious. Then, after a pause, she
smiled.

“I talked to Hermione.”

Draco swallowed. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, she hugged him.

That was rare.

He hesitated for only a second before hugging her back, then fixed a stray lock of her hair
when she stepped away.

“I’m happy for you. Both of you.”

Relief washed over him. “Thank you. I… I spoke to Scorp first.”

“And?”

Draco exhaled. “And he was surprised. But we had a pleasant talk, eventually. We agreed that
it’s fine… as long as we don’t snog in front of him.” He shook his head.

She laughed. “I think the rest of us can agree on that, too.”

“Absolutely. Where is everyone?”

Daphne gestured toward the pond. “Over there. I made sure you got the best tables.”

He and Teddy left her, making their way through the garden, weaving between small groups
of guests. The tables were in an excellent spot, tucked under a sweeping willow tree with a
picturesque view of the pond.

Draco scanned the crowd, recognising familiar faces from Hogwarts. He exchanged polite
nods and hellos as they passed, while Teddy bounded ahead toward a table occupied by a
group of redheads. The Weasleys, he presumed.

Then, in the distance, Draco spotted Theo, leaning against a table, deep in conversation with
one of the Patil twins and Pucey. It had been months since he’d last seen him. New Year’s,
probably. He was surprised Pucey was even here, given his history with Daphne. Then again,
there were so many people, they might not even cross paths.
After exchanging quick greetings with Theo and his company, Draco followed his finger to a
nearby table, where Blaise was seated with Lovegood.

His brows rose slightly at the sight of her. The simple white dress was elegant, but the flower
crown complete with a very large sunflower perched atop her head was a bit much.

“Before you say anything,” Draco preempted when he joined them, “I was ready on time. My
mother was late.”

Blaise smirked. “You arrived with Narcissa? How thrilling.”

“And with my aunt and teenage cousin.” Draco nodded toward Teddy, who was chatting
animatedly with a redhead. Either the oldest one or the one who works for the Ministry… He
could never remember. “Who’s your date?”

Blaise grinned and draped an arm over the back of Lovegood’s chair. “This lovely ray of
sunshine right here.”

Ah. So the dates went well.

Lovegood beamed at Draco. “Would you like some champagne? It’s quite good.” She waved
a hand, summoning a floating tray toward them.

“Oh, yes.” He took a glass but waved away the food. “No, I’m fine, thanks.”

The tray, undeterred, nudged him in the shoulder.

Blaise chuckled. “I think it’ll persist until you take something.”

Draco rolled his eyes and reached for the smallest pastry he could find.

“Try the yellow ones, they’re vanilla,” Lovegood suggested absently. “You like vanilla now,
don’t you?”

Draco squinted at her.

“Everyone likes vanilla, Luna,” Blaise said.

“Yes, but not everyone enjoys it enough to choose it over all the other flavours.”

Draco considered this for a moment. “I do, actually. You’re right.”

They talked for a few minutes, but Draco’s attention drifted as he scanned the crowd. He was
looking for Granger, though he didn’t spot her. Instead, his gaze landed on one of the Patil
twins chatting with the Weasley who owned that children’s store. George, wasn’t it? Yes, that
was it.

At the next table, Charlie stood with his sister. The redhead squinted when she noticed him,
then lifted a hand in a wave. Draco excused himself from Blaise and Lovegood and made his
way over, champagne in hand.
“Look at you,” Ginny said, unabashedly giving him a once-over. “I almost didn’t recognise
you outside of my house.”

“Oh, that’s still not over?” Charlie asked, shaking his hand.

“Hello, and no, not yet,” Draco said, “but in the next two or three months, we hope. I have to
say, unpaid labour is not nearly as exciting as house-elves make it out to be.”

Ginny smirked. “You probably don’t want to make jokes about house-elves in front of
Hermione.”

“Noted. Where is she, anyway?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, and he took a sip of champagne. It’ll all be over soon anyway.
No need to pretend much longer.

“I think she went to the bathroom with Pansy,” Charlie said. “Escaping that McLaggen
bloke.”

Draco frowned. “Why? What does he want?”

Ginny chuckled. “Another chance, I suppose. He’s always been embarrassing and desperate,
but not dangerous, so you can remove that expression from your face.”

“What expr…? Fine.” He rolled his eyes, and she smirked wider. Her smugness is getting on
my nerves.

“Who’s your date?” she asked.

“My mother.”

“How exciting. Also concerning.”

“Who’s yours? Your brother?”

“The man I married thirteen years ago. You may have heard of him,” she said, lifting an
eyebrow. “Saved your life. Also the wizarding world. A couple of times.”

Draco sighed. “And we’ll never hear the end of it.” He downed another sip of champagne.

A few minutes later, Pansy and Granger returned. Pansy’s choice of white was almost jarring,
so far removed from the dark, striking colours she usually wore. Draco wondered if this was
the first time she’d worn something so delicate outside her wedding day.

Granger, on the other hand, looked effortlessly in her creamy white dress. The long, flowing
sleeves balanced out the deep neckline, which revealed just the right amount of skin. The
hem stopped mid-thigh, and paired with her heels, made her only a few inches shorter than
him.

She was stunning.

“You look amazing, Granger,” he said, his voice lower than he intended as they greeted each
other.

She beamed, and the golden shimmer of her makeup caught the sunlight. The glow on her
skin made her look almost ethereal.

“You look great too, Malfoy,” she said, her fingers grazing his lapel. “This is a pleasant
change from all those sharp suits you wear. I like it.”

She glanced over Draco’s shoulder and waved, catching Teddy’s attention. He approached
moments later, his hair shifting to a near-perfect match of Granger’s, just shorter. He quickly
changed it back to his natural shade, but his eyes still gleamed with the same golden hue as
hers.

Oh.

“I didn’t know you’d be here too,” Granger greeted him warmly, pulling him in for a hug.

Teddy’s voice came out softer than before. “Hi, Hermione.” A faint flush dusted his cheeks.

“Are you here with Andromeda?”

Teddy gave a silent nod, eyes fixed on her.

Oh. I get it.

After a few minutes of catching up, he excused himself to rejoin his friends.

“My mother and aunt are with some friends. We came together,” Draco added before leaving.

“Oh, so you couldn’t find anyone else to follow you?” she teased.

He rolled his eyes. “She reminded me of it last night. Who did you come with?”

She nodded toward a table behind her. “George is my date for these things. But, as you can
see, he’s busy.”

She turned, and Draco tilted his head to get a better view. George was standing suspiciously
close to the other Patil twin.

“He and Padma have a habit of hooking up at parties but refuse to actually come together as
each other’s dates.”

Padma, yes. The Ravenclaw. Parvati was with Granger.

“I don’t know what’s up with that, but at this point, we all just pretend not to notice.”

“Maybe they like hiding.”

“Maybe.” She glanced back at him. “I talked to Daphne.”

“I saw her earlier. She mentioned. Did it go well?”

Granger shifted. “She… might have cried a bit. Which subsequently made me cry a little as
well.”

Draco frowned.

“I can’t see people cry and not cry myself,” she admitted. “But it’s good. I’m glad I was the
one to talk to her.”

He scanned the crowd. “I think the conversations with other people should go more
smoothly.”

“Yeah, I think so too,” she said, finishing her champagne. “This is nice.”

“It is.”

Draco waved at a floating tray, which hovered closer. He took two fresh glasses, replacing the
empty ones. They clinked their drinks before taking a sip.

A comfortable silence settled between them before Draco spoke again. “I think Teddy has a
crush on you.”

She chuckled. “Yeah. He’s usually less obvious, but…”

“But when you’re ferrying him and the Potters’ kid around, you usually don’t look like this,”
he cut in smoothly, smirking as his gaze trailed over her.

She raised an eyebrow.

“Or you do, and I’ve only ever seen you in a fluffy coat and fishermen’s boots.”

She studied him for a moment, eyes narrowing. “If I wore this at home when we met, I’d be
ridiculously overdressed.”

“Then let’s go somewhere nice,” he suggested, taking another sip.

She turned slightly, and Draco caught a glimpse of the back of her dress - delicate ties
crisscrossing her bare skin.

“Somewhere you can wear dresses like that,” he added, “and I can wear suits like this one.”
He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Would take much longer to get off afterward, but I don’t
mind.”

A slow smirk spread across her face. “Oh, I don’t think it’d take too long to get me out of
this.”

“I don’t know. Those ties look complicated.”

“Yeah,” she mused, taking another sip. “But once you deal with those, there’s nothing
underneath.”

Draco met her gaze, resisting the urge to look down. “Really?” he asked, swallowing hard.

“Yes, really. Can’t you tell I’m not wearing a bra?”

He shook his head. “I’m really trying not to look, but I’ll admit, it’s a struggle.” He gave in,
stealing the quickest of glances.

“How noble of you,” she teased, giving his arm a playful tap. “I’m going to cockblock
George now.”

Draco blinked at her choice of words.

“He didn’t save me from McLaggen earlier, and that was his duty for the night.” She drained
the last of her champagne and leaned in, voice a sultry whisper against his ear. “I’m going to
walk over there now,” she said, “and while I do, you can try and figure out whether ‘nothing
underneath’ includes my knickers, too.”

Draco shook his head, grinning, and cast a quick glance around to make sure no one had
heard.

“Granger.”

She smirked. “Don’t worry, I dropped the muffliato.”

With that, she turned, sashaying away with deliberate sway. Draco watched her go, lips
curling into a smirk before he forced himself to look away.

Draco moved through the crowd with effortless ease, stopping at different tables, exchanging
drinks and conversation. Still, he found himself lingering most often with Blaise and
Lovegood, hoping he wasn’t inadvertently cockblocking anyone.

After nearly two hours, Teddy appeared at his side, announcing that it was time for him to
leave. Draco walked him over to his mother and aunt, who he would be escorting back to
Daphne’s wing. As they made their way through the garden, he noticed dinner being served
and felt the creeping chill of the night air. Fortunately, the warming charms kept the space
comfortably temperate.

Upon returning, he found Theo engaged in a discussion with Parvati about new Ministry
regulations regarding customs and imported ingredients.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were in education.”

“No, that’s Padma. I’m in DIMC.”

“Oh, right. In trades?”

“Not directly. I’m in the legal department. We don’t deal exclusively with trade.”
Draco nodded, debating whether to stay or leave them to it.

“Can you tell Blaise and Luna to come over?” Theo asked. “They might be interested in this
new regulation.”

It was properly dark now, and he imagined it was freezing outside, but the spells still kept the
garden pleasantly warm, the occasional breeze offering a welcome contrast. Draco set off to
find Blaise and Lovegood but stopped short when he spotted them.

Luna was weaving a flower wreath, placing each delicate bloom with care. Blaise, for his
part, looked utterly transfixed, as though she were performing some kind of sacred ritual
rather than handing him a glorified hat. Draco averted his gaze and opted to join Pansy,
Potter, and Red instead.

He arrived just in time to hear Potter mutter, “Are we all seeing this?”

Pansy nodded. “Oh, I’ve been watching for a while.”

“It’s… odd, but weirdly fitting.” Potter tilted his head, studying them like they were an
abstract painting.

“Oh, I don’t see what’s so odd about it,” Red mused. “I could think of stranger matches.”

Draco frowned at her.

Mistake.

She looked entirely too pleased with herself.

Daphne sauntered over, a glass of amber liquid in hand. She took a slow sip, her eyes
gleaming with mischief.

“The real party is about to begin,” she murmured. “Just be careful with the drinks after this.”

As the night deepened, the atmosphere shifted. Fairy lights strung between tables twinkled
like trapped stars, while luminous insects flitted above them, casting an otherworldly glow.
The music swelled, its rhythm reverberating through the warm night air. People gathered in
clusters, swaying to the beat, caught in the moment.

Draco took another sip of champagne. It tasted different now. Smoother, richer, with a
velvety finish that spread warmth through his limbs. The tension in his muscles slowly
uncoiled, replaced by an ease he hadn’t felt in far too long.

He studied the liquid in his glass. “What’s in this?”

“Some special brew to help us all relax,” Pansy mused.

At nearly the same moment, Potter shrugged off his blazer. Draco did the same.

She chuckled. “And, apparently, to make us warmer.”

“Oh, I know this song.” Red hummed the tune under her breath.

Granger appeared behind her, beaming. “Ginny, you know this one. Let’s go!” She grabbed
her by the hand, pulling her towards the makeshift dance floor.

As they passed Theo and Parvati’s table, they roped them in as well. Theo barely needed
convincing.

Potter sighed, watching them go. “He knows more muggle songs than I do. It’s ridiculous.”

Draco rolled up his sleeves. It was definitely warmer now. “He needs a lot of information if
he’s planning to date Muggle women.”

“Probably.”

Draco set his champagne aside and reached for a glass of water. Best to pace himself.

The tempo of the music slowed, and Draco’s gaze drifted towards Theo and Patil, who
swayed in effortless sync, while Granger and Red mirrored their movements beside them. All
around, pairs twirled and swayed in perfect harmony.

It suddenly struck him - asking her to dance wouldn’t be strange at all. Friends danced
together all the time. Besides, they wouldn’t have to hide much longer. Yes, I’ll ask her once
she’s done having fun with Weaslette.

A few songs later, he spotted Granger and Red deep in conversation, their expressions
distinctly unenthused. It didn’t take long to identify the source of their displeasure.

McLaggen, who had wedged himself between them.

Draco frowned and instinctively glanced around for George, since Granger had made it clear
it was his job to handle McLaggen. No luck because both George and Patil had disappeared.

“That man is insufferable,” Potter muttered, scowling at McLaggen before downing the rest
of his drink. He was about to intervene.

Perfect.

Draco stopped him before he got too far. “Potter, you lack tact. Let me.” He plucked a drink
from a passing tray and pressed it into his hand. “Here. Relax.”

Without waiting for a response, he wove through the crowd, trailing just behind Pansy and
Charlie who also decided to join the dancefloor until he reached his target.

Granger had her back to him, and McIdiot was making full use of that fact. One hand on her
back, drawing her closer every time she shifted away, while his other arm was casually
draped around Red’s shoulders.

“Potter,” Draco called.

The Weaslette looked up, startled.

Granger turned, eyes widening when she saw him.

Draco inclined his head towards her husband. “Your better half looks like he needs some
help. I don’t know how much he lifts in that gym he goes to, but he’s shockingly lightweight
when it comes to alcohol.”

Red smirked, throwing a glance at Granger. “He is. I’m on my way.” With that, she swiftly
removed McMoron’s arm from her shoulders and walked off.

“Good to see you, Malfoy,” McLaggen said, extending a hand.

Draco clapped him on the shoulder, harder than necessary. “Good to see you too, mate.” Then
he turned to Granger. “Come dance with me.”

She blinked, about to reply, but McHasADeathWish interrupted. “Actually, we were just in
the middle of…”

Draco arched a brow, cutting him a look before turning to Granger. “Were you?”

“Not really. Sorry, Cormac. Let’s go.”

He gave McLaggen’s shoulder one final, hopefully painful, squeeze before leading her away,
nodding in satisfaction.

Granger pulled him into the crowd, weaving through the dancing bodies until they reached a
busier spot. When they finally stopped, Draco took her hand and placed his other on her
waist.

She was warm beneath his touch, and a sudden, irrational surge of possessiveness flared in
his chest. He had half a mind to track McLaggen down and break his fucking arm for daring
to touch her.

Well, that’s an overreaction. What the fuck is wrong with me?

He inhaled deeply.

It must be the brew.

“Thank you,” she said, frowning. “He’s terribly annoying sometimes.”

Draco looked at her, the warm yellow glow of the fairy lights casting a soft shimmer on her
face, making her look even more beautiful. “I was waiting for your knight in shining armour
with the red hair, but he seemed to have disappeared into the night.”

“I’m not surprised. They lasted longer than I expected.”

They swayed in silence for a moment. Then he caught her staring. Not at his face, but at his
arms, taking him in with a look of curiosity.
He squinted. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said coyly. “I just… like how you look right now. You’re not wearing your
blazer, your sleeves are rolled up… even your collar’s unbuttoned.” She ran a hand down his
arm before resting it back on his shoulder. “I like you this way. A little dishevelled.”

Her eyes sparkled with admiration, and his pulse quickened.

Draco swallowed hard. “And here I was thinking women liked men neat and tidy.”

“Oh, we do.” She squinted at him as if studying him. “But there’s something about the way
you neatly fold your clothes and press them tightly over the armchair before you come to
bed…”

She bit her lip, shaking her head as if trying to dismiss the thought, and Draco couldn’t help
but laugh at her expression.

“That’s all it takes?” he teased.

“Hey, I’m a simple woman,” she shrugged. “Yes, I do appreciate invaluable first edition
French books from time to time. However… when I see you folding your clothes nicely…
over the armrest…” Her voice was softer now, her eyes locked onto his, and she bit her lip
again, just slightly.

She moved even closer and Draco’s breath caught. “Is that giving you some ideas?” he asked,
his voice rough with want. Please say yes.

“Yes,” she replied, gaze unwavering. “But I’d prefer it if you weren’t so nice about it.”

His jaw tensed. There wasn’t even a hint of blush on her face, just quiet, unflinching
confidence. Gods, I love how unapologetic she is.

He cast a quick glance around, making sure no one familiar was nearby. The warm glow of
the lights flickered around them, the music thrumming in the background, but all he could
focus on was her.

“I’d like to continue our conversation from before,” he murmured.

She tilted her head. “What conversation?”

“About how many clothes you have under that dress.”

“Ah. Did you manage to guess?”

Draco exhaled through his nose, his gaze sweeping over her. “After long observation, I’ve
narrowed it down to three possibilities.”

“Oh?”
He leaned in slightly. “First, you’re a good girl who follows the rules and wears all the
necessary pieces of clothing for a social event like this.” He studied her expression.

She only breathed, nodding.

“Which means you were lying about your bra too,” he added, his lips curving.

“What’s the second option?”

“That you’re not wearing anything underneath, and you’re simply exceptional at controlling
this dress. You’ve been dancing and walking all evening, and it’s so light and flowy, but no
matter how desperately I tried, I couldn’t see a thing.” His voice dropped lower with every
word.

She laughed. “And the third?”

“The third is that I give up, you win, and you take me somewhere private where you can
show me the correct answer.”

She arched a brow. “Can’t I just tell you?”

“I think I prefer visual confirmation.”

“Visual,” she repeated, squinting at him as if contemplating something. Then, in an entirely

different tone, she asked, “You don’t prefer… oral confirmation?”

His heart actually skipped a beat.

He could feel the heat rushing through his veins, his blood moving faster. Fuck me.

“Both would be perfect, actually.” His voice was rough, betraying him completely.

She nodded, a slow, knowing smile on her lips. “Good,” she said simply. Then she released
his hand and took a step back. “Thanks for saving me from McLaggen. I think I’ll go to the
restroom now.” She frowned slightly in thought. “The ones on this level are probably
crowded… I should check the ones closer to Daphne’s wing.”

Draco just nodded. “Yes, you probably should.”

His eyes followed her as she walked away, the soft sway of her hips utterly hypnotic and
watched as she briefly stopped to chat with Weasel and his girlfriend.

No, fiancée now.

Draco returned to the table.

“Where’s Hermione?” Red asked as he approached.

He drained the rest of his water. “With your Weasel brother and his fiancée.”

He glanced around, then checked his watch. She’s had enough time. I can go now.
“I’ll be right back.”

He left before anyone could question him, striding down the dimly lit hallway towards
Daphne’s wing, his heart pounding with anticipation. The search felt endless, but eventually,
he found a small, tucked-away bathroom in the corner of the corridor. It was a cramped
space, just a sink and a toilet, but it would do.

Draco scanned the hallway to ensure no one was watching before slipping inside and locking
the door behind him.

Granger’s voice greeted him. “Oh, I thought you wouldn’t be able to find me,” she said with
a smile. “How many bathrooms does this…” She never got to finish that thought.

Draco pulled her close, capturing her lips in a deep, hungry kiss. His fingers tangled in her
curls, tilting her head back as he pressed her against the sink. He didn’t know where to touch
her first. The bare skin of her back was smooth, warm, inviting. The way her hair had swayed
all night had tempted him beyond reason.

His hand trailed down her neck, over her chest, feeling the soft rise and fall of her breath. He
squeezed gently, drawing a quiet moan from her lips as she pressed herself closer.

“So you weren’t lying about this,” he murmured against her jaw, his lips trailing to that
sensitive spot beneath her ear. “I suppose the first option is out.”

“I’m always honest,” she whispered. “And you couldn’t tell?”

She turned in his arms, sweeping her hair over her shoulder to reveal the open back of her
dress.

Draco’s breath caught. The graceful arch of her spine, the curve of her hips pressing against
him. It was almost too much.

She shifted, pushing back against him, and he felt himself grow harder in response. His
fingers found her throat, wrapping around it gently as he pulled her closer, pressing a
lingering kiss under her earlobe.

Sliding a hand beneath the fabric of her dress, he found her tits bare, just waiting for him. His
fingers teased her nipples, rolling them between his fingertips, and she inhaled sharply.

“I wasn’t thinking much,” he admitted, his voice low, eyes locking with hers in the mirror. “I
was too busy trying to guess what you had under the skirt.”

“Do you want to see?”

“Not yet.”

She chuckled. “Changed your mind about teasing?”

Draco’s grip on her throat tightened slightly. “Only under my conditions. So don’t get smart
with me now.”
She quickly shook her head. “I won’t,” she promised, her voice soft, obedient.

A ripple of desire coursed through him at the sound.

“Good,” he growled, his hips pressing against hers, his movements becoming more urgent. “I
can’t decide if I prefer you bossy and demanding or quiet and compliant like this.”

She chuckled, then asked more seriously, “How do you want me now?”

Fuck me.

Draco exhaled sharply. “I don’t know. But we’ll figure it out soon.”

His hand slid up the smooth expanse of her thigh, his nails trailing lightly over her skin,
leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“Cold?” he smirked.

“No,” she breathed. “Everything is perfect.”

He pressed his lips to the delicate spot beneath her ear, sucking slowly.

She reached for his hand on her throat, fingers curling over his.

“You’re perfect,” she said quietly.

His heart clenched unexpectedly.

Gods.

He was ruined for her.

Draco’s hand continued its exploration beneath her skirt, gliding over the curve of her arse.
His fingers met nothing but bare skin.

He stilled. “Are you really not wearing anything?” he whispered in disbelief.

Granger let out a quiet laugh, her eyes meeting his in the mirror. “Of course I am,” she
assured him, taking his hand and guiding it to the thin waistband of her thong. “It’s just…
less noticeable.”

Draco groaned, dropping his forehead against the back of her head. His fingers slipped
beneath the delicate lace, brushing against soft, warm skin.

“This is somehow even better than if you were naked,” he murmured against her neck, his
breathing growing heavier.

“Oh, I didn’t know you liked slutty underwear. I would have worn it more often.”

His grip on her waist tightened. “Are you fucking kidding me, Granger?” Before she could
respond, he turned her in his arms and kissed her, hard.
Draco was utterly lost in the moment, consumed by the feel of her body pressing against his,
the taste of her tongue, the sound of her soft moans. She tugged at his shirt, pulling it free
from his trousers before wrapping her arms around his waist and yanking him closer.

Her hands roamed over his skin, nails scraping lightly along his back and waist. A shiver ran
through him, good shivers.

He wanted more.

He would let her scratch him raw if she wanted to. The thought alone made his arousal throb
painfully.

Granger’s fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling just enough to make him
exhale sharply. A moan escaped before he could stop it.

Fuck.

Somehow, it was harder to admit that he liked this than all the other things he had already
confessed to her.

She ground against him, and he could feel the heat radiating from between her legs. His
fingertips toyed with the lace, enjoying the way she twitched at his light touch. Then she
stilled. He was barely doing anything, just teasing her, but the little whimpers she let out were
all the encouragement he needed.

Her hands cupped his face, her lips moving slowly against his as she shivered in pleasure.
Draco smirked against her mouth. His fingertips traced slow, deliberate circles over the damp
fabric now clinging to her. He knew how much she was enjoying it. He could feel it.

Draco moved to her neck, finding that sensitive spot just below her ear, and licked it
teasingly. She moaned softly in response.

“Why do you like this so much?”

She whimpered, shivering against him. “I… I don’t know.”

“You don’t?” He smirked against her skin, sucking gently. “You must have some theory.”

Her breathing quickened as she tried to gather her thoughts. “I… I think it’s the lace against
my skin. It’s so tight now, and you… you touched me exactly where I needed you to.”

Draco’s fingers trailed lightly over the damp fabric again, watching as she whimpered once
more. The need to be inside her was overwhelming, to make her cry out again and again.

“But it’s no longer enough, is it? You need more.”

She nodded.

Draco chuckled, his eyes locked onto hers.

Slowly, he withdrew his hand from between her legs. She let out a quiet sound of protest at
the sudden loss of contact. But before she could speak, he brought his barely wet fingers to
his lips to taste her.

“Well, now I need more too,” he murmured with a low growl. His fingers snapped the elastic
of her waistband before releasing it. “Take this off.”

Granger didn’t waste a second. She removed her knickers quickly, but before she could say
anything, Draco crushed his lips against hers.

He lifted her with ease, settling her onto the bathroom sink, positioning himself between her
thighs. His hands roamed over her legs, squeezing lightly before tracing slow, deliberate
circles against her skin. She was so warm, so soft, it felt like touching a cloud, and all he
wanted was to bury his face between her legs.

Draco kissed his way down her neck, licking and nipping at the sensitive skin he had been
eyeing all night. Her breath hitched, thighs trembling slightly when she realised he was
kneeling in front of her.

“You’re sparkling everywhere,” he murmured, amusement threading through his desire.

Granger’s chest rose and fell with her quickened breaths. “It’s… a body lotion. With glitter.”

Draco nodded absently. He didn’t care about the source of the shimmer, only about how
beautiful she looked beneath him.

She lifted her skirt higher, giving him better access, and he hooked one of her legs over his
shoulder. He hesitated for a moment before acting on his earlier thought, sinking his teeth
lightly into the soft flesh of her inner thigh.

Granger gasped, shifting slightly, her breathing ragged. He could feel the heat radiating from
between her legs, smell how wet she was. The sight, the scent, the anticipation… it was all
too much.

Draco attacked her like a starved man. His tongue flicked against her with a desperate
fervour, and the sound she made, the sharp intake of breath, the helpless little whimper, went
straight to his cock.

Fuck. Why hadn’t he done this before?

Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling hard as she ground against his mouth. The taste of her
was intoxicating. He wrapped his arms around her thighs, holding her steady as he devoured
her, sucking her clit into his mouth just to hear the way she gasped.

Granger let out a loud, breathless moan.

Draco stopped just long enough to lick his lips. “I didn’t put up a silencing harm,” he
warned, voice rough. “Be quiet.”

“I will,” she promised shakily, but the way her fingers twisted in his hair told him otherwise.
He chuckled, flicking his tongue against her again, teasing her. “Actually…” he paused to
press a slow, torturous lick to the spot that made her thighs quiver, “I’d like you to be bossy
now. Take charge.”

Granger didn’t hesitate.

“I need your fingers inside me,” she gasped, pushing herself forward in a desperate attempt to
get closer to him. “Please. Now.”

A deep, satisfied growl rumbled in Draco’s throat.

I can't believe I didn't do this to her before.

He slid a finger inside her, then another, curling them just right as he continued to flick his
tongue against her. She clenched around him almost immediately, her body tightening in
response.

Draco stood up a bit, pressing closer, deepening the angle as she arched back against the
mirror, barely holding herself up with one trembling hand.

Her other hand remained tangled in his hair, pulling, guiding, demanding.

Fuck, he loved this. Loved feeling her soft and strong all at once, surrounding him, wrapping
around him.

Granger’s thighs tightened around his head as she gasped sharply.

Draco gripped her hips reflexively, steadying her. He felt her body pulse around his fingers,
her moans dissolving into desperate little whimpers.

“I’m sorry,” she panted. “Don’t stop. Please. I’m so fucking close.”

Draco shook his head to let her know it was fine. Her muffled apologies only spurred him on,
sending another sharp pulse of desire through him.

He curled his fingers inside her, exploring every inch, his pace steady as she moved against
him. Her grip in his hair tightened, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps.

Then, just before she came, she clenched around his fingers, her legs locked around his head,
her whole body trembling as pleasure overtook her.

Draco groaned against her, swallowing every soft, muffled sound she made. He kept going,
his tongue, his fingers, everything to prolong her orgasm, to drag it out until she couldn’t take
it anymore and pushed him away.

She was breathless.

So was he.
Her cheeks and chest were flushed, her wide eyes locked onto his lips. Draco started to wipe
his mouth with the back of his hand, but before he could, she reached for his collar, yanking
him up and kissing him with abandon.

She wanted to taste herself on him, and the thought alone made his cock ache painfully.

Her fingers worked their way to his waist, tugging at his belt with single-minded
determination. Draco instinctively moved to help, but she slapped his hands away.

"So impatient," he murmured, cupping her face as he kissed her again.

Granger smirked against his lips, her hand slipping into his trousers, wrapping around him.
His breath hitched, and his grip on her face tightened.

“Oh, are you trying to help me from the goodness of your heart?” she teased, her thumb
tracing a maddeningly slow line over his length.

He spun them around, pressing his back against the sink. “I’ve changed my mind,” he said,
voice rough. “I don’t want you to be bossy anymore.”

Granger’s smirk widened as she sank to her knees, and a shiver ran down his spine.

“I changed my mind too,” she whispered, “I don’t care how you want me.”

Then she freed him from his trousers.

The mere sight of her on her knees before him was enough to make him fear he would come
instantly. Draco’s head fell back, a deep groan escaping him as her tongue traced a slow,
deliberate path from base to tip. But he had to look at her.

She was focused , teasing him with soft, lingering strokes, her fingers wrapped around him,
pumping him slowly, too slowly, while her mouth avoided exactly where he needed her most.

I still can’t believe this is real.

She paused, tilting her head up to meet his gaze.

“You’d tell me if I was doing something wrong, wouldn’t you?”

Draco let out a ragged breath, a smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t think you can do anything
wrong, ever.” His voice was rough, unsteady. “Especially not now.”

Her smirk returned. “So if I just keep doing this…” She gave another long, teasing lick, once
again avoiding his most sensitive spot. “That’s good enough for you?”

Draco let out a strangled groan, gripping the edge of the sink.

She’s going to kill me.

Her teasing was driving him wild, and he had to remind himself to keep breathing. When she
paused and looked up at him, he felt a rush of anticipation mixed with a hint of nervousness.
Draco felt himself clenching his fists, trying to restrain his growing need.

“You know what I told you about teasing,” he reminded her, now attempting to gather her
hair in one hand to hold her in place.

Granger looked up at him with a glint in her eyes. “And you know what I told you about
being honest,” she replied, before finally running her tongue over that sensitive spot just
under his tip.

Draco let out a shuddering groan, unable to hold back any longer.

He almost dropped the hair he collected when he twitched, but grabbed her tighter on time.
Granger gasped a bit, and he felt her breath on him again.

“No, that’s not good enough for me. So stop talking and put your mouth to better use.” Draco
leaned forward and grabbed her hair even more and she whimpered, but didn't look away. "I
would also like it if I didn't have to repeat myself,” he hissed. He released the pressure on her
hair now. “Is that good enough for you?"

She just nodded and was on him before he even had a chance to prepare. He moaned when he
could feel the soft, warm, and wet inside of her mouth.

His breath caught in his throat as he felt her tongue finally swirl around the head of his cock.
He braced himself against the sink, feeling her lips and tongue glide up and down his length.
Each movement was a surge of pleasure that made him want to scream with ecstasy.

He struggled to keep himself from thrusting into her mouth, wanting to savour every moment
of this incredible pleasure. Draco groaned, his hips bucking involuntarily as she continued to
suck him. It was all too much and not enough at the same time. He wanted to thrust into her
mouth again, to take control, but he didn't want to push her too far. He hated hearing gagging
noises.

As if sensing his need for more, Granger grasped the base of his cock with one hand, giving
him a sense of relief and stability. But it was her increased speed and the sounds of her moans
that were pushing him over the edge. He could feel himself getting closer and closer to the
brink of release.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps and laughs outside the bathroom snapped him back to
reality. He groaned in frustration, wanting nothing more than to ignore the outside world and
focus solely on her.

"We should have silenced the room," he said, trying to keep his voice low.

She moaned in response, and the vibration made him shiver.

"Can you do it?" he asked, trying to sound casual. "I know your mouth is busy, but you're so
good at nonverbal spells."
She made some incoherent noise in the back of her throat and continued to suck him, making
it difficult for him to focus on anything else. He tightened his grip on her hair, urging her to
silence the room.

"Do it, Granger," he said, with a low and commanding voice.

She looked up at him, clearly reluctant to stop what she was doing. He knew that she wanted
to take him out of her mouth, but he held her in place.

"No," he drawled, "Your mouth and hand are busy with my cock now. I know you can do it
without a wand. And silently."

Granger used her other hand to wave behind her, and he felt a subtle vacuum forming around
them. He also felt a soft prickling sensation coming from her as she casted the spell.

"I think I... ah... I felt you releasing your magic just now," he said, and his voice was a little
strained.

She nodded and resumed sucking him, this time even faster. The pleasure was almost too
much to bear, and he could feel himself getting close.

"You're... so good," he whispered.

She lowered her grip so she could take more of him. He could feel the back of her throat now,
and he was almost done.

“Granger, I'm going to come,” he said after a few moments. Draco tried to pull her off him by
her hair, but Hermione shook her head slightly and held the back of his thigh with her free
hand.

He felt her release her grip and take him even deeper, allowing him to enjoy the depth and
wetness of her throat as he reached his orgasm. His body shuddered as he came, and he felt
her throat tighten as she swallowed him down.

Draco resisted the urge to push her head further, not wanting to hurt her, but he couldn't help
but grip her hair tightly, his fingers tangling in her soft strands. His chest was heaving as he
caught his breath, still reeling from the intense pleasure she had just given him.

He tried to steady his breath, watching her slowly rise, her skin flushed and hair in disarray.
Granger leaned against the sink beside him, and a fresh wave of desire surged within him as
his gaze lingered on her. Even in the dim light of the room, he couldn't help but admire her
beauty.

They stood in silence for a beat, both catching their breath, before she turned to retrieve her
knickers. Draco's eyes followed her movements as she quickly slid them up her legs. A sense
of loss swept over him as she covered herself. She reached for her wand, but he stopped her
with a soft touch.

"I must admit, I wouldn't mind seeing you in more... slutty underwear," he murmured, leaning
in to kiss her once again. The taste of himself lingered, but it didn’t bother him. If she didn’t
mind before, neither would he now.

Her makeup was slightly smudged, but it didn't seem like it would need much effort to fix it.
His thumb brushed her lower lip, a thought stirring in him. Hermione wanted to taste him.
She went on her knees and had his cock in her mouth and then she swallowed his c…

No, stop that. Stop with those thoughts again.

Draco quickly finished tidying himself and turned his attention back to her.

“You can leave, if you like,” she said, though he simply shook his head.

She used her wand to glamour her knees and neck, and Draco found himself transfixed by the
calm rhythm of her actions. In the soft, golden light, she seemed to glow, every movement
graceful. He noticed how she used her ring finger to apply her lipstick, before dabbing some
onto her cheeks.

“I didn’t know you could use it like that,” he commented, watching her in the mirror.

Granger smiled at him, her warmth making his heart skip. He couldn’t help but want to reach
out to her. He moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her
shoulder as she leaned back into him. They stood there for a moment, just savouring the
closeness, before he spoke again.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. "I don’t think I’ve ever said that before. I’ve thought it...
but never said it aloud."

She raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming as she rolled her eyes. Yet, the small smile on her
lips made his heart flutter. "You're beautiful too, you know. Ever heard of Michelangelo’s
David?"

He chuckled softly, rolling his eyes in turn, though there was a flicker of warmth at her
words. “Don’t get carried away, Granger,” he teased, admiring her more closely. "I can't wait
to stop hiding.”

Hermione nodded in agreement, and Draco stepped back, taking a moment to appreciate her
from a distance. “Do you want me to go first?” he asked.

She nodded again, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before he turned toward the door.

He cleared his throat, half-smiling. “Nice talking to you, Granger.”

“You too, Malfoy.” Her smile was soft, yet knowing.

The party seemed to be moving indoors now, the rooms teeming with people. Laughter and
loud chatter filled the air, and Draco struggled to hear his own thoughts over the noise.

He passed by the library, catching a glimpse of Blaise and Lovegood through the open door.
They were sitting closely together on a lounge chair, their faces lit by the soft glow of a
nearby lamp. Despite the chaos of the party just beyond, they appeared to be entirely
engrossed in their conversation.

Draco hesitated for a brief moment, considering whether to interrupt them. But then, deciding
against it, he quietly closed the door with a wave of his wand.

He found Theo with Charlie and Pansy at one of the tables in the garden.

"Where’ve you been?" Theo asked lazily, glancing around at the guests.

"I think I might’ve had one too many," Draco replied, his eyes following a flying tray.
"Needed to walk it off a bit." He waved at the tray, which now hovered in front of them with
glasses of water. "Blaise and Lovegood seemed pretty cosy when I saw them earlier."

Theo and Pansy exchanged a knowing look. "They’ve barely been apart since you left," she
remarked.

A few moments later, Hermione appeared, and Pansy didn’t waste any time. "And where’ve
you been all night?"

"All night? Same place as you, Pansy." Hermione shrugged casually. "I ran into Neville
earlier. He’s still upset about the breakup."

"Still?" Pansy rolled her eyes.

"It’s only been a couple of weeks. Don’t be insensitive." She turned to Draco. "Where did
you get the water?" she asked, and he gestured towards the tray again.

"Someone was shagging in the bathroom," Theo said, sounding disinterested.

"Not surprising," Draco muttered. "There’s always a few who can't resist at these things." He
nodded towards the house. "Add alcohol to the mix, and it’s a recipe for disaster."

"And stimulating potions and herbs," Charlie added.

Hermione responded with a cool smile. "Oh, it was George and Padma," she lied without
hesitation.

Draco studied her, trying to discern any hint of deception, but her expression remained
unchanged, not a single blush or sign of guilt.

"You know what they’re like at parties. Can't stay out of the bathrooms long enough to have a
proper conversation. It’s embarrassing, really."

He couldn’t help but smirk, reaching for the tray to offer Hermione a glass of water. He found
himself unexpectedly fond of this game, pretending, keeping things just between them. There
was something alluring about having this secret, about not sharing it with anyone else.

"Here you go, Hermione," he said, his voice a little softer than he intended as he handed her
the glass.
 "Thanks, Draco," she replied.

Theo and Pansy exchanged another look, their eyes flicking between them.

Chapter End Notes

Daphne's party https://www.pinterest.com/tpzzz1105/in-the-mood-for-truth/daphnes-

party/
 Hermione
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

April 2013

“I was always curious about religion. Are you religious?” Draco asked, his warm breath
tickling her stomach.

“Not particularly,” Hermione shrugged, idly brushing his hair away from his forehead and the
nape of his neck. “We always celebrated the major holidays in my family, but my parents
never took it beyond that.”

His hair was longer now, so incredibly soft.

“I’ve always found the concept of faith fascinating,” he murmured, leaning against her.
“Believing in something without concrete proof. It’s almost… I don’t know, fantastic, in a
way.”

Hermione chuckled. “It’s comforting, I suppose. The idea that there’s a greater purpose to
everything, that something… or someone, is looking out for us.”

“Exactly. It’s… hopeful.”

“Hope, yes,” she echoed, mulling over the word. “That’s a good way to put it.”

“I’ve never been inside a church before,” he admitted absentmindedly, running his fingers
over her skin and watching as goosebumps formed in his wake. “I’ve seen pictures, though.
Rows of wooden benches, sculptures, colourful stained-glass windows.”

Hermione shivered, and he let out a quiet laugh before pressing a quick kiss under her ribs.

“Not all churches are like that,” she told him. “The one you’re picturing sounds Catholic or
Anglican. Protestant churches tend to be simpler, with less decoration.”

“Which one are you?” He tilted his head slightly, and she smiled at his phrasing.

“They baptised me in a Catholic church when I was a baby.”

Draco glanced up at her.

“That’s a ritual. To make you part of the religion. It’s very simple. Just a bit of water on your
forehead and a few words from the priest.”
He frowned slightly. “Do you get a choice, or do you always have to follow what your
parents did?” His fingers traced small circles on her waist.

“Most people just follow their family’s beliefs, but you can convert later if you want. A lot of
people do. Or you can just stop believing altogether. Atheism is even more common.”

“Atheist,” he repeated, considering the word. “So… that means believing there’s no God?”

“Exactly. I think most people lean that way.”

Draco was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Do you believe in God?”

She hesitated, turning the question over in her mind. “Logically, no. But at the same time… I
can’t ignore the fact that so many things I once thought were fantasy turned out to be real.”

He blinked, intrigued.

Hermione tried to explain. “When you grow up knowing for certain that magic doesn't exist,
that people can’t come back after they die, that you can’t turn water into wine, it’s easy to
dismiss everything as myth. Those are all stories from the Bible,” she added, and Draco
nodded in understanding. “But now? Now I know that people can try to defy death. And even
I can turn water into wine if I really want to. So how can I say, with absolute certainty, that
those other so-called myths aren’t possible either?” She gazed up at the ceiling, lost in
thought. “I don’t know if there’s an omnipotent being watching over us, dictating our fates,
but after everything I’ve learned in the past twenty years, I can’t rule anything out. So maybe
I’m agnostic,” she concluded with a small shrug.

“Agnostic,” Draco mused. “I can’t believe there’s a topic you don’t have an answer for,” he
smirked.

Hermione rolled her eyes and gave his hair a gentle tug. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Is that why you’ve got all those books on Chinese religions?”

“They’re more like philosophies, but yes, I didn’t know much about them, so I wanted to
learn.” She paused. “I’ve never been to a Buddhist temple.”

“You’re allowed to go inside even if you’re not… Buddhist?” he asked, looking genuinely
surprised.

She laughed. “Of course I am. Do you think they would ban someone from entering just
because they’re not one of them? Why would you even think that... Oh,” Then she stopped,
narrowing her eyes.

It was a fair question coming from him.

This kind of segregation was far more familiar to Draco than it was to her.

“I don’t think any religion works like that,” she said, keeping her tone even. “At least, not
anymore. As long as you’re respectful, you can go wherever you like.”
He slid a leg between hers, his arm draped over her waist, pulling her closer. “I’m sorry. That
was a stupid thing to ask, really.”

She shook her head. “No, no, it was a valid question.” Her gaze settled on his pale eyelashes.
Why do men always have perfect eyelashes and brows when they don’t even care about them?

After a moment, he asked, “Have you ever been to any churches that aren’t… yours, so to
speak?”

“Yes. There’s this cathedral in Tarragona that… oh, but that’s Catholic too. Let me think.”
She frowned, pouting slightly as she searched her memory. “There’s a beautiful Lutheran
church in Reykjavik, in Iceland,” she said at last. “It’s shaped like an arrowhead, almost.
Looks like something out of a fantasy novel.”

He nodded.

“I went to Istanbul once. Visited the Blue Mosque. You have to take your shoes off before
you enter.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know exactly. The floor’s covered in carpets, and shoes are dirty. People kneel when
they pray, so it makes sense, I suppose. There aren’t any paintings of people on the walls, but
the Islamic calligraphy and floral designs are stunning.”

He was about to ask something when she cut in, her voice bright with another memory.

“Oh! In the Balkans, most people are Orthodox Christians. I’ve been to churches in Bulgaria,
Serbia, and Greece. They don’t usually have benches, so you have to stand through the entire
service. But the walls are covered in the most vivid paintings of saints and Bible stories. So
bright, so colourful. My dad always said he preferred their churches to ours.” She chuckled.

Draco tilted his head. “You travel a lot.”

“Yes. My parents made a point of visiting less obvious tourist spots. ‘Expanding our
worldview,’ as they liked to put it.”

He frowned slightly, and she brushed his hair back. He looked as if he was debating
something, his gaze flickering away.

“What?” she prompted.

“I… I was just thinking…” He hesitated, clearly uncertain. “I’m going to talk about the war,
all right?”

Hermione nodded.

Draco exhaled, his fingers tightening slightly on her waist. “During the war, when the Death
Eaters were using our home as headquarters…” He shook his head, frowning again. “I
remember them saying they sent someone to… to your house. To get your parents.”
She turned her gaze to the ceiling. “They weren’t here, were they? They didn’t find
anything?”

“No.”

Hermione sighed, bracing herself for a story she never enjoyed telling. “I obliviated them.
Changed their names, their identities. Wiped every memory of me from their minds. Sent
them to Australia and erased every trace of myself from our home. So if anyone came
looking, there’d be nothing to find. No way to use them to get to me.” Her voice was eerily
flat, drained of emotion.

Draco was silent for a moment, then tightened his hold on her, his voice softer. “That… must
have been difficult.” He sounded almost in awe. “Not just emotionally. That’s incredibly
advanced magic, Hermione.”

She huffed. “The Ministry’s Curse Breakers said the same when they checked my work
afterwards. Of course, I couldn't explain that to my parents because they thought I betrayed
them by taking away their right to choose.”

“Wait, what do you mean to choose?”

“I never told them. I didn’t warn them what I was about to do.” Her eyes met his, cold and
steady. “I was upstairs, getting ready to leave and hunt Horcruxes. They called me down for
tea, and when they turned their backs… I cast the spell.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“So… are you all right now? I mean, you lived together again, didn’t you?” He asked
carefully.

“Yes. But it took years.”

He shifted, lifting his head to see her properly. “Is this something you don’t want to talk
about?”

“It’s fine.”

“Is it really?”

“No.” She sighed. “It was a terrible time for us, Draco. I get anxious just thinking about it.
And we’re good now, so… I’d rather not dwell on it.”

“Okay. Sorry.” He pressed a kiss just under her ribs. The touch tickled.

“No, it’s fine. You didn’t know.” She chuckled, nudging him lightly. “You’re not responsible
for catering…”
“To your triggers, yes,” he interrupted, though there was a flicker of annoyance in his tone.
“Yes, you’ve told me that before. In fact, you’ve used that exact sentence a few times.”

“Oh.”

He started to speak a few times before abandoning the thought. “Why are you…? No, never
mind.”

“What?”

“Why do you…?” He sighed. “You don’t sound like yourself when you say things like that.”

“Oh.” She shrugged. “It’s not my thought. Silva taught me. Or I read it somewhere. But it’s
mostly her.”

Draco tilted his head. “So what is it, then? Some kind of exercise? A mantra?”

“Look at you,” she teased, raking her nails lightly over his scalp.

He exhaled and closed his eyes at the sensation.

“And you said you don’t like self-help books.”

Draco shifted closer, his grip tightening around her waist. “I had a lot of free time recently.”
His voice was low, smooth, and it made her shiver.

“You couldn’t find anything more interesting on my shelf?”

“Oh, I’ll get to your forbidden bottom soon enough.” His smirk was downright wicked. “I
want to know what you were so ashamed of.”

“Ashamed?” Hermione scoffed, tugging his hair just hard enough to make him press his
fingers deeper into her skin. “Nothing. I just don’t want to have immature conversations.”

“Oh, I won’t be immature about it.” He traced his fingers just above the waistband of her
sleeping shorts. “I’d rather you educate me from your inappropriate books. Thoroughly.”

She chuckled, dragging her nails over his scalp again. “They’re quite appropriate, thank you
very much. Don’t be so old-fashioned.”

When she tried to shift away, he pressed his thigh more firmly between hers. “Where are you
going?” he murmured, his hand slipping under her shirt, fingers gliding over her stomach.

“To prevent this from happening.” She gestured vaguely at his wandering hands. “But you’ve
already ruined my plan.”

“Why?” He kneaded her breast lazily, rolling her nipple between his fingers.

“Because it’s almost… eight,” she said, her voice trembling as he started kissing his way up
towards her chest. She swallowed hard. “We should get dressed.”
Draco hummed as he propped himself up slightly. “It takes me all of twenty seconds to get
dressed. You, maybe a bit longer.” He pushed up her t-shirt, exposing her breasts. His lips
curved as he took her in. “You’re very efficient,” he mused before leaning down to flick his
tongue over her nipple.

Hermione inhaled sharply.

“So if the situation required it, you could finish anything really quickly, right?” His other
hand slid lower, fingers hovering just above the waistband of her shorts but going no further.

She exhaled shakily. “Yes. But I’d rather not have to.”

“No?” Draco murmured before grazing his teeth lightly over her nipple. She whimpered, and
he smirked. “You wouldn’t prefer it?”

She shook her head, her breath coming faster.

“So you’re not wet now?”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Hermione groaned, covering her face with her hands.

Draco chuckled, smug as ever.

“Yes, I am. Two things can be true at the same time.”

He grinned. “You’re right, of course.” His fingers brushed the sensitive skin just above her
shorts. “So… you’re really going to say no to me? But I’m so good at this,” he murmured,
nipping at her breast. “You said so yourself.”

“Oh, so you do listen,” she quipped, arching slightly under his touch. “Then listen to me
now.” She cupped his face, making him look at her. “We have to eat and get ready to go to
Harry’s. It’ll be over any day now. I don’t want to miss the end.”

Draco groaned, resting his forehead against her shoulder. “Fine,” he muttered, tugging her
shirt back down. “You mentioned Potter, and now any boner I had is gone.”

Hermione laughed as she tried to sit up, but before she could, he flipped them over, pinning
her beneath him, settling between her legs.

“Not everything’s vanished, I see,” she murmured, brushing her lips against his.

“Yeah, well, not even Potter could ruin you for me,” he murmured back.

She hummed into it, melting against him as his lips trailed down to her neck, drawing out a
quiet moan.

"Are eggs and bacon okay for breakfast?" he asked softly.

"Always." Hermione closed her eyes, savouring the weight of him.

She liked how he felt on top of her - warm, heavy, solid. She ran her hands down his back,
tracing the bare skin and the soft fabric of his pyjama bottoms. He was still glamoured, but
she didn’t ask him about it. Instead, she squeezed his bum, making him chuckle.

"And I want some toast too," she added.

"Of course." His response was low, almost absent-minded, as he cupped her breast and
sucked at the sensitive skin of her neck.

She shivered, her body responding to him instinctively. He shifted against her, pressing her
deeper into the mattress, and she whimpered at the friction.

"Draco, please," she whispered, not sure if she wanted him to go make breakfast or stay
exactly where he was.

Her words only seemed to encourage him. He rutted against her, his kisses growing hungrier,
his hands sliding lower.

“Hermione, I need… please, just let me…” His voice was hoarse, desperate.

She barely had time to process the warmth of his fingers slipping beneath her underwear
before they were moving just the way she liked, pulling a sharp gasp from her lips.

Draco lifted his head, watching her as he worked her with practiced precision. Then, without
a word, he kissed his way down her body.

“I need to taste you,” he murmured against her skin.

Well, I’m not going to say no to that.

She tugged off her shorts and knickers in one quick motion, and he was between her legs in
an instant. His grip on her thighs was firm, fingers digging in just enough to leave marks.
Marks she wouldn’t bother to hide.

The warmth of his breath, the slow, skilled flick of his tongue, it made her shudder. She
curled her fingers into his hair, focused on how the strands tickled the inside of her thighs.

Her orgasm built quickly, her body tightening in response. She didn’t even need his fingers
inside her, he knew exactly what to do. Her breath hitched, a broken moan escaping her lips
as pleasure took over, and she clutched at him desperately.

But he wasn’t finished.

Within moments, he’d shoved down his pyjama bottoms and pushed into her, stealing the air
from her lungs.

A gasp left her as she felt him, hot and hard, buried deep inside her. Draco groaned against
her neck, starting slow, letting her adjust before increasing his pace. His thrusts grew more
urgent, more relentless, as she clung to him, pulling him impossibly closer.
"See?" he panted when he came moments later. "Very... quick... and… efficient."

She let out a breathless chuckle. "Yeah."

When he started to move, she tightened her hold. "Stay," she murmured. "I like feeling you
like this."

Draco smiled against her skin and nodded.

They stayed there for a while, just breathing, just touching, until the need to move eventually
pulled them apart.

Hermione took a quick shower while he made breakfast. She brushed her teeth, setting her
toothbrush beside his. He’d complained about the ones she kept under the sink, so he’d
bought him a new one.

She washed her hair with her shampoo, the same one he used, despite bringing his own
products and leaving them in her shower.

He grumbled about the size of her towels too, claiming they were too small, but never
bothered to bring his own because, apparently, hers were softer. He also had a habit of
sauntering out of the bathroom with a small one wrapped low around his hips, smirking when
he caught her staring.

She scrunched the plastic bag just enough to make noise as she poured food into
Crookshanks’ bowl near the fridge. His little bell jingled from the hallway, and soon all three
of them were having a quiet breakfast together.

Hermione showed Draco how to make eggs with pesto once, and now it was the only way
he’d eat them whenever he stayed over.

“So, you think they’ll be done one of these days?” he asked.

“If everything goes according to plan,” Hermione said, slicing into her well-fried egg, not
rare anymore. “But since Daisy got injured the other day, anything could happen now.”

Everything had been going smoothly for weeks, so of course something had to go wrong
right at the end.

“Yeah. Is she okay now?”

“I think so.” Hermione nodded. “They released her from the hospital. Harry and Ginny
visited her yesterday.”

Daisy had burned her hands all the way up to her shoulders after tripping and grabbing onto a
piano stool in a panic. The smell had been... horrific.

Hermione shuddered at the memory.

The big potion should be finished in a few days, too. The team had spent ages debating what
kind of container they should use to collect the dark magic afterwards. One of the
Muggleborns had jokingly suggested conjuring a steel and concrete sarcophagus, like the one
over the Chernobyl power plant, rather than bothering with containment potions. That gave
Hermione the idea to look into barrels, like the ones for nuclear waste, and eventually, they
settled on those.

The large room was finally clear. Kreacher had cleaned as much as he could, with their help.
Even Draco had roped Dissy into assisting, and she’d been flabbergasted at the state of
things.

Hermione had brought in some muggle cleaning products, but they had limited effect. Some
stains, suspiciously like blood, refused to come out. Harry had simply shrugged and said
they’d replace the floor.

The bathroom had been the easiest room to deal with - small and quickly handled. The
mirror, however, had been cursed. Hermione managed to break it without damaging the
intricate frame, but the team still refused to let her take it home. All the cursed mirrors and
portraits were being sent to the Ministry for safe disposal.

Walburga Black, in particular, had been a nightmare.

She’d once seen Draco kissing Hermione and had reacted so violently that, had she still been
alive, she likely would have died of a heart attack all over again.

She had scratched at her face, pulled at her hair, and screamed curses so foul that no
respectable pure-blood matriarch should have known, let alone used. Draco, furious, had tried
to burn the painting on the spot, but it had been impervious to fire. In the end, they sent her
off to the Ministry, where an entire department existed solely to deal with indestructible
portraits.

Hermione pictured it as a room like the Hall of Prophecies, but instead of glass orbs,
thousands of frames sat stacked on towering shelves, whispering in the dark for eternity.

After breakfast, she and Draco headed to Grimmauld Place together.

They no longer hid their relationship.

Scorpius and Daphne already knew, as did Padma and Luna, at least partially, so what was
the point?

Hermione told Ginny at the party.

They were walking with the others towards the fireplace after Daphne’s party when Ginny
turned to her.

“So, where did you disappear to after I left you with McLaggen?”

“I was with Draco,” Hermione said casually, or at least, she hoped she sounded that way.
“Draco?” Ginny raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, Draco,” she repeated. “I was in the mood for some alone time with him.”

Ginny grabbed her arm, halting her steps, and squinted as if she could read the truth on her
face.

Hermione stepped closer and lowered her voice. “I did it, and now I’m enjoying the
consequences.”

Ginny released her grip, didn’t say anything at first, just grinned and shook her head.

“I’d appreciate it if I could be the one to tell Harry.”

She nodded slowly, still looking slightly stunned.

“And Ron,” Hermione sighed.

That same night, Draco had spoken to Pansy and Theo, who had immediately noticed
something was different. Pansy stormed into her place the next morning, fuming over the fact
that she hadn’t been the first to find out.

Hermione had apologised on Draco’s behalf for putting his son’s feelings and best interest
first.

When she and Draco flooed into their kitchen, it was quiet. The workers hadn’t arrived yet,
and the children were already away. Lily was with her grandparents, and Albus split his time
between the Burrow, Ron’s place, and Bill’s house. He was an angel, easy to leave with
anyone. Lily, on the other hand, had a temper only Molly could handle.

As usual, Harry sat at the table reading the newspaper while Ginny idly flipped through a
magazine, stirring a teaspoon in her cup. They both looked exhausted when they glanced up.

“Oh, don’t look so thrilled that it’s almost over,” Hermione said dryly.

Draco smirked. “I’ll miss their bright, cheerful morning greetings.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Lily had a fever last night. We didn’t get much sleep.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is she all right?” Hermione asked, sitting beside her.

“Yes, but I’m not. I think I caught whatever she had,” she muttered, rubbing her forehead.
Her eyes were glossy, and her face was flushed.

Hermione immediately stood back up.

“Stay put, Red,” Draco said, placing a hand on Hermione’s back. “No need to spread your
infection over here. I’m going to check upstairs before I leave,” he added, addressing
everyone.
Hermione nodded as he walked away.

Harry watched him over the top of his glasses, then shook his head slightly as he looked at
Hermione. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.”

“Well, you’re not the one shagging him, so you don’t have to adjust to anything,” Ginny said,
rubbing her forehead.

Harry rolled his eyes.

Hermione smirked.

All in all, they’d taken it well. Harry and Ron, surprisingly too.

She had invited them both out for a drink the day after the party.

Somewhere public.

Somewhere Muggle.

Just in case.

“I called you because I need to tell you something,” she said, staring at her glass.

They were in a nice pub, packed with people watching a football match.

“You’re pregnant,” Harry said, frowning.

“Don’t be ridiculous, she’s not an idiot,” Ron scoffed, then immediately frowned. “You’re…
not, right?”

“Idiot or pregnant?” Hermione quipped. “No. Neither.”

They both looked relieved.

Don’t get your hopes up just yet. I’m not done.

“I wanted to tell you that… I’m seeing someone new,” she said slowly. “Well, maybe not
someone new, exactly, but…”

Harry leaned back, exhaling.

He gave her that serious Auror look, but she could read him this time.

He already knew.

“I just hope we can all be mature about it,” she added.

Ron took her hand. “Mione, you know I love you, but it’s been more than ten years,” he
joked.
She raised an eyebrow, and he nodded, letting go of her hand.

“I mean, since we were together,” he said and cleared his throat. “I’m getting married now.
Maybe it’s time for you to move on, too, you know?”

She glanced at Harry.

He was frowning slightly.

“So, who’s the lucky bloke?” he asked, his half-smile obviously forced as he took a sip of his
beer. “Anyone we know?”

She hesitated for a moment. Well, if he already knew…

Hermione turned to Ron and exhaled. “It’s Malfoy, Ron.”

He let out a short laugh. “Good one, Mione. Who is it?”

She didn’t say anything, just held his gaze.

He frowned, glancing at Harry, who didn’t seem fazed.

“Wait. Is this for real? You’re not messing with us?”

“No, Ron, I’m not.”

His mouth opened and closed like a fish before he spoke again. “You knew?” he asked Harry.

“I guessed,” he shrugged. “She’s not exactly discreet.”

Hermione scoffed. “We’ve been very discreet. It’s been going on for more than two months.”

“I know. That’s what I’m saying. Not discreet. I actually thought you’d been together for
much longer, judging by the way you act around each other.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Wow…” Ron was still staring at his glass. “I… I mean… Wow.” He looked at her again,
more serious now. “Mione, I… I stand by what I said before. You’re not an idiot.” He
hesitated. “But… are you sure about him? That he’s good for you? After… well,
everything?”

“He is,” she nodded, taking his hand to reassure him. “You don’t have to worry.”

Hermione joined Draco on the floor, standing beside him in front of the door next to the
library. He had opened it the same day as the other rooms, but they had never gone inside.

It was completely empty.

Not a single portrait, rug, or even an old teacup.

Only one standard window opposite the door, like all the others around the house, with closed
shutters and lines of light streaming through. The floor was clean, untouched by dust.

Hermione stood behind him as he leaned against the doorframe.

She flicked her wand to send sparkling lights inside, but as soon as they crossed the invisible
threshold, they vanished.

“How are we going to levitate the barrel inside?” she asked, eyeing the spot where the
sparkles evaporated.

“I don’t know.”

“What if we can’t?”

“I don’t know,” Draco shrugged. “Seal it somehow and lock it forever? Or what your little
friend from the Ministry suggested? Cover it with steel and concrete?”

“It doesn’t bother you that we can’t figure it out?”

“Not particularly. Why?” he smirked. “Is it keeping you up at night?”

Hermione wrapped her arms around his waist. “No. You keep me awake at night.” She leaned
into his back, feeling the rise and fall of his breath.

Draco chuckled, squeezing her hands. “I’m sorry. You’ll have uninterrupted sleep tonight.”
He cleared his throat. “Though, I would like to invite you to dinner. At my flat.”

She lifted her head to meet his gaze. “Really?”

“Yes.” He turned his head toward her. “Scorpius insisted. Said you mentioned ordering pizza,
and we’ve never had food delivered before, so... Are you up for an incredibly interesting
Friday evening?”

She nodded, smiling, and kissed him.

Hermione had never been to his flat before. She hadn’t even thought about it until their
relationship had become... well, official, in a sense. Every time she imagined Draco at home,
she envisioned the manor. She had completely forgotten that he didn’t live there, but in the
same neighbourhood Andromeda had lived in when Teddy was younger.

After Draco had told Scorpius about their relationship, Hermione had joined them for a more
casual dinner. She could feel Scorpius watching her closely, like he was waiting for her to act
differently or say something that didn’t match her usual self now that she was his father’s
girlfriend.

God, it still sounded silly. I'm a thirty-three-year-old woman, for fuck’s sake.

Although neither Hermione nor Draco were fans of public displays of affection, she still
asked him to keep it to a minimum.
When they arrived at her place, she quickly kissed Draco on the cheek and ruffled Scorpius’
hair before offering him a fizzy drink, knowing full well he’d decline, just something to talk
about. They went to the nearest fast-food restaurant, where Scorpius, overwhelmed by the
chaos of other children and food choices, didn’t seem to mind the relaxed outing. As
expected, the date went well.

They saw each other a few more times after that. Things felt easier now that Scorpius realised
their relationship wouldn’t change much for him. They met outdoors or at Hermione’s house,
where he watched a science program they didn’t have at their flat and even asked to borrow
her old primary school science textbooks. He found plenty of things to interest him on her
bookshelf in her old bedroom.

Still, Hermione had never been to their home.

But now, this next step felt exciting.

Draco left for work as the Ministry workers, minus Daisy, arrived. Hermione asked them to
share their plan for the day.

One of them spoke up, explaining that the potion would be finished by next week, and they
could begin filling up the barrel. The first step was to place it in the largest room, the one to
the left. They’d need to perform some intricate calculations to determine exactly how many
millilitres of potion were necessary, based on the volume of the room.

They wouldn’t be able to finish the library today, as there were still plenty of books left on
the last two shelves. Ginny had stayed home due to feeling ill, so Hermione asked Kreacher
to make her some hot soup before she left.

Weeks earlier, Hermione had met with a representative from her publishing company, Adda,
for lunch. They’d discussed the progress of the second edition of her book and brainstormed
ideas for the new cover.

They had both agreed on a simple yet elegant design: a deep blue cover made of plush
material, almost too soft to the touch. Her name and the title, From Order to Victory: A
Firsthand Account of the Second Wizarding War, were embossed in silver letters.

As she organised her notes on the cleanup of dark artefacts, Hermione remembered
expressing her concerns to Adda about whether anyone would actually find a text like hers
interesting enough to buy. But she had reassured her that there was always demand for books
on simplified curse-breaking and the destruction of dark artefacts, especially since most
existing texts were only accessible to the wealthy, old pureblood families who could read
Latin or other ancient languages. Hermione made a mental note to credit the sources of her
information and acknowledge those who had translated the texts.

She had also asked Adda about any proofreading opportunities. Hermione didn’t want to dip
into her savings too much, and once the cleanup project was done, she wasn’t sure what else
to do. Adda had a friend who worked at a muggle publishing company and offered to set up a
meeting. Hermione was intrigued by the idea, it seemed more interesting and something she
could dive into.
During her break, Parvati invited Hermione for lunch, and Hermione invited Luna along as
well, since they’d be in Diagon Alley anyway.

The dragon deal Hermione had made with Theo and Blaise was going well so far. Luna’s
store had gained more new customers, but the regulars had started complaining that the
dragon products didn’t quite fit the store’s overall vibe. Hermione had to admit they had a
point. But finding a suitable location for the dragon products would probably take months
and, as it turned out, there were still plenty of obstacles to overcome, even when gold wasn’t
one of them.

“So, how long will they be in your store?” Hermione asked, sipping her tea as they sat
outside Fortescue's.

The sun was out, but the air had a definite chill to it.

“I expect they’ll find a location before summer,” Luna replied. “They’re looking for a small
store now. They don’t really need a big space.”

“What does the contract say?” Parvati asked.

Luna shrugged. “We didn’t sign anything. Just an agreement.”

Parvati frowned. “You should’ve written it down. For your own protection.”

Hermione nodded in agreement.

“I trust them,” she said simply, brushing it off with a nonchalant shrug.

After finishing her tea, Luna excused herself and left, leaving Hermione and Parvati alone.
She shifted uncomfortably a few times, casting a quick glance at Hermione.

“Is everything alright?”

Parvati looked away. “I’ve been meaning to discuss something personal with you.”

Hermione set her cup down and gave her full attention. “Alright.”

She hesitated, biting her lip before speaking again. “Well, there’s this thing... It happened
somewhat suddenly, but not really suddenly, actually,” she began, looking anywhere but at
Hermione. “Um… It’s really not that big of a deal. I don’t know why I’m fidgeting so much.”
She frowned at her hands. “Lavender and I… we’re kind of together now.”

“Oh,” Hermione replied, doing her best to hide her surprise. “I didn’t know… Um…” She
frowned. “Did this happen while she was still with Neville?”

Parvati quickly shook her head. “No! No, definitely not.” She looked around nervously
before continuing. “I mean, maybe an emotional affair happened, but not… a physical one.”

Hermione nodded.
The breakup had only been a bit more than a month ago, so she could see how some feelings
might have developed before then.

“So… how did this happen?” she asked, trying to make sense of it all. “You’ve been friends
for ages.”

Parvati let out a short, uncomfortable laugh. “I think I realised my feelings long before she
did.”

She explained how her feelings for Lavender had been more than just friendship for years.
Hermione felt a pang of guilt for not noticing it earlier, especially given how close they had
been, even back at school.

Taking Parvati’s hand in hers, Hermione squeezed it gently. “I’m happy for both of you,
really,” she said, her voice warm. “I’m sorry you couldn’t act on your feelings before, for
whatever reason.”

Parvati gave a small nod. “It’s difficult here, you know. People are old-fashioned,
conservative about a lot of things.” She sighed. “That’s why I knew you’d understand.”

Hermione smirked. She’d always joked that muggleborns were seen as the liberal hippies in
the wizarding world.

“Do your parents know?”

Parvati hesitated before answering. “Not yet. I expect my father to be more understanding.”

“Really?” Hermione squinted. “Your mother seems more… flexible.”

“Seems,” Parvati replied dryly. “That’s the key word.”

“And Padma?”

“She knew about my… crush for years,” Parvati shrugged, a fond smile creeping onto her
face. “It didn’t faze her at all when I explained.”

Hermione thought for a moment before asking, “Does Neville know?”

“He does. But he doesn’t believe that nothing physical happened between us. He says he
does, but I can tell he’s not convinced.”

“It’ll take time for him to process it. He’s reasonable. He’ll come around.”

Parvati nodded in return, her expression a little relieved. “Anyway, I told you because you’re
also dating someone people didn’t expect you to be with. I thought you’d know how to
handle this.”

Hermione laughed lightly. “You’ll have an easier time explaining than I do, trust me.” She
paused. “You could’ve asked Luna for advice too. She’s got a thing with Blaise now, after
all.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Talk about pairings people wouldn’t understand.”

Hermione stayed with Parvati until her lunch break was over, then headed back home. After
tidying up a bit, she went to the gym. On her way back, she stopped to buy a nice bottle of
wine to bring with her to Draco’s flat. She flooed there just before seven, as he had asked, but
found the living room empty.

The flat was light and spacious, cooler than her own house. It had a luxurious feel, with sleek
modern designs, yet it wasn't as soulless as she had expected. Of course, she remembered that
Draco didn’t actually live here anymore.

A large green sofa, inviting and comfortable-looking, sat in the middle of the room. The telly
they had picked out together months ago rested nearby. Beyond the living room, she could
make out the kitchen, with open doors leading into what seemed to be a dining area and a
hallway stretching to the other side.

"Hello?" she called out.

A soft sound startled her, and she jumped. A house-elf appeared before her, big eyes blinking
in surprise. “Dissy apologises to Miss Granger,” she said, bowing slightly before catching
herself. Her cheeks flushed as she quickly corrected herself, “Welcome, Miss Granger.”

Hermione smiled warmly. “Oh, Hermione is just fine, thank you, Dissy.” She looked around
the flat and asked, “Is Draco here?”

“Both masters are in their potion room, Miss Gr… Hermione,” the elf added quietly, her
blush deepening. “Dissy shall inform the masters of your arrival.”

“No need,” Hermione stopped her, smiling. “Can you take me to the lab, please? I’d like to
see it.”

Dissy nodded, leading her down the hallway toward the closest door. There were a few other
doors along the way, but the lab was the obvious choice.

“I brought this. Can you put it somewhere?” Hermione handed the bottle of wine to the elf. “I
think room temperature will be fine, no need to chill it.”

Dissy accepted the bottle with a small bow. “Thank you, Miss Granger,” she said.

Hermione knocked before opening the door.

Draco and Scorpius looked up from their cauldron at the same time, their movements so
synchronized it was almost comical. Hermione couldn’t help but notice how strikingly
similar father and son looked from this angle.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Hermione said, addressing Scorpius more than Draco, as he
seemed to be the one in charge here.

He smiled softly and gave her a thumbs-up. “If you’d walked in a minute earlier, I might’ve
made a mistake with the counting, but it’s all good now.”
“Perfect timing, then. What are you making?” she asked, glancing over the workbench before
her eyes wandered to the shelves lining the room.

“Skele-gro,” Draco replied.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at the complexity of it.

“I know, I know, but we were up for a challenge.”

She moved closer to one of the shelves, inspecting the ingredients. “Quite a demanding
potion to choose, Scorpius. Are you sure your father knows how to make it?” she teased, and
she heard Draco let out a resigned sigh from across the room.

He chuckled. “He does. He says he can make any potion in the book.”

Hermione spotted something intriguing on the higher shelves… Mandrake root and...
Lethifold venom? Dangerous, rare, and fascinating. But she couldn’t quite reach it.
Summoning a stool with a flick of her wand, she climbed up to inspect the items more
closely.

“I’m sure he does, Scorp,” Hermione quipped, smirking as she glanced back at Draco. “What
book is that, then? Advanced Potion-Making?”

“No, Granger,” he interjected, narrowing his eyes at her. “You know very well we didn’t
study how to make Skele-gro at Hogwarts. She’s just jealous, Scorp,” Draco continued. “You
see, I was always better at Potions than her, and she just can’t get over it.”

Scorpius let out a small laugh at his father’s comment, but Hermione rolled her eyes, refusing
to rise to the bait. She turned her attention back to the shelves, scanning the collection of
ingredients that lined them.

They continued their quiet murmurs about the potion and how long it would need to simmer.
She heard Scorpius asking him why he calls her by her last name and she smiled.

“Where did you find phoenix ashes? It’s so rare,” Hermione remarked, pointing towards a
small glass jar on the shelf.

Draco still didn’t look at her as he stirred the potion. “Rarer than phoenix tears? Because I
have those too.”

“You do? Where?”“In the vault. The vials are too valuable to be kept in the lab like this,” he
explained nonchalantly.

Her jaw dropped. “Vials? As in more than one?”

Finally, he looked up, frowning slightly. “It’s been passed down through generations.”

Hermione couldn’t help but wonder what else he had tucked away in that vault. She let her
gaze wander over the shelves again, taking in the assortment of rare and exotic ingredients.
“Unicorn tears… Veela veil… Mermaid scales…” She frowned, stepping down carefully
from the stool. “Are these all… ethically sourced?”

Draco smirked. “Yes, before you start a crusade, I obtained most of those rare ingredients
through Theo and Blaise’s suppliers. You should see them around unicorns, like little girls.”

Scorpius laughed.

“Unfortunately for them, unicorns prefer girls more.”

“Do you like unicorns, Hermione?” Scorp asked.

She nodded and leaned her elbows on the worktable. “Of course.”

“You should come to my grandma’s house to see them! There are baby unicorns in the woods
too!”

She exhaled slowly, her expression unreadable. “Sure, one day… sometime… maybe.” I
should probably first have to learn how to breathe properly when someone mentions that…
place. “Should I order pizza now? It should take about half an hour to arrive.”

They both nodded. She caught the almost apologetic look Draco gave her and sighed
internally. I wish he’d stop doing that.

While Draco cleaned up the lab, Scorpius took it upon himself to give Hermione a tour of the
apartment. The space exuded opulence. Sleek, modern furniture, plush rugs, and gleaming
stainless steel appliances. Yet, despite the undeniable luxury, Hermione found herself
frustrated by the stark minimalism. The monochrome walls, dark wood furniture, and muted
colour palette made the place feel almost clinical.

Still, she had to admit the view from the balcony was breathtaking. The building complex
even had a pool, gym, and owlery.

When they returned to the living room, Scorpius turned on the telly, and they sat waiting for
Draco. He came a few minutes later.

“I can’t believe you’ve never taken your son to the cinema.”

Draco rolled his eyes and threw himself onto the sofa. He looked so different and
comfortable in his home. “I don’t know how the whole process works.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You couldn’t have taken Theo with you?”

“I don’t know what kind of films he’d pick,” he said pointedly.

Hermione turned to Scorpius. “There’s this old film from the 1990s about dinosaurs showing
in cinemas again. They’ve restored the picture, so it looks even better now.”

Scorpius leaned forward. “Dinosaurs?”

She nodded. “And we have to wear special glasses so it looks like the dinosaurs are coming
out of the screen.” She snapped her fingers like a dinosaur’s jaw, making him giggle. “Would
you like to go see it with me?”

He nodded eagerly. “Can I go, dad?” He turned his wide, innocent eyes on Draco.

The manipulation tactic seemed to be working, because Draco waved a hand lazily. “Sure. Do
I have to go too?” he added, raising an eyebrow. “Doesn’t sound very interesting.”

Hermione gasped theatrically. “Excuse you, it’s very interesting, thank you very much.” She
turned back to Scorpius. “But no, we don’t need him. How about we invite your aunt Daphne
and Albus and take another ride in my car?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Scorpius bounced in excitement. Then he giggled. “But Aunt Daphne doesn’t
like your car.”

“She’ll survive.”

The pizza arrived almost on time. Draco opened the bottle of wine Hermione had brought,
and they settled onto the sofa, eating as they watched a science programme Scorpius had
chosen.

“You really didn’t have to bring anything, Hermione,” Draco commented between bites.

She shook her head, offering him a warm smile. “Nonsense. It’s the least I could do for my
first visit to your home.”

“Come to think of it, I don’t recall bringing anything when I visited your place.”

“That’s because you have terrible manners, Draco,” she said matter-of-factly and he rolled his
eyes. “Besides, you did give me that book that probably cost half my car, so I suppose you
don’t owe me anything for the rest of our lives.”

They ate and talked until Dissy invited Scorpius for a bath, leaving Draco and Hermione
alone to speak more freely.

She stood and wandered around the living room, letting her fingers trail along the spines of
books and pausing to take in the artwork on the walls.

"It’s not what I expected your flat to be like," she admitted, tilting her head as she studied the
space. "But at the same time, it’s very much you."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "What did you expect? Gargoyles, like Potter did?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "No, not gargoyles. But at the very least, I thought the door
handles would be shaped like snakes or something."

He laughed at that.
"But the most Slytherin thing in here is this," she continued, gesturing towards the deep green
velvet sofa. "And you, of course."

And his son too, judging by how easily he gets his way, but she didn't say that outloud.

Hermione turned back to the bookshelf, feeling an odd sense of intimacy as she examined his
collection. She suddenly understood what he meant when he once told her her bookshelf was
her .

Her eyes landed on a familiar title.

"You said you didn’t like Thomas Mann," she remarked, pulling out a well-worn copy of
Death in Venice.

"I don’t. But I had to read something before forming that opinion." He took a sip of wine.

"My dad likes Buddenbrooks, but I couldn’t get through the first hundred pages."

"It’s slow and overly detailed."

"Exactly."

Hermione typically enjoyed novels that critiqued society and explored decadence, but
Buddenbrooks had been a slog even for her. She slid the book back into place before casually
changing the subject.

"I saw your mother today."

Draco’s head lifted slightly. "Really? Where?"

"In the Alley, after I met with Luna and Parvati."

He hummed in response.

"Did you tell her about us?"

"No," he replied, furrowing his brows as she studied him. "But… she knows. She… hasn’t
tried to set me up with anyone in ages."

Hermione considered him for a moment before asking, "Is there a reason you’re avoiding
talking to her about it?"

He hesitated before finally answering. "I’m not avoiding it."

She arched an eyebrow. He was lying. "Then why?"

Draco rubbed the rim of his glass with his thumb. "For the same reason you haven’t told your
parents yet," he said, lifting an eyebrow at her.

She frowned. "No, it’s probably not the same reason."

He looked away.

Hermione moved closer, lowering herself onto the sofa beside him.

"I…" He exhaled sharply, his eyes locked on the television. "I’m afraid she’ll say something
that’ll make me never want to speak to her again." His voice was quieter now, more
vulnerable. "And I don’t want to lose her too."

Hermione’s expression softened. "What could she possibly say to make you feel that way?"

Draco turned to her then, jaw tight, expression guarded. He didn’t need to explain. She
already understood.

"Do you not know her well enough to be certain whether she still holds those beliefs?" she
asked gently.

Draco dragged a hand down his face. "Hermione, she’s not my father, okay?" His voice was
edged with irritation, but there was something else beneath it. Something exhausted,
something resigned. "My father was… an absolute bigot. You knew him. He believed people
like you didn’t belong in our world."

Hermione looked down, feeling the weight of his words.

Draco swallowed hard. "She… she was never that explicit," he continued, his voice softer
now. "She liked her comfort and everything that came with being from an old pure-blood
family. But if she ever disagreed with my father about his blatant bigotry, she never said it.
Not to me, at least."

He took another sip of wine.

Silence settled between them.

"So if she’s fine now with Muggleborns at the Ministry or Hogwarts or wherever else she
goes, that’s one thing," he muttered, rubbing his temple. "And she probably is, honestly. But
it’s… different when… it’s me. I don’t know if she’d be open-minded about us."

The words trailed off, and Hermione saw the hurt and uncertainty in his face.

"So instead of getting clarity from her directly, you’re letting your doubts fester and poison
your mind?" she asked.

Draco huffed. "Am I being lectured on overthinking by you now?"

"Yes. And that’s how you know you’re wrong."

He shook his head, lips twitching despite himself. "And what about you, huh? What’s your
reason for not telling your parents yet?"

Hermione froze slightly at the turn of conversation.

Draco leaned back. "You have all the time and opportunity in the world. You talk to them
almost every other day and I know, because I have to be quiet while you’re on your bloody
laptop." His voice carried a hint of something she hadn’t noticed before.

Something wounded.

Hermione felt a flicker of embarrassment.

She shifted, then slowly leaned her head against his shoulder.

Draco sighed, but it wasn’t irritated this time. Without hesitation, he wrapped an arm around
her and pulled her closer.

"They already know you," Hermione said, her voice quiet but steady. "They know almost
everything about you. From our time at school to the war."

Draco sighed.

"Just because they’re Muggles doesn’t mean I haven’t explained everything to them," she
continued. "If I tell them we’re together now… they’ll know who you are. And I… I don’t
know how to explain you to them." She hesitated, then sighed again. "I sometimes have
trouble explaining you to myself."

Draco exhaled sharply, his breathing slightly uneven. He looked down, his fingers tightening
around his wine glass.

"Sometimes, I wish you wouldn’t always be so brutally honest with me," he admitted, voice
low. "Sometimes, it would just be easier if you lied." He let out a humourless chuckle. "It
would hurt less than the truth."

Hermione felt a lump rise in her throat. She forced herself to blink rapidly.

Don’t cry. Don’t.

Draco glanced at her and immediately softened. "Very rarely," he said immediately. "Almost
never. Barely ever." His arm tightened around her, pulling her closer. "Don’t stop talking to
me about everything. I’m sorry."

She relaxed slightly in his hold, and they sat in silence for a few moments, just breathing in
the quiet together.

"Well," she said after a while, trying to lighten the mood. "We knew this wasn’t going to be
easy, right?" She let out a small chuckle.

Draco nodded slowly. "The first time my mother asks me where I’m going or what I’m doing,
I’ll…"

"You probably shouldn’t say that you’re doing me."

Draco groaned, rolling his eyes. "Shut up. You’re incorrigible. I’ll say I’m with you," he
continued, ignoring her amusement, "and the conversation will go from there."

"Promise you’ll tell me whatever she says?"

He met her gaze and nodded solemnly. "I promise." He reached out, lacing his fingers
through hers.

They sat like that, hands entwined in silence, until they heard the muffled sounds of Scorpius
making noise in the bathroom.

Hermione exhaled. "I think it’s best if I go alone to speak to my parents in person," she said,
shifting slightly. "Once we’re finished with the cleanup and the potion’s had time to work, I’ll
ask Harry to set me up with a Portkey."

Draco nodded in understanding. "Do you want me to come with you?"

She hesitated. "I think I should talk to them on my own first. Give them time to process
everything before… before introducing them to you."

There was a pause.

Then, almost hesitantly, she asked, "Do you… even want to meet them?"

Draco shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

"It’s not… I don’t know, too soon?"

"Well, now I don’t know. Is it?"

Hermione wasn’t sure either. But she did know that she wouldn’t have to worry about it just
yet.

First, she’d need to talk to them. Then, if Draco still wanted to meet them… and if her
parents even wanted to meet him… they’d figure it out.

The potion was finished on Wednesday.

It wasn’t something they had considered beforehand, but luckily, someone in the Ministry lab
had - one batch might not be enough. So, they had made a double.

The first room to be cleansed was the large one on the left. It was the biggest, and now, the
cleanest and safest.

The day before, Hermione had gone over the calculations with North, the same worker who
had inspired her idea of using barrels for radioactive waste. Draco didn’t like him for some
reason, muttering about his arrogance, and he hadn’t appreciated it when Hermione joked that
the two of them should get along better, considering how much they had in common.
They had drawn a scale inside the barrel to measure how much potion was needed and to
track the progress of the black liquid that would (hopefully) start appearing. The large yellow
barrel now stood in the centre of the room, filled with the correct amount of clear potion,
which smelled strongly of bleach. How convenient.

Hermione conjured a piece of parchment and stuck it to the door, along with a pen.

"Whoever comes in to check can write down the time, date, and the level of black liquid," she
explained to everyone gathered in the kitchen that morning. "That way, we can track how fast
it collects. We don’t know exactly how it works, the book doesn’t say, but presumably, it’ll
slow down as there’s less dark magic left to extract, so we can estimate when it’ll be
finished."

"That’s actually a really good idea, Hermione," North said, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Draco rolled his eyes.

"Thanks," she replied. "Should we at least try levitating the barrel into the empty room?"

Since no one could enter the room to take proper measurements, they first tested whether
levitating a measuring tape inside would work.

It floated in without resistance.

"I still don’t understand why lumos or even basic sparks won’t go through," Hermione
muttered, watching the tape hover inside. "But I can levitate objects just fine."

"Maybe it recognises living magic as a threat," suggested one of the younger women working
with them. "Inanimate objects might be harmless."

"What if it refuses the potion?" a young man added.

"We’ll just have to try," Hermione said firmly.

North shrugged. "I still think someone should just walk inside."

A murmur of protest rippled through the room.

"You said Mrs Potter went in and she was fine, right?" he continued. "She just doesn’t
remember. I’ll do it. You all stand by the door, and I’ll walk in."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Were you in Gryffindor, by any chance?"

"Yeah, why?"

"No reason."

Hermione rolled her eyes this time.

"That’s reckless and stupid, no offence," the same young man from before interjected. "No
one is going inside. It’s not worth it. You Gryffindors are truly masters at risking lives for no
reason."

Draco’s smirk widened.

"I’m with my Slytherin friend over here," Harry added, arms crossed. "No one is dying in my
house while I’m at work. Is that clear?" He scanned the group before fixing his gaze on
North. "Is that clear, Armadill?"

He exhaled. "Yes, sir."

With that settled, Hermione stayed in the kitchen to finalise calculations with North while the
others measured the library and bathroom. Once they were done, they poured the required
amount of potion into a second barrel and positioned it near the next door.

"Alright," Hermione said, glancing around. "We should use all available means to make this
work. Can um… another pureblood help Draco levitate the barrel into place?"

The Slytherin from earlier stepped forward. The two wizards positioned themselves a few
metres from the door, while the rest of the group took cover. Some on the staircase, others
inside the library, watching closely.

"We’ll conjure shields between you and the barrel," Hermione instructed.

The two people beside her on the stairs and the two inside the library nodded in agreement.

The barrel lifted smoothly into the air and glided toward the doorway. It crossed the threshold
without issue.

Everyone held their breath.

Draco and his partner guided the barrel into the centre of the room, exactly where they had
marked, then lowered it carefully. He then shut the door with a flick of his wand.

"That seems… too easy," someone said.

Hermione conjured another parchment and pen, hanging them beside the first. "We’ll see
about that when it starts pulling out magic," she muttered.

Draco had gone off to his meetings, leaving Hermione to browse a few books from the library
before heading to her job interview with Adda’s friend at a muggle publishing house.

The woman was pleasant and professional, mentioning that they currently had an opening at
her company but also suggesting Hermione look into freelance work online. She hadn’t even
considered that. I spend too much time with wizards.

Instead of going home afterwards, she went straight to Daphne’s for lunch. Stuffed peppers
and mashed potatoes were on the menu. Something from Pinterest, no doubt.
“This is great,” Hermione said, scooping another heaping spoonful of mashed potatoes onto
her plate. “So creamy.”

“Thanks! I saw a recipe on YouTube and thought, why not?”

Oh. YouTube. Okay.

“So good. Oh, by the way, we need to take Albus and Scorpius to the cinema one day. I hope
you like dinosaurs.”

“Sure. Who doesn’t?”

“Draco, apparently.”

Daphne rolled her eyes and shifted in her chair to get more comfortable. “Maybe we could
invite Theo. He likes that kind of thing.”

“Sure. What’s up with him? I haven’t seen him in ages.”

She cleared her throat. “He and Blaise are looking for a location for the shop, but it’s proving
difficult,” she said with a shrug. “They need a small selling area but a big storage space.”

Hermione nodded and focused on her second stuffed pepper. “It’s good they can stay at
Luna’s as long as they need to. Oh…” she swallowed, lowering her fork. “What’s going on
with her and Blaise? Did he say anything to you? She’s very vague.”

“He said, and I quote, ‘mind your own business and leave me alone. I’m happy’.”

Hermione snorted. “Even vaguer than Luna. Impressive.”

After a satisfying lunch, she headed home but decided to go for a run first, enjoying the
pleasant spring weather. She put on some music and jogged a few rounds through the
neighbourhood, dodging schoolchildren playing outside.

It was finally warm enough to run without layers, and the air carried the sweet scent of cherry
blossoms. She even plucked a few from her neighbour’s tree on her way back, hoping they
wouldn’t mind.

When she returned home, she immediately sensed someone in the kitchen. She lifted her
wand to cast scourgify , and got ready to confront the intruder, only to relax when she saw it
was Draco.

“Where were you?” he asked, drinking a glass of water.

“Out for a run. How long have you been here?” she asked, slightly out of breath.

“Just a few minutes.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

“I swear,” he added, eyeing her up and down with a frown. “It’s not too cold to be out dressed
like that?”

“No,” she said, stretching the side of her leggings and letting them snap back. “I get hot when
I’m running. It’s breathable.” She smirked. “Thanks for worrying about my health.”

He huffed.

“Make me some tea, since you’re there.”

Draco sighed but dutifully poured water into the kettle. “Do I look like a house-elf to you?”

“No, you’re much taller and far more argumentative.” Hermione grinned as she placed the
cherry blossoms in a cup of water.

Draco scoffed. “You could have just said I’m better looking. Didn’t have to drag in other
qualifiers. Where’s your tea?”

Hermione chuckled, pointing at a cabinet. “Over there. Ginger and lemon.”

“Tea bags?” he muttered, appalled. “Fine.”

She ignored his judgement, instead grabbing two leftover muffins from breakfast, warming
them in the microwave, waiting for the last five seconds before she stopped it.

Draco didn’t comment, he just took the muffin she offered and leaned against the kitchen
island, watching her. “You look nice,” he said suddenly.

Hermione blinked. “Why?”

“What do you mean, why? You just do.”

“I look like this all the time.”

“No, you don’t. Your hair’s up like that, and you…” He gestured vaguely. “I don’t know. You
just look… nice.”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay. Did you check my notes today?” Hermione asked as she walked
into the living room, settling on the floor beside the armchair where Crookshanks lay curled
up.

“No.” Draco followed her, sitting on the sofa. “These over here?” He gestured toward a small
stack of papers.

She nodded, pushing her glasses up as she scratched Crookshanks behind the ears. He
stretched and yawned, purring at the attention.

“ Did you sleep all day, boy?” he noticed he was shedding more than usual. Must be the
warm weather.
Hermione leaned on the coffee table, watching Draco as he read. He caught her staring a few
times, but she couldn’t help herself. He looked good, annoyingly so, despite wearing nothing
but a plain white T-shirt and blue sweatpants.

Her gaze shifted to his arms, glamoured as usual to conceal his tattoo. She knew exactly
where it was, but she often wondered what else he kept hidden. Something long, like a cut,
was etched onto his forearm, and she suspected he had other hidden marks on his chest and
stomach.

“Come here, please,” he said.

Hermione stood automatically, assuming he needed help with his reading.

Instead, Draco took her hand and tugged her forward, his other hand settling at the back of
her thigh. Before she could register what was happening, he pulled her onto his lap, guiding
her to straddle him.

Oh. So he doesn’t need help with reading, then.

His fingers brushed her neck as he kissed her, hungry and insistent. She tasted caramel from
the muffin they’d shared earlier. His hand slid from her back to her bum, squeezing lightly as
he exhaled against her lips.

“I love your muggle clothes,” he murmured with a chuckle, pulling her closer until their
chests pressed together. His lips ghosted along her jaw.

“Draco, I just went running. I need to shower first,” she protested weakly, though she made
no real effort to move.

“No, you don’t. Stay here.” His grip on her tightened as he pulled her hips flush against him
and she could feel him growing hard already.

Hermione shifted slightly, and his response was immediate. His fingers slipped beneath her
top, grazing her skin. She gasped when he cupped her breast, his thumb tracing over her
nipple.

Suddenly, Draco's watch beeped, interrupting the moment.

“Your tea is ready,” he muttered, before resuming his attention on her neck.

“Fuck the tea,” she groaned, tilting her head to give him better access.

He smirked against her skin, kissing her again and then, the floo roared to life.

Hermione nearly leapt off his lap, but they both stilled when they realised it wasn’t someone
stepping through, just a call.

“Hermione, are you there?!” Harry’s voice echoed through the room.

Draco growled in frustration.

She sighed. “I am , don’t yell.”

“Oh, great. I’m coming over, I…”

“No!” they both shouted.

There was a pause.

“Who’s there wi… Oh, for fuck’s sake ,” Harry groaned. “Is that Malfoy? Why didn’t you
lock the floo?!”

“Because I like an audience, Potter,” Draco drawled, rolling his eyes. “Come over and have a
seat.”

Hermione smacked his shoulder. “Shut up.” Then, turning back to the fireplace, she tried to
sound casual. “Harry, we were just…”

“Please, for the love of God, do not elaborate,” he interrupted. “But since you’re both here,
you need to see something.”

A few minutes later, they flooed into Harry’s kitchen.

He was there, frowning and pacing around impatiently.

Hermione frowned too. Something’s wrong.

“This better be good, Potter,” Draco said, the explosive P in Potter reminiscent of their school
days. It was almost too funny and slightly annoying.

Harry ignored him, leading them upstairs.

On the third floor, he opened the door to a large room. At first glance, nothing seemed
different, but then they spotted the barrel.

The once clear, water-like potion inside was turning grey. Murky. Wrong.

“This couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” Draco huffed.

“No, you… prick,” Harry snapped. “I wanted you to compare.”

He led them to another room, previously empty. He hesitated for a moment before opening
the door.

At first, they could hardly see. Night had fallen, and the window no longer let in natural light.
The dim hallway glow cast eerie shadows across the floor.

Draco’s eyes widened. “We’re going to need more potion.”

Hermione didn’t blink. “We’re going to need a bigger barrel.”

Chapter End Notes

Hermione and Draco https://www.pinterest.com/tpzzz1105/in-the-mood-for-

truth/hermione-and-draco/
 Draco
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

May 2013

Draco stirred when he heard the door to his room creak open. The unmistakable slap of small
feet against the wooden floor followed.

“Dad, are you awake?” Scorpius’ voice echoed through the quiet morning.

He just grunted in response.

“Oh good, you are,” his son continued, jumping onto the bed and curling up beneath the
covers.

His cold feet pressed against Draco’s back, causing him to jump slightly.

Scorpius giggled. “Sorry.”

Draco shook his head, still groggy. “You should be apologising for waking me up, not for
your freezing feet. Why aren’t you wearing any socks?”

“I forgot.” He wiggled his toes. “Dad, do you know what day it is today?”

Draco groaned, pulling the pillow over his face. “No, but I do know what day it’s not .
Today’s not the day I get to sleep in again, it seems.” Scorp laughed, clearly enjoying his
father’s discomfort. “And it’s also the day you’ll catch a cold and be too sick to celebrate
your birthday next week.”

“Because I’m not wearing socks?”

“Because you’re not wearing socks,” Draco confirmed, stretching his arms above his head.

He sighed dramatically before opening one arm, inviting Scorpius to snuggle in beside him.

“What day is today?”

“It’s one week before my birthday!” he exclaimed, as though it were some monumental
revelation.

Draco blinked in feigned surprise. “Gods, I completely forgot.” He made a show of clutching
his chest. “If only you’d reminded me every day since the beginning of the month that your
birthday was coming up.”
Scorpius rolled his eyes. “Alright, but what are we going to do? You said we shouldn’t plan
too early and should wait until the week before.”

“That’s right,” Draco replied, ruffling his son’s hair. “So, what do you want to do? Have you
come up with any ideas?”

“We should have a cake, some decorations, and... you should buy me a gift.”

“Oh, wow. I can tell this is definitely not your first birthday. Which one is it again?”

“Tenth,” Scorpius declared proudly, lifting both palms in the air. “I’m going to be ten!”

Draco whistled. “You’re getting old, my son.” He reached over and tousled his hair, then
paused, pretending to inspect it. “What’s this? Grey hair?”

Scorpius chuckled, shaking his head. “How can you tell? Our hair is almost white anyway!”

They spent the rest of the morning eating breakfast together, and Draco reminded Scorpius to
think of a few more ideas before they made any decisions. After they finished, he began
preparing to visit the Potters’ house before heading to work.

When Draco flooed in, the first thing he saw was Hermione sitting at the table, and that
annoying little prick from the Ministry leaning over her chair, one hand gripping the table as
he peered at her notes.

She glanced up at him over the rim of her glasses. “Hey, you’re here.”

“I am,” Draco replied, his gaze shifting to the other man. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Mr Malfoy,” the man said stiffly before turning back to Hermione’s papers.
“So you think it’s slowing down?”

“Yes. Look here,” she pointed at something on the page, and Draco stepped closer to see too.

Armadill, or whatever his name was, remained exactly where he was, hunched over her, as if
he had any right to invade her space like that.

“It’s been slowing down for the past two days. I’d say we’re about halfway there,” she
explained.

The Ministry prick patted her shoulder and kept his hand there. “It was smart of you to mark
the line, Hermione.”

Draco nearly rolled his eyes, but he had to admit, it was useful to know what to expect rather
than just sit around anxiously waiting.

“I’m going upstairs,” Armadill said abruptly, nodding before he disapparated.

“I thought they weren’t working this month because of exams or whatever?” Draco asked,
trying to sound casual.
She rolled her eyes. “Good morning to you too.” She stood up and grabbed a glass of water.
“I slept amazingly, thanks for asking. And you?”

“Just peachy.” He leaned against the table, folding his arms across his chest. “So, do you
need extra help today?”

She shook her head as she drank. “No. But Daisy felt bad for missing out last month, so she
wanted to help with what’s left of the library and he volunteered to join.” She gestured
vaguely in the direction of the other room. “The others aren’t coming back.”

Draco exhaled. “Alright. Do you want me to stay too?”

“Oh, I’m not staying,” she said, and he relaxed his shoulders. “I just wanted to check how it
looks. It’s slightly better, by the way. Want to see?”

The big room looked the same at first glance, but now thin black streams of whatever-the-
hell-this-was trickled across the floor, slowly converging in the centre. They looked like
veins, stretching from every corner of the room, leading towards the barrel. Even the ceiling
wasn’t spared - dark liquid dripped from above, gathering in the middle and feeding directly
into the potion below.

It had reached the point where they couldn’t walk across the room without stepping in it.
They mounted a broom and hovered over the barrel to check the scale. It was only halfway
full and, if Hermione’s predictions were correct, they were halfway there.

The bathroom had been easier. It took just a few days, though the room was too small for a
barrel, so they’d used a large jar instead. The black substance had stopped accumulating after
two days, but they left the jar there for a while just in case.

Once the Ministry experts confirmed it was safe, they removed the jar for analysis. Draco
couldn’t have cared less about what it was, he was just glad it was gone. Hermione, of course,
was curious.

The library was still a work in progress. Only one big bookshelf remained before they could
place a barrel there. But the room next door…

That was another story entirely.

The first night Potter had invited them to investigate, they hadn’t seen everything clearly. But
in daylight, it was so much worse.

The once pristine room, unnaturally spotless, with not a single scratch or speck of dust, was
now utterly drenched in the thick, black substance. It covered every surface, from the floor to
the ceiling.

It wasn’t just the sight of it that was disturbing. It moved .

The substance dripped, oozed, slithered. It made an awful wet, slimy noise, like something
alive .
Draco could feel it when he got too close. His skin crawled.

He and Hermione knelt by the door, observing from a safe distance. The room didn’t smell,
but the humidity was stifling. If they stared long enough, they could see it shifting.

“Look over there.” Hermione pointed at the window. “The paint around it. Do you see it?”

Draco narrowed his eyes. The walls had been painted a pale shade, white or beige, he wasn’t
sure, but now, the colour was creeping back through, ever so slightly.

“I think you’re right,” he admitted. “Which barrel is this?”

She exhaled heavily. “Fourth.”

They had already gone through the entire first batch of potion and were a third of the way
into the second. Potter had requested another double batch, which had been brewing for a
month. They were being extremely careful when switching out the barrels. Draco and Red
handled it alone now. They weren’t taking any chances.

“Fourth,” Draco repeated, scanning the room. “Do you think we should put one in the
hallway?” He gestured to the corridor outside, where traces of black streaked the walls.

“We should,” Hermione agreed. “At the end, probably.”

“Maybe we should’ve started with it. We do spend a lot of time here.”

“Well, too late now. We’re all doomed.”

They stepped into the library, where Daisy and that cocky Gryffindor were sorting through
the remaining books.

“How’s it going?” Draco asked, nodding towards her hands.

“It’s fine. They don’t hurt anymore, but the bandages keep the ointments in place.” She
chuckled. “So if you smell something very fragrant and herbal, that’s me.”

“You’re taking your namesake very seriously,” Hermione teased.

“Oh, the healers actually recommended an oil made from Hermione roses too,” Daisy added.
“I suppose that makes us both named after flowers.”

Hermione smiled politely.

“No, she was named after the Shakespearean character,” Draco smirked. “What’s the name of
that play? The Winter’s Tale, right?”

She turned to him, curious. “Yes. How do you know that?”

“You must have mentioned it before,” he said, brushing back a stray curl from her face.

She smiled softly, and something in his chest lifted.

The insufferable Gryffindor cleared his throat and glanced between them before speaking. “I
think I might have found a book made of human skin.” He grimaced in disgust. “I’m not even
checking the contents. This is going straight to the burning pile, yeah?”

They both nodded.

He levitated the book towards the growing pile, which was alarmingly large. They had
already burned so many, and the potion would have plenty of filth to collect from this room
too.

Draco left for meetings, and Hermione returned home.

She had recently started working as a proofreader, and when Draco had commented that it
sounded like the perfect job for her, reading all day and correcting people’s mistakes, she’d
been distinctly unimpressed.

The work was mostly online, though, which did manage to impress him. The idea that people
could simply stay home and work? It would save so much time. It could save them a lot of
time they wasted while driving their cars or being on the train.

When Scorpius arrived home, he quickly jotted down a list of ideas for his birthday, ranking
them by importance. Hermione would appreciate his methodical approach.

Theo had told him that many muggle parents took their children to the zoo and had lunch
afterwards, and now he wouldn’t stop talking about it.

When Draco met Hermione that evening, he asked her opinion. She suggested they visit the
London Zoo, and mentioned there was a playground nearby.

“So, you’re free that afternoon? It’s Friday.”

Hermione blinked. “I’m invited too?”

“Of course,” he said, frowning slightly. “What kind of question is that?”

“Stupid, I suppose,” she shrugged. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, thank Scorpius,” Draco teased. “As for me, I suppose I could live without
you.”

Hermione laughed. “Could you really?”

No. I don’t think I could now.

His mother ruined the plan.

She arrived for lunch on Sunday, and Draco left her alone with Scorpius for only a few
minutes, just long enough to answer a letter, before his son greeted him with an enormous
grin.

“Oh, dad, I changed my mind!” Scorpius announced, bouncing in his seat. “Can I change my
mind about the zoo?” He blinked up at him with wide, pleading blue eyes.

“That depends. Are we moving to number two on the list?”

“Nope! Grandma said we could have a party in her garden instead!”

Oh, no.

“We can play with unicorns and peacocks, fly on brooms a bit, and… oh! Maybe I could
invite Annabelle and Emilia! They love flying too!” He spoke rapidly, nearly tripping over
his own excitement. “Please, dad. Please.”

Draco sighed and turned to his mother.

“Well,” she said, looking mildly guilty. “I only suggested doing it before his little birthday
gathering… or the day after. I didn’t mean to replace it, Draco.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, then glanced back at Scorpius.

“But I like the idea,” his son said, softer now. “We’d be outside in the gardens all day.”

He exhaled, rubbing his temple. “Would this interfere with your Friday plans?” he asked her.

“It wouldn’t,” she said carefully. “Do you… think this is a good idea?”

He could see Scorpius nodding eagerly beside him, and he rolled his eyes. “I suppose it is,
then.”

Scorp beamed. “Oh, thank you! I love this already!” He leapt from the sofa to sit at the table.

“So, Annabelle and Emilia,” Draco said, leaning back. “Who else is invited?”

“I think just Albus as well.”

His mother tilted her head. “Who are these girls, Draco?”

“The Kim family, from the fifth floor. They swim together sometimes.”

“Annabelle’s in her second year at Hogwarts,” Scorpius added helpfully. “She’s a Chaser for
Ravenclaw! And Emilia and I will be starting Hogwarts next year.”

His grandmother nodded politely. “Is anyone else invited?”

Scorpius turned to him. “Dad, who else?”

Draco thought for a moment. “Can I invite Theo and Blaise?”

Scorpius nodded enthusiastically.

“And Daphne too, I imagine,” his mother added.

He nodded again. “Yes! Aunt Daphne, Pansy, and Hermione too, right?”

Draco’s jaw tightened. “Yes,” he said, forcing the word out. “We’ll invite them too.”

Not that she’d come. Brilliant.

His mother gave him a knowing look, lips parting as if to say something, but they were
interrupted by a sharp pop!

“Should Dissy serve the first course now?”

“Yes, please. Thank you, Dissy.”

Somewhere in the middle of the meal, Scorpius excused himself to the bathroom, and his
mother followed him with her eyes until she heard the door close.

Then, she reached across the table, placing her hand over Draco’s.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “This wasn’t my intention.”

Draco exhaled. “I know. It’s fine.”

“It’s clearly not fine.” She hesitated. “Will… Miss Granger be available to attend?”

He let out a short huff. “I don’t know, but I’ll ask.”

Not that she’d want to visit the place of her torture.

His mother studied him for a moment, then said, “Perhaps… you should invite the Potters
too,” she suggested. “You’ve been spending a lot of time together,” she pointed out. “And his
son is already attending.” She lifted a shoulder in a small shrug. “Maybe she’d be more
comfortable with more familiar faces.”

“Maybe I should. Thank you.”

“Of course.” She withdrew her hand and resumed eating. “The view from the patio is
wonderful in spring. We can throw a few charms to keep it warm. We don’t have to go
inside.”

Draco looked at her and managed a weak smile. “Thank you.”

He did talk to his mother, like he’d promised Hermione.

Some time ago, she had come over to his flat for dinner, looking as if she’d been holding
back a question for ages. She never asked it, though. Instead, she had let out a rather dramatic
sigh and announced that she had found a young woman for him to meet at the next fundraiser
he was expected to attend.
“I don’t think so, mother,” Draco said flatly, bracing himself for the long-avoided
conversation.

“Why not? What excuse do you have now?”

“I’m seeing someone,” he replied without hesitation.

His mother didn’t look surprised. She simply sat back and regarded him with a quiet patience
that unnerved him. “Yes?” she prompted. “And?”

“And that means I’m no longer free to meet women in that context.”

She waited for a few moments, letting the silence stretch between them, before speaking
again with exaggerated ignorance. “And who, exactly, is this… woman you’re seeing?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Are we really playing this game?”

“I suppose we are.” Her gaze was cool, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Fine.” He set down his knife and fork with a little more force than necessary. “It’s
Hermione. But you already knew that. We’ve been together for months now.”

His mother squinted at him, and he exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

“I like her,” he said. “I enjoy spending time with her. Before her, Scorpius was the only joy I
had in my life.” He saw her jaw tighten but continued. “Now, I have someone else who
makes me happy. So I just want you to have that in mind before you say anything next.”

She studied him, blinking as if caught off guard. “What did you think I would say?” she
asked quietly.

“I don’t know, I…”

“What did you expect of me?” she interrupted. She never interrupts.

Draco hesitated, then met her gaze. “I don’t know. I can only tell you what I hope.” His voice
hardened. “I hope you won’t say something that would make me never want to speak to you
again.”

She inhaled sharply, and something shifted in her expression.

“I am ashamed and disappointed,” she said, her voice taut. “Is that how you see me? Is that
what you expected of me?”

She looked both angry and hurt.

I will not let her turn this on me.

“All this time,” she went on, “I assumed you were shielding her from me because she was
upset after the last time. Because… it was traumatic to see me. I thought she needed time,
like she did with Andromeda. Like she needed with you. But no, you were actually protecting
her from your bigoted mother.” She exhaled sharply, shaking her head.

Draco scoffed. “Was this young woman you wanted me to meet a Muggleborn? Or at least a
half-blood? Or was it another pure-blood heiress I don’t care about, with generational wealth
we don’t need and impeccable…” he waved his hand vaguely, “table manners and ballroom
dancing skills that I have never been interested in?”

“There was no young woman.”

He frowned. “What?”

“I just wanted to see how long you planned on lying to me.”

“I didn’t lie about anything.”

“You avoided the topic for months,” she countered. “And for ten years, Draco, you weren’t in
any suitable relationship. Not one. Do you think I didn’t notice?” Her voice rose slightly. “I
thought you were going to be alone forever, and I didn’t want that for you! So, yes, I took it
upon myself to try to find someone!”

Draco opened his mouth, but she raised a hand to silence him.

“If you had already found someone who made you happy, I would have been happy for you.”
Her voice wavered slightly, and for the first time, he noticed the slight tremble in her hands.
“Forgive me for not wanting you to die alone and miserable.”

He stared at his plate. “I wasn’t miserable,” he muttered.

She let out a slow breath. “Draco, you just said Scorpius was the only joy in your life before
her.”

His chest tightened.

His eyes burned.

He pressed his fingers to his temple, pretending to rub away a headache. Neither of them
spoke for a long moment.

“I’m sorry.” Finally, he sighed. “I should’ve said something sooner.” He shook his head and
huffed. “Hermione said I let thoughts get to me.”

She was right.

She’s always right.

His mother reached across the table, placing a gentle hand on his forearm. “I’m sorry too,”
she said softly, “that I ever made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me.”
Draco had been waiting for the right moment to corner Potter. He wanted to speak to him on
Monday about inviting his son to the party, so he waited until that Gryffindor git asked
Hermione for help with books in the library. When the opportunity came, Draco swiftly
cornered Potter, determined to explain the situation.

“So, let me get this straight,” he said, raising an eyebrow as he packed his satchel for work.
“We’re only being invited because of Hermione?”

“And because of your son. Take it or leave it, Potter. That’s your only way in.”

“Well, I suppose we don’t have snatchers anymore,” Potter smirked, and Draco scowled. “I'm
sorry. Sometimes I use humour in inappropriate situations.”

“You and your wife have… no boundaries,” Draco muttered, shaking his head.

Later that evening, he spoke to Hermione to fill her in. As always, she was too understanding
for his liking.

“Is there a fireplace nearby that connects to the gardens?” she asked, scribbling notes about
the cleanup. “I’d prefer not to walk through the whole place.”

“Yes, there’s one on the patio. We’ll be there,” Draco said, still unsure.

“Good,” Hermione nodded, her hair shifting as she moved. “That works for me.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I’m fine now that I know what to expect. And whom.” She paused, then hesitated.
“Actually, would it be alright if I arrived half an hour early? I think I should speak to your
mother and apologise.”

“Apologise? For what?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed. “For that little dramatic scene at Andromeda’s last
year.”

Draco frowned. “That’s... really not necessary, Hermione.”

“It is for me,” she replied firmly. “I need to close that chapter. I’m sure she has some things
to say to me as well, and I think it’s better we talk before the crowd shows up.” She gave her
a sharp look. “I would’ve asked you to have tea with her this week, but I don’t think either of
us could handle that kind of conversation for that long. This way, we’ll have a time limit.”

Draco chuckled. “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”

“I like to plan,” she shrugged, returning to her notes.

He spent the week in a whirlwind of meetings and organizing Scorpius’s birthday. He had to
admit, the fact that it was being held at his mother’s house made things significantly easier.
He didn’t have to worry about the venue or the food - Popsy already knew what Scorpius
liked, and she was more than happy to handle the preparations. She promised she’d bake a
raspberry and strawberry cake for him.

He reluctantly told his mother about Hermione’s request to speak with her beforehand. To his
surprise, she agreed immediately. That left Draco both relieved and unnervingly anxious. He
hadn’t known those two emotions could coexist. He also explained that he would be
connecting Hermione’s fireplace to the one on the patio to make her arrival smoother.

Draco then took care of informing the Kim family about the party. After that, he reached out
to his friends. Most confirmed they would be attending, except for Pansy, who claimed to
have caught a stomach bug. She’d taken a few days off from work to stay home and rest.

On Friday morning, Draco had hoped he could wake up before Scorpius, sneak the gift into
his room while he was still asleep, and surprise him. But that was wishful thinking. Scorpius
was already awake when Draco slowly and almost silently opened the door.

He rolled his eyes. “You couldn’t let me wake up before you just once, could you?”

“I’m sorry, I’m too excited,” Scorpius squeaked, barely able to contain his energy.

“Well, you should be,” Draco said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You only turn ten once in
your life.”

“That’s true for every birthday, dad.”

“Ah, I see you’re already getting wiser. Happy birthday, son,” he said, pulling him into a hug
and kissing him on the head. “I love you.”

“I love you too, dad.”

Draco watched his son as he carefully unwrapped the gift. He couldn’t help but think how
different Scorpius was from him at that age. Thank Gods for that. He’d have no idea how to
act if Scorpius was anything like him.

Scorp hummed softly as he unwrapped the ribbon, just like Astoria used to do when she was
concentrating on something. Daphne did that too. That’s probably why he picked up the
habit.

I wish you could see him.

Inside the box were new scales for their lab, a Puddlemere United jersey with Scorpius’s
name on the back, and two season tickets.

“Are these for the entire year?!” he asked, his eyes wide with excitement.
“It’s for the season,” Draco smirked. “See? It says 2013/2014.”

“Thanks, dad!” Scorpius jumped into his arms for another hug.

The rest of the day was spent doing nothing. Draco had taken the day off and cancelled
Scorpius’s piano lessons. Daphne had asked if Scorpius could come over for breakfast with
her parents, like they did every year.

Draco ate alone in his office, responding to a few letters. A photo of Daphne, Pansy, and
Astoria stared at him from the desk. He wondered how she would look today.

Probably not much different, he thought. They all looked the same, just with a few more
wrinkles. The photo was from when she was early in her pregnancy, still glowing, healthy.

Did I do this to her?

No, stop it. Not now.

He needed to occlude for a while. It was easier that way.

A few hours later, Scorpius came back, and they spent the rest of the afternoon watching
cartoons and having lunch before starting to get ready for the evening.

Draco checked his watch at half-past four.

Hermione was already there. She was always on time.

Now he felt uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have listened to her. She shouldn’t be there alone.

Just before five, he and Scorpius made their way to the main hallway, walking together
toward the patio. They heard voices before they saw them, and Draco felt relieved to hear no
shouting or crying. Did I honestly expect that?

No, he’d sort of expected to find his mother alone, with Hermione leaving as soon as she
arrived.

They entered the patio to find her sitting at the larger table, listening to his mother with a
polite smile, her face slightly turned toward him. There was a smaller table next to it, set for
the children.

His mother glanced at Draco, then did a double take before saying something to Hermione,
who nodded and smiled. She stood to greet them when she saw Draco, her shoulders visibly
relaxing as she turned to face him. His mother quickly gave him a kiss on the cheek before
moving on to give Scorpius his presents.

“It’s fine, don’t worry,” Hermione reassured him as she approached.

“Are you?”
“Yes,” she replied, taking his hand. “She was perfectly polite and considerate. And I… I was
just trying to be polite and honest at the same time.”

Draco smirked. “So it’s her I need to be worried about.”

He felt himself relax. His mother didn’t seem upset, either.

Hermione smiled back but looked at him more seriously. “And… how are you… today?”

He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should burden her with his thoughts, but decided
against it. “Fine.”

“Really?” She didn’t seem to believe him.

“Yes. Everything’s just… fine.” He tried to occlude, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

Hermione squinted and sighed. “Okay.” She squeezed his hand. “I don’t think there’s
anything you need to worry about. However, I did fail to predict that I might eventually need
a bathroom. Is there anywhere...?”

He chuckled. “Over there, the small pool house.” Draco pointed around the corner.

She rolled her eyes. “Of course you have a bloody pool. In the castle.” She waved her hand
at the manor. “Next to the forest with unicorns and fairies.” She gasped, putting her hand on
her chest dramatically. “You’re like a Prince Charming.”

He smirked. “I’m not really a prince, but I’ve been told I’m quite charming.”

She rolled her eyes again and glanced behind him. “Hello, birthday boy,” Hermione greeted
Scorpius as he approached. “Is everything ready for your big night?”

“Yes!” he cheered, giving her a high-five.

In less than half an hour, everyone had arrived.

His neighbour flooed in with his daughters and asked about the return time. After them,
Theo, Blaise, and Daphne arrived together. Potter came with Andromeda and his son and
daughter because Red went to see Pansy, who was still sick. The girl immediately jumped
into Hermione’s lap, staying there for a while until she grew more familiar with the
surroundings.

Scorpius was in his element, thoroughly enjoying the attention. Popsy even managed to draw
the attention of some unicorns, allowing everyone to approach them. The girls were the only
ones able to pet the unicorns, as they were known to trust them the easiest. Hermione and
Daphne snapped photos, capturing the moment with their phones.

The food was simple finger food since children could be picky eaters, but there was good
wine and a delicate white chocolate and berry cake, Scorpius’s favourite. He was visibly
excited when everyone sang "Happy Birthday" to him.
Draco tried to ignore the familiar pang of sadness that followed.

Another year of Scorpius growing up without Astoria to witness it. He occluded again.

Scorpius asked Popsy to save a slice or two for Dissy, as she had been the one to suggest the
cake. Draco saw Hermione’s eyes shine with pride at the request.

Draco slipped away to the kitchens to fetch another bottle of wine and take a moment to
himself.

He realised then that he’d been worried for nothing.

Everything had gone smoothly, just as it had all day.

He was just… fine.

His mother and Andromeda were deep in conversation with Potter, while Daphne and Theo
kept to themselves a little further away. Hermione was sitting with Blaise on the other side of
the table. Draco joined them, pouring them both more wine. He glanced outside to see
peacocks strolling lazily behind them, coming from the pool area.

“It sounds amazing,” Blaise said, taking a sip of his wine.

“It really is.” Hermione nodded. “My dad really found himself in the last few years. But my
mum got bored quickly, so now she works part-time at the local dental clinic.”

“So you’re more like her. You always have to be doing something,” he smirked. “Draco said
you started working as a proofreader.”

“Yes. What better job for me, right?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Reading and telling
people what they’ve done wrong.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Do I need to write an apology letter?” He rested his arm on the back
of her chair.

“You can,” Hermione replied, “but I might return it with red notes correcting your spelling.
So, what about your mother?” she asked Blaise. “Daphne mentioned a few times how much
she likes her.”

He shrugged. “I guess I’m luckier than most. She never really pressured me, like their parents
did. I had to pretend a bit at Hogwarts, to fit in, you know.”

Hermione nodded as if she understood, but Draco could tell she didn’t agree.

None of her friends needed to pretend to be bigots to fit in, and he hadn’t had to, either.
Neither had Daphne or Astoria. Draco shifted uncomfortably, and Hermione must have
noticed because she squeezed his knee reassuringly.

“We have a little villa in Sicily. She’s there now. We talked yesterday, by the way,” Blaise
said to Draco. “She sends her best wishes to Scorp.”
He nodded in acknowledgment.

“Gods, I always hated those birds. They look so haunting,” Blaise said about two albino
peacocks pacing slowly on the grass nearby. “You couldn’t have the normal peacocks, could
you?”

Hermione turned to look at them as well, and Draco rolled his eyes. “Well, obviously I didn’t
choose them. They’ve been here for years.”

She turned back toward him, slowly, her breathing a little faster. “You said… the bathroom
was around the corner?” she asked, her gaze unfocused, slightly distant, as if she were
looking somewhere beyond his shoulder.

“Yes, the small house with the glass doors. You can’t miss it.” He moved closer. “Are you
alright?”

She nodded quickly, standing up. Her breath was quickening now. “I’ll be right back,” she
said, walking past them and heading around the corner. She paused briefly to avoid the large
bird, then continued.

“Everything okay?” Blaise asked carefully, following her with his eyes.

“I don’t know.”

He gave her a minute before following. The pool house was still lit up. She surely wouldn’t
have missed it. It was colder here. The warming spell only covered the sitting area on the
patio and the garden in front of it.

He entered and walked toward the bathroom, hearing the water running. He didn’t knock.
Hermione had told him before that when she had moments like this, she needed to be alone,
so he waited. After a few moments, the water stopped, and Draco heard her murmuring
something quietly to herself.

He sat on the sofa, his foot tapping anxiously as he stared out at the pool. He hadn’t swum in
it since Scorpius was born, maybe even before that. When had it been?

When Astoria was pregnant, the healers had recommended water therapy to help support her
body.

Stop thinking about it.

He forced the memories away as he occluded once again.

Hermione had been occluding earlier too, he realised, as her eyes had been cold, completely
stripped of emotion. He hated seeing her like that, so distant and empty, as though all the fire
within her had been extinguished.

She opened the door, and Draco startled her when he stood up, but she was the one who
looked apologetic.
“I’m sorry, I…” she began, but he walked towards her, cutting her off.

“That’s alright.” Draco placed his hands on her shoulders and gently moved them to the back
of her neck. “What happened?”

She hesitated, starting and stopping a few times, before letting out a deep sigh. “It’s the
peacocks. Subconsciously, I knew they were there. You mentioned the other day how much
Scorpius likes them, but... in my mind, they were...”

She trailed off, and he rubbed her neck slowly, angry with himself for not realising it sooner.

“I imagined them to be like regular peacocks, not... these albino ones. I remembered them
from when we were... here before, and...” She stopped, speaking faster now. “I was just
surprised. It’s... it’s just a bloody bird, no big deal. But I wasn’t prepared for it, that’s all. I
just need to be prepared next time. I’m sorry.”

Before he could reply, Hermione kissed him quickly, as if she were apologising for
something she had done. He hugged her tightly, inhaling the soothing scent of vanilla and
sugar from her hair. She felt so warm against him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t think this through completely.”

“It’s fine, really. You don’t have to cater to all my…”

“I swear, if you say that sentence one more time…” he warned, and she chuckled.

“Okay. I won’t,” she said, squeezing him tighter.

Draco took a deep breath, brushing his fingers through her hair. She’d let it down, and he
preferred it that way. It cascaded like a waterfall down her back.

“Were you occluding before?” he asked, his voice quiet.

“Yes, but Silva says it’s not the best way to handle situations like these, so I stopped as soon
as I was around the corner,” she replied.

Draco pulled back slightly, gazing into her eyes. They were back to normal now, glowing and
full of life. She studied his face, and in response, he kissed her again, this time with more
intensity. He pulled her closer by the waist, and she sighed before placing her hands behind
his neck, threading her fingers through his hair. It felt too good to be held by her. I need her
today more than anyone.

“We should probably go now,” Hermione said after a few moments, and he nodded in
agreement. “And… what about you?” she asked, squeezing his shoulders. “Are you sure
you’re okay? I know you said you were, but... today...”

“I’m fine,” he said firmly, and though she frowned at his answer, she nodded quickly.

Hermione returned to her seat next to Blaise, who was listening intently as she explained
something with her hands. He nodded, his brow furrowed in concentration.
Potter was still talking with his mother and Andromeda, holding his daughter on his lap. It
looked like the little girl had fallen asleep.

Daphne and Theo returned from inside with Kim, who had come to pick up his daughters. It
was getting dark now. Draco stood and walked with Scorpius to escort them to the fireplace
in the hallway, thanking them for coming. When they returned, the peacocks had disappeared.

“I don't like them either,” Blaise said when Draco joined them, scanning the area. “If you’re
looking for the bloody birds, I just gave them a little push, and they went back.”

Draco wrapped his arm around Hermione again, rubbing her arm slowly. “They chased him
when we were kids, and he fell off his broom because of one.”

She chuckled but then stopped to ask, more seriously, “Wait, did you break anything?”

He nodded. “Yes, my arm. But it healed quickly. My irrational fear of those creatures,
though? Not so much.”

She paused to think. “I must admit, I didn’t know they could fly.” She looked at them,
receiving minor shock in return. “What? The tail looks so heavy. I can’t imagine they could
fly over trees or something.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow. “And I must admit, it’s rather refreshing to learn there’s something
you didn’t know.”

Hermione smiled and sighed. “We’re not in school anymore, Blaise. There are so many
questions I need answers to, and no books in the world to help me.”

“Yes, everything was so much easier when you just had to ask a teacher or visit the library,”
Draco added.

“Yes, but now we have this little thing.” Blaise pulled out his phone and waved it in front of
them. “Well, we do. He doesn’t.”

“Hermione,” Potter called from behind, and they turned. “Sorry to interrupt, but we’re
leaving. She’s been asleep for some time now.” He shifted his daughter, now holding onto his
neck, sleeping peacefully.

Draco felt a pang in his chest.

I miss Scorpius like this. Astoria never got to hold him like that.

He quickly occluded his thoughts.

“Oh, wait, I’m going too,” Hermione said. “I’ve been here before you anyway, so…”

The others began to leave, exchanging pleasantries by the fireplace. Hermione shook hands
with his mother, who looked like she was about to say something to him but then decided
against it, offering him a quick peck on the cheek before flooing back home.
“Scorpius looks happy with how everything turned out,” Andromeda commented when they
were left alone.

His mother helped Scorpius while he was opening presents now that they were alone.

“I think he is,” Draco said. “He’ll tell me everything tonight before bed or tomorrow when he
wakes up at dawn.”

“And you’re not an early bird, I presume?”

“Absolutely not. He got that from his mother.” Draco paused, sighing. Oh, there it is. He had
managed to avoid mentioning her almost the entire day.

Andromeda placed her hand over his and squeezed. “I’m sorry, dear.”

He nodded, another sigh escaping him as he watched Scorpius. “It’s fine,” he muttered, his
mind too tired to occlude.

“You’re doing a wonderful job with him. She would be proud.” I hope so.

Later, they returned to their flat, and Scorpius, too tired after his bath, went straight to bed,
promising not to wake Draco but to wait for him at breakfast at eight.

Draco, however, could have used a conversation.

He would’ve liked to talk to Daphne more, but she had been with Theo most of the evening.
He considered speaking with his mother or Andromeda, but they were both too cheerful, and
he didn’t want to alter the atmosphere.

His life would be so different if she were here, wouldn’t it?

Ten years.

He’d have a wife of eleven years now if she were still here. Maybe they would have had
more children, and Scorpius would have been a great big brother. Would I even want more
children?

Why wouldn’t I?

It’s not like I wouldn’t be able to support more. His participation in her pregnancy had been
easy, so it would’ve all been up to her, really. She would’ve wanted more children too, she
grew up with a sister, after all. Draco had been an only child, and sometimes it was lonely. I
wish I had siblings sometimes.

But there's no point in thinking about that now. It’s in the past. Stop it.

Draco sighed deeply and leaned back in his seat, feeling a wave of emptiness. He considered
going to Hermione but wasn’t sure if it would be appropriate to talk to her about this. What
do I even want to say?
She’d probably be very understanding. Too understanding, as always. My girlfriend,
consoling me over my dead wife. How wonderful.

Instead, he decided to stay at home and take some sleeping draughts, hoping they would help.

It didn’t help.

But it was a new day, and Draco was determined to put his previous thoughts to rest.

At least, until next year.

He fell asleep instantly but woke up before Scorpius. Draco went to the bathroom to freshen
up, briefly considering going for a swim, but the pool didn’t open until six. No visit to
Potter’s house this morning, as it was the weekend. Draco didn’t have work today, so no
meetings to prepare for.

He thought about visiting Hermione again but decided against it. She would probably kill
him if she found him waiting unannounced in her living room again. So, instead, he picked
up the Kindle she had given him and continued reading the last book he’d started.

After their brief conversation about Mann, Draco realised he hadn’t read many German
authors, so he decided to give them a try. He noticed some philosophers on Hermione’s
bookshelf, and asked her for recommendations. She suggested Marx, thinking he might find
his works more engaging.

When she mentioned that he might find Kant or Hegel too difficult to understand, Draco felt
a twinge of irritation and vowed to prove her wrong. As was often the case, Hermione had
been right, and he struggled through Kant’s dense views on metaphysics. But he refused to
admit defeat, determined to understand.

Just as he was getting lost in the thick text, Scorpius woke up, and Draco was relieved to take
a break. He had reread some paragraphs more times than he cared to admit.

Scorpius was eager to show him what he had gotten for his birthday, running back and forth
to his room to collect everything. He had received plenty of new DVDs, books, toys, and
sweets. The most interesting gift was a sweatshirt with a dinosaur head instead of a hood.

They had breakfast together, chatting as they ate. Dissy thanked Draco for the slices of cake
they had sent her, praising the flavour but hinting she could have made it slightly better
herself.

Draco was eager to see Hermione after the previous night, so he floo-called her first. He
peered around her living room but didn’t see her. However, he heard some rumbling noise
coming from the left. Moving into the kitchen, he found it empty, but on her coffee table lay a
note, written in bold black letters.

To Whom It May Concern,

I’m in the garden with the lawn mower.

Approach with caution.

He smiled and went through her hallway to the back door. Her home smelled different today,
a flowery, cleaning detergent scent filling the air.

The buzzing sound grew louder as he stepped outside and saw Hermione pushing the mower
she’d mentioned in the note. Draco stayed on the patio, careful not to step on the freshly cut
grass.

Hermione finished mowing her way toward the grill and turned the mower back toward the
house. She spotted him and waved, pushing the machine toward him. She stopped when she
reached the patio.

“Good morning,” she greeted him warmly, though her tired eyes betrayed her exhaustion.

Her hair was tied up, but loose strands clung to the side of her face and neck. Despite the
sweat and flushed complexion from mowing the lawn, she still looked beautiful. Draco’s
heart softened. If I tell her, she’s just going to roll her eyes and dismiss me.

“You look lovely,” he said.

Hermione rolled her eyes and waved her hand dismissively.

Five points for Slytherin.

“What do you want?” she asked, squinting at him.

Draco shook his head. “Nothing. Just wanted to see you. But I see you’re having a busy
morning.”

“Yeah. I like to clean up on the weekend,” she replied. “How are you?” Her gaze turned
analytical.

“Fine. I…” I had an existential crisis, like every year, for his birthday. “We had a nice
breakfast, and I just wanted to check on you. Scorpius says hello.”

Hermione’s smile returned, though it was weaker this time. “I hope the hoodie fits. I wasn’t
sure of his size, so I asked Ginny about Albus. They’re pretty much the same.”

“Oh, that was you?” Draco asked. “Sorry. Scorpius mixed up all the boxes and cards.” He
paused. “It fits, thank you. He’s wearing it now.”

Hermione smiled again. “It’s nothing. I also got you the SpongeBob Lego set. You two need
to build it together.” He guessed that was the colourful box Scorpius had been so excited
about. “Did he have a good day overall?”

“He did. He really did.”

“Great,” she nodded. “And you?”

Draco hesitated, glancing past her, his thoughts distant. “I did too,” he replied, his voice soft.

“You did?” She squinted at him, searching his face for something. “Everything was… just
fine?”

“Yes,” he said, blinking to clear his thoughts. “How was your night?”

Hermione averted her gaze before glaring back at him. “I guess my night was fine too,” she
muttered, though it didn’t sound convincing.

“Okay.” Draco sniffed the air, distracted. “What’s that smell?”

“We’re going to have dry weather for the next few days, so I painted the fence,” she replied.

“When?”

“After I mowed the outskirts of the lawn.”

Draco checked his watch, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve cleaned your house, mowed the lawn,
and painted the fence? You’ve had a very busy morning,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.

She still looked troubled, but managed a brief, fake smile.

“Did you not sleep well?” he asked, before realising how stupid the question sounded. The
fatigue in her eyes was obvious.

She turned to fiddle with the cord of the mower.

“When did you wake up?”

“Probably around three,” she answered in a hushed tone.

“Three? Why?” Draco asked, frowning.

“What do you mean, why?” she snapped, catching him off guard. “It’s not like I chose to
wake up. I couldn’t sleep. I need to finish this,” she said, attempting to leave.

But Draco stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “Wait. What happened? Tell me.”

“Why?” she narrowed her eyes at him, sceptical.

“What do you now mean, why?” he shot back, frustration beginning to surface. “Tell me
what this is about.”

“I mean, why should I tell you?” She shrugged nonchalantly. “Aren’t you overwhelmed
enough already?”

“What? Overwhelmed with what?” Draco frowned, genuinely confused.

“I always share my thoughts and complaints with you, but you…” Her chest rose and fell
rapidly as her words tumbled out. “I have to pull information from you, ask a million
questions, just to get crumbs.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “What is this exactly about? Don’t beat around the bush. Just say it.”

“Oh, there it is again,” she huffed, clearly annoyed. “We have to make me the outspoken one
just to have a conversation.”

Hermione tried to walk back to the house, but Draco stopped her again, grabbing her arm.

The right arm this time, not the left.

“Don’t turn your back on me when we’re talking. Tell me what this is about,” he said, his
voice louder than he intended. He was getting frustrated, her words making less and less
sense, which was rare for Hermione. “What happened last night to make you like this today?”

“It’s not about that,” she breathed, her face tense.

“Did you have another nightmare?” Draco asked, his frustration turning to concern. He
realised how insensitive he sounded, but his anger was creeping in.

She flinched. “It’s not that.”

He huffed, dismissing her denial. “It is.”

Hermione’s eyes flashed with anger. “You don’t have to be smug about it. You didn’t uncover
some hidden secret. I’ve told you millions of times before that I have them when I’m under
stress.”

“I’m not feeling smug, you fucking…” Draco bit back his words, trying to calm himself.
Control it. Breathe.

She waved her hands around them, and Draco felt the soft vacuum of a silencing charm
enveloping them. Hermione frowned even more, and her breathing became unnervingly
rapid.

“So, it’s about that?” he asked, his voice quiet but firm. “You had nightmares because you
went back to the manor? Listen, Hermione, I’m sorry, alright? But we knew this could
happen. And I don’t want to say ‘I told you so,’ but…”

“It’s not about that!” she spat out every word.

“Then what the fuck is it about, then?!” he snapped.

“I needed you!” she yelled, and Draco stopped. He tried to remember the last time she had
ever raised her voice like this. “I needed you to help me, but I couldn’t ask you to be there for
me, not when it was your son’s birthday and the day your fucking wife died!”

He blinked, caught off guard by her words.

“I need someone to wake me up, so I don’t have to see all of that again! I couldn’t call Pansy
because she’s sick, and Ginny was with her. The twins are in Vienna for some bloody
conference, and Luna’s somewhere in Ireland collecting plants for... I don’t even know
what!” Her voice wavered with the weight of frustration. “I couldn’t call Daph either
because...” She huffed, her lips curling into an angry smile. “Well, because she actually talks!
I know what she does on that day, and I know I shouldn’t call her!”

“I… I’m…” Draco stuttered, unsure how to respond. “You could’ve said something. You
should’ve called me.” I needed you too.

“I could?” she repeated, her voice bitter. “Because you’re fine, right? Is that why you had to
occlude for half of the night?” She looked at him, her eyes narrowing. “What? You think I
didn’t see? Do you think I’m a fucking idiot? And how fine are you?” She put one hand on
her hip. “Are you fine enough to talk about her casually on a day like yesterday? Or did you
go and cry on her grave?”

Draco flinched at the sting of her words. His eyes narrowed as he glared at her.

“Is this question too offensive for you, or is it fine? If I’d known anything about how you
feel, I’d know how to behave accordingly!” she snapped.

He huffed, anger rising. “Don’t act stupid, Granger, it doesn’t suit you. How I deal with this
is my issue. It has nothing to do with you.”

“It doesn’t suit you either, to twist my words and ignore my point, Malfoy,” she shot back,
her voice hardening.

He didn’t like this shift at all, even though he knew it was his fault.

“I’m not asking you for something unreasonable, like telling me about your first date,” she
continued, her tone softening just slightly. “I’ve told you before, I don’t know how to deal
with your past.” She paused, taking a slow breath. “I need you to tell me. To be open about it.
I need you to tell me how you feel, so I know how to approach it.”

The words unsettled him, more than he was willing to admit. “Sometimes I don’t even know
how to fucking approach it myself. What makes you think I could share it with you?!”

Hermione took a step back, but Draco closed the distance instantly, his voice rising.

“I spent last night thinking about what my life would be like if she were still here. Is that
what you want to hear?” he said, his words coming out faster now. “I thought about how we
could’ve been married for eleven fucking years, maybe even had more children. And I
wondered… would I be the same person today? Would I be better? Or worse? Would
Scorpius be the same?”

Hermione didn’t interrupt, but her breathing slowed, and she watched him carefully,
absorbing his words.
“I thought about whether I even have the right to even think about all of this now, that I’m
with you. If it’s respectable, or…” He faltered, searching for the right word. “Appropriate?”
He scoffed bitterly. “And then I thought about coming over here, asking you about it, because
you always have the answers I need. But I changed my mind, because in what world would it
be acceptable to talk to my fucking girlfriend about my dead wife?!”

She shook her head. “Who told you we shouldn’t talk about her?!” Her voice cracked with
the weight of her frustration. “If you talked about her all the time, yeah, that’d be
inappropriate. But talking about her yesterday? That wasn’t inappropriate!”

She paused, then gestured between them, the gesture encompassing everything in the air
between them.

“And this? This right here?” She motioned to the space between them. “This is what I was
talking about. This is what I needed you to tell me before. But I wanted you to tell me by
yourself, not have me force it out of you by screaming like a fucking banshee!”

Hermione opened the door to her house and walked inside.

“And there’s nothing wrong with wondering what your life would be like if she were still
here. You don’t think I wonder about my life like that?! If I should have done some things
differently ten or fifteen years ago?!”

Draco followed her inside. “I don’t remember you mentioning that before. So I guess we’re
both uncomfortable talking about the past.”

Hermione stopped abruptly, and he nearly walked into her. “Don’t you turn this on me,” she
said, her voice low and edged with frustration.

She poked him in the chest, and Draco felt a surge of anger rise up again.

“I don’t say everything because it’s embarrassing being the one who constantly has a burden
to share. It’s tiring to open up when you’re not willing to do the same.”

She shouldn’t feel ashamed. It wasn’t tiring for him to listen.

Hermione blinked a few times, looking around as if searching for something. “Is it…” She
hesitated, her words catching. “I say things to you because I trust you.” When she looked at
him again, her eyes were filled with unshed tears. They looked larger, more golden now, as
her face flushed with emotion. “Do you not trust me enough to talk about something like
this?”

All the anger he had been holding onto simply evaporated as he watched her eyes well up.
“Hermione,” he said softly, lifting his hands to gently cradle her face, his fingers resting on
her neck and jaw. He swallowed hard. “I do, with all my heart, I swear. Your trust means
everything to me. You mean everything to me.”

Without a word, she threw her arms around his waist, clinging to him as the tears flowed
freely. Draco buried his face in her hair, breathing in the comforting scent of vanilla and
freshly cut grass.

“You became my safe haven,” he murmured, and she tightened her hold on him.

He should have gone to her last night.

Together, they could have avoided this pain.

They stood there for what seemed like an eternity, their heartbeats slowly finding a rhythm
together.

“I wanted to floo-call you,” she said eventually, her voice still shaky. “But I didn’t know if
you and Scorpius had things you do together on his birthday and... I didn’t want to disturb
your day with my problems.”

He shook his head, pulling her a little closer. “We don’t do anything. He went to sleep around
ten, and I had an existential crisis, like I always do on his birthday and... her anniversary.”

“I know,” Hermione replied softly, sniffling as she pulled back slightly. “Both Daphne and
your mother mentioned it. I wish you had called me instead. But… they didn’t say how you
would deal with it. They didn’t say if you wanted company or if you preferred to be alone.”

“I wanted company,” he confessed. “And I always want your company. I wanted to come
over, but I thought… it would be unsuitable to ask you to help me.”

“It wouldn’t have been.”

“I know,” Draco replied softly, brushing a stray curl from her neck. “You made that very clear
before. Quite boisterously, if I recall.”

She sniffled and gave him a watery smile. “I’m sorry for yelling. I’ve been on the edge all
morning. I didn’t eat or sleep at all.”

Draco rubbed her shoulders gently.

“I wish you’d come over last night. We could’ve dealt with both our problems together.”

“I know,” he whispered, his eyes searching her face for understanding. “To be honest, I don’t
even know how to complain about it. I just felt like I needed to talk to someone.”

Hermione lifted her face to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry... I’m not used to… sharing these things with people. But... I know it’s not fair of
me to expect you to share with me if I can’t do the same in return.”

Hermione sniffled again. “I'm not going to argue with that.” She hugged him back.

Draco let out a soft chuckle, releasing a long breath. “I’m going to try. It’s not overwhelming
hearing you, you know. And I do trust you. Please, know that.”
She nodded, her eyes softening.

“Was it bad?” he asked quietly, his voice tinged with concern. “Your dream?”

“Same as always,” she replied simply.

It seemed like there was more she wanted to say, but she stopped herself, her lips pressing
into a thin line.

Hermione eventually lifted her head again, looking at him with quiet determination. “What
are you hiding?” She gently trailed her hands over his arms, her touch warm and comforting.
“Here, I know,” she said, placing her hand on his glamoured tattoo.

The unexpected contact made him flinch, but he didn’t pull away.

“What are the other things?” she asked softly before he had the chance to respond. “You
don’t have to show me, just tell me.”

Draco hesitated, feeling a lump rise in his throat. “I can show you,” he said finally, his voice
thick with emotion. “It’s just… the scars. They’re not pretty.”

“Are they ever?”

He exhaled deeply and rubbed her shoulders, trying to steady himself. “Do you want me to
help with your lawn, and then we can take a nice bath and talk about this?”

She smiled at his suggestion, though it was tinged with amusement. “I don’t want to ruin this
moment, but do you even know how to use a lawnmower?”

Draco rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. “You know what? Let’s also talk about your
inability to understand that just because I don’t do household chores doesn’t mean I don’t
know how to do them.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Forgive me, please,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“Come on, I’ll show you what to do. You can finish while I put my laundry on the line.”

It was a simple task, really. All Draco had to do was guide the mower slowly, making sure he
stayed within the lines she’d already established. Though he suspected most people wouldn’t
care, she did, and that was enough for him to respect her boundaries.

She had scattered her laundry, including her underwear, all over the backyard, which caused
Draco to frown at the thought of her… personal garments being visible to the neighbours. But
she responded with her usual sarcasm, remarking how truly scandalous it would be if her
neighbours discovered she actually owned underwear.

Draco glanced around, noting that other households seemed to do the same. I suppose this is
just how Muggles live. Still, it feels a bit inappropriate. But he kept that opinion to himself.

Once the grass was trimmed and the laundry neatly spread out, she asked him to add another
coat of paint to the fence, a small structure that divided her herbs and flowers from the lawn.
It wasn’t an overwhelming task, but Hermione approached it with the same careful
consideration she applied to everything. Draco mirrored her method, focusing intently on
creating an even layer of paint. He couldn’t deny, it was oddly relaxing.

By the time they’d finished, the afternoon had already crept in, and Hermione began
preparing the bath. She added her bubbly cosmetics and salts to the water, and as Draco
undressed, he felt exposed without his glamour. Hermione had seen him naked countless
times before, but this was different. He had never felt more vulnerable.

Sitting at opposite ends of the tub, he began to explain each scar to her. To his relief,
Hermione didn’t look at him with pity, disgust, or even hesitation. Instead, she listened
attentively, her gaze soft with understanding.

Her eyes lingered on the long, healed lines on his forearm. "It's a miracle Greyback's scratch
didn’t leave any lasting damage."

Draco shrugged nonchalantly. "I suppose it helped that it wasn’t near the full moon. He had
no intention of turning me, I think that made a difference. Besides, my father would’ve killed
him if he'd tried."

Hermione’s expression grew serious. He wasn’t sure how she would react to the mention of
his father, whether it would be the same as it had been with his aunt, so he didn’t push it.

She’d never asked about his death, but she must have known.

Someone had to have told her, or at least she'd heard the rumours.

"But he was quite useful," she mused. "Do you think Voldemort would have allowed him to
do it?"

Draco winced at the mention of the Dark Lord’s name, hoping she wouldn’t notice his
discomfort. "I'd like to think he wouldn’t have cared about his permission."

"You're probably right," Hermione replied thoughtfully, her nod slow. Then, as though to ease
the heaviness of the conversation, she shifted position, adopting a lighter tone. "He wanted to
put Hagrid in Azkaban for Buckbeak barely scratching you."

Draco rolled his eyes, groaning. "Don’t make me regret this."

"I’m sorry," she said with a soft chuckle, before pulling herself closer to him and settling
herself onto his lap.

Water spilled everywhere in the process, but with a flick of her hand, Hermione dried it up in
an instant. Draco watched, mesmerised, as droplets of water and foam slid down her body.
His gaze lingered on her long, wet hair that cascaded well beyond her waist when his hands
moved over her back.

"We were all so angry with Harry when he did that, you know," Hermione said softly, her
fingers tracing the scars on his chest. "Even Ron."
Draco rolled his eyes, unimpressed. Like I care about his pity.

"Using an unknown spell like that was reckless and dangerous," she continued, her voice low.
"You could have died if Snape hadn't been there. And Harry didn’t feel great about it either.”

"Uh-huh," Draco grunted, unimpressed. "I imagine there was no victory celebration for Potter
after that."

"No," Hermione drawled, her delicate fingers continuing to trace his scars, making him
shiver slightly.

"Of course not. The noble Gryffindors were probably appalled at the permanent autograph he
left on me."

"Is being petty and sarcastic your defence mechanism when you're feeling vulnerable?"

"Yes," he answered without hesitation. "I'm not going to apologise."

"I didn’t ask you to," she replied, her fingers gliding down his arm until they reached the
tattoo he still kept glamoured.

“That’s my boundary,” Draco said.

She nodded. “I understand.”

“Would you…?” He swallowed, feeling his throat tighten. “Would you also understand if I
asked you to keep your forearm glamoured too?”

She looked at him, frowning slightly. Draco felt his cheeks flush with shame. He knew he had
no right to feel weak, yet the feeling lingered.

“I would,” Hermione replied softly.

Then, her lips found his in a gentle kiss, and he pulled her closer, his arms wrapped tightly
around her.

"I want us to be comfortable with each other, Draco," she whispered against his lips. "If you
want to keep glamouring your scars, do it. I just wanted you to know you don’t have to.”

He buried his face in her chest, feeling the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against his cheek.

"Same goes for your feelings or worries. Don’t hide them, please. Not from me, at least," she
added, her fingers squeezing his shoulders lightly.

“I know that,” Draco nodded, his eyes closed, allowing himself to savour the moment with all
his senses.

He pressed his lips to her chest and began kissing his way slowly up toward her neck, feeling
her exhale as her fingers slid into his hair at the back of his neck.
 Draco listened to her soft, steady breathing, a sense of ease settling over him. With her,
everything felt effortless.

The warm, sugary scent of her shampoo filled his senses as he trailed kisses along her neck,
feeling her arch her spine as she shivered against him. He chuckled softly, drawing his hands
over her back, enjoying the weight of her body in his arms.

"I feel so free when I’m with you," he murmured, his heart pounding in his chest as he
struggled to find the words to express his emotions. "I always know I have a choice with you.
That’s why I love..."

What?

He faltered, unsure of how to continue.

“I love… being with you.”

What the fuck?

For a moment, they simply looked at each other, the weight of unspoken words hanging
heavily between them. Then, with a gentle touch, she cupped his face in her hands and met
his gaze.

"I love being with you too," she said simply, her words soothing his heart.

Then she kissed him again, and everything else faded away.

Chapter End Notes

Scorpius' birthday party https://www.pinterest.com/tpzzz1105/in-the-mood-for-

truth/scorpius-birthday-party/
 Hermione
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

June 2013

“Hermione, you didn’t have to,” Draco said as he opened the paper bag from the electronics
shop.

She waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

“No, I mean it. You didn’t have to buy me a phone. What am I even going to use it for?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but Blaise beat her to it. “For the same thing everyone else uses it
for, Draco - communication and entertainment.”

She nodded in agreement.

Daphne plucked the box from his hands, already peeling off the label. “Yeah, don’t be
ungrateful. You’ll find it useful when she’s away for the weekend.” She pried at the
packaging. “You can text instead of waiting for owls.”

“Exactly.”

Draco sighed. “I already know Scorp’s going to use it more than I will.”

“You’re his father. Just set the rules. It’s not that hard,” Theo said with a shrug. “Not that I’d
know, obviously.”

Taking the box from Daphne, he attempted to help open it. She frowned slightly before he
pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. Blaise rolled his eyes at them. Honestly, they were so…
strange together sometimes.

“We’ll need to pop to the bank so you can open an account,” Hermione said, “and then get
you a card, so you can pay your bills online instead of faffing about with the post office.”

Draco exhaled heavily and rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

“Oh, don’t be so grumpy,” she said, giving his knee a squeeze. “You’ll love it if you just give
it a chance.”

He responded with a tight-lipped smile before turning his attention to Theo and Daphne.

Ever since his little slip of the tongue a few weeks ago, they were apparently banned from
using that particular word in any context. He’d been distant since, as if trying to pretend it
had never happened. It was starting to get on Hermione’s nerves. He hadn’t said anything
directly, but she couldn’t help obsessing over it like a teenage girl, especially when he got all
awkward like this. She tried to push the thought aside, but it wasn’t easy.

They were at Draco’s flat now. Narcissa had taken Scorpius home with her so he could have a
proper birthday dinner with his friends. Hermione had thought she’d be outnumbered by
Slytherins, but Luna had come with Blaise, and Charlie with Pansy, so it wasn’t too bad.

“When’s your flight?” Luna asked.

“Friday at two, so I need to be at the airport by noon.”

“Oh, yes. I always forget how long it takes. Why don’t you just use a Portkey?”

“It’s fine like this. I don’t mind.”

“When was the last time you went?” Charlie asked.

“At Christmas, when Daphne and I went together.”

“Oh?” He turned to Daphne. “How was it?”

“Great. Her home’s lovely,” she said, then glanced at Draco before adding, “And her parents
are wonderful. Though her dad still doesn’t know my name.”

Hermione chuckled. “He’s terrible with names. You should’ve seen him when he was
working. Had dozens of regular patients and couldn’t remember a single name. But as soon
as he saw them, he knew exactly why they were there.”

“Professional deformation,” Pansy nodded sagely. “I can never remember birthdays, but I’ve
got a few muggleborn clients, and I know their National Insurance numbers by heart.”

“Oh, same,” Luna said. “I catch myself talking to people like they’re my customers
sometimes.”

“I sometimes talk to people like they’re dragons,” Charlie added with a chuckle.

Hermione chuckled. “I catch myself constructing sentences in my head, trying not to repeat
words too often, like someone’s going to scratch them out and tell me to use a different
synonym.”

“And now you do that to other people,” Draco teased, draping his arm over the back of her
chair. “What a hypocrite.”

She rolled her eyes at him, but he was smiling.

“And what about the rest of you hard-working professionals?” Pansy said, taking a sip of
water. “What workplace-induced traumas have you got?”
Blaise and Theo started talking about how impossible it was to find a suitable space for their
shop, Draco complained about dull meetings, and Daphne grumbled about how time-
consuming it was to find buyers for the family artefacts she sold occasionally.

“So… no actual problems, then,” Pansy smirked.

“More wine, anyone?” Draco asked, reaching for the bottle. A chorus of nods followed,
except for Pansy. He raised a brow. “Pans, what’s wrong with you? Still on that cleanse?”

“Yes. Just taking a break from alcohol and junk food and all that.” She explained to Theo,
and he only nodded in understanding.

“And you?” Draco asked Charlie when he also refused a drink. “Did she force you into it, or
is this voluntary?”

He placed a hand on Pansy’s knee. “Voluntary. If she has to do it, so can I.”

“Is this because of that stomach flu you had?” Luna asked.

“Yes,” Pansy said with a small smile.

“Oh, that’s why?” Hermione asked, frowning slightly. “It’s been a few weeks. How much
longer do you have to be careful?”

Pansy tilted her head. “Oh… another eight months, give or take.”

The room fell silent.

Then, all at once:

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

“Are you serious?”

“Charlie?”

“You wouldn’t joke about this, right?”

Pansy flushed, an actual, unmistakable blush, and her eyes welled up almost instantly. “It’s
still early, but…”

Daphne and Theo reached her first, wrapping her in careful but excited hugs. Hermione,
however, found Charlie first. She hugged him tightly, her own eyes stinging.

“Congratulations,” she whispered. “I’m so happy for you.”

A few moments later, the rest of the Slytherins let Pansy go, and Hermione finally had her
turn. She held her friend tightly, speaking into her dark hair. “You’re going to be a mum.
You’ve wanted this for so long. I’m so, so happy.”
Pansy wiped her tears and nodded. “Me too.” Then she sniffed. “Do I look a mess?”

“No,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “You look perfect.”

Despite the couple’s initial hesitation to announce the news, their friends couldn’t contain
their excitement, bombarding them with questions about the baby’s sex, due date, and
possible names. Pansy and Charlie answered as best as they could before realising they
needed to leave. Charlie’s family needed to hear the news next.

As they floo away, Theo exhaled in something like disbelief. “Wow. Pansy is going to be a
mother.”

“I’m going to be an aunt again,” Daphne sniffled.

Theo draped an arm around her shoulders, rubbing her arm gently.

“The Weasleys are going to lose their minds when they find out,” Blaise said, shaking his
head. “We all know how much they love procreating.”

Laughter rippled through the group.

After a moment, Luna asked, “Do you think the baby will be a redhead?”

“With that many gingers in Charlie’s family?” Draco scoffed. “I’d be surprised if it isn’t.”

“I’d be surprised if it is,” Hermione countered. “Red hair’s a recessive gene. Dark hair tends
to dominate.”

Draco frowned. “That can’t be right. Look at Scorp. He’s blond like me, but Astoria had
black hair.”

“Yes, but there are blondes in her family,” Hermione explained. “Look at Daphne.”

She nodded. “My mum’s blonde. So were both my grandmothers. Tori was the exception.”

Talking about Astoria had become easier for him as time passed, and Hermione found herself
relieved. It was better like this, better not to avoid the topic entirely.

Still, she couldn’t ignore the faint sting of jealousy curling in her chest.

It wasn’t rational.

Astoria had been gone for a decade, not a few months. Draco had moved on long before
Hermione had even entered the picture.

She didn’t feel this way about his other past relationships. They were both adults in their
thirties and of course, they had histories. But Astoria was different.

She had been chosen by someone, by Draco, and it left Hermione with self-deprecating
thoughts of why no one had chosen her yet.
“It shouldn’t matter, really,” Theo said suddenly, dragging her back to the present. “As long
as they’re both healthy and well.”

Everyone murmured their agreement.

Then, rubbing his hands together, he grinned. “Right. Now, let’s set up Draco’s phone, shall
we? I cannot wait to send you memes.”

“The what?”

“Oh, Salazar, this is going to be fun,” Theo smirked. “Thank you, Hermione.”

Draco scowled.

The next morning, Hermione went to check on the progress at Grimmauld Place.

The library was finally done. All the mouldy shelves and decayed furniture were gone, and
the dangerous books had been separated from the acceptable ones, waiting for their turn to be
burned in the fireplace. It would take a while to get through them all.

Harry and Ginny had bought a tall new bookshelf, which they’d placed against the far-right
wall, away from the door, so that when they eventually moved in their own bookshelves, they
would conceal it. Harry had some grand idea about making it a restricted section.

The barrel in the big, decluttered room was slowly filling up. Hemrione had been right - the
process had slowed significantly, and the black liquid was spreading less aggressively now.

The empty room was still giving them trouble. They could now make out more of the wall
around the window, which meant the liquid was receding, but it hadn’t stopped.

The new double batch of the potion had been brewing for almost two months now, so they’d
have enough soon. They would likely run out of the current batch before that, but Hermione
was curious to see what would happen if they paused the process for a short while.

After a brief visit, she went home and worked on her assignment.

She was reading a young adult novel this time. There weren’t many grammar mistakes, but
the author had used okay excessively despite the book being set in the Elizabethan era. It
irritated her endlessly, so she was glad for the distraction when Draco showed up after his
meetings, and they headed out to get him a phone card.

He had already checked how to open a Muggle bank account, and a Gringotts employee had
confirmed they could handle it for him and he just needed to pick a bank. He’d chosen the
same one Hermione used.

They went into Muggle London, sorted out his card, and once back at her flat, Draco tested it
by calling and texting her from the sofa while she made them pasta for lunch.
This takes too much time.

She smiled and responded quickly.

ikr, you’ll get used to it, don’t worry ;)

“You answered so quickly,” Draco said, staring at his screen. “But you made a typo. What
were you trying to say instead of ikr?”

She chuckled. “I did it on purpose. ikr is a common abbreviation when texting. It stands for ‘I
know, right?’”

“Oh.” He nodded, processing it. “And the last bit? Semicolon and round bracket?”

Hermione had to laugh. “You sound like my dad. It’s a winking smiley face.”

Draco rotated the phone, frowning at the message. “Oh. I see it now.” He gave a slow,
disapproving nod. “Seems a bit immature.”

She rolled her eyes.

“If you could refrain from using those things and text me in complete words, I’d appreciate
it,” he added. “It took me long enough to decipher your handwriting, this would be too
much.”

Okay, grandpa.

“Not funny, Granger.”

“Type that in under ten seconds, Malfoy.”

Draco stayed for lunch before heading back to his flat to spend some time with Scorpius. He
dropped him off at Daphne’s for a sleepover and then returned to Hermione’s, where he made
himself comfortable on her bed, watching as she packed for her weekend trip to her parents’.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just shove everything into that little illegal, bottomless purse of
yours?” he asked, eyeing the half-filled suitcase on the floor.

Hermione, standing in front of her wardrobe, glanced over her shoulder. “It would, but I don’t
mind. I miss travelling like a normal person.” She folded a dress she hadn’t worn since last
year and placed it neatly in the case.

Draco raised an eyebrow.

“You know what I mean,” she added.

“So, have you finally figured out a plan?”

“No, I think I’ll just let things happen spontaneously.”

Draco huffed. “Really?”

“No, of course not,” Hermione almost laughed. “I’m going to get them slightly tipsy over
lunch and talk to them then. I just want to get it over with.”

“Of course,” he nodded. “And you’re absolutely sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

“No, my dad might kill you.”

Draco gave her a flat look.

“I’m kidding,” she said and then added a little more quietly, “I wouldn’t let him if he tried.”
She placed a bikini in her suitcase.

“You’re planning to go swimming?”

“Yes. I hope the sea isn’t too cold, but I’ll go anyway. I miss it.” She hesitated for a moment,
focusing on her clothes. “Maybe… if this goes well, we could go for a weekend in the
summer. You can bring Scorpius, if you’d like.”

Draco was quiet for a beat. “Maybe if we do go, we should go alone first.”

If we do go.

“Yes, of course.” Hermione packed another bikini.

Draco raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Is that what you’re swimming in? It’s awfully
small.”

“You have seen me naked before, right?” Picking up the bikini top, she held it against her
chest. “Would you prefer it if I needed a bigger size than this?” She raised a brow.

Draco frowned. “I feel like this is a trick question.”

She smirked and nodded.

“What else will you do while you’re there?”

“I have some friends I’d like to see, but I don’t know if she’ll be around. She’s still at uni.”

“How old is she?”

“Twenty-three or twenty-four.”

Draco looked like he was doing mental maths.

“She’s getting her master’s.”

“Oh. Anyone else you might meet up with?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I didn’t call ahead to see who’d be around. I didn’t really
meet that many people while I lived there, just a few. It’s a bit embarrassing, really.” She
packed another dress. “What about you? What’ll you do while I’m gone?”
“Nothing,” Draco said simply. “I’ll just wait for you to come back.”

Hermione wondered if he realised he’d almost quoted Scorpius’s favourite cartoon.

Draco spent the night and left early the next morning, just before she headed to the airport.

Her father was waiting for her at arrivals, and they took a taxi home together.

I arrived just a few minutes ago. I'm on my way home with my dad

I'm glad you're alive after flying in the death machine. You still want to talk to them
today?

Yes. The sooner, the better. I'll call you

Okay. Good luck.

The warmth of summer was a stark contrast to London’s lingering chill. Even at the start of
the season, the temperature here was much higher than what she was used to.

Wandering through the garden, Hermione noticed some new plants along the fence and a
variety of herbs scattered about. Her mother had clearly been busy this spring, tending to
everything herself.

“You should tell your friend that the potions he gave me worked,” her dad said, nodding
towards the tree stump in the middle of the front yard, now covered in cacti. “Look at them.
They look great. I’ll get some more succulents. It's my hobby now.”

Inside, the familiar smell of grilled food filled the house. Her mum had made escalivada and
fresh bread with tomatoes, while her dad handled the sausages. Hermione savoured the food
and the cosy, familiar feeling of eating with her parents. She made sure they were happy and
full before broaching the subject she’d been thinking about. Fortunately, her dad opened a
bottle of red to go with the meal.

“So, how’s the book going?” her mother asked.

“I think they’re planning to release it just before the end of summer. Unless they postpone it.
They’ve already planned on starting to use it at Hogwarts this term.”

Sometime next week or the week after, she’d need to go there to talk about it before the
school year ended. Professor Binns had written to ask for her time, and she was genuinely
looking forward to it.

“Goodness, I still can’t believe it sometimes,” her dad said, shaking his head. “Our daughter,
the published author. Too bad we can’t brag about it to anyone,” he chuckled.

“I think I’ll be publishing something else soon,” she said casually. “But it’s much smaller,
nothing as important. I took loads of notes while we were cleaning Harry and Ginny’s house,
so I’m going to turn them into a sort of guidebook. Adda, from the publishing company,
thinks it’ll find an audience.”

Her mother nodded. “Oh, how lovely. Another book. And what about those translations?
What’s happening with those?”

“Oh, I’ve stayed in touch with Alina. She’s translating it into Russian, you know. She actually
finished it ages ago, but she’s got someone proofreading it and isn’t sure when it’ll be
published. Definitely this year, though. I imagine it’s the same situation with Lucas.”

Her father squinted slightly.

“The German,” she clarified, and he nodded.

They talked about their plans for the summer. Her mum still worked weekends at the dental
clinic in the city but wanted to increase her hours to twenty a week - enough to officially be
considered part-time. Her father poured them all another glass of wine. And then they asked
about her friends.

“Not much has happened since… Oh, Pansy and Charlie are expecting.”

“Oh, really? That’s amazing, dear.” Her mother looked genuinely delighted. “They’ve been
trying for years, haven’t they?”

“Yes. It’s still early, so they’re being careful, but it’s great news.”

“It is,” her mother agreed, nodding slowly. “And what about you? Anything new?”

Normally, Hermione would find the question irritating, but this time, it was perfect. She
glanced at the bottle. They’d drunk almost all of it, and she hadn’t even finished her second
glass yet. Perfect.

“Well, actually…” Hermione set down her fork and knife. “There’s something I’d like to talk
to you about.”

Both her parents looked slightly worried.

“It’s nothing bad, really, so you can relax.”

They nodded, laughing lightly.

“Alright, what is it?” her dad asked.

“Well… I’m seeing someone.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, dear,” her mother said, visibly excited.

“That’s all?” Her father smiled. “I thought you were going to tell us you’re pregnant, too.”

“Henry.”
“No, dad, I’m not pregnant,” she chuckled. “We’ve been together for a few months now.
Since February, I suppose.”

They nodded, waiting for her to continue.

“We went to school together. We… reconnected when I came back last year. I started having
coffee with him after my meetings with the team I was working with. He also wanted to help
Harry with the house, so we spent some time together there. And, well, one thing led to
another…” She gestured vaguely.

“Oh, well, that sounds nice,” her mother said. “Why haven’t you mentioned him before?”

“Because it’s… a bit more… complicated than I’m used to.” Understatement of the century.
She took a breath. Start with something easier. “He has a ten-year-old son.”

“Oh.”

“So he’s already divorced and has a ten-year-old? You’re behind your peers, Hermione,” her
dad teased.

She let out a nervous chuckle.

“Henry,” her mother scolded.

“What?” he said, taking another sip of wine. “I know they get married too young. Harold got
married young too, didn’t he? I just didn’t want you to do the same.”

His wife gave him a disapproving look.

“What? I’m just saying, it’s better to live a little before making such a big commitment.
That’s probably why your boyfriend got divorced. He married too young.”

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. “Actually, his wife… passed away during childbirth.”

“Oh, goodness,” her mother murmured, frowning. Her father looked regretful.

“Yes, it was a difficult situation,” Hermione said. “Pregnancies can be complicated for… old
wizarding families like his.” She paused. “That’s why Pansy and Charlie had difficulties too.”

Silence settled over the table.

“So… he’s from one of those old and… conservative families?” her mother asked carefully.

Hermione knew exactly what she was implying. They all did.

“Yes.”

Her father cleared his throat. “Were you friends at school?”

She shook her head, waiting as they watched her expectantly. “It’s Draco,” she said at last.
“Draco Malfoy.”
Her mother’s expression turned serious, and her father… he didn’t look confused.

This name, he knew very well.

“How did…” Her mother cleared her throat. “Hermione, how did this happen?”

Her face felt hot. “Like I said, we ran into each other by chance.” She nodded slowly, as if
piecing her thoughts together. “It was at Andromeda’s house, and at first, it was hard being
around him and his mother because…”

“Because Andromeda looks like the woman who carved a racist slur into your arm and
tortured you in his house,” her father interrupted, his voice already dripping with anger.

Hermione flinched. “Yes,” she said quietly.

Her father’s grip tightened around his wine glass. “And where was he when it happened?”

“Henry,” her mother interjected.

“Kate.” He didn’t take his eyes off Hermione. His breathing was faster now. “Where was
he?”

Her gaze dropped to her glass. “He was in the room.”

“And did he do anything to help you?”

“Henry, stop it,” her mother said sharply.

He ignored her. “Did he?”

Hermione felt her scar beginning to itch, but she forced herself to ignore it.

“No,” she admitted quietly.

“Right.” His voice was cold. “So you do remember that?”

“Henry!” her mother snapped.

Hermione glared at him. “I will never forget it. And neither will he.” She knew how pathetic
she sounded.

“I’m sure he won’t,” her father huffed. “What happened to ‘I’m not accepting any more false
apologies’?” Her father’s voice was sharp. “‘I’m tired of giving second chances’?”

“It wasn’t a false apology,” Hermione shot back, her tone sharper than she intended. She
couldn't remember ever speaking to him like this before. “I know what false apologies sound
like. I’ve heard plenty of them. But he meant it when he said it.”

“Oh, did he?” Her father pushed back his chair and started pacing the kitchen. “Did he
apologise only for what happened in his house, or for the years he spent tormenting you at
school?” Her mother stood as if to calm him, but he raised a hand to stop her. “No, Kate, I’m
talking to her now.”

She hesitated, then sat back down.

“Do you have any idea how awful that was for us?” he continued, his voice shaking. “Our
twelve-year-old daughter writing home about a boy who bullied her because of her… because
of her blood status! Like we’re in the fucking 1930s!”

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat.

He rarely swore.

“And I couldn’t do anything about it!” He threw up his hands. “If it had been a normal
school, they’d have suspended the little racist shit for at least a few weeks, no matter how
rich or powerful his family was!”

She didn’t argue.

There was no point.

They both knew he was right.

“And now you’re telling me that same shit who bullied you for years is now… now… now
you’re with him?” He wasn’t just angry anymore. He was disappointed.

That hurt more than anything else.

“Don’t yell at me,” she said, her voice steady. “I’m not a child.”

His chest rose and fell as he glared at her.

“Everything you read in those letters? I lived it. I don’t need you to remind me,” she
continued, her tone measured. “You can question my choices, but I don’t have to justify them
to you.”

Her father huffed and kept pacing.

“Do you not know me well enough to trust me with this?” she asked, frustration creeping into
her voice. “Do you really think I’d get involved with him without thinking through
everything first? Don’t you trust me?”

His eyes were locked on hers, unreadable.

“Do you?” she demanded.

“Hermione,” he sighed, rubbing his face, then sat back down.

As he reached for her hand, he accidentally knocked over his wine glass.

Deep red liquid spread across the pristine white tablecloth.

Hermione flicked her wand instinctively to dry it, but the stain remained.

Her father took her hand in both of his, his grip firm but warm.

“You are one of the most responsible and intelligent people I know, but even the smartest
people make mistakes. You're not a fool to believe that you're immune to them. And I know
that you understand this, especially when it comes to matters related to emotions rather than
reason.”

Hermione stiffened. “Oh, so just because I fell in love, I’m suddenly incapable of thinking
clearly?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” He released her hand, and she
missed the familiar comfort of his touch. “Frown all you want. You know I’m right.” He
studied her, as if weighing his next words. “I have to ask,” he said, voice softer now. “And
I’m sorry, this is going to sound insensitive, but… have you talked to your therapist about
this?”

Hermione flushed furiously. “Yes, I have ,” she snapped. “And no, this isn’t some sort of
trauma response , if that’s what you’re implying.”

He nodded slowly, but his shoulders remained tense. After a long moment, he stood up,
shaking his head. “I need to… I just need some air.” Without another word, he strode outside,
disappearing into the garden.

Her mother watched him go before turning back to Hermione with a gentle sigh. She stood,
leaned down, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“I’m sorry, love,” she murmured. “I have to follow him. You know he means well. Just…
give him time.”

Hermione wanted to ask her to stay, but she was already gone.

She sat in silence for a while, staring at the wine stain.

Just because I fell in love, I can’t think straight?

The words rang in her head.

She pulled out her wand, muttered scourgify , and watched the tablecloth return to its original
white. Then she grabbed her coat, scribbled a quick note, and stepped outside for a walk.

The evening was warm and pleasant. Hermione checked her phone, her fingers hovering over
Draco’s name. She wanted to call him. Needed to, really.

But not yet.

They weren’t finished talking. She’d call him later tonight.

Stepping outside, she took a deep breath and started walking, hoping the movement would
help clear her mind. She needed to think, to really think, before speaking to her father again.

She followed the dirt road until she reached the end of their small street. If she kept going,
she’d pass by Sofia and David’s house, and she wasn’t in the mood for small talk. Veering
onto a different path, she let her thoughts wander.

Just because I fell in love…?

The words echoed in her mind.

Was it true?

Had she said it because she meant it, or had it simply slipped out in the heat of the moment?
One of those things emotions pulled from you before reason could catch up?

She had known her father would react this way. She understood why. And that understanding
made her guilt even heavier. She hated that she was causing him pain. But she couldn’t
ignore her own feelings either. If their roles were reversed, she would probably feel the same.

It didn’t make it hurt any less.

She wanted him to trust her judgment, but she also understood if he couldn’t. She wished she
could be selfish enough to demand it from him, to insist that he simply accept her choice
without hesitation.

By the time she reached the city, the sun was sinking behind the buildings, casting everything
in shades of gold and deepening blue. The streets were alive with people chatting, shopping,
sipping drinks outside cafés.

Hermione made her way to the town square, bought an ice cream, and found an empty bench.

Children ran past, their laughter ringing through the air as their parents called after them. She
watched them absentmindedly, her thoughts circling back to the question she hadn’t yet
answered.

Would she walk away from him if her parents rejected their relationship?

No, she knew the answer without hesitation.

Leaving him was out of the question.

He would cut ties with his own mother if she was bigoted.

It suddenly made her wonder - is that what love is? Sacrificing something important for
someone, even if it’s a parent?

No, she couldn’t do that.

She wouldn’t demand it from them to accept him, but Hermione was determined to make
them understand. Because what is she feeling now? It wasn't just a simple matter of fancying
him. It was something more than that.

She had liked him even before they became a couple. When they were just drinking coffee
together, discussing books, sitting in her living room while he told her about the rare volumes
he had found in his library.

It was more than attraction.

It was his wit, his intelligence, his good manners. The way he was both a loving father and a
devoted son. How he was responsible, neat, and organised..

Her feelings for him weren’t based on curiosity, on some fleeting wonder about what it might
be like to kiss him or touch him.

But was it love?

Hermione frowned, trying to remember the last time she had truly considered what it meant
to love someone.

She knew she cared for him.

But was that enough?

She finished the last of her ice cream and pulled out her phone to call a taxi and when she
returned home, she found her mother alone in the living room, waiting for her.

“Where’s dad?”

“In the bedroom,” her mother said. “He got… a little upset. So I gave him something to relax
and had him go to bed early.”

Hermione frowned. “Was that really necessary?”

“I thought it was best. You know how his heart is.”

“I know.” She sighed and sat beside her on the sofa. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Her mother pulled her into a hug, the familiar scent of garden soil clinging to her
clothes. It was comforting. It smelled like home. “I… I’m sorry he reacted this way.”

“I knew he wouldn’t be happy, but… not like this.”

“He’ll need time.”

Hermione hesitated. “And you?”

Her mother exhaled slowly. “I… I think I need some time, too. It’s hard to understand,
Hermione.” She rubbed her shoulder gently. “I trust your judgment, but after everything
we’ve learned about him, from you, it’s hard to… rationalise.”

“I know.” Hermione looked down at her hands. “Sometimes, it’s hard for me too. But I need
you both to understand that this didn’t happen overnight. I’ve thought about it for months. I
talked to Silva about it. I worked through so many conflicting feelings.”

Her mother nodded. “I know, love. I know.”

They sat together in silence, the steady ticking of the clock on the fireplace and the chirping
of crickets outside the only sounds filling the room.

“Thank you for not yelling at me,” Hermione murmured.

Her mother scoffed. “Yes, well, I’m not a man to be ruled by feelings.”

Hermione let out a small laugh.

“And yet they call us emotional.”

She sighed. “They forget that anger and disappointment are emotions, too.”

Her mum pulled her closer. “He’s not disappointed, darling. He’s worried. And he’s not
angry. Not at you, at least.”

After taking a shower, Hermione slipped into bed and hesitated before pulling out her phone.

She decided to text Draco, hoping he was either asleep or occupied and wouldn’t reply
immediately.

We talked. It’s good that you weren’t here

Now I wish I was. I’m sorry you had to do this alone.

It’s fine. Maybe I can fix it tmw. My mum seems more understanding, but my dad will
take more time. I’m sorry about this too

Can I call you?

I’m kinda sleepy. Can we talk tmw?

Tomorrow?

Yes, tomorrow

Okay. Good night.

Good night :*

She stared at the screen for a moment before setting her phone aside.

Texting him felt strange. Impersonal.

With letters, she could see him. His handwriting, slightly smudged on the right side because
he was left-handed. The way he rushed certain words when he was excited or irritated. She
could picture him sitting in his office, his quill scratching against parchment.

They had only seen each other that morning, yet the fact that she was now in another country
made her miss him.

She cared about him deeply. She knew he felt the same. But lately… lately, he had been
holding back.

He had said he was willing to cut ties with his mother for her, but a single sentence with a
handful of words made him pull away.

It was confusing.

She knew Draco wasn’t the kind of person to say things lightly. When he did say something,
he meant it. He probably wanted to say it when he truly believed it, when he was ready.

But did that mean she wasn’t?

Would she say it to just anyone?

No.

She had said it to Ron. She hadn’t hesitated. She had meant it and knew he did too.

She had said it to Viktor, too. He had said it back, but it hadn’t felt the same. It had felt more
like an of course I love you, as if love was the natural next step, simply because they had
been together for a while.

That was only two people.

If she had to guess, Draco had only ever said it to one.

She felt the same sting of jealousy she felt before. I can't be jealous of… someone who’s not
here anymore, it’s not rational. Stop it.

Sighing, she reached for the calming draught in her purse. The last time she had taken it was
before going to the Manor for Scorpius’ birthday.

She had been terrified she might react poorly, but she hadn’t wanted to tell Draco. It was his
son’s birthday, it wasn’t about her.

First, she had been afraid because of the place. And second, because of his mother.

Narcissa had looked perfectly composed, but Hermione suspected that woman had been
trained for moments like that. Those aristocrats were trained for everything.

Hermione swallowed the draught and lay back against the pillows, closing her eyes.
She needed sleep.

Tomorrow, she’d deal with everything else.

She fell asleep quickly and, luckily, didn’t dream.

When she woke up, the first thing she noticed was the bare surface of her dresser. The small
plants she had left there were gone. Her mother must have moved them somewhere they’d
actually survive.

It was still early, just before seven. Assuming her parents were still asleep, Hermione slipped
into the bathroom for a long, hot shower before heading downstairs to make coffee.

Her dad was already there, sitting at the kitchen island with two cups in front of him.

He frowned when she entered, then nudged one of the cups toward the opposite side of the
island.

“You might want to get a new one,” he said. “I’ve been here for a while.”

Hermione nodded but chose to microwave the coffee instead, stopping it five seconds before
the timer ran out. She added a splash of milk in silence and took the seat opposite him.

For a few long moments, he just looked at her. Then, finally, he spoke.

“I… I’m sorry for the way I talked yesterday.” His voice was quieter than usual. “It was
inconsiderate, the way I spoke about something you clearly don’t feel comfortable
discussing.”

“It’s okay,” she said with a small nod. “Are you feeling alright? Mum said you took
something to calm yourself.”

“I didn’t need it,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “But she insisted, and I didn’t
want to argue.” He exhaled, as if steadying himself. “We talked last night, after she came to
bed. Hermione… I’m not disappointed in you. I could never be disappointed in you.” His lips
quirked in an attempt at a smile. “Don’t try to prove me wrong, though.”

She gave him a small, weak smile in return.

“And I’m not angry with you,” he continued, his expression darkening. “I’m angry at them.
For what they did to you. I’m angry at myself for not being able to protect you. In school,
afterwards… even now.” His jaw clenched. “And I hate that I can’t . That I’ll never be able to
protect you from everything.”

Hermione let out a breath and relaxed her shoulders. “You know that’s not possible. Keeping
me safe forever.”
“I know.” He sighed. “But you’re my child. My only child. I hope you understand why I
have… unrealistic wishes for you.”

His tone was measured, but there was something raw beneath it.

“I trust your judgment, Hermione.” He reached for her hand. “But I also hope you understand
my perspective. He could be a saint now, rescuing children from burning buildings, adopting
puppies, whatever else. But to me… he’s still the person who was responsible for some of the
worst things that ever happened to you.”

Hermione’s heart began to race. She tightened her grip on his hand.

“Dad, there’s something I need you to understand,” she said carefully. “When we talked, he
apologised. He was focused on what happened at the Manor, and I told him how I felt about
it. He was just a child, like me. Like Harry and Ron.”

She saw his lips press together, like he was resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the excuse.
But she pressed on.

“He didn’t do anything, yes. But he also didn’t betray us to them. If he had, Harry and Ron
would be dead. And…” Her voice faltered for half a second. “And who knows what they
would’ve done to me before they killed me too.”

Her father’s face darkened, red creeping up his neck.

“I’m not blaming him for what happened there,” she added quickly. “But that doesn’t mean
I’ve forgiven him for everything he did at school. That’s too much to forget.” She swallowed.
“I’ve just… learned to live with it. Because I know he’s not the same boy anymore. I
wouldn’t be here, having this conversation, if he was. And I need you to trust me on that.”
She squeezed his hand, holding his gaze.

He exhaled. “I trust you, but it's still not changing how I feel,” he said as he released her hand
and let out a deep sigh.

They sat together in silence for a moment, Hermione gazing out through the glass doors to
the garden. The morning sun bathed the grass in golden light, but she could still see the
dampness clinging to the blades, remnants of the early dew.

Her father shifted in his seat. “How serious is this?” he asked, his voice steady but his posture
a little tenser.

Hermione nodded slowly. “It’s serious. I’m happy, and… I don’t remember the last time I felt
this way.” As she spoke, her thoughts drifted.

She could almost feel the weight of Draco’s head on her stomach, his breath warm against
her skin as she brushed a strand of hair from his face yesterday morning.

“So you’re in love?”

“Yes,” she answered without hesitation.

The moment the word left her lips, she stilled. Well… there it is. I guess I am.

“Okay.” He exhaled, nodding slowly, then raised an eyebrow. “Why isn’t he here to support
you?”

She sighed, rubbing the rim of her cup. “I assumed you’d kill him, and I didn’t want you to
be convicted of murder in a foreign country.”

“That’s… reasonable.”

She let out a soft chuckle, blinking a few times. “But… can we come here sometimes? In the
future?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, an old habit of his when he was thinking something through.
“I… I’m going to need some time to get used to this idea.” His voice was measured, careful.
“Your mother too, though she won’t say it.”

“I know. That’s fine.”

Silence settled between them again, stretching for a few moments before she noticed him
frowning again.

“Did he… talk to his parents about you?” he asked, quieter this time.

“His father is dead. His mother is fine. We talked a few weeks ago.” She took a breath.
“She… apologised too. For… well, for everything.”

His expression remained unimpressed. “How nice.”

She decided not to push it.

“And… he has a son?”

“Yes. His name is Scorpius.”

Her father rolled his eyes. “What’s with all the constellations?”

Hermione chuckled. “I don’t know. But he likes reading my old science books from primary
school. He’s good friends with Albus, Harry’s son. Daphne and I take them for rides
sometimes, to the cinema. They like it.”

At the mention of Daphne, her father’s expression shifted slightly.

“Daphne… the one you call Phoebe? She’s his aunt. Draco was married to her sister.”

He frowned more as he recalled something. “She mentioned her sister when she was here.
Said she was sick.”

“Yes.”

“I like her,” he admitted after a pause. “She seems like a good kid.”
“She is.”

Another silence, this one softer, as birds chirped outside.

“Should we wake mum and have breakfast?” she asked eventually.

“I’ll do it.” He stood up but lingered for a moment beside her, resting a hand gently on her
shoulder. “We just want the best for you, you know that?” His voice was quieter now. “I want
the best and easiest life for you. And nothing about this sounds easy.”

Hermione looked up at him, her expression steady. “I know,” she said. “But it’s my life. And I
chose this. Can you accept that?”

He squinted slightly, then sighed. “I’ll have to. Eventually.”

Something in his expression told her he wanted to say more, but instead, he changed the
subject. “We’ll keep breakfast simple. Omelette and some bread with tomatoes, alright?”

“Okay,” she said, feeling the slightest weight lift off her chest.

As soon as he left the kitchen, she pulled out her phone and texted Draco, sharing not great,
but better news.

After breakfast, Hermione helped her mother in the garden before heading out on her bike for
a quick swim. At the beach, she enjoyed the warm sand between her toes and the salty breeze
tangling in her hair as she read on her Kindle. The water, though, was cooler than she would
have liked.

Later in the afternoon, her mother suggested going out for an early dinner. They chose a
familiar place near the city square, not far from Sofia’s bookstore. While waiting for their
food, Hermione decided to take a short walk to see if she was at the shop.

She wasn’t but, her father was, and he said she was coming back from the university the
following week. However, he mentioned that David was in the city taking a tour and
probably enjoying some drinks at a nearby bar. Hermione already knew exactly where to find
him.

She thanked him and strolled through the bustling streets until she spotted David in the
middle of a lively group of middle-aged tourists. He caught sight of her wave and broke away
from the group, greeting her with a warm smile. They chatted for a few minutes, catching up,
and snapped a quick selfie. Hermione sent it to Sofia, who responded almost immediately
with a dramatic message about how unfair it was that she had missed her.

Dinner with her parents was pleasant. They asked more about home, and she even pulled out
her phone to show them pictures of the fence she had painted, along with a few ideas for
changing the outdoor furniture.

“I see you finally mowed the lawn,” her dad remarked, taking off his reading glasses. “Do
you need a new mower, or is that one still holding up?”
“I was thinking of getting something smaller. The one I have is too big for me to push
around.”

Her father raised an eyebrow. “You could ask your boyfriend to help you. Or does he not
know how to use one?”

“He knows.” She paused, and rolled her eyes. “He mowed the lawn. I just did the edges near
the flower beds.”

Funny how she was defending Draco now when just days ago she had been accusing him of
the same thing.

With an early flight the next morning, they went straight home after dinner.

They both accompanied her to the airport the next day. They waited while she checked in her
baggage and lingered with her until it was time to leave.

"I'm glad you came," her mum said, rubbing Hermione’s shoulders gently. "You should visit
more often." Then, lowering her voice, she added, "Maybe before summer ends, you can
come again… just not alone."

Her dad, pretending not to hear, looked around the terminal.

Hermione nodded and hugged them both before heading to security.

She texted them and Draco when she landed, and nearly two hours later, she was home. Just
as she was unlocking the door, she noticed him already waiting in the hallway.

“I really hope you just got here,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

He glanced at his watch. "Twenty minutes, maybe."

“Oh, I should’ve called you. You could’ve run me a bath.”

He stepped forward, presumably to kiss her.

“Oh, please don’t touch me," she warned, holding up a hand. "I’m sweaty, exhausted,
starving, and I need to be clean first."

"Noted," he chuckled. "What do you want to eat?"

"Is there anything in the fridge?"

"Oh, I have no idea. But Dissy made something called Dutch pancakes, so I can ask…"

“Yes, please,” she nodded vigorously. “I’ll take a quick shower, then we can eat, okay?”

They sat at the kitchen island, Hermione devouring her food while Draco sipped his tea,
watching her with quiet amusement. As she ate, she gave him a more detailed rundown of her
visit, though he mostly just frowned through it.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry again for not being there.”

"Did you not just hear what I said?" Hermione said, exasperated. "My father wanted you to
know he’s a six-foot-three man with a licence to use dental equipment you’d probably
consider torture devices.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “That was an actual threat?”

“No, he was joking.”

“Good. Joking is good.”

“Yes, of course. But still…” She sighed, stirring the last bit of syrup on her plate. “He’s never
spoken to me like that before. I understand why, but…”

Draco got up, moving behind her. He brushed her hair over one shoulder, then rested his chin
against the other, wrapping his arms around her waist. They stood there in silence for a
moment, and she liked the way she could feel his chest rise and fall behind her.

“I’m so happy my father is dead,” he exhaled.

“Draco.”

“What? I can’t joke?”

She swatted his arm, but he just chuckled.

Later, she made him leave for the rest of his meetings, since he had already skipped one. She
also sent a letter to Professor Binns, letting him know she was free this week whenever he
needed her, and he replied that Wednesday worked well.

She was behind on her proofreading schedule, so she asked Draco not to come over and
distract her.

I will just sit and read my book, and you read yours.

It’s not going to work out that way, and you know it.

Have you no self-control, Granger?

When it comes to you? Apparently not.

On Tuesday, she attended the weekly Weasley dinner. She’d missed talking with all of them,
and Pansy, as always, enjoyed not being “the only outsider,” as she put it.

The next morning, Hermione met Parvati and Lavender at a coffee shop in Diagon Alley
before heading to Hogwarts.
It was odd seeing them as a couple. Hermione couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed that
she hadn’t noticed anything before. Parvati seemed more relaxed, smiling more often when
she was with Lavender, something Hermione had never seen her do around their other
friends. Lavender, on the other hand, was exactly as she’d always been.

“It’s interesting how you two make it work so well,” Lavender mused at one point.
“Considering he’s a Gemini and you’re a Virgo.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, I just mean you’re a perfectionist, and he’s probably more flexible and casual.”

“Don’t they say opposites attract?”

Parvati shrugged. “Maybe, but he’s not like that.”

“And I wouldn’t say he’s that flexible, and he’s definitely not casual,” Hermione said.

Lavender tilted her head, considering. “Oh, maybe his Ascendant is more dominant. Do you
know his time of birth?”

Hermione had to laugh. “I don’t even know my own time of birth.”

After finishing their coffee, she apparated to Hogsmeade and walked up to Hogwarts alone
for the first time.

Hagrid was waiting for her at the gates. He looked so much older now. His hair and beard
were nearly all white, making him look like Father Christmas with his ruddy cheeks and
warm smile.

“Oh, Hermione, how I’ve missed seein’ ya!” he said, his voice trembling slightly as he pulled
her into a bone-crushing hug.

He smelled of smoke and something distinctly… Hagrid. Hermione instinctively thought of

Fang before remembering that he had passed away years ago. He had a new dog now.

As they walked together, catching up on life, she listened fondly to Hagrid’s booming voice
while the familiar scent of moss and lake water filled the air. She felt dangerously close to
tears, but thankfully, she wasn’t alone so she controlled herself.

They passed by the Forbidden Forest and made their way to the carriages, drawn by thestrals.
Hermione could see them now.

A man she assumed was Filch’s replacement greeted her at the entrance and escorted her to
the classroom, as if she hadn’t spent eight years of her life in these halls.

The castle hadn’t changed much. There were a few new portraits and sculptures, but it was
still the Hogwarts she remembered.
She passed students lounging on benches in the corridors, chatting in small groups. One thing
she did notice, however, was that the students were more integrated - different houses talking
together in easy camaraderie. It seemed that the school had made real progress in breaking
down old rivalries.

Glancing at the hourglasses, she saw that Ravenclaw was leading, followed by Hufflepuff.
That was a refreshing change.

When she entered the classroom, Professor Binns greeted her in his usual monotone,
struggling to pronounce her name, stumbling over it a few times before finally getting it
right.

The students trickled in, looking predictably bored at the prospect of another History of
Magic lesson. That changed the moment they saw her. Their expressions lit up, their sluggish
movements replaced with interest. A guest speaker was one thing, but a living, breathing
one?

Hermione introduced herself, though she knew most of them already had her book on their
desks, with her photo on the back cover. She spoke for a while before inviting questions. At
first, they were hesitant, but as they grew more comfortable, their curiosity took over.

Some questions, Hermione deftly sidestepped, especially the more personal ones. But overall,
the lesson felt like a success. The students were engaged, some even taking notes as she
spoke, a rare feat in Binns’ classroom.

For the first time in years, she found herself lost in the magic of Hogwarts again.

Professor Binns informed her that the Headmistress was waiting for her in her office, so
Hermione made her way there.

On her way, she spotted a group of students she recognised as Teddy’s friends. Assuming he
was nearby, she glanced into the nearest classroom and found him talking to a girl with long,
wavy, blonde-brown hair. She nodded vigorously at something he said, clearly engrossed in
their conversation. Hermione decided not to interrupt.

Her meeting with Minerva was pleasant, if slightly surreal. It still felt strange to be on a first-
name basis with the former professor, now the Headmistress of Hogwarts, while sitting in
Dumbledore’s old office.

Minerva asked about her parents and work, and Hermione spoke about how much she
enjoyed living in the muggle world and working a muggle job. There was a certain freedom
in it. No constant scrutiny, no headlines dissecting her every move.

Minerva nodded in understanding. "I can only imagine what it's like being followed by
photographers all the time. It’s not nearly as glamorous as the newspapers make it seem, I
imagine.”

Hermione gave a small, knowing smile. "Not nearly as bad as it used to be, but it can still be
overwhelming at times.”
"I heard a… piece of gossip a few months ago," she said, clearing her throat. "Of course, I
don’t read that rubbish myself, but someone mentioned it."

"What sort of gossip, Professor?"

"Something about you and… Mr Malfoy," Minerva said carefully.

From the corner of her eye, Hermione saw a dark figure shifting in his portrait behind the
Headmistress.

She smiled. "I'm afraid it's true."

Snape smirked in his frame, shaking his head.

“It’s a long story, and…”

"I'm not asking for an explanation," Minerva interrupted, though her expression was one of
mild surprise. Then, after a beat, she smiled knowingly. "Well, isn’t that interesting? It’s
always nice when former students find each other again.”

Hermione nodded. She had always suspected she would end up with someone she had met at
Hogwarts. Pursuing a relationship with a muggle had always seemed… complicated.
Keeping such a massive secret would have been exhausting.

"Yes, it’s difficult," she admitted. "Our options are quite limited."

Minerva hummed in agreement. "Oh, I know, Hermione. I know," she murmured, her
expression distant, as if recalling something from long ago.

With a wave of her wand, the Headmistress unlocked the floo for her so she wouldn’t have to
walk all the way back to Hogsmeade. A moment later, Hermione stepped out into her own
living room, her phone lighting up with messages now that she finally had a signal again.

Padma was eager to hear how Hermione’s visit to Hogwarts had gone, so she came over that
evening. She mentioned she was supposed to meet Luna afterward, but Hermione invited her
along as well. Luna arrived with a selection of new tea blends and a few herbs she suggested
they try smoking, just to see what would happen.

“This seems irresponsible,” Padma muttered, but still lit up the joint Luna passed her.

“No, I mean, I know what they’ll do,” she said airily, setting about making tea. “But everyone
reacts differently. I’m just curious. You should feel super relaxed very quickly.”

“Why don’t you ask your boyfriend?” Hermione teased.

“They have a meeting tomorrow about the space they’ve been looking at. I think they’ve
found the perfect one,” she explained. “Hopefully, the owner accepts their offer and doesn’t
push for more.”
Padma rolled her eyes. “Yes, because Merlin forbid they overpay. How would they ever
afford it?”

They left after some time when Padma said she was feeling sleepy. The tea or weeds made
her uncomfortably relaxed.

Hermione lay on the sofa after they left, her limbs too heavy to move. She felt like she could
fall asleep right there.

Her phone buzzed somewhere nearby, but before she could think about checking it, the floo
roared to life. Draco stepped out, brushing ash off his deep red sweatpants.

“I swear, I announced myself first, but you didn’t respond,” he said, lifting his hands in mock
defence before frowning at her. “Are you tired?”

“I can’t feel my extremities,” Hermione mumbled. “Luna had some tea… and some weed…
and…” she yawned, stretching. “I’m so sleepy now. And hungry. But too tired to eat.”

She could see the smirk tugging at his lips. “Are you high?”

“I don’t think so,” she said, tilting her head to look at him. “Everything’s clear. I just… I
can’t move. I couldn’t risk apparating.” Her gaze drifted over him, and she smiled lazily.
“You look nice.”

“Thank you,” he said politely. “So do you.”

“Hmm, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in red before,” she mused.

“In red?” He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Your sweatpants,” she said, pointing at them.

Draco glanced down. “They’re green.”

Hermione squinted, reaching out to touch the fabric, searching for any hint of green but
finding none. “They look pretty much red to me.”

“Look at me.”

She met his gaze. His irises looked more blue, lighter, clearer somehow, and for a brief
moment, she thought this must be how Scorpius would look in the future. The thought made
her chuckle.

Draco, however, was studying her with growing amusement. “Your pupils are huge. Do you
want me to take you to bed?”

“Yes, please,” she said without hesitation.

He was ready to lift her behind her knees.

“You smell so good.”

“Oh, it’s… Wait, what do I smell like?” He looked at her and raised his eyebrow.

Hermione pulled him closer and inhaled. “Like chocolate and… and… something nutty, like
almonds. Or walnuts.”

He shook his head. “Scorp accidentally spilled his orange juice on me. I scourgify my shirt,
but I didn't change it.” He tried to lift her and dropped her immediately, and then he lifted her
again. “You… feel different. Much lighter than you usually do. Like you weigh… almost half
your weight.”

“But I feel heavy,” Hermione murmured, yawning. “I can’t move.”

“I’ll apparate you upstairs, then.”

She barely managed a nod before they landed in her bedroom. Draco unceremoniously
dropped her onto the bed.

“Sorry,” he said.

Hermione just mumbled something, but meant to say it was fine. She shivered and tried to
wave a hand toward the window to close it, but instead of feeling her magic, there was only a
strange tingling in her fingers.

“What exactly did you take?” Draco asked, watching her closely.

“I don’t know.” She frowned. “Luna said it was something to help us relax, but that everyone
reacts differently.”

He brushed some hair from her face.

"Why are you so cold?" Hermione asked.

"I'm really not," Draco said, frowning. "I think something’s temporarily wrong with your
senses.”

Hermione nodded in agreement, then placed a hand on his cheek, leaning into his touch.
“You’re always so warm. Come here,” she murmured, pulling him by the front of his shirt to
kiss him. But after a moment, she pulled back. “You’re right. My senses are all wrong.”

Draco chuckled. “Do I want to ask how I taste right now?”

She made herself more comfortable on the bed, her eyes drifting shut. “Different,” she
admitted. “Not like you. Just… wrong.”

Hermione tapped her bed, searching for Draco's hand, and when she found it, she held it
tightly. He was still cold, but she didn’t mind.
“I usually love how you taste,” she chuckled. “Oops, sorry. I’m not supposed to use that word
now, am I?”

“What word?” Draco asked.

“The one that makes you go all rigid and distant.”

He opened his mouth to speak a few times, then sighed in defeat. “Hermione, I think…”

She nodded, her voice soft. “I think so too.”

Draco chuckled, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “What do you think?”

“That we shouldn’t speak now because I don’t know if I’ll remember this tomorrow,” she
said, nodding. “Or maybe that’s a good thing. You could say whatever you want, and I might
not remember, leaving you with no regrets.”

He placed his hand gently on her face. “You’re babbling. I’m going to Lovegood to see how
to counteract this.”

“Can’t I just sleep it off?” she asked, closing her eyes again and focusing on his voice.

“What if you need to sleep for a week?”

“Then I’ll have the most relaxed week ever, without stress or worries,” she replied, trying to
sound cheerful.

Draco was quiet for a moment. “Tell me what worries you the most.”

“Nice try, Malfoy, but I’m not on Veritaserum.” She could almost hear him smirking, but she
relaxed her face and took a deep breath. “Will you stay with me? Just until I fall asleep. I
don’t care afterwards. I won’t remember anyway.”

Draco’s voice carried the familiar smirk. “Of course.”

He shifted and lay next to her, his body close enough for her to lean against his chest. She
moved a little to make room, feeling his coldness against her, but wanting him near her too
much to care. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, placing his other hand over hers on
his stomach. They lay there in silence for a few minutes, just breathing together.

“I hope you know I care about you, Hermione. I care about you too much,” Draco said,
breaking the quiet.

“I know,” she whispered. “I care about you too.”

He stayed silent for a few moments before speaking again. “I don’t remember feeling like
this in so many years.”

“I know. I said the same thing to my father.” She nodded slowly. “He also asked me whether
I’m in love with you.”
Hermione felt him shifting towards her. “And what did you say?”

“I said yes, and I didn’t even have to think about it,” she replied, once again without
thinking.

He squeezed her hand, and then they fell into silence. “Yes, I’m in love with you too,” Draco
breathed, his voice quiet but filled with conviction.

Hermione wasn’t sure how much time passed before they exchanged their words.

“How do you know?”

“I don’t know… I just feel it. Everywhere,” Draco replied, taking her hand and placing it on
his chest, near her face. “Here, mostly. But here as well.” He moved her hand back to his
stomach. “I missed you when you were with your parents, like you’d been away for a year
instead of just the weekend.”

Hermione stayed silent, feeling her eyes sting with unshed tears. She was afraid to cry in
front of him again, half-hoping she wouldn’t remember this moment tomorrow. But he
would. She briefly considered asking him to obliviate them both to spare them from the
potential embarrassment.

“I wanted someone I could call my own for so long that I didn’t even realise it,” she
whispered softly, almost to herself. “I was so lonely before you.”

“Me too,” Draco said, squeezing her hand tighter.

Hermione took a deep breath. “Don’t leave me. I mean, go to Luna and do whatever you said
before, but…” She exhaled shakily. “You know what I mean. Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t,” he said, bringing her hand to his cold lips. “I promise.”

His soft breathing and steady heartbeat lulled Hermione into a peaceful sleep.

When Hermione woke up, she found herself alone in the room. The brightness of the day
made her realise it was much later than she had expected. She felt hot, but she wasn’t sure
how she had ended up covered.

Looking down, she saw Crookshanks sleeping soundly at her feet. She was glad she hadn’t
disturbed him while trying to get out of bed.

Swinging her legs over the edge, she noticed her hair sticking to her neck and face. She
rubbed the nape of her neck to try and cool down. The air outside the covers felt refreshing,
even though the room still felt warm.

Since her legs had been numb the day before, she decided to test them out. Standing up, she
walked across the room to open the window. As she swished her hand, the window opened
effortlessly, and she felt the familiar buzz of magic flowing through her once again.
“You’re drooling when you’re high,” Draco’s voice drawled from the doorframe.

She almost jumped at the sound of him.

“I think you once said you’re drooling when you’re drunk. You’re drooling when you’re
high, too,” he smirked.

“Great, I’m glad you were there to witness it,” she replied, stretching as she noticed she was
in her t-shirt and shorts. “Did you change me?”

“Yes.” Draco frowned slightly. “Sorry if it wasn’t appropriate, but you were in your jeans and
dress shirt, and I thought…”

Hermione shook her head, trying to suppress a laugh. “No, no, it’s fine.” She glanced down at
her attire, still wearing her bra. It was nice that he’d been respectful. “What time is it?”

Draco checked his watch. “Eleven fifteen.”

“Oh, wow, I really overslept.” She sat back on the bed, her mind catching up. “Are you
skipping your meetings again?”

“No,” he drawled, squinting at her. “Hermione, it’s Saturday.”

“What?”

“Yeah, you’ve been asleep for almost three days.”

She huffed in disbelief and reached for her phone. It was indeed Saturday. “What?!”

He chuckled. “Sit, I’ll explain.” She sat on the edge of the bed, and Draco sat in the armchair
nearby. “So, it turns out the weed you three smoked didn’t do anything. The tea, however,
was very strong. It’s good you tested it before Lovegood sold it. Someone might have sued
her for false advertising and intentional endangerment, or something like that.”

“I’m very pleased,” she said dryly, rolling her eyes. “What was it?”

“Serenity blossoms.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. A blend of the usual calming plants, but serenity blossoms made up about seventy
percent.”

Hermione nodded slowly. “Too strong a concentration.”

“Exactly. That’s why you were asleep for so long,” Draco explained, frowning. “It was
essentially forcing you to sleep away all your stress.”

“What happened to Luna and Padma?”

Crookshanks jumped from the bed and stretched before wandering around the room.
“Lovegood had a regular night. She said she hasn’t been feeling stressed recently,” Draco
rolled his eyes. “Patil woke up last night. She’s apparently been having a busy month at
work.”

“Yeah, the end of the school year’s been draining her,” Hermione said, remembering.

“Yes, she explained.”

Hermione clenched her fists. “I don’t feel weak or tired, but I haven’t eaten anything for
days.”

“Scorpius and I made EnergiElixir,” Draco explained. “Blaise suggested it. Theo said it
works like those things they use in hospitals to give you vitamins through your veins.”

“Infusion.”

“Right, infusion,” Draco nodded. “I gave some to Parvati, and she gave it to Padma. I was
giving it to you when I came over to feed your cat.”

Crookshanks rubbed against Draco’s legs, and he scratched behind his ears, tilting his head to
get a better angle. Hermione smiled at the sight.

“I thought the Invigoration Draught would be too much, given how calm you were,” Draco
added.

“Yes, that’s probably right,” Hermione agreed. She licked her dry lips. “I’m really thirsty,
though.”

“Of course,” Draco conjured a glass and sat beside her, filling it with water. Crookshanks
followed him. “It’s harder to make water into a concentrated potion.”

Hermione drank the entire glass, then handed it back. “Thank you. Can I have more?”

He filled the glass again.

“You weren’t here alone all the time, just waiting, right?”

“No, I put a charm on your carpet,” Draco said with a smile. “My wand vibrates if anyone
steps on it. But…” He scratched Crookshanks again. “Someone did step on it a few times,
and I came over for nothing.”

Hermione looked at him, and he smiled warmly. She wanted to touch him, but she was in
desperate need of a shower and toothpaste. Instead, she simply took his hand and squeezed it.

“You’re warm again,” she said softly.

“Your senses are back, I see.”

She nodded. “Thank you. For being here.”

 “Of course,” Draco squeezed her hand back. “I’m not leaving, Hermione.”

She remembered their conversation from… a few days ago, apparently, and felt slightly
embarrassed. But she nodded, then stood up to find some clothes to wear after the long-
overdue shower.

Chapter End Notes

Hermione's life in London https://www.pinterest.com/tpzzz1105/in-the-mood-for-

truth/hermiones-life-in-london/
 Draco

July 2013

The large room was finally free of all traces of dark magic, leaving it completely empty.

“So, what are you going to use it for?” Hermione asked, glancing around.

“I don’t know,” Potter shrugged. “We haven’t thought about it yet. Maybe another sitting
room.”

“You have too many stairs leading up here,” Draco remarked.

“I know. Maybe I should listen to you and install escalators.”

“Or, here’s another idea: allow people to apparate freely in this enormous house,” he
suggested dryly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so lazy. Stairs are an excellent form of exercise.
Especially since children don’t move much these days.”

It was already summer break, and the kids were home. Scorpius didn’t have lessons anymore,
except for piano because he insisted on continuing.

As Hermione turned to walk towards the library, Potter… blatantly checked out her arse. He
wasn’t even discreet about it.

“What do you do when you focus on glutes?”

“Cable machine. Sometimes a hyperextension bench, too. But I prefer lifting.”

Draco, who had been observing this exchange, narrowed his eyes.

“Yeah, it looks good now,” Potter commented.

“Yeah, thanks,” Hermione replied, oblivious.

He glanced between them and squinted. “Potter, did you just… check out my girlfriend in
front of me?”

Hermione seemed to find something about that funny.

“Please,” Potter rolled his eyes. “I’m a married man, and she’s Hermione.” He walked into
the library. “Besides, it’s not me you need to be worried about.”

Draco frowned and followed him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“She has a fan. From the Ministry.”

Hermione huffed.

Draco rolled his eyes. “He’s still here?”

He had known he didn’t like that Gryffindor prat for a good reason. He’d seen how the man
looked at Hermione, how he found excuses to touch her arm when they talked. Always had
some urgent question that apparently only she could answer, despite the fact that anyone else
in the room could help just as well.

“Don’t make it into something it isn’t, Harry,” Hermione said, scanning the new bookshelf.

“Oh, it’s nothing, I’m sure,” Potter said airily. “He just asked me if you two were serious or if
it was just casual.” He shrugged.

“He what?”

“Yeah,” Potter nodded, smirking. “Oh, look at the time. I must be off to work.”

“Thank you for this,” Hermione deadpanned.

“You’re welcome,” he replied smugly. “Don’t forget to put up the wards after you leave.
James and Albus are downstairs today.”

Draco waited for the sound of Potter leaving. Once he was sure they were alone, he lifted the
ward again and turned to Hermione.

“He and his wife are the same,” she muttered, still focused on the books. “No limits
whatsoever.”

Draco stepped closer. “So you knew he fancies you?”

“Of course. He’s not exactly subtle.” She cast him a quick glance and rolled her eyes. “What
do you want me to do? Avoid him?”

Well. Yes. Actually, that would be perfect.

She tilted her head when he didn’t answer right away. “Are you serious?”

“No. I mean… I guess not,” he admitted begrudgingly.

She put her hand on her hip, raising an eyebrow. She was still wearing the glasses he liked so
much.

“So, are you telling me women don’t flirt with you ?”

He scoffed. “No, they do. I just never engage in it.”

Oh. That sounded wrong.

“And I do?” Yeah, definitely wrong.

“You…” Don’t say it’s different. Don’t… “It’s different for you.” Brilliant. Well done, you
idiot.

Her arms folded across her chest now. “And why’s that, exactly? Because I’m a woman and
men can’t seem to tell the difference between someone flirting and someone simply being
nice and polite?”

Yes. That’s exactly why.

She squinted when he remained silent for too long. “Are you jealous?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, of course not.”

Yes. Are you blind?!

“Okay,” she huffed, turning back to the bookshelf.

Draco went about his day, attending a few meetings before heading to check out the new
place Theo and Blaise had rented for their shop. After months of searching, they’d finally
found the perfect location.

It was in Diagon Alley, though not on the main street. Close enough to the most popular
apothecary to benefit from foot traffic but far enough away not to be seen as direct
competition.

As he strolled down the Alley, Draco caught a few disapproving looks from passers-by. He
ignored them.

Last week, he’d had lunch with Hermione and his mother, and someone had snapped photos
of them, which, naturally, ended up in the Prophet’s gossip section. He’d asked Dissy to
check the mail for howlers, but thankfully, none had arrived.

Hermione, of course, hadn’t read the “rubbish tabloid,” as she called it. She hadn’t even
seemed particularly bothered by it. But Draco knew she was lying. She must have received at
least one letter, at least one unsolicited comment on the street. She just didn’t want to tell
him.

He’d wanted to press her on it, but tonight she was at Potter’s eldest son’s birthday party.

Draco had met the boy now that it was summer, and he was back home. He’d immediately
taken to Scorpius. Too quickly, in Draco’s opinion. They got along effortlessly, their
talkative, extroverted natures feeding off each other. It was painful to watch, in a way.

Draco much preferred the younger one.

The older one had trouble written all over his face.
His work kept him busy, anyway. His mother had been attending even more galas and
fundraisers lately, and with all the donations she made, there was an endless pile of
paperwork for him to deal with. Hermione, on the other hand, was keeping herself occupied
with articles and essays rather than books.

She’d said focusing on a lot of smaller tasks was easier than working on one big one.

“These are university students, for fuck’s sake,” Hermione huffed a few days later, sinking
into the armchair in Draco’s office.

She had come over for tea and, as usual, to complain about her work while Scorpius had his
piano lesson.

“How is it possible that they still don’t know the difference between your and you’re ?”

Draco barely glanced up from the report he was reading. “Maybe they don’t have to. They
probably just pay someone to care about it for them.”

“Ugh, I’m still annoyed by it, regardless.” Then, she narrowed her eyes at him. “You
sometimes mix up then and than .”

Draco huffed. “I do not.”

She looked ready to argue, but a knock on the door interrupted her. Scorpius’s piano tutor
stepped inside, nodding politely to Hermione before turning her attention to Draco.

“We’re finished for today, Mr Malfoy. Would you like my feedback?”

“Of course, Miss James. Please.”

Hermione stood and wandered over to his bookshelf as Miss James took her usual seat. The
tutor began summarising the lesson, using terminology Draco only vaguely understood. He
nodded along anyway. He had learned piano before Hogwarts but hadn’t touched the keys
since.

“So, same time next week?”

“Yes, but the week after, I’ll be on my long summer holiday, so I won’t be available for two
weeks,” she said, pulling a slip of parchment from her bag. “I can suggest a replacement.”

“No, that’s fine. He can have a break too.”

“That’s good. I can test him a bit after the holiday,” she said with a nod before tucking the
paper away. Then, her tone shifted. “Scorpius mentioned he’d been to France recently.” She
smiled in that usual flirty way.

Draco flicked a glance at Hermione, but she was still absorbed in reading book titles.
“Well, not recently,” he answered smoothly, keeping his tone polite. “We went to Cannes and
some nearby towns for Christmas.”

“Oh, yes, I remember.” She tilted her head slightly. “My parents recommended a lovely hotel
in Nice, and I’ve never been before, so I decided to give it a try.” She blinked up at him.
“Have you ever been? Any recommendations?”

Draco remained perfectly neutral. “Whatever you choose, you won’t go wrong. The coast is
beautiful, especially in summer.”

She nodded, still smiling, and walked towards the door. “Thank you. Have a good day, Miss
Granger.”

Hermione finally turned to acknowledge her. “You too. Enjoy your holiday.”

Draco followed her through the flat, watching as she left from the apparition point in the
hallway. Then, he returned to his office.

“Did you actually read all of these?” Hermione asked, pointing at his legal books.

“Some. Not all.”

“It all looks just so… incredibly boring.”

“It is. But it was necessary to learn how to handle all of this.” He gestured at his desk,
covered in paperwork.

“Why didn’t you just hire someone to do it instead?” She leaned against the back of his
armchair.

“Then I’d have no job,” he said simply. “I’d just sit around and sign papers when they needed
me.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “That’s true. I should go.” She stretched. “The essays aren’t going
to correct themselves. Oh, I should come up with a spell for that and make my job easier.”

Draco snorted. “Who are you kidding? You’d check them all afterwards anyway.”

She sighed. “Yeah, you’re right.” Then, her voice dropped just slightly, sending a pleasant
shiver down his spine. “So, Mr Malfoy,” she murmured, tilting her head. Oh, I like that. “You
have a supermodel teaching your son piano, but I’m the one who should stay away from my
ministry worker?”

Draco smirked, returning his attention to his papers. “Supermodel? Didn’t notice.”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” she huffed before disappearing into the floo.
They didn’t see much of each other the following week because both were busy, and
Scorpius, without his lessons to keep him occupied, spent a lot of time at home complaining
about being bored. He visited Potter’s house a few times, where they either flew in the
backyard, watched movies, or stayed at the flat and went swimming.

There was a small park and playground in the neighbourhood, charmed with protective wards
so that any accidental magic wouldn’t attract unwanted muggle attention. Draco had spotted
Teddy there a few times with his friends. He recognised some of the kids from before, they
were all growing up so fast. They lounged around chatting, clearly itching to use magic but
bound by the no-wand rule during summer. He remembered how frustrating that had been.

Teddy had started acting a little differently around him. His easygoing nature had stiffened
slightly, his usual grins replaced by a faint frown when they crossed paths. Most tellingly, his
hair didn’t so much as flicker blonde, not even for a second. He answered questions simply,
didn’t joke around as much.

Draco had a feeling it had something to do with Hermione, but he didn’t tease him about it.
He couldn’t blame him, really. What’s there not to like? She was beautiful, brilliant. Teddy
had mentioned she let him drive her car in some training area. That alone probably cemented
her as cool in his mind, trusting him enough to let him do something so reckless.

Draco thought back to himself at fifteen, then quickly forced himself to stop. Fifteen-year-old
me wouldn’t have deserved someone like Hermione.

I don’t even deserve her now. Not after everything.

No. Stop with those thoughts again.

She made him go with her to Potter’s birthday at the end of the month. It’s not going to be a
big party, just the usual people, she’d said, which meant he wouldn’t have to suffer through
awkward small talk with strangers. He’d actually have someone to talk to.

Teddy would be there, along with all of the Potters’ kids, so Hermione suggested he bring
Scorpius as well. He had been thrilled at the idea, of course, and Draco liked seeing him
spend time with good kids.

They flooed into her living room that evening, and Scorpius immediately ran towards her cat,
who was curled up in his usual armchair.

“Hello, Crooks,” he cooed, scratching behind his ears. “Where’s Hermione?”

The cat flicked his tail and glanced towards the stairs.

Draco smirked. “Hermione, we’re here!” he called.

“I’ll be right there!” she shouted back.

While Scorpius settled onto the sofa and turned on the telly, Draco wandered over to her
bookshelf. He still hadn’t properly explored the lowest shelf, always too distracted by her
essays and fiction.

An entire section dedicated to sex.

Draco blinked at the bold titles. Sexual Intelligence. Women’s Anatomy of Arousal: Secret
Maps to Buried Pleasure. Girl Sex 101.

He dragged a finger over the spines.

The next few were even more interesting. Dual Attraction: Understanding Bisexuality.
Bisexual Characters in Fiction. Sapphistries: A Global History of Love Between Women.

Draco frowned. He’d never really thought about his sexuality before, never needed to. He
liked women, and that was that. Simple. But how had she known she was attracted to both? Is
that an inappropriate question? I should’ve asked Theo. He’d mentioned being with men
before.

His eyes landed on Kama Sutra . That one, he knew.

Lady Chatterley’s Lover. That sounded familiar. He pulled it off the shelf, read the back
cover, and still couldn’t place why. He put it back.

Then his gaze fell on The Heart of Tantric Sex: A Unique Guide to Love and Sexual
Fulfilment.

Draco frowned. What the fuck is tantric sex?

He flipped it open, scanning a few lines. Something about deep connection, spirituality,
unlocking higher pleasure… vague nonsense. Draco heard her walking downstairs and
returned the book. He could check that on his phone later. He was not going to ask her.
Maybe it’s something muggles know, and it’s embarrassing if an adult is not familiar with it.

She went to greet Scorpius first, but all Draco could do was stare .

She’d let her hair down, and her black dress, thin straps, silky fabric, clung to her waist
before it flowed effortlessly just below her knees. In heels, she was nearly eye-level with
him.

No. I will ask her. I will ask her, and she can tell me.

Or better yet… show me. Teach me.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her brow furrowing. “Is it my makeup? Is it too much?”

He shook his head. He hadn’t even noticed her makeup, but now that she mentioned it, there
was a delicate black flick above her lashes, making them look longer.

“I wanted to switch it up a bit because the rest of me is pretty simple.”

“There’s nothing simple about… you,” he said, letting himself take a slow, deliberate look at
her. “But you are pretty. Beautiful. Pretty beautiful.”

Her lips parted slightly in surprise, and Draco had to kiss her. Scorpius will understand one
day.

She smelled like her sugary caramel perfume mixed with vanilla from her soft curls, and the
dress felt like water flowing over her hips.

“Ew, dad.”

He pulled back just as Hermione turned red, though not as red as Scorpius, who looked like
he wanted to sink into the sofa and disappear.

Draco cleared his throat. “Shall we go?”

They flooed into the empty kitchen.

It was strange. Someone always waited for him when he arrived here. Only now did Draco
realise just how many times he’d been in Potter’s house over the past few months. I don't
think I'll ever get used to it.

Voices carried down from upstairs, and they followed the sound, Scorpius walking ahead of
them. He went straight to the living room without hesitation, clearly familiar enough to know
he’d find the rest of the kids there. Draco felt a small sense of relief at that. At least someone
feels at home here.

They stepped into another sitting room and found only the Potters, Pansy, and Charlie.

Pansy wore a loose dress that hid her figure, so he couldn’t tell if she was showing yet.
Maybe it was too early. He tried to remember how long it took Astoria to start showing. Not
that he had a wealth of experience with pregnant women. None of his close friends had kids
yet.

“Did you bring your son?” Weaslette asked the moment they walked in.

Draco sighed. “Yes, I have, Red, good evening to you too. You look great.” He gave her an
exaggerated smile. “Here, these are for you.” He handed her the flowers. “And you can give
this to your husband.” He held out a bottle of firewhiskey. “It’s better than whatever that is he
keeps in the kitchen.”

She squinted at him suspiciously. “Thank you,” she said slowly, blinking between the flowers
and the bottle. “Wow. I can barely think of anything sarcastic to say. That’s… strange.” She
walked off, still looking bewildered.

Draco greeted Pansy and Charlie before settling into a seat, waiting for Hermione to sit first.
She handed Potter a small package.

“Open it now,” she said, watching him impatiently as he tore the wrapping paper.
Potter smirked. “Nick Cave, huh? What album is… oh.” His expression changed the moment
he saw the tracklist.

“The last one on the second CD,” she said, tapping the list with her finger.

He looked at it and nodded slowly.

“I found it in my garage. Thought you might like it.”

Whatever it was, it meant something to them. The air between them shifted, both of them
visibly moved before they hugged.

Draco felt an unexpected sting of jealousy when he heard them murmur I love you to each
other.

Casual.

Effortless.

Like they’d said it a million times before. And they probably had, twenty years of friendship
made that sort of thing second nature.

Draco had never said those words to any of his friends. Then again, none of his friends were
warmhearted Gryffindors.

He sat beside Hermione, opposite Pansy and Charlie, as Potter poured them drinks. The
atmosphere quickly relaxed, conversation flowing easily.

Draco watched Hermione as she spoke. She had this way of drawing people in, of making
them listen. She was in the middle of telling a story from years ago, something about
camping with Potter, and a song playing at just the right moment.

Draco hadn’t caught the beginning, but he could see how much it mattered.

And he couldn’t help but feel… envious.

Not of Potter, not really. But of the history they shared.

He and Hermione didn’t have moments like that. They hadn’t been friends until last year.
They had only started speaking civilly, without insults or punches, a year ago. What a waste
of time.

He shifted uncomfortably.

Across from him, Pansy caught his eye and gave him a small, knowing smile. She probably
felt out of place sometimes, too. She was curled up against Charlie, fingers laced with his,
and Draco realised with a jolt that he wanted that.

Not to flaunt their relationship, well, maybe a little, but just to feel Hermione, even in public.
She had been patient with Scorpius' hesitation, and he appreciated that, but enough time had
passed. He wished they could be more open about… them.

Hermione stood to help Red with something, leaving Draco to chat with Theo, who had just
arrived with Daphne, Lovegood, and Blaise.

The evening passed pleasantly. Drinks flowed, music played, and for a brief moment, Draco
let himself relax. His friends were here. He was in Potter’s house for his birthday. Hermione
was his girlfriend .

And he was surrounded by Weasleys.

Red asked if Scorpius could stay for a sleepover. George mentioned taking the kids to see his
new products at the shop. Weasley… the Weasley had shaken his hand earlier. He looked a
bit stiff doing it, but still. Another Weasley, whose name Draco had never bothered to learn,
was chatting with Theo about some import regulation.

Pansy was having a baby with Charlie Weasley .

He was overwhelmed.

Then, at the perfect moment, a familiar warmth wrapped around him. Her scent, a mix of
sugar and vanilla, drifting closer as she leaned over the headrest of his chair asking him if he
wanted to check the third floor with her. They haven't been here together for more than two
weeks.

They walked by the room the kids were in when he asked Scorp if he wanted to stay the
night. He nodded enthusiastically. Draco saw Teddy glancing between Hermione and him
before he looked away and kept talking with Potter’s son.

Do I have to apologise for something? It seemed excessive.

“I still can’t believe he shared his wards with you but not with Ginny. Or me,” Hermione said
as Draco reinforced the protections, sealing out the noise from downstairs.

The sudden silence pressed in around them and he huffed.

“What? Like I’d do anything stupid here.”

They moved ahead into the big room only to stop short before entering because the floor was
a mess. Potter said they’re replacing it.

“Let’s see how many books we have left to burn, shall we?”

The pile in the library was nearly gone. He walked in, switched on a few lamps, and
Hermione leaned against the doorframe, watching him.

“I can’t wait to see what the potion will pull out from this room,” Draco muttered. “They
used a lot of Dark Magic to protect their knowledge. Fucking degenerates.” He shook his
head in disgust.
Hermione stepped forward, taking his hand. “But you opened the library for us. You let me
see,” she said softly, then cupped his face in her warm hands. “They must be furious about
that.”

I want her to touch me like this in front of everyone .

Then her lips met his neck, and his breath hitched.

“We’ll find something useful in these books. And the others… well, those, we get to burn,”
she murmured, one hand pressed against his chest, the other slipping to his waist as she drew
him closer. “Don’t you think you did a good job?” she whispered in his ear.

Draco shivered.

He opened his eyes, meeting hers - bright, focused, amused.

“If you say so,” he muttered before he kissed her, slow at first, and then gently guided her
back until she was leaning against the doorframe again.

“I do,” she murmured against his lips, pulling him even closer as the kiss deepened.

Draco tangled his fingers in her hair, and she let out a quiet moan, the sound sending
something sharp and hot down his spine.

“Remember when your great-aunt from the portrait caught us kissing?” she whispered and
smiled.

“Yes, but I’d rather not think about her now,” he muttered, pressing open-mouthed kisses
along her jaw, then down to her neck.

The dress felt like water between his fingers and made it impossible to grip properly, so he
gave up and slid his hands under it instead, over warm, bare skin.

Hermione shivered as his fingers trailed slowly up her thigh, settling at her hip.

She chuckled and parted her legs slightly, pulling him even closer. “I wonder what she’d say
if she saw us now.”

Draco didn’t care.

He could feel her, and she could definitely feel him. He might have been embarrassed at how
quickly she made him hard if it weren’t for the fact that she had started this.

“I don’t care,” he murmured against her skin. “I don’t give a fuck what any of them think.”

She moved her hands to the nape of his neck and scratched lightly, just the way he liked.

Draco groaned. Then pressed against her harder, releasing a breath he hadn’t realised he’d
been holding. “Hermione?” he said, looking at her.
“Yes?”

Her eyes were glossy, her breathing deep and uneven. He wondered if she’d had a bit too
much to drink, though he knew firewhisky was making him bolder now.

“I’ve thought about fucking you in their library against their bookshelves too many times,”
he admitted.

A slow smile curled on her lips, her eyes darkening with want.

“Especially when you had your glasses on.”

Hermione let out a soft huff of laughter, looking amused. “Glasses? Really?”

He nodded, desire pulsing through him.

“I thought it’d be the perfect way to finish this little project,” he murmured, his voice thick
with anticipation.

He traced his fingers from her hip to the inside of her thigh, feeling the subtle shiver that ran
through her body at his touch.

“Wouldn’t it be satisfying to make you come in the very room they never wanted you to come
in?” he whispered, eyes locked onto hers.

She swallowed, her smile widening. “Like an exorcism, I suppose.”

“Exorcism?”

“A ritual to remove demons from people or places,” she explained quickly.

He nodded, intrigued.

“They use holy water, you know,” she smirked, trailing her fingers over his forehead, then
down his nose to his lips. “Just a bit. Just to sprinkle over someone’s face. Or… they douse
the place,” she said. “But I doubt we have enough holy water on hand.”

He chuckled, sliding his hand under the waistband of her underwear, and she gasped softly.

"I'm sure we can come up with something else to… baptise the room with. Did I use that
properly?”

Hermione was already slick when he touched her, and the realisation made him instantly
harder.

“Yes,” she breathed, nodding. “But it sounds blasphemous when you say it.”

Draco smirked, running his fingers faster. “ Blasphemous? I thought you weren’t a pious
woman.”

Hermione grasped his forearm, shaking her head. “I’m really not.”
“And thank the Gods for that.”

She chuckled, then let out a quiet moan.

Her head rested against the doorframe as she watched him, unashamed.

“Can I make you come like this?” he asked, his voice rough.

“If you just keep doing that and don’t change anything… yes,” she blurted out, her breath
coming faster.

Draco smirked. “That’s not what I’m asking.”

She looked at him, eyes heavy with need.

“I know how to make you come, Hermione. I’m asking if you want it like this, here, with all
your friends downstairs.”

She hesitated, then nodded, gripping his arm tighter.

“What if someone walks up here and sees us?” he whispered.

Hermione glanced toward the stairs. “We should stop.”

“Yeah? You think so?” His voice was shaky, but his fingers kept moving, pushing her closer
to the edge.

She was soaking, thighs squeezing slightly around his hand. “Yes,” she moaned. “But not yet.
Just a bit more. Then stop.”

Yes.

Draco’s hand shot up to her throat, his grip light but possessive and her eyes widened, her
breath catching.

“I thought you didn’t like that,” he murmured.

She met his gaze, unwavering. “I thought so too… but I suppose I’ve discovered some things
about myself. Thanks to you.”

Fuck.

That shouldn’t have made him twitch, but it did. Now he wasn’t sure what he wanted more -
to obey her and stop, or to make her come, just to see her fall apart in his arms.

Hermione was gasping, grasping both his hands, her lip caught between her teeth and…

Draco exhaled sharply and pulled away.

A strangled whimper escaped her lips, a sound full of need and frustration. But she’d asked
him to stop, and he’d done just that. So she shouldn't complain.
Their eyes met as her chest rose and fell, her breathing slowly returning to normal.

“You’re coming over tonight, right?” she asked, her voice still breathless.

Draco just nodded.

“Good.”

She straightened and made her way to the now-usable bathroom, glancing at her reflection in
the mirror as she reached for her wand.

Draco followed, watching as she likely prepared to scourgify herself.

He wished she wouldn’t.

He wished she’d go back downstairs as she was , the scent of her arousal still clinging to her
skin, so everyone would know…

Stop it.

“Do you have to do that?” he asked, the words leaving his mouth before he could stop them.

Hermione met his gaze in the mirror. “What?”

He felt the heat creep up his neck, suddenly regretting the question. “Can’t you just… go
downstairs like that?” He gestured vaguely toward the centre of her body.

Her smirk returned as she shook her head. “Can you?” Her gaze flicked pointedly to the front
of his trousers.

“Good point,” he muttered.

Hermione stepped aside to let him wash his hands, leaning against the doorframe, arms
crossed. “Why?” she asked.

He glanced at her reflection. “Why what?”

She rolled her eyes. “Why did you want me to go downstairs without cleaning myself first,
Draco?”

Fuck. He knew she wouldn’t let this go.

“No reason.”

Pathetic.

He shook his hands over the sink, refusing to meet her eyes.

Hermione studied him in the mirror, the amusement fading slightly. “Are you sure about
that?”
Draco could feel her watching him, searching for something in his face.

“Yes.”

She squinted. “Okay.”

But she didn’t sound convinced.

As they walked downstairs, they ran into Red, who was ushering the kids out of the room.

“That took you long enough,” she remarked, raising an eyebrow. “Satisfied with the
progress?”

“Not quite,” Hermione murmured, and Draco smirked.

She asked for it.

Draco spotted an empty armchair beside Theo and Blaise on the sofa and sank into it, taking
in the room. His aunt was deep in conversation with the Weasley parents at the table. Potter
stood with Weasley and George a few feet away, looking engaged in whatever they were
discussing.

Hermione was talking to Longbottom, who seemed less than thrilled to be here but managed
a polite smile at something she said. Across the room, Daphne sat with Pansy and Charlie on
another sofa. On the balcony, a group of women chatted. Patil twins, Lovegood, and two
others. He couldn’t see them clearly at first, but he assumed one was Bones, given that she
was Weasley’s fiancée now. As for the last one…

Ah. Brown.

Hermione had mentioned that Parvati and Brown were dating now. That explained
Longbottom’s glum expression. Was it just the breakup, or was it the fact that she'd moved on
so quickly and with someone so different? Draco almost felt sorry for him. Almost. A bruised
ego was inevitable in these situations, really.

“What are you thinking about?” Hermione asked as she perched herself on the armrest of his
chair, sipping white wine.

“If Weasel was miserable when he found out you dated a woman after him,” Draco said,
smirking.

She squinted at him. “That’s… weirdly specific.”

“I saw Longbottom and remembered.” He shrugged. “So, was he?”

“If he was, he never said anything.” She took another sip.

Draco watched her throat move as she swallowed, his gaze drawn to the glisten of wine on
her lips before she licked them away. He should’ve looked away. Should’ve. Instead, he gave
in to the impulse curling in his chest.
“Come here,” he murmured, wrapping a hand around her waist and pulling her into his lap,
careful not to spill her drink.

She adjusted, one arm slipping around his neck. His hands settled on her hips, the warmth of
her body grounding him. Slowly, he leaned in, tasting the remnants of wine on her lips as he
kissed her.

She pulled back slightly, eyes amused. “Oh, so we’re doing this now?”

“Yes.” His grip on her waist tightened. “We’re doing this from now on.”

She tilted her head. “Why?”

“Because…” He hesitated. He didn’t want to say something she’d call out as irrational. But
she wouldn't lie to me. “Because I want them to see.”

Hermione blinked, then sipped her wine again, thoughtful. “Well,” she mused, “I appreciate
this way of showing off more. It’s less… indecent and primal than walking around with
bodily fluids.”

She raised her eyebrow, and he didn't look away, even though he wanted to. Did I really think
I got away with that?

Hermione rested her palm on his shoulder, tracing idle circles as she glanced around the
room. Draco let his eyes flutter shut, unconsciously leaning into her touch.

“You’re so tense,” she murmured.

He opened his eyes and met hers. “I’m just… overwhelmed.” He exhaled. “It’s been a busy
week.”

“Is physical touch your love language?” she asked suddenly.

Draco barely caught the question. He only heard love, and that was enough to make his brain
stop working for a moment. “What?”

She chuckled. “There are five love languages. Let me think… acts of service, physical
touch…” Her fingers drifted over the nape of his neck. Oh, definitely that one. “Receiving
gifts, spending quality time together, and…”

“Words of affirmation,” Theo supplied from the sofa. “Sorry, didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

She shot him a grateful smile. “Right. Thanks. What’s yours?”

“Acts of service, definitely,” Theo said. “Make me a homemade meal, and I’m done for.” He
leaned back, wrapping an arm around Daphne, who shifted to show him something on her
phone.

Hermione turned back to Draco. “So? Physical touch?”

“Yes,” he admitted, pressing a brief kiss to the back of her hand where it rested on his
shoulder. “And you?”

“I’d say acts of service.” She nodded. “You don’t have to cook for me, but when you do
things I want without me asking first, I really appreciate it.” Her eyes softened as she looked
at him. “I was thinking of heading out soon,” she said. “I want to read one more article before
bed.”

Draco nodded.

“Do you need to go back to your flat for Scorpius’ things?”

Another nod.

“Good. After that, I’m all yours.”

He blinked. Yours , she said. His heart pounded a little harder in his chest. Mine.

She smirked, amused at his reaction. “Perhaps words of affirmation work for you too?”

“I guess I’m learning things about myself with you as well,” he said and when she kissed
him, he didn’t even care that Theo was still watching.

After a while, she and Daphne ended up at the table with the other women, leaving him with
Theo and Blaise, who had returned after a while.

"Have you decided on an opening date?"

"I mean, as soon as possible," Blaise shrugged. "We can't decide if it's better to open now and
let people get familiar with the place or wait until the first of September and launch then."

"I’d go with the first option," Draco nodded. "And offer a load of discounts at the start."

"Obviously. We’re already expecting not to make any money in the first few months, but
luckily, finances aren’t an issue." he frowned. "How do normal people do this?"

"They don't," Theo said flatly. "Or they take out loans with ridiculous interest rates."

"I don’t get why it’s so high. Surely it’s in everyone’s best interest for more people to take out
loans so the money keeps flowing?"

"I don’t know, mate, never needed one," Draco smirked. "Maybe one of our working-class
friends knows."

Hermione was ready to leave about half an hour later, once a few more guests had gone, so he
took Scorpius home as well. He asked Dissy to run a bath for him and waited for his son to
finish before helping him pack his overnight bag.

"I'm staying at Hermione’s tonight, so I'll come by after breakfast to pick you up, all right?"
"Yeah," Scorpius nodded, barely paying attention as he stuffed his pyjamas into the bag.

"Don't be picky about food, and listen to Albus’s parents, yeah?"

"Okay, dad."

By the time they flooed back to the Potters', the party had long since ended. Scorp ran
straight to the room they’d been in before, so Draco followed. The two were waving their
wands around, tidying up the sitting room, which had been packed an hour ago.

"Where’s the elf?"

"He’s too old. This is quicker," Potter replied. Hermione must love this.

"Need a hand?"

Red huffed. "Do you even know any cleaning spells?"

"We’re fine, thanks," Potter rolled his eyes. "And thanks for the whisky."

"It’s nothing. Hope Scorpius won’t be too much trouble. I’m staying at Hermione’s if you
need me for anything."

"Yeah, don’t worry. Enjoy your free night," he said.

Draco smirked. "Oh, I think we most definitely will. Thanks, Potters."

Red laughed as Potter frowned.

When he arrived at Hermione’s, the living room was empty except for a note on the coffee
table.

Outside.

The house was dimly lit, save for a small lamp near the sofa, so he had to let his eyes adjust
before heading down the hall. Outside, a few lanterns lit up the patio, casting a warm glow.

She was sitting on a swing, laptop open, frowning in concentration until she saw him. Her
expression softened into a smile, and there it was again. That feeling, right in his stomach.
Mine.

"You’re not cold?"

Now she was dressed in her usual indoor clothes. Draco wasn’t sure whether she was more
beautiful all done up or like this, just simply… being.

"A bit," he admitted. "But I’m done for the night. Let’s go inside."

Hermione gathered her notes and laptop, handing them to him to carry into the living room.

"Are you hungry?"

"Not really." He set her things down on the coffee table and glanced at her notes. "You
finished organising these?"

"Not yet," she called from the kitchen. "But I need to ask you something about them. Want a
drink?"

He shook his head and scratched her cat, who purred in response.

"Does he ever leave this chair?"

"Rarely. That’s his favourite spot," she said, returning and settling into her usual place on the
floor beside him.

Draco moved to his seat on the sofa.

She slipped her glasses on and flipped through her papers. "Okay… right. So, which spell
severs the connection between an object and its caster? Exscindo Fasidium or Exoro
Protego?"

"The first one, by the sound of it."

She nodded. "And Conterere Iniquitatem removes anti-muggle protections, right?"

"Yeah."

"Thought so." She scribbled something down. " Rumpo Malefici… I used that on mirrors. Lux
Revelo too."

She was muttering to herself now, her voice soft and lulling. Draco let his eyes drift shut for a
moment, relaxing into the sound of her. When he opened them again, she was curled up in the
armchair, laptop open, sipping her tea.

Draco blinked a few times to clear his vision. "Did I just fall asleep?"

"Yes. But it's fine, it's only been…" she glanced at the clock above the fireplace. "Twenty
minutes, maybe."

"Sorry, it’s been a long day," he muttered, stretching his arms.

"It’s fine, Draco. Do you want to go to bed?"

He shook his head.

"Drink your tea, then. It’s just chamomile." She was frowning at her laptop, rolling her eyes.

"What are you reading?"

"This book I’ve been putting off because, the moment I started it, I knew I’d hate it."

"Why?"
She sighed. "The characters are painfully one-dimensional. She’s the classic ‘not like other
girls’ type. Thinks she’s special because she doesn’t wear makeup, reads books, and watches
sports." Hermione rolled her eyes again. "Not wearing makeup is not a personality trait!" She
shook her laptop like it might understand her frustration.

Draco smirked. "And he?"

"Your typical romance hero. Too hot, too mean, everyone wants him, but, of course, he only
has eyes for her." She huffed. "Please. I can't believe I have to read this."

Draco glanced at her. She was wearing one of her oversized T-shirts with some band’s name
across the front, probably with shorts underneath. Her hair was up again.

"I like you more without makeup."

She rolled her eyes but kept them on the screen. "Sure you do."

"No, really. You’re beautiful either way."

She looked at him blankly.

"But I also worry I’ll mess up your face if I touch you when you’ve got makeup on."

"That’s good," Hermione nodded slowly, closing her laptop. "You shouldn’t touch my face
when I have makeup on."

Draco sipped his tea. “I do like it when you do that brown and gold thing around your eyes,
though. I'm not sure how I feel about the black line you did today.”

She stood up, stretching her arms, and walked over to the sofa next to him. "Yeah, I don’t
have the steadiest hand for it."

"You could just use your wand," he shrugged.

Hermione threw herself onto the sofa beside him, then frowned in realisation. "I could have
used my wand. Why didn’t I?" The scent of vanilla seemed to surround her. “So, you like
smokey eyes more than winged eyeliner?” Sitting on her legs now, she gazed at him, blinking
slowly.

"Y… yeah."

"What else do you like?"

Draco thought for a moment. "You put something shimmery here…" he traced her cheekbone
with his finger. She smiled. "It was great. When you moved, you were glowing."

Hermione blinked at him.

"And when you had sparkles everywhere," Draco continued, running his palm over her thigh,
"you looked like a fairy."
Her cheeks flushed slightly. "What else?"

He considered her again. "I like your hair down more."

Hermione pulled out the wand she’d stuck into her hair, letting it fall over her shoulders like a
waterfall. "Like this?"

He nodded, watching her.

"Anything else?"

Draco smirked. "Why are you fishing for compliments, Granger?"

She rolled her eyes. "I have homework. I need to learn to accept compliments without
rejecting them."

He frowned slightly. "What else?"

Draco swallowed hard before pulling her closer, guiding her to straddle him. His hands
skimmed over her thighs, revelling in how warm and soft she felt. He brought his lips close
to her neck and closed his eyes, breathing her in.

"You smell like a dream I had once," he murmured.

Hermione’s hands moved over his shoulders and chest, sending heat through his veins.

"I can’t remember it, of course," he went on, looking at her with a glint in his eye. "But I
remember how it felt. And you always make me feel like that. Carefree. Alive, in a way I
haven’t in a long time."

Draco gripped her hips and shifted her against him. Hermione smiled, as if she liked the
sensation.

"And I’m not just saying that because you’re so fit," he added.

Behind them, Crookshanks made a noise. They both turned to look as he stretched lazily
before hopping off the armchair and padding out of the room.

"He’s very intuitive," Hermione said, amusement flickering in her eyes. "He knows he
shouldn’t be here for the next part."

"Why? What’s going to happ…?"

She cut him off with a desperate, needy kiss and Draco held onto her tightly.

Hermione started moving against him, and he let out a low moan of pleasure. "Maybe you
should lock your fireplace," he managed to whisper.

She nodded and leaned to her left, reaching for her wand. As she did, he ran his fingers
lightly down her back, making her shiver. Draco smirked as goosebumps formed on her arms
and legs.

"Take this off," he murmured, lifting the hem of her shirt before she could do it herself.

Her hair momentarily caught in the fabric before it tumbled down her shoulders. Like a
waterfall, he thought, not for the first time. But he was wrong.

She wasn’t water.

She was all fire.

His breath caught at the sight of her deep burgundy lingerie, the rich colour making her
already perfect tits even more enticing. His hands found her body instinctively, cupping her,
squeezing, revelling in the warmth of her skin.

"You're a fucking volcano," he whispered breathlessly.

"What?" she laughed.

Draco stared at her for a moment before kissing her fiercely.

"When you take off your shirt and your hair falls down… it’s like lava erupting from a
volcano," he murmured between kisses.

She was grinding against him, her movements sending heat pooling in his stomach. He
threaded his fingers through her curls, feeling them come alive beneath his touch, before
trailing his hands down her back and slipping them under the waistband of her shorts. His
fingers brushed against lace.

"Oh, it's a matching set," she teased, starting to stand, but he held her back. "Don't you want
to see?"

"I do," he admitted, loosening his grip just enough to let her step back, standing between his
legs.

He opened his mouth to say something, but the words never came. He was captivated.

Hermione tilted her head slightly, studying his silence. Then, she asked, "What do you want
me to do?"

"Turn around," Draco said instantly, his voice rougher now.

She obeyed without hesitation.

"Take it off now," he added.

She reached for the waistband of her shorts, but she was moving too quickly for his liking.

"Slowly, please," he murmured, his throat dry.

She listened, and something about that, about her trusting him enough to follow his lead,
made his chest tighten.

Hermione bent forward to slide her shorts down, and Draco couldn't resist. He ran his hand
up the inside of her thigh, from her knee to the lace covering her arse, revelling in the way
her skin prickled under his touch.

"Stay like this," he said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.

He wanted to admire her like this, bent forward, hands braced on her knees, her perfect arse
right in front of him.

Reaching for her knickers, he let his fingers ghost over her, feeling the damp heat of her
body. She shivered at the contact, but just as he was about to say something, she turned her
head slightly, as if she wanted to speak, but then hesitated.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, his warm breath fanning over her skin.

"I…" Hermione hesitated, then exhaled slowly. "I'm not sure if I like this."

Draco immediately pulled back, letting her stand up. She turned to face him, shrugging
slightly.

"Why?" he asked, keeping his voice gentle.

"I… feel too exposed," she admitted. "I don't like the idea."

"Okay," he nodded, not questioning it, not pushing her.

She didn't need to feel that way. To him, she was stunning, every inch of her. He couldn’t
quite believe she was his, that she’d chosen him.

Reaching for her, Draco let his hands trace over her body, memorising every freckle,
mapping them out like constellations written just for him.

“How tired are you?” Hermione asked.

Draco exhaled, reaching for her hand, ready to guide her back onto his lap, but she didn’t
move.

“I had a nice nap before, so I’m wide awake now,” he smirked.

“Oh,” she feigned disappointment. “I thought you were tired,” she murmured, sinking
gracefully to her knees between his legs.

His pulse suddenly pounded in his ears as her movements became slow and deliberate.

“I thought you’d like it more if you could just sit back and relax,” she purred, her voice low
and sultry. “Let me do the work.”
Draco swallowed hard. “You know, now that I think about it, I’ve never been more tired in
my entire life.”

Hermione chuckled, shaking her head. “Let’s not overwork you, then,” she teased, leaning in
to press a soft kiss to his lips.

Her hand slipped down, gripping him over his trousers. He groaned into her mouth, the sound
muffled as she unbuttoned him with skilled fingers. He twitched when she finally took him in
her warm hands, pumping him slowly.

Draco tangled his fingers in the hair at the nape of her neck, deepening the kiss. She
responded by tightening her grip and moving faster, making his breath hitch. With a low
growl, he lifted his hips, dragging his trousers down, freeing his cock.

Hermione shifted, settling herself more comfortably on her knees before running her tongue
over him in one long, languid lick. His whole body shuddered.

She kept up the torturous pace, stroking and licking him with excruciating patience. Then she
paused, glancing up at him.

“Should I put on my glasses?” she asked.

He nearly lost it right there.

“Yes,” he hissed.

Her smirk was nothing short of wicked as she crawled towards the coffee table. He watched,
mesmerised, as she reached for her glasses and slid them on, her curls falling around her face.

Draco let out a guttural moan as she took him into her warm mouth, her tongue teasing him
with slow, deliberate strokes.

“What’s the matter, Mr Malfoy?” she murmured, the vibration of her voice making him
twitch in her grasp.

“Hermione,” he groaned, his fingers threading through her hair. “Please don’t say that again,
or I might have to ask you to call me that forever.”

She chuckled, the sound vibrating against him, sending another bolt of pleasure through his
body.

Tightening her grip at his base, she swirled her tongue over his tip before sucking harder. He
wouldn’t last long if she kept doing that. He tried, really tried, to think of something else.
Maybe the list of potions ingredients he needed to restock.

Then she pulled back slightly, her breath warm against him.

“What do you like more?” she asked, her lips curling into a smirk. “Mr Malfoy or Draco?”
And then, as if she hadn’t already unravelled him completely, she ran her tongue along his
balls, making him hiss as his list of ingredients vanished into oblivion.

His head fell back, one hand fisting her hair, the other gripping the edge of the sofa.

“Call me whatever you want,” he managed, his voice ragged. “Just keep going.”

He was utterly at her mercy, and fuck, he loved it.

She hummed in amusement before taking him back into her mouth, picking up the pace.
Draco groaned, tightening his grip on her hair as she worked him expertly, her lips and
tongue driving him closer and closer to the edge.

Glancing down, he took in the sight of her - kneeling between his legs, her red lace lingerie
hugging her body in ways that left little to the imagination.

She arched her back slightly, shifting forward, her hands braced on his thighs. She looked
like something out of a fantasy, like a goddess made of fire and lace, and fuck, he was done
for.

He was on the brink of orgasm, but he stopped her and pulled away. She looked at him,
confused, before he moved her to the side and stood up from the sofa. Kneeling behind her,
he lifted her body so she was bent over his seat, resting on her elbows. Draco tangled his
fingers in her hair, gently tugging until she arched her back further.

"Are you comfortable like this?" he asked, his breath warm against her neck.

With shaky hands, she reached for her wand and murmured a cushioning charm beneath her
knees. “Yes,” Hermione hissed, her breaths turning rapid.

She looked absolutely breathtaking in her little lace set, the delicate fabric barely concealing
the flush of her skin. He pushed it aside and eased his cock inside her, groaning as he felt
how wet she was.

Hermione whimpered as he moved slowly at first, ensuring she was fully adjusted before
setting a deeper, more deliberate rhythm. His grip tightened around her hips as she buried her
face in the cushions, stifling her moans.

He wasn’t having that. Draco gave her hair another pull, leaning in close. "No, Hermione, I
want to hear you."

She obeyed with a soft nod, and he rewarded her with deeper strokes, drawing a gasp from
her lips. The sound of their bodies together was intoxicating, but nothing compared to the
pleasure-laced cries she made just for him.

He trailed his hand under her waistline, eager to make her come faster. The moment he found
it, she gasped, pushing back against him, desperate for more.

"Harder, Draco, please," she begged, her voice thick with need. He was more than happy to
oblige.
She was pleading for him, calling his name, and asking him to fuck her harder.

I'm not going to last.

"Come on, Draco." Her breath hitched as he ran his fingers faster. "More, please." She
reached behind, gripping his thigh as if she could pull him deeper. “I need more. Don’t hold
back, Draco, please.” He almost shivered. “I can take it.”

He nearly groaned aloud. Fucking hell.

Draco covered her mouth with his hand, and stopped, trying to steady himself. "Shut up,
please." He was too close, dangerously close. "You need to stop talking if you don't want me
to come in twenty seconds," he warned, just half-jokingly.

Beneath his palm, he felt the shape of her smile. She breathed faster. "Are you okay with
this?" he asked.

She nodded, eyes fluttering shut in submission.

“Good.” He resumed fucking her. Harder and deeper, drawing breathless cries from her lips.

He revelled in it, the way she gave herself to him completely.

"I guess I changed my mind," he murmured near her ear, voice dark with amusement. "You're
going to listen to me now."

The words only seemed to turn her on even more. She moaned in response, nodding
obediently.

This is not helping.

With a groan of restraint, Draco pulled his hand away from cunt, and she whimpered at the
loss. "Touch yourself," he instructed.

Hermione eagerly obeyed, slipping her hand between her body and the sofa. Draco exhaled
as he felt her tremble beneath him, her breath coming in hot waves against his skin.

"That's it, good girl," he murmured.

She turned her head briefly to meet his gaze, her eyes dark and dazed, before refocusing on
the sensation overwhelming her. Her movements grew more frantic.

Draco smirked, unable to resist. "Need some help with your homework?"

She nodded eagerly.

"You feel fucking amazing, Hermione," he whispered against her ear as his rhythm
quickened. "If I could stay buried inside your cunt forever, I would. Would you like that?"

She nodded again, whimpering as she tightened around him.

"But I like your pretty little mouth around my cock too much," he admitted, his voice
growing unsteady. "You like that too, don’t you?"

A soft moan of agreement.

"Yeah, you do," he murmured, voice laced with hunger. "You're always dripping wet when I
fuck you after."

His own release was fast approaching, and he felt her body tightening around him again.

"Do that again," he urged, and she did, over and over, whether intentionally or not. “Fuck…
yes,” he groaned, struggling to hold on. "Lift your leg on the sofa," he instructed, pulling
back slightly to give her space.

She lifted her knee, spreading her legs wider, and shifted herself further onto the sofa. Her
arse tilted higher now, and with this angle, he could go deeper. The sensation of her
tightening around him almost made him lose control.

Hermione moaned louder as he moved, and he had to stop, his hands resting on her hips as he
checked her. "Are you in pain?" Draco asked.

She shook her head quickly.

"Thank fuck," he muttered, relieved. "I wouldn’t want to stop now." Slowly, he returned to
the previous rhythm.

Hermione pressed her palm against the backrest, helping herself move against him. She was
fucking insatiable.

"You’re incredible, Hermione," Draco murmured, his voice low. "Such a good and needy girl,
aren’t you? A girl who loves sucking cocks and getting fucked hard, isn't that right?"

Cocks? Plural?

No.

The words were more powerful than he intended, and his thoughts momentarily clouded with
jealousy. He nearly pulled back at the thought of anyone else having her like this, but he
couldn't stop.

"No one else can have you like this, only me. Did you hear me?"

Hermione nodded, eyes clouded with desire.

"You’re mine," he added, suddenly gripping her throat, pulling her back into him.

She gasped at the sudden pressure, but it only made her moan when he removed his hand
from her mouth, tightening his grip.

"Say it," he demanded, his voice urgent.

"I'm yours, Draco. Only yours," she moaned, and those words were all he needed as he
pounded into her harder and harder until they both came, she first, then him, moaning and
panting.

For a few moments, Draco just lay there on top of her, savoring the scent of her hair, the
feeling of her beneath him.

Mine. Only mine.

Yours.

She said it.

Finally, he pulled away gently, settling beside her on the floor, still catching his breath.
Hermione did the same, her chest rising and falling just as quickly as his.

Draco reached for his wand, casting a cleaning charm over them both. When they were
finished, they sat together in silence, facing her bookshelf.

"What's with the sudden possessiveness?" she asked, breaking the quiet.

He shrugged, feeling a bit vulnerable. "I don't know. You said it at the party, and it stuck in
my mind," he confessed. "Did I come on too strong?"

"No," she replied. "I was just curious."

"What's with the sudden praise kink?" he teased lightly.

Hermione rolled her eyes playfully. "Sudden? Do you not know me at all?"

Draco chuckled. "Fair point." His gaze lingered on her bookshelf, and he let out a deep
breath. "What’s tantric sex?"

"I don’t think you’d like it."

"Why not?"

She gave a nonchalant shrug. "The point is not really about the orgasm."

Draco frowned. "What the fuck is the point, then?"

"It’s about forming a deeper connection with your partner," she explained. "The goal is
emotional and spiritual, not just physical."

"Sounds like regular sex to me," he muttered, unconvinced.

"I would sit like this," she said, straddling him with ease. Her arms wrapped around his neck,
and he placed his hands on her waist. "We’d both be naked, of course. You could be inside
me, if you wanted," she said, the sultry tone making him smile.

"Always," he replied, pulling her closer.

"We would kiss, touch, and move just a bit... but nothing more," she said, her voice firm.
"For hours."

Draco’s eyes narrowed. "Yeah, no. I don’t think I could do that. Sounds like a lot of teasing."

She shrugged, clearly amused. "I’d call it prolonged foreplay. Apparently, building up tension
leads to amazing orgasms, but it takes practice."

He paused, considering it. "Have you ever done it before?" he asked, but immediately
regretted it. The thought of her with anyone else, naked, and...

"No," she interrupted his thoughts with a smile. "One of the points is to create a deep
connection and intimacy between partners. And I just don’t think anyone would have me in
their lap, naked, for hours without a guaranteed reward at the end," she joked, but there was
sincerity in her words.

"What kind of idiots have you been dating?" he muttered, leaning in to kiss her lightly.
"Having you in my lap, dressed or undressed, is always the highlight of my day."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but stopped herself with a smile. "Thank you for saying that. I
appreciate feeling appreciated."

"Am I going to hear that phrase a lot?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You might."

Draco nodded, then looked back at her bookshelf. "Can I borrow the book from the bottom
shelf? I imagine it’s not just sitting there. There must be some kind of rituals involved, right?"

"Perhaps the term meditation is more appropriate," she suggested. "Would you like to try it
sometime?"

Draco grinned. "Hermione, I don’t know why they call you ‘the Brightest Witch of Her Age’
when you can be so dense sometimes," he teased with a chuckle. "I’d do anything with you.
Especially anything that involves one or both of us being naked."

She smiled, nodding slowly. "I need to use the bathroom first. Then we can take a shower,"
she said as she stood, walking towards the hallway.

Draco remained seated for a moment, captivated by how stunning she looked in the dim light.
The fabric of her underwear clung to her curves, emphasising her figure. His eyes followed
her every movement as she walked toward the door, the sway of her hips pulling him in. It hit
him suddenly that he was fully dressed while she was nearly naked. The thought stirred
something within him.

She turned back to face him, a subtle smile on her lips that made his heart skip a beat. "Oh, I
almost forgot. I wanted to give you two options to choose from," she said, reaching for her
wand on the coffee table. "But you completely threw me off earlier. So, option one."
She gestured toward herself, tapping her wand on her underwear. The colour shifted to a deep
green.

"Option two," she added, flicking her wand again, and the fabric changed once more.

"How could you forget such an important decision?” he joked. “You're asking me now?" He
stood up, walking toward her slowly.

Hermione smirked. "Yes, now. Which one?" she asked, tapping her wand again, changing the
colour yet again. Her movements were fluid, effortless, and Draco found himself unable to
look away.

He considered for a moment, his mind racing with desire. "You look like a forest fairy in
green," he said, his voice low, before leaning in to kiss her lightly. "But you look sexy and
powerful in red. We’ve tried red, so let’s go with green next time." Her lips curved into a
smile, and Draco chuckled as he pulled back, his gaze lingering on her. "How long will you
be in the shower?"

Thanks to the Potters, they had the entire night ahead of them.
 Hermione

August 2013

Hermione let out a heavy sigh, her frustration mounting as she flicked through the pages of
the book she was proofreading. It was riddled with clichés, the kind that made her want to
hurl it across the room. Predictable plot twists, tired tropes, she had seen it all before.

"I knew she’d be a virgin!" she exclaimed, unable to contain her irritation any longer.

Draco, comfortably settled with his own book, glanced up with a frown. "What?"

"Monica. From the book." Hermione gestured towards her laptop, exasperated. "She has to
be a virgin. Apparently, it's a mandatory requirement for female leads in these sorts of
novels.”

He nodded slowly, as if piecing together her frustration. She shifted on the swing, getting
more comfortable.

"Why don’t you just drop it if it’s annoying you so much?"

"I can’t, Draco," she said firmly. "I’ve started it now. I can’t just stop halfway. Besides, I
made a list.”

"A list?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. A list of all the tropes she’s crammed into this novel. I told you, I wanted to see how
many I could spot."

Draco leaned back, clearly amused. He closed his book and placed her feet more comfortably
in his lap. "Alright, go on then. What have you got so far?"

"Oh, I’m glad you asked." Hermione reached for her phone, scrolling through her notes.
"First, she’s described as plain, but somehow, every single person she meets is inexplicably
attracted to her. Why can’t they just make her conventionally beautiful? Is it a crime to be
good-looking?"

"I certainly hope not," Draco smirked.

She rolled her eyes but carried on. "She’s introverted and shy, and naturally, her best friend is
her complete opposite. Together, they have a transformation chapter."

"A what?"

"The part where they turn her from Plain Jane into a Hollywood star. Which, by the way,
usually just involves straightening her hair and taking off her glasses." Hermione shook her
head, already exasperated again.

Draco chuckled. "And you took that personally?"

"Obviously."

"Well, don’t," he said easily. "I like your hair just as it is, and I think I’ve made my opinion
on your glasses quite clear."

Hermione laughed before returning to her list. "She’s clumsy, of course. Constantly tripping
over thin air and needing to be saved."

"By our dashing male lead?" Draco guessed.

"Naturally. Oh, and a love triangle."

"Of course."

"It’s always between the main bloke and another man we all know she’ll never pick because
they actually make sense together." She ticked something off her list. "Which brings me to
the 'I can fix him' trope."

Draco raised a brow. "Why does he need fixing?"

"Anger issues. Unresolved childhood trauma. Or, in his case, both." She flicked through her
notes again. "Also, her best friend is secretly in love with her. But she’ll never end up with
him because he’s blonde. Sorry," she added, flicking a glance at Draco’s hair.

"Excuse me?" He gave her an incredulous look.

"Yeah. In romance novels, dark-haired men get all the women."

Draco frowned. "That seems… rather discriminatory."

"Yes, because if there’s one group that’s truly suffered in life, it’s white blond men," she
deadpanned. "Anyway… fake relationship."

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"They pretend they’re together. Usually to make someone jealous or to impress their parents,"
she explained, idly scrolling through her phone.

He hummed in understanding, absentmindedly rubbing her calf. "Anything else?"

"Oh, there’s always miscommunication," Hermione said, her irritation returning full force.
"They refuse to have a single honest conversation and make ridiculous assumptions. I’m just
waiting for the inevitable breakup over said miscommunication… and then, of course, the
unplanned pregnancy."

"Naturally," Draco drawled.

He took a slow sip of the mint lemonade Hermione had made earlier, his gaze drifting around
the garden.

Without preamble, he asked, "How old were you when you lost your virginity?"

"Nineteen."

"Was it what you expected it to be?"

"It didn’t last too long," she admitted.

Draco smirked, looking far too pleased with himself at this revelation.

Hermione shot him a knowing glance before shoving him lightly. "Oh, don’t look so smug,"
she huffed. "We both got better with practice. A lot of practice. In fact, the first time I
ever…"

"No, no, I’m sorry I asked," Draco cut in, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I don’t want
to hear about you and Weasel." He paused. "It… was him, wasn’t it?"

Hermione chuckled and nodded before returning to her book. The thought of him and Pansy
suddenly popped into her head, and she cringed at the mental image. They had been
teenagers, it had barely been a relationship, and yet, she still found it oddly disturbing.

After a pause, Draco spoke again. "You’re not going to ask me?"

"Fifth year, with Pansy," she replied automatically, not bothering to look up. Then, with a
smirk, she added, "When you were playing inquisitors. One time, you got particularly
excited after removing points from someone, and she…"

"For a moment, I forgot you were friends," he interrupted, shaking his head in dismay.

"Yeah, well, she wasn’t exactly impressed with longevity either," Hermione quipped, turning
a page.

"Hey," he protested, sitting up straighter. "I was fifteen, and I saw tits for the first time. In
person. What did you expect? Your boyfriend was nineteen."

"Eighteen," Hermione corrected, rolling her eyes. "And oh, because you were so much more
sexually mature four years later?" she teased.

The garden had become their sanctuary in recent weeks. Hermione had invested in new
outdoor furniture, and with Draco’s begrudging help, everything was arranged just as she
liked it. They spent long afternoons lounging in the shade, Draco more than her, since even
children’s sun protection couldn’t save him from turning an alarming shade of pink. Music
played softly, blending with the chirping of birds and the gentle rustling of leaves in the
breeze.

One evening, Daphne declared that it was unacceptable not to host at least one proper
barbecue. She turned up with Theo in tow, claiming expertise, though the two of them spent
more time covered in soot than actually cooking. After a fair amount of trial and error, and
Hermione confiscating Theo’s wand when he nearly set fire to the hedge, they finally
managed to get it right. That night, Ginny, Harry, and Draco joined them, the scent of grilled
food filling the air as the children ran riot in the garden, shrieking with laughter.

The summer days were perfect for long drives with the roof down, something Hermione
relished. Sometimes it was just her and Draco, speeding down winding country roads, the
wind whipping through their hair. Other times, the children would pile in, eager for ice cream
stops at charming little cafés. Teddy and James occasionally joined them, though more often
than not, they were preoccupied at a nearby playground frequented by a few of their
Hogwarts friends. The park, conveniently close to Andromeda’s house and Draco’s flat,
became their regular summer haunt.

She also took the children to the coast a few times, letting them bask in the sea and sunshine.
The salty breeze and golden sand reminded her of Spain, of summers with her parents. She
missed them terribly. They video-called a few times a week, and her mum had even invited
her to visit. Her dad seemed more accepting of Draco now, but she still hadn’t dared to bring
up the idea of him coming along.

She was overthinking it again.

Silva had given her exercises to curb the habit, but nothing seemed to work. Andromeda had
rolled her eyes and told her to get it over with instead of ruining her summer by obsessing.

Luna had come by to weave her magic through Hermione’s garden, her delicate touch
enhancing the flowers and herbs Hermione had planted earlier in the season. Padma often
assisted, while Parvati, and sometimes Lavender, lounged nearby with glasses of wine,
offering unhelpful but enthusiastic commentary. Hermione had placed protective wards
around the garden, ensuring that nosy muggle neighbours wouldn't see or hear anything
unusual.

She was reading more essays, but an infuriating book had stumped her for weeks, leaving her
restless and exasperated. Fortunately, Pansy was on maternity leave and just as eager to
lounge in Hermione's backyard. She would often grumble about the heat but stubbornly
refused to use cooling charms, insisting on basking in the natural warmth of the sun.

"It would defeat the purpose of being outside in summer," she reasoned.

Perched on a swing on the patio, Pansy conjured a fan, waving it dramatically as sweat
glistened on her neck.

Hermione peered at her over the rim of her glasses. "I mean, yes, but you don't have to torture
yourself."

"I'm not torturing myself," she snapped, irritated. "I'm enjoying the rare warm weather in this
bloody country."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Are you still sulking because you can't travel abroad?"

"Obviously."

Her pregnancy had left her restricted in more ways than one. Usual means of transportation,
portkeys and apparition, were strictly off-limits, leaving her reliant on the floo. Even flying
was out of the question, not that she particularly enjoyed it anyway. For someone who prided
herself on her independence, Hermione imagined it must have been maddening.

To make matters worse, Pansy's first trimester had been plagued with relentless morning
sickness, draining her energy and appetite. Though she was past that stage now, her stomach
still revolted at the idea of heavy meals, forcing her to sit out the barbecues Hermione hosted
in her backyard, much to her chagrin.

One rainy evening, Daphne and Theo took matters into their own hands, determined to
master the art of grilling. Armed with a YouTube tutorial, they attempted to recreate a set of
gourmet burgers. The weather forced them to move from the backyard to the patio, where
Draco transfigured the small coffee table into a larger one to accommodate everyone. They
enjoyed the juicy burgers as rain poured down around them, the cosy, intimate atmosphere
only enhanced by the rhythmic patter against the roof.

“Granger, you have an absurd number of kitchen appliances,” Blaise observed, levitating a
few chairs from her living room onto the patio. He set one down for Luna before taking a seat
beside her. “Do you actually use all of them?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“So, you cook too? Are you on the same level as our resident chefs?” He smirked, nodding
towards Theo and Daphne.

Hermione shrugged. “I’m alright.”

Draco scoffed, resting a hand on her knee. “No, she’s brilliant. She just likes to be modest.”
He shot her a playful wink. “Have you seen her spice shelf?”

Theo groaned. “Yeah, I tried to read the labels, but half of them might as well be incantations.
Where do you even buy that stuff?”

“A mix of travelling and international markets. We should go sometime,” she suggested to

Theo and Daphne. “You’d love it.”

As the temperature dropped, they moved into the living room, only for Ginny to suddenly
remember they could have just used a warming charm.

Harry, meanwhile, inspected Hermione’s cabinet of spirits. “You know what? I really didn’t
like ouzo.”

“Why not?” she asked, idly stroking Crookshanks, who was curled up in her lap, purring.
“It’s too sweet. Molly, on the other hand, drank it all,” he chuckled, moving to another chair.
Ginny promptly settled into his lap.

“These are all muggle books, right?” Blaise asked, scanning her shelves. He picked up a
small stone statue. “And who’s this? Ah. Apollo,” he read from the inscription at the base.
“Been to Greece, then?”

Hermione nodded.

“What else do you have in here?” Theo abandoned his perch on the kitchen island to
investigate the cabinet.

Having only visited her home a handful of times, and Blaise not at all, the two of them were
now treating it like a miniature muggle museum, asking endless questions. Hermione didn’t
mind, she found it amusing to watch wizards curiously examine such everyday items.

“You’ve been to Egypt too?” Blaise asked, pointing to a decorative plate.

“Yes, it’s a popular destination for muggles in Europe. Just a few hours away by aeroplane.”

“Did you see the pyramids?”

“Of course. I may have gotten a little emotional when I went inside,” she admitted with a
laugh. “We took a boat ride on the Nile and visited Luxor too.”

Draco asked, “Who did you go with?”

“Viktor.”

Draco rolled his eyes. He was almost cute when he was jealous.

Not that she’d ever say so out loud.

“Viktor who?”

“Krum,” Draco supplied, his tone unnecessarily irritated.

Blaise looked amused. “Oh, right. Forgot you two were a thing back in school.”

Hermione waved a dismissive hand. “Sort of. But this was recent, just a few years ago.”

Theo smirked. “Ah, so that explains all the Eastern European and Balkan drinks in here. Was
he trying to domesticate you?”

She rolled her eyes. “No. For your information, I visited long before he was in the picture.
The landscapes are stunning, the history is fascinating, and the food is incredible.”

Theo chuckled as he examined bottles of Georgian wine and commented on the half-empty
Krupnik and Becherovka. Meanwhile, Blaise browsed the books and trinkets she’d collected
over time.
“He’s going to have a lot of questions about your bottom shelf when he notices it,” Draco
murmured.

“He won’t,” she countered. “I cast a notice-me-not as soon as we came back in.”

“Quick thinking.”

Shifting gears, Hermione asked, “Have you finished the book yet?”

“Almost. I’m reading it thoroughly.”

“I’m getting impatient.”

He smirked. “Well, that’s not a great start, Hermione. If I understand correctly, patience is
going to be crucial.” His gaze lingered on her, making her stomach flip.

She was about to respond, but Blaise cut her off. “Oh, wow, Granger.”

He took a careful look at the book Draco had given her for Christmas. She’d even bought a
special plastic cover to protect it from moisture and damage, so it pleased her to see that he
was being cautious as he flicked through the pages.

“This is a first edition,” he said.

“You know Baudelaire?”

“Of course. Isn’t he one of the most famous French poets of all time?” Blaise replied, still
engrossed in the book.

“Hermione,” Theo smirked as he finished poking around in the cabinet. “I know your
experience with purebloods has mostly been limited to overly enthusiastic Muggle-lovers like
the Weasleys,” he gestured towards Ginny, who squinted in response, “and the polar
opposites like the Malfoys.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“But some of us are just here, in the middle, enjoying everything life has to offer,” Theo said,
returning to his place at the island.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“Meaning, no one banned us from reading muggle books or drinking muggle whiskey when
we were young,” Theo explained. “Our parents just hated Muggles, true, not their
achievements or what they created,” he shrugged. “Well, my father, at least.” He frowned
slightly, and Daphne rubbed his arm lightly as he squeezed her knee. They acted so close
sometimes.

“Yeah, my mother was never against any of this,” Blaise waved vaguely towards the shelf
before slowly returning the book to its proper place. “We’ve got a lot of old books and
artefacts in our manor. You should come round one day when she’s there for a tour, if you’d
like.”

Hermione’s eyes lit up at the invitation. “Oh, I’d love to, thank you,” she replied eagerly,
glancing towards Draco. “Still waiting for you to invite me to your vault.”

He smiled apologetically and nodded slowly. “The goblins are still working on it.”

“Working on what?” Blaise asked, sitting between him and Luna on the sofa.

“Removing the anti-muggle or muggleborn protection,” he said simply, and Blaise looked at
him, surprised.

Theo looked confused. “Protection… from what?”

“From entering my vault,” Draco explained, meeting Theo’s eyes seriously.

Theo frowned and glanced between Draco and Hermione.

She chimed in. “Draco gave me the book, and he mentioned he has more of those invaluable
first editions. I’d like to see them.” She glanced around at the group.

Daphne and Ginny had joined, both looking puzzled.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” Blaise started, but Draco shot him a warning look, and he stopped.
“Nothing.”

“What?” Hermione asked again.

“Drop it, Blaise.”

“Oh, that’s not fair,” she said, “What did you want to say?”

“Nothing.”

Theo cleared his throat. “Going into vaults is... personal.”

“Yes, I imagine so,” Hermione said, observing them all closely. “But you said there are
different rooms or sections, right? It’s not like everything’s piled together in one place. I
mean, I’m not going to be seeing all the gold, or precious metals, or jewellery, or whatever,”
she smiled, but they still looked confused. “Just the books and some artefacts. It’s like going
to a museum, yeah?”

“Yes,” Draco nodded. “Besides, you’re not planning on nicking anything from me, are you?”
he joked.

“No,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Great, you’ve said it in front of witnesses.”

Hermione was getting frustrated with the secrecy. “So why’s it such a big deal?” she pressed.
“You showed me your vault, and you went into mine,” she reminded Harry.

Luckily, he looked just as confused as she did, not like the others. “Yeah, I don’t get it either.”

Ginny tried to explain. “Well, that’s because you grew up with Muggles too. It’s... personal.”

“Yeah, I gathered that,” Hermione said, clearly getting tired of their vague explanations.

Daphne sighed. “Family members are usually the only ones allowed into vaults. It’s almost...
It’s not wrong, it’s just... unusual,” she shrugged. “And in your case, probably
unprecedented,” she added with a joke aimed at Draco.

Ah. Of course.

“Why? Because he’s letting a Muggleborn in?” Hermione asked, her voice slightly more
irritated than she intended.

Daphne nodded.

“Right.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. She didn’t know how to break it. Hermione wished
someone would just speak up.

“Do you have any more of your Spanish wine?” Luna asked kindly, observing the shift in
mood. “I think it’d be a nice way to end the night.”

Thank you.

Luna tilted her head and smiled.

“Yes, it’s inside the island. Help yourself.” They started talking more about the wine, and the
awkward silence was finally broken.

The conversation shifted towards grapes and vineyards, and Hermione took a deep breath,
attempting to push the uncomfortable moment from her mind. She listened to Luna’s
thoughts on the various types of wine they had tried, nodding along and occasionally adding
her own input. She even found herself laughing at some of Blaise’s jokes.

But despite her efforts to distract herself, her mind kept drifting back to the topic of the
vaults. She couldn’t shake the feeling of hurt, even though she knew it was irrational. It was a
stark reminder that, no matter how much she learned or how well she fitted in, she could
never truly be one of them.

Before Harry and Ginny got ready to leave, she offered to help clean up, but Draco insisted
he would stay with Hermione.

Ginny smirked. “Oh, yes, I forgot how good you are at cleaning. If you're still keen, we have
the other two floors to tackle.”
“No, thanks, that’s enough charity work for me,” Draco said. “Speaking of which, how’s the
last room coming along?”

Harry nodded. “Good so far. We’re still replacing barrels regularly. The amount of the... thing
is reducing steadily. We can see all the walls and floors in the corners and around the window
now, but it’ll still take a lot of time.”

“Is there anything else we can do?”

“No, you’ve done more than enough. Cheers, mate,” Harry replied, clapping him on the
shoulder.

He awkwardly responded, “You’re... welcome.”

A brief moment of awkwardness hung between the two men, making Hermione almost laugh,
but Harry broke the silence. “Well, I’m not doing that again.”

“Please, don’t,” Draco replied.

“Alright, we’re off,” Ginny grinned. “Good night.”

After they left, Draco levitated the dishes to the dishwasher, stacking them with care, far
more orderly than the few times he’d done it haphazardly. Hermione transfigured the
furniture back to its usual form and returned to the kitchen to wash a few plastic dishes that
couldn’t go in the machine.

It was one of the few chores she actually enjoyed, finding it almost meditative in its
simplicity. It was relaxing to clean the things by hand, to lean her forehead against the cabinet
above her and just think.

She was finishing the last plastic bowl when Draco entered the kitchen, leaning casually
against the island, watching her.

“I cleaned the grill,” he said, breaking the silence.

“Oh, great, thank you.”

Hermione wiped her hands on the kitchen towel and turned to face him, feeling a faint blush
creep up her cheeks. She always felt a little self-conscious when he watched her so intently.

“Should I take the rubbish out to the curb?”

“No, they’re not picking it up tomorrow.”

She wondered whether she should bring it up now or not. Perhaps it was stupid to obsess over
it. As if reading her thoughts, Draco asked, “Is everything okay?”

She hesitated for a moment before replying, “I’m fine, just a bit tired.”
He raised an eyebrow but didn’t press the issue. “Alright then. Let’s sit and relax for a bit,”
he suggested, leading her to the couch in the living room.

They sat down together, and Draco wrapped an arm around her. Hermione snuggled up to
him, enjoying the warmth of his embrace and the faint scent of charcoal that clung to his
clothes. After a few moments of comfortable silence, she spoke up, deciding to voice the
thoughts that had been nagging at her.

“It’s always going to be like this, isn’t it? With us,” she said quietly. “Always some obstacle
we need to overcome or a problem to fix before we can just… be together.”

"I'm sorry," he murmured, rubbing her shoulder gently.

Hermione sighed and drew closer to him. "Why can't things just be easy for once?" she
groaned.

“I know. What can I do to make it better?”

Hermione looked up at him. “Can you… erase centuries of blood supremacy so we can be
free from these constraints now?” she quipped.

Draco chuckled. “No, I don’t think I can,” he replied, kissing the top of her head.

“Ugh, you can’t do anything for me,” she rolled her eyes jokingly, but her expression turned
serious as she locked eyes with him. “I hate this,” she admitted.

“Me too,” he murmured softly.

"I hate that I feel insecure and... self-conscious.”

“I hope you understand there’s no reason for it. I don’t think they call you the Brig…”

"Please, don't say it," Hermione interrupted, her hand raised to stop him. "Please, don't
fucking say it. I’m so sick of it.”

Draco couldn’t help but chuckle at her exasperation. “Sorry,” he said, kissing her hand. “But
you are. You’re brilliant. Powerful. Honourable. Brave. Sometimes foolishly so, if you ask
me, but…”

She hit him playfully on the chest, but he could probably see the blush creeping up her
cheeks.

“I’m sorry you feel this way,” he said earnestly. “No one deserves that. To feel like they don’t
belong.” He was frowning, a faint blush on his face. “And… I’m sorry that I…”

“You don’t need to apologise,” she interrupted. “Not anymore.” At this point, it’s only my
problem that I can’t let it go, not his.

He seemed reluctant to accept this. “I don’t think you’re fair towards yourself,” he said
firmly.
“Yeah, well…” she made herself more comfortable on his shoulder. “I can’t live like this
forever. Getting offended by inoffensive conversations. I just hope I’m not too old or
damaged to change.”

He shifted uncomfortably, turning to look at her properly. “Listen, Hermione, I’m not your
healer, but even I know you shouldn’t say that.”

“I know.”

“And it’s not true. It’s simply… not. You’re strong enough to improve, to work on it. You’ve
made so many changes in the world, what makes you think you can’t change yourself?” He
was right, of course. “You… you changed me.”

“In what way?” she asked, looking at him curiously.

He frowned. “I don’t mean now, since we’re together. I mean... that day in the manor…”

She blinked and turned away from him. Breathe.

“Should I not speak about this?”

“No, it’s…” Not fine. “Well, it’s not really fine, but let’s work on that,” Hermione said, taking
his hand. “Please.”

Draco paused for a moment, as though trying to collect his thoughts before continuing. “That
room was one of my favourites,” he said. “It had these enormous windows that let in so much
sunlight. It was perfect for reading. Quiet and cosy, despite its size. Warm enough when I sat
by the fireplace. Cool enough in the summer on those rare hot days. I spent hours there, just
reading and... being.”

Hermione noticed the warmth in his voice as he spoke about the room she had always seen as
her torture chamber. It was incredible how different perspectives could be. She looked down
at their intertwined hands, finding comfort in his touch.

“I had a nasty paper cut once when I was young,” he continued, turning his hand to show her
a barely noticeable thin white line on his index finger. “I don’t think I’ve ever bled so much
from a paper cut, it was strange. A house-elf healed me quickly, but… the stains remained on
the floor for a while.”

Hermione looked up at him, silently urging him to continue.

“I knew exactly where they were when you... when you were brought there,” Draco said, his
gaze now focused intently on hers. Breathe. “And then... you were bleeding on the same floor
I bled on, and I... I couldn’t see any difference between our blood. We were bleeding just the
same.”

There was pain and shame in his voice as he spoke. Hermione could feel the weight of his
emotions, and she squeezed his hand in reassurance, trying to console herself as much as him.
“It was so unbelievable. So stupid to accept it as truth in the first place,” he said, shaking his
head.

“Most of those kinds of ideas are,” Hermione replied softly. “Why did you lie? About
Harry?” She realised she had never really asked him this before.

“I… I didn’t want to be responsible for his death. I didn’t think about anything or anyone
else.” His eyes darted around the room, avoiding hers. “I just didn’t want his death to be on
me.” But Draco’s gaze locked on hers now, intense and searching. “Hermione, I... you said
something before, when we spoke. That I bought you time or something.”

She nodded, feeling a lump form in her throat. Breathe.

“I don’t think I did,” he said. “I was a coward, and I just didn’t want my name connected to
his death, if anyone would even bother mentioning me in the history books. I was selfish,
only caring about myself and my mother, but no one else.”

Hermione could see the pain etched across his face, and it almost broke her heart. She wanted
to comfort him, to tell him he wasn’t the same person anymore, but the words caught in her
throat.

“Okay, I understand,” she managed to say, her voice strained. She knew it sounded weak, but
she didn’t want to see him fall apart.

Draco let out a frustrated huff, standing up and pacing around the room. “Of course you
fucking do,” he muttered. “You understand everything.”

She swallowed hard. “I don’t. I told you what I understand and what I still haven’t forgotten.”
She tried to remain calm, though her heart was racing. “Do we really need to argue about
this? It seems like we won’t find common ground. You’re determined to blame yourself, and
I’m not going to do that.”

“I’m... it’s just...” Draco ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, his voice trailing off.
The words seemed to stick in his throat, unwilling to find their way out. “I don’t believe you
when you tell me you don’t blame me.”

She sighed, feeling the weight of his pain and irritation in his words. “Draco, come here. Sit.”
She pulled his hand gently, guiding him to sit back near her. “I spent so many years worrying
about everything and everyone else but me. I’m working on it now, as you know.”

She cupped his face, and he blinked slowly, looking at her.

“It would be excruciating for me to see you, talk to you, touch you every day, all the time, if I
blamed you for the worst event of my life. I need you to trust me when I tell you that.”
Hermione made sure to hold his gaze, hoping he could see the sincerity in her words. “If
we’d met before, you’d be right to question it, but not now. The new Hermione is learning to
put herself first,” she smiled softly, trying to lighten the mood. “Or at least, she’s trying to.
And that means being with people who make her feel good. And you... you are good for me. I
love... being with you.” She almost added more, but she stopped herself. It wasn’t the right
time, but she wanted to.

Draco stared at her for a few long moments, then kissed her deeply, his lips expressing
everything his words couldn’t. “I love being with you too,” he murmured, pulling back.

Hermione searched his face. “Do you believe me?”

He blinked and looked down. “I believe you. It’s just hard to comprehend that you’re capable
of feeling that way. I’m not sure I would be able to.”

“That’s alright. We’re not the same people,” she said, her voice gentle. “I’m not sure it’s
healthy for you to dwell so much on hypothetical situations from the past.”

“So you’re saying I overthink?” He huffed, his tone teasing but edged with frustration.

She chuckled. “Yes, exactly.” Then she frowned, the thought creeping in. The last time she
needed him, she hadn’t asked, and he wasn’t there. “Do you... do you think you could stay
over? I think... I might need some help tonight.”

He nodded, his expression softening. “I just need to check on Scorp first.”

“Yes, of course. Come back after he falls asleep. No need to hurry,” she said, feeling grateful
for his presence. “I’ll just be here, reading my incredibly unoriginal book while I wait for
you.”

“Are they expecting yet?”

“No, they’re about to break up. I imagine that’s what will happen next. You know... nothing
fixes a toxic relationship quite like an unplanned pregnancy,” she said, feeling the tension
melt away as she spoke.

Later, Hermione enjoyed the warm shower after Draco had left. When she returned to bed,
she pulled out her laptop and a long-neglected assignment, waiting for him, and when he
arrived, a twinge of embarrassment tightened her chest. She had to explain to him what he
should do if she had a nightmare. The thought of what she might say in her sleep and what he
could hear festered in her mind.

But later, the steady, soft rhythm of his breathing against her back soon lulled her into a
peaceful sleep, and the warmth of his arm around her waist made her feel safe, grounded, as
though nothing could touch her.

Hermione woke up to the sight of Draco’s clothes neatly folded on an armchair by the
window, and his hand resting gently on her chest, fingers tracing over her sternum. The touch
sent a rush of goosebumps across her skin.

“Did you sleep well?” she asked, her voice still thick with sleep.
Draco pressed himself closer, kissing the back of her head. “Yes, and you?” he murmured, his
breath warm against her skin.

“I think so. Did I wake you?”

“You did. You hit me pretty good in the chest when you flailed your arms around like a
pterodactyl.”

Hermione laughed. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”

“No need,” he said, his hand sliding over her breast, fingers teasing her hardening nipple. “I
don’t mind when you get a bit violent,” he added in his deep, groggy morning voice, which
always made her heart race.

She chuckled, shifting slightly to stretch, arching her back in a way that brought her closer to
him. His chest was warm and solid against her, and she could feel his leg drape over hers,
drawing her closer. With a soft sigh, Hermione decided, as she had so many times before, to
let go and let him do whatever he wanted.

He kissed her arm tenderly, slowly guiding her onto her back. Draco shifted between her legs,
his body making her gasp as he adjusted, settling more comfortably against her.

Hermione stretched her arms above her head. “Oh, how I love waking up like this,” she
murmured, feeling his lips trail over her stomach as his hands gently gripped her waist.

“Can I? Wake you up like this?” he whispered against her skin.

She smiled, excitement creeping into her voice. “You can try. But I’m a light sleeper... I’ll
probably hear you,” she teased, and he hummed in response, tracing circles around her navel
with the tip of his tongue.

“Can I?”

“Can you what?” he teased back. Draco smirked, eyes glinting with amusement. “Come on,
Hermione,” he drawled, “You’re so good with your words. You know how much I love
hearing you.” His mouth returned to her skin, trailing more soft kisses.

She lifted herself on her elbows, watching him. Draco looked magnificent, his arms and
shoulders flexing as he moved, the sight of him between her legs always stirring something
deeper inside her.

Good with my words, huh?

“Would you like me to wake you up with my mouth around your cock?” she asked, her voice
lowering to a sultry whisper.

He lifted his head, and smirked but he blushed. “Sure,” he said, inhaling deeply. “How nice
of you to ask.”
Hermione ran her fingers through his hair, feeling the warmth of his body against hers as he
kissed a slow path down her stomach.

“Like what?” she whispered, her voice trembling with anticipation, eyes focused on the
movements of his lips just above the waistband of her shorts.

Draco’s hands trailed from her waist to her hips, his touch leaving a warm trail of sensation.
“Fresh and relaxed,” he murmured, slowly pulling off her shorts and underwear.

Hermione helped him, lifting her hips as he undressed her, her pulse quickening.

“Like your sheets,” he added, his voice low and soft as he kissed the inside of her leg,
moving ever closer to where she needed him. “Very flowery, I’ve noticed.”

“It’s the fabric softener,” she whispered, his arms encircling her thighs.

“Yes, so soft,” he murmured against her skin, his mouth inching closer, teasing her
desperately.

Hermione ran her fingers through Draco’s hair, urging him on, but he continued to kiss and
scrape her inner thighs with his teeth. The anticipation of his touch was almost unbearable,
and Hermione let out a soft moan, her voice shaky. “Draco, please.”

He looked up at her with a smirk, his grey eyes glinting in the soft morning light. “Please
what?”

“You know exactly what,” she said, biting her lip to stifle a groan.

He chuckled darkly and leaned back down, finally giving her what she wanted. His lips met
her clit, and Hermione moaned again, her back arching slightly as she pressed herself closer
to him.

“See, I knew you'd figure it out,” she joked breathlessly, trying to keep her composure despite
the overwhelming pleasure already building inside her.

She focused on the slow, deliberate movements of his tongue and the warm, steady rhythm of
his breath against her skin. He continued to work his magic, licking and sucking gently,
sending pulses of pleasure radiating through her body.

“You smell so good,” Draco mumbled, his warm breath sending tingles down her body as he
nipped the inside of her thighs.

Hermione gasped, tugging his soft hair in response.

He smirked and murmured, “And taste even better,” before burying his face between her
thighs once more.

His tongue worked expertly, driving her wild with desire. He licked and sucked faster, more
urgently now, and Hermione felt herself losing control, her breath coming in sharp, desperate
gasps.
“Oh God,” she moaned, her hips instinctively bucking against his mouth.

He hummed in response, sending light vibrations straight to her core, and slipped a finger
inside her. She didn’t have to ask for more; he knew exactly what she needed.

Draco added another finger, pumping slowly, and Hermione let out a low, guttural groan. She
squeezed her legs around him, pulling him in closer, her body aching for more.

“Oh, God,” she whispered again, feeling him fill her completely.

“You keep calling him, but I don’t think he should be here now, Hermione,” he teased, his
voice thick with desire. “Do you think you can take another one?”

She smirked and replied breathlessly, “You can try, but I don’t think so.”

Draco slid another finger inside her, but it didn’t feel right. The pressure was too much, not in
the way she wanted.

“It’s not… it doesn’t feel good.”

He immediately removed his fingers, mumbling an apology before returning to two, allowing
her to relax again. Slowly, they built back to the point where her knees weakened, and
Hermione couldn’t resist anymore. She wanted more.

“Faster, please,” she whispered urgently, and Draco responded immediately, quickening his
pace.

The wet sounds of his fingers moving inside her echoed in the quiet room, sending shivers
down her spine.

Then, just as she thought she couldn’t take any more, he bit down gently on her clit. Her hips
jolted, and she gasped loudly, her breath catching in her throat. He wrapped his free arm
around her legs, holding her in place as he lifted his body to apply more pressure. Hermione
gripped his hair tighter, feeling the pressure build as the pleasure intensified.

“Don’t stop,” she moaned, her voice trembling with need.

Draco shook his head and kept up his relentless pace, pumping into her faster, harder.
Hermione’s breathing became ragged as she neared the edge, her body trembling with
anticipation. The sensation in her stomach was blooming, building faster and stronger than
she expected.

She flushed, knowing what was coming, but part of her wanted to stop him. “Draco, please…
slow down… I think I’m going to…” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper,
overwhelmed by the intensity.

But Draco shook his head, his own breathing becoming deeper, faster. He kept going with
punishing force, and Hermione knew she was close.
She tightened her grip on his hair and moved her hips against his face, and he pressed his arm
more firmly against her lower belly to keep her still. When she finally came, the orgasm was
so intense that her eyes stung with tears.

She could hear Draco groaning against her, despite the obscene, wet sounds of her release.
The blissful sensation seemed to last forever, and Draco didn’t stop, continuing to lick and
finger her as the waves of pleasure washed over her. It felt like her brain was shutting down,
and all her thoughts from the past weeks faded into nothing.

He didn’t stop until she pushed him off with a shove to his shoulder.

Hermione lay there, heart pounding, her body humming with the afterglow. She couldn’t
believe what had just happened, but there was no denying the satisfaction that lingered
between her thighs and on the sheets.

Draco was still breathing heavily in front of her, his eyes dark and intent on her, his chest
rising and falling with each breath. She couldn't help but feel awe at the sight of him, his
sculpted body glistening with sweat and his fair skin flushed from desire.

There was a slight sense of embarrassment creeping in at the mess she had made, both on him
and the bed, but Draco didn’t seem to care. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, then
began stroking himself with the same hand that had been inside her moments ago.

“Get off the bed,” he commanded, pointing on the floor, his voice rough with desire, “on your
knees.” His gaze was fierce, and Hermione obeyed without hesitation.

She knelt before him, her eyes drawn to his hard length, but before she could reach for him,
Draco grabbed her by the hair, pulling her close and holding her firmly in place.

“Open your mouth,” he growled, his voice thick. “Let me see your tongue.”

I don't like this.

She’d never allowed anyone to do this before. But something about the way Draco was
looking at her, how he was holding her so possessively, made her feel connected to him in a
way she couldn’t explain. And after all, she did come on his face rather messily just moments
ago, so there was something equalizing in this moment.

With a deep breath, she opened her mouth. Draco’s eyes widened at the sight of her, and the
raw intensity of his desire seemed to deepen.

“More,” he demanded, and she complied, pushing her tongue out further.

She wanted to take in every detail of him before she closed her eyes. His tall, muscular
frame, the flush of his skin, the sheen of sweat or her release, across his chest and neck. His
veins stood out on his arms, his movements becoming more erratic as he continued to stroke
himself, his breathing quickening.

She watched him with growing anticipation, a wave of excitement bubbling inside her. This
was something new, something they had never shared in this way before. It felt private,
almost forbidden, but she couldn’t deny the pull of it, the desire to witness every moment of
him.

“Come, Draco,” she whispered, her voice thick with longing. “Let me taste you too.”

He groaned in response, muttering something incoherent, his hand moving faster.

“I’ll swallow everything you can give me. Please,” she added, her breath shaky with need.

Just as he was about to come, Draco tightened his grip on her hair, pulling her closer. With a
final shuddering breath, he groaned loudly, his release spilling onto her tongue and face.
Hermione closed her eyes, savouring the taste of him, the warmth of his release mingling
with the wild, intimate moment they were sharing.

He let go of her hair a few moments later, brushing his fingers gently around her mouth and
along her face, a tender contrast to the intensity of what had just occurred.

“You can open your eyes,” he said softly, his voice still thick with desire. He collapsed onto
the bed, lying back against the sheets, his body still trembling.

Hermione stayed kneeling, sitting back against the bed. She leaned against him, resting her
head on his leg, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her cheek. They were both breathing
heavily, their bodies still trembling from the intensity of what they had just shared, the
moment still lingering in the air between them.

“Well, that was definitely… something,” Hermione spoke first with humour and lingering
self-consciousness.

Draco grinned lazily, and she could hear the amusement in his tone. “Yeah, it was.”

“I’m sorry for the… mess I made,” she said, feeling her face heat up. “Well, not that sorry. It
was great for me, I just didn’t know if you…”

Draco sat up, his fingers threading through her hair as he gazed at her. “Hermione, if I could
start my day like this every morning, I’d probably never complain about a single thing for the
rest of my life,” he said, clearly enjoying himself. “Have you ever come like this before?” he
asked casually, his tone teasing, and Hermione felt her face flush with embarrassment. He
was never the one to be this direct.

“Yes,” she muttered, still a little flustered.

“What's wrong?” Draco tilted his head, studying her face with curiosity.

“Nothing.”

Draco leaned closer, his eyes searching her face with soft intensity. “Are you…
embarrassed?”

She couldn’t help but blush even more. “No. Maybe,” she admitted, her voice small.
He chuckled. “Finally, something that makes you embarrassed about sex,” he said.

Hermione turned to look at him, her surprise obvious. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Draco shrugged, his smirk widening. “No, I mean… it’s just that you’re usually so open
about everything. You know exactly what you want, and you’re not afraid to ask for it. You
listen to me, and you’re unapologetic about it. I like that. I like it a lot,” he added, his hand
softly playing with her hair.

“Thanks, I guess,” she muttered, feeling oddly shy despite his praise.

“So, tell me. What’s different about this?”

Hermione hesitated, shrugging as she looked away. “I don’t know. It just… feels different. I
guess maybe I’m not as open-minded as you think. It just seems so… I don’t know.
Inappropriate? Dirty?”

Draco huffed, a small laugh escaping him. “First of all, it’s not, and second… What’s wrong
with that?” His smirk returned.

“Nothing,” she said quickly, but then stopped herself. Well, if I don’t verbalise it, it’s just
going to eat me up from the inside. She sighed, her voice lowering. “I’m afraid of what you
might think of me,” she admitted, her vulnerability clear.

“Think of you?” Draco’s expression softened as he released her hair, his gaze becoming more
serious. “What could I possibly think? And why?”

She shrugged, unable to find the words to explain why she felt this way.

There was a long pause, and Draco’s gaze became thoughtful, his jaw tightening as he spoke.
“Were you worried about that… when it happened before?”

“No,” Hermione replied quickly, shaking her head.

“I see,” he muttered, but there was a slight edge to his voice. “So, why is it different with me
now?”

“Because… Because you’re a man,” she said, feeling stupid the moment the words left her
mouth.

Draco frowned, confusion flashing across his features.

“Ugh, fucking patriarchy,” she muttered under her breath. “Not allowing me to enjoy myself
the way I want to.” She sighed and pointed to her discarded underwear and shorts. “Give me
those.”

He did without hesitation.

Hermione quickly dressed, her movements sharp as she tried to brush off the conversation.
“Let’s just forget about it, alright? It’s stupid,” she added with a wave of her hand, trying to
dismiss the tension. “Come on, let’s take a shower.”

Hermione grabbed her wand, cleaning up the wet patch on her bed in a quick flick before
practically fleeing downstairs. She cursed herself for speaking, for ruining what could have
been an amazing morning. Brushing her teeth hastily, she stepped into the shower, hoping the
warm water would help clear her head.

A few minutes later, she heard him brushing his teeth. Then he joined her.

Draco shot her a quick smile as he stepped inside, casually reaching for her products, using
them as if they were his own. The idea of him walking around all day smelling like her made
her feel warm inside, but she forced herself to focus on their previous conversation rather
than on the Renaissance marble statue standing in front of her.

“Listen, Draco, I’m sorry,” she said, watching as he turned to face her. “It was incredible, and
I fucked it up by talking. I didn’t mean to.”

“That’s okay, you didn’t fuck up anything,” he replied easily, taking her face in his hands. “I
know you can’t help but babble because your big brain is always working overtime.” He
pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. “I’ve just gotten used to it.”

A wave of relief washed over her. “Thank you.”

Draco smiled warmly. “You’re welcome.”

She squinted at him. “Why do you look so pleased with yourself?”

“Did you… hit your head on the way here?” he teased, chuckling. “Have you forgotten what
we just did upstairs?”

“That’s all?”

“That’s… all,” he said, but there was something else lurking behind his expression. He
hesitated, then added, “I just need some clarification.”

Hermione arched a brow. “Okay?”

Draco stepped closer, his hands sliding to the nape of her neck. “You said that the fact that
I’m a man makes it different,” he mused, his tone light but curious. “Does that mean no man
has ever made you come like that before?”

The impossibly smug look on his face made her groan.

“Oh my God, of course that’s what you’re going to fixate on.” She rolled her eyes and turned
to step away, but he was faster, pressing her back against the cool tiles of the shower.

“No, no, no, Granger,” he drawled, his voice low and amused. “Come on. Tell me.”

She shot him an unimpressed look. “Are you going to be insufferable about this?”
“Absolutely.” Hermione sighed dramatically, but he only smirked. “What? Do you not know
me at all?” His deep voice rumbled against her skin as he leaned in, pressing himself flush
against her. “Tell me,” he murmured.

A slow shiver ran down her spine. It was embarrassing , but she wasn’t going to let him see
how much. “No man has ever made me come like you did, Draco.”

His chest rose a little faster, and she could feel the satisfaction radiating off him.

“I’d love it if all our mornings started like this too,” she added.

“There you go,” he murmured, tucking a damp curl behind her ear. “Was that so hard?”

“No.” Hermione slid her hands around his waist, pulling him closer, pressing against him. “I
can think of harder things.”

Draco let out a quiet laugh before catching her lips in a slow, lingering kiss.

She loved this. Loved standing in the shower together, steam curling around them, the scent
of fresh oranges from the shower gel filling the air. Loved the way water cascaded down his
body, droplets glinting in the light, tracing the sharp lines of his lean but muscular frame. As
she ran her fingers over his back and arms, she loved the warmth of his wet skin beneath her
touch, letting herself melt into the moment.

“We spend so much time here I can’t shower anymore without thinking about you,” she
murmured between kisses.

Draco smiled, nipping at her lower lip before moving to her neck, his teeth grazing her skin
as he pulled her closer.

“What do you think about?”

His fingers trailed down her body, circling her nipple in slow, deliberate strokes. She arched
into his touch, pressing herself closer.

“How empty it is when you’re not here,” she whispered, shivering as his tongue traced the
sensitive skin beneath her ear. “And how my showers last surprisingly long when you are,”
she added with a quiet laugh.

Draco chuckled against her skin, his lips moving down to her collarbone, his fingers still
teasing. “I know the feeling,” he murmured. “I can’t brush my teeth or wash my hair without
thinking about you. Makes my mornings even… harder than they already are.”

Hermione smirked. “I’m sorry about that.” She slid her hand between them, but before she
could reach him, he caught her wrists, pinning them gently against the cool tiles.

For a second, everything slowed.

She was aware of his grip, of the firm press of his fingers, of the way her back met the hard
surface behind her.
He didn’t let go right away, and her mind started to race.

“Draco…”

He released her instantly, his hands moving to cradle her face. “I’m sorry,” he said, urgent,
pressing his lips to hers. “I forgot.”

She shook her head quickly, kissing him harder, faster, pulling him back in. She wanted him,
needed him.

But he was too tall, and when she rocked her hips against him, she couldn’t get the friction
she craved.

“Lift me up,” she said.

Draco obeyed, gripping her thighs as she wrapped her legs around him. She moaned into his
mouth as he started moving, grinding against her in slow, fluid motions. This was perfect .
Hermione clung to him, using the strength in her core to roll her hips against his, matching
his rhythm.

Draco broke the kiss, looking down between them, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Fuck,” he mumbled. “You feel… incredible. I…” His breath hitched, his hips stuttering
slightly. “I think I could come just from this.”

A sharp, needy whimper left her lips when he gripped her hips tighter. “Is that what you
want?”

“No,” he drawled, still watching where their bodies met. “I want to fuck you slowly and
come inside you.”

“Yes, please.”

She loved everything about this.

Loved the little sound he made when he slid inside her.

Loved the way he took a second to steady himself before setting a slow, steady rhythm.

Draco’s deliberate movements were hitting all the right spots, filling her completely, making
her toes curl with pleasure. He didn’t even need to touch her for this angle to wreck her, but
when his hand slipped between them, she gasped, her body tightening in response.

She looked up at him, his mouth slightly open, his silver eyes dark with desire, fixed on hers
with unwavering intensity. She loved them, those beautiful eyes, glowing with something
hard and determined.

She could feel the pleasure building inside him, the tension coiling tight in his muscles, and
she wanted to give him what he needed but rarely asked for. Moving her hands from his
shoulders to his neck, she tightened her grip, feeling the rapid thrum of his pulse beneath her
fingertips.

She loved that he trusted her. Trusted her to take control, just for a moment, just like this.
And she loved it when he did the same.

“Draco, please,” she whispered, taking his hand and dragging it to her throat. “Hold me
tightly, please.”

A sharp breath left him, but he complied, wrapping his warm, strong hand around her throat
as his other hand worked its magic between her legs. She had imagined those hands long
before they even got together…

And now they belonged to her.

Hermione clenched around him, her legs tightening as she felt herself hurtling toward the
edge. She didn’t want him to change anything .

“Look at me,” he hissed, dragging her back from the trance she was slipping into.

His gaze burned into hers, unrelenting. She tried not to look away, tried to hold onto the
moment, but her focus faltered until his grip on her throat tightened, sending a hot, electric
rush through her body. It was too much , just enough, perfect .

The pleasure exploded inside her, rippling through every nerve, from her head to her toes.
She moaned, breathless, as the waves overtook her, pulsing, dragging her under.

She was clenching around him, again and again, and whatever restraint Draco had left
snapped. He grabbed her hips, holding her in place, and pounded into her, his movements
losing the slow, careful rhythm from before. The wet sounds between them only seemed to
drive him further.

There was no room for shame anymore.

Hermione moved one hand from his neck to his hair, tugging hard, and his moan came out
raw, desperate.

“Yes… fuck, yes…” he rasped through gritted teeth. “More… please…”

His voice was barely audible, but she heard him. I guess I love hearing him begging me too.

She pulled his hair harder, gripping his throat tighter, and he was fucking her so intensely
now that she knew she’d be sore for days, but she didn’t care. She wanted the pain, the marks
he left behind.

She leaned forward, biting down on his earlobe, sucking the skin just enough to make him
shudder. His moans grew louder, rougher, and she felt the way his body trembled in her
grasp. She squeezed his throat one last time… and he broke .
Draco was panting, cursing, his body shuddering as he came, his hands shaking slightly as he
held her.

Hermione clung to him, feeling the erratic hammering of his heart against her chest, syncing
with hers. It was grounding, anchoring her to him, to this… to something that felt deeper than
just the physical.

She looked into his glossy, darkened eyes, his flushed cheeks, his parted lips as he struggled
to catch his breath. They were caught in something neither of them could control.

Then Draco leaned in, kissing her slowly, soft but insistent, determined yet tender.

She loved the way his lips felt on hers.

Loved the way his body pressed into hers.

Loved the contradictions in him. The way he could be both rough and gentle, dominant and
yielding.

And she loved… she loved…

And in that moment, she knew .

It had been there, growing quietly inside her for so long, but she had been afraid to say it.
Especially now, not when the words could be mistaken for nothing more than post-orgasmic
bliss. No, she wanted to say them when there was no other reason for it. When it was just
love.

She gazed at him, warmth spreading through her as he gave her a small, breathless smile.

“You okay?” he murmured, still catching his breath, brushing a damp strand of hair from her
face before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

Hermione exhaled slowly, letting herself melt into his touch. “Yes,” she said simply.
“Perfect.”

With Al’s birthday approaching, Hermione decided to spend the day gift shopping at the local
mall and brought along Draco and Scorpius for company. It was a warm summer day, perfect
for cruising with the windows down, and she enjoyed the rare opportunity to enjoy a casual
outing.

Scorpius was delighted. Draco, on the other hand, remained stubbornly indifferent, refusing
to admit how much he actually enjoyed being out and about in a car.

The weekend crowd filled the shopping centre, families weaving through the aisles, children
darting between stores, most likely picking up last-minute supplies before the new school
year. Scorpius was immediately drawn to a stationery shop, marvelling at colourful
notebooks and neatly displayed pens.
Hermione trailed behind him, flipping through a selection of agendas. “This time next year,
you’ll be in the Alley, buying him everything on his Hogwarts list,” she mused.

Draco’s lips pressing into a thin line. “Don’t remind me.”

“Are you excited about it?”

“Excited, yes. Also a little terrified.”

She smiled knowingly. “That’s normal. Harry and Ginny were in bits last year.”

He hummed in response, clearly deep in thought.

Once they’d found everything they needed, they grabbed coffee and ice cream to go before
Hermione drove them back to her place. She expertly manoeuvred the car into a tight parking
space, reversing with ease. Scorp was impressed with her parking skills.

After feeding Crookshanks, she flooed with them to Draco’s flat for dinner. Dissy was
overjoyed at the prospect of another guest, practically bouncing as she set the table.

They didn’t often stay in his flat for long. The neighbourhood had a lively energy, full of
wizarding restaurants and bars, and Hermione rarely spent much time in this part of the city.
It was nice to explore it with Draco, who seemed far more relaxed and in his element here
than he ever did in muggle London.

His knowledge of the area was impressive, and she found herself utterly drawn in by the way
he spoke about it. It was such a stark contrast to their outings in the muggle world, where
Hermione instinctively took the lead.

One particular restaurant caught her eye, its garden overlooked a nearby park where Scorpius
often played. Teddy and James, too, spent a lot of time there with their friends. Al, however,
wasn’t keen on so many unfamiliar kids. Hermione was a little worried about how he’d
adjust to school next year.

They had dined at this restaurant a few times over the summer, and it quickly became one of
her favourites. Once or twice, Narcissa had joined them. Hermione enjoyed the laid-back
atmosphere and the cosy, informal seating, though she had noticed Narcissa would likely
have preferred something a little more… elegant.

To her credit, she never complained, at least, not in front of Hermione.

She still wasn’t sure how to feel about his mother. There was something about the woman, an
effortless, aristocratic grace, that… unsettled her. It wasn’t outright hostility, nor was it
disdain, but Hermione couldn’t shake the lingering unease.

She wasn’t used to feeling this self-conscious, yet in Narcissa’s presence, she became acutely
aware of herself. Of her clothes, her hair, the way she sat, how she held her utensils, even the
way she lifted her teacup. It was such a stark contrast to Andromeda’s easy-going warmth.
Narcissa was traditional, conservative, and poised, always exuding an air of quiet authority.
For years, Hermione had assumed Draco took after his father, but the more time she spent
with him, the more she recognised just how much of Narcissa was in him. That sharp,
penetrating gaze, so calculating, so impossible to read sometimes, was hers just as much as it
was his.

She imagined Narcissa’s features had been sharper, more angular in her youth, much like
Draco’s. Their mannerisms were strikingly similar, too. The same precise way they stirred
their tea, the same barely audible hum when they disagreed but chose not to argue.

Perhaps it was a product of their upbringing, the quiet elegance ingrained in them from birth.
Yet, Hermione had noticed that Draco didn’t insist on Scorpius learning those so-called high
society customs. No one should care if one has their elbows on the table while eating. It was
just silly to focus on something so unimportant.

Dinner was delicious.

Dissy’s creamy mushroom pasta stole the show. Scorpius devoured his portion quickly,
barely pausing before dashing off to the park, leaving Hermione and Draco alone to enjoy the
meal and a crisp bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.

The wine was bright and herbaceous, its acidity cutting through the richness of the sauce,
perfectly balanced.

“Would you like to go with me to Spain next month?” Hermione asked suddenly.

Draco looked up from his plate, eyebrows lifting. “You think so?”

Hermione nodded, her words tumbling out in a rush. “I think it would be nice. It’s still warm
in September, but not unbearable. And it won’t be too crowded since the kids will be back in
school. I didn’t go anywhere this summer, and… well, I just think it might be nice. What do
you think?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m worried about. The weather and the crowds,” he deadpanned.
“Why are you asking me now, all of a sudden?”

“It’s not sudden. My mum’s been asking me for weeks to visit before summer ends.”

“Why didn’t you say anything before?”

Hermione sighed, taking a sip of her wine. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I wanted to put
it off for as long as possible until I had no choice but to do it, and in the meantime, suffer in
silence while my anxiety slowly ate me alive.”

Draco smirked, reaching across the table to take her hand. “That does sound like something
you’d do.” He squinted, as if second-guessing himself. “I mean, I’d love to… actually, no,
love is a strong word. I won’t enjoy every moment of it, I’m sure. But we have to do it
eventually.”

Hermione exhaled in relief. “Yes. We could go for a weekend. Will Scorp be all right without
you for a few days?”
Draco waved a hand dismissively. “Of course. My mother will either stay here, or he’ll go to
hers. I could even ask Daphne.”

After dinner, they curled up on the sofa to watch telly. It was different, being in his home and
feeling so comfortable. Hermione sprawled across the cushions, resting her head on a pillow
over Draco’s lap, and he absently ran his fingers through her hair.

“I have to say, I don’t get the appeal,” he remarked, his tone laced with scepticism.

Hermione turned her head slightly. “What?”

“This. Football. I find it slow and confusing.”

“It’s not slow,” Hermione protested. “It’s strategic. I mean, you’re right, this match is a bit
defensive, but it’s not always like this.”

Draco remained unconvinced. “If you say so.”

Still, he kept watching, occasionally asking questions, his quick mind latching onto the rules
with ease, though some concepts clearly baffled him.

“And they don’t stop the time while they check if it was a foul?”

“They’re checking if it was offside,” Hermione corrected. “And no, they don’t stop the clock.
They just add extra time at the end of the half.”

“What’s an offside?”

“Oh, it’s complicated.”

He huffed. “Try me.”

Hermione sat up. “Okay. See that player in blue?” She pointed at the telly. “He’s in his
opponent’s half because he’s trying to score, right?”

Draco nodded.

“In this replay, we can see that when he received the ball, he was the second closest player to
the goal line, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s not allowed.”

Draco frowned, looking so much like Scorpius in that moment that Hermione had to bite
back a smile.

“There have to be at least two opponents between him and the goal line. One of those is
usually the goalkeeper, so that leaves one more player.”

Draco blinked. “That’s… ridiculous. Why? What’s the point?”

“To stop players from just hanging around the goal, waiting for a pass. It makes the game
more interesting.”

“It makes no sense.”

“Oh, really?” Hermione smirked. “But it does make sense to you that you could fly around on
a broom for weeks, be better than your opponent the entire match, and then some idiot
catches a tiny, completely irrelevant ball… sorry, walnut, and just like that, you lose?” She
threw up her hands. “Better luck next time! Cheers for trying, but this bloke found a flying
pecan, so, tough luck!”

Draco turned to her as if she’d insulted his entire bloodline. “I have never heard anything
more incorrect in my entire life.”

“Oh?”

“Quidditch is not just about catching the snitch. It’s about strategy, teamwork, skill…” She
rolled her eyes, and he narrowed his. “You’re impossibly annoying when you think you’re
right.”

“Yes. Especially when I know I am.”

Draco exhaled sharply, shaking his head, but amusement lingered in his expression. He
pulled her back onto his lap, fingers tracing soothing circles on her back. They continued
watching the match, Hermione explaining more rules while Draco listened with reluctant
interest, though she could tell he still wasn’t convinced.

He was about to say something when Dissy popped in with a loud crack. “Master, Dissy
apologises, but Dissy would like to ask if you…?” She stopped mid-sentence, her large ears
twitching as if she’d just heard something, then promptly disappeared.

Hermione blinked at the empty space where the elf had been. “What was that about?”

Draco frowned. “No idea. Maybe something in the kitchen.” He raised his voice slightly.
“Dissy?”

Silence.

“She’ll be back,” he said, waving it off. “Anyway, as I was saying. You’re wrong.”

Hermione scoffed. “I’m not. You just played one sport your entire life and don’t know any
better.”

Draco let out a sharp laugh. “One sport? You think I never played tennis or polo?”

She stared at him.

“Yes, I know how to ride horses,” he added.

“Oh my God,” she groaned, rolling her eyes. “Could you be more upper class?”
“You go skiing, Hermione,” he shot back.

“Skiing is not just for the upper class. Yes, it’s expensive, but…”

Another loud pop interrupted her as Dissy reappeared, clutching Scorpius and Teddy by their
arms. Both boys were a mess - dusty, grass-stained, and dishevelled. Teddy, however, looked
worse for wear, with a bloody nose and split lip. His face was flushed with anger.

Hermione’s stomach dropped as she rushed towards him, while Draco grabbed Scorpius by
the shoulders.

“Dissy apologises for not responding earlier, but…” her voice trembled slightly.

“That’s alright, Dissy,” Draco said, quickly checking Scorpius over. “What happened?”

“Young master Scorpius called for Dissy, and Dissy heard distress,” she explained, her large
eyes darting anxiously between them.

“Teddy, are you alright?” Hermione asked gently.

His hair flared blond, curls forming like Draco’s, then lengthened into a mess of bushy brown
waves that looked eerily like hers. Even his nose stretched slightly, resembling Dissy’s. His
emotions were all over the place.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, turning away to rub his face. As his breathing steadied, his hair
slowly faded back to its usual brown with streaks of blue.

“What happened?” she pressed.

“Nothing. It was just a fight.” Draco’s gaze flickered to Scorpius, brows knitting together, but
before he could say anything, Teddy cut in. “He didn’t do anything. It was my fault.”

“No, it wasn’t!” Scorpius protested. “It was that boy’s fault, he…” Scorp tried to explain but
Teddy gave him a warning look that no one missed.

Draco’s expression darkened. “Teddy, tell me what happened.”

“Nothing,” Teddy repeated, but this time his voice was tight with frustration.

Draco let out a slow exhale and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Dissy, heal him, please.”

She nodded and gently guided Teddy to the sofa, her small hands already glowing faintly as
she started her work.

Hermione retrieved her wand and scourgified both boys. “Scorp, you said the other day you
brewed some calming potion. Can you fetch vials for you two?”

He hesitated, then nodded and hurried off to their potion room.

She turned back to Teddy. “Alright. Now, talk.”

He sighed, rolling his eyes. “Nothing happened, Hermione. Nothing that I’m not used to.”

Draco crossed his arms. “If you’re used to it, why did you fight now?”

Teddy glared at him.

“I’m only asking because I’ve never heard of you getting into fights before. That’s all.”

“What do you know about anything?!” Teddy snapped, his voice sharp with frustration.

Draco’s expression flickered with surprise, his jaw tightening slightly.

“Hey,” Hermione said sternly and threatened with her finger. “No one here is against you, so
there’s no reason to be defensive or rude.”

A moment later, Scorpius returned and dropped onto the sofa next to Teddy. He handed him a
vial, keeping one for himself, and they both downed their calming potions in silence.
Hermione watched as the tension in their shoulders eased slightly.

“So, Scorp?” Draco pressed.

He exhaled heavily. “Two boys said something… about Teddy’s dad and…”

“Do you know who they are?”

Teddy nodded stiffly. “Yeah. Same as always. Burke and Steward from my year, and a few
others from the fifth.” He frowned at Draco. “Slytherins.”

Hermione sighed and crouched beside him. “Teddy, I’m really sorry this keeps happening,
okay? I know how it feels.” She could feel his gaze flicker to Draco standing behind her, and
felt her cheeks flushed slightly. “Just… you can’t make this a habit. Trying to solve problems
with violence.”

“They said something about you two,” Scorpius muttered.

“Shut up, Scorp,” Teddy mumbled.

“Teddy,” Draco scolded, his voice firm.

“What? Me?”

“No, you two.” Scorpius gestured between Hermione and Draco.

Hermione frowned. “What did they say?”

Both boys looked away, blushing furiously.

Draco sighed. “Teddy, please. Just tell me what happened so I know how to handle this.”

He exhaled slowly, staring down at his hands. “They saw Scorp walking up to me when we
started arguing and…” He hesitated, his voice dropping lower. “They called you a blood
traitor… because you two are… together and you’re… Muggleborn.”

The air in the room grew thick, tension pressing down on them like a weight.

“And I’m assuming they didn’t use such polite words?” Hermione asked dryly.

Teddy shook his head, his face burning with anger and embarrassment.

She let out a slow, measured sigh.

“Is that what Mudblood means?” Scorpius asked suddenly.

Everyone snapped their heads towards him. Even Dissy, who had been quiet the entire time,
let out a barely noticeable gasp.

Hermione’s heart stuttered.

The word hit her like a hex, sending her spiralling back in time, back to her second year, back
to the way it had been hurled at her like a curse. By Draco himself.

For a second, she wasn’t here. She was twelve again, standing in Hogwarts, feeling small and
helpless.

“Scorpius!” Draco’s voice cracked through the silence like a whip.

He flinched, eyes wide as he turned to his father.

Shame and alarm flickered across Draco’s face, his features taut with anger. “Don’t…”
Draco’s voice faltered, then came back with force. “Don’t you ever say that again!”

Scorpius’s face turned red, his eyes shining with sudden tears. “I… I’m sorry,” he stammered.

No. No, not like him.

Young Draco hadn’t been sorry when he said it.

Teddy abruptly stood up. “I want to go home. Can I use the floo?”

Hermione pushed herself up. “I’ll go with you.” Andromeda would expect an explanation.
More than that, she needed to leave.

Draco took a step forward. “Wait…”

But Hermione was already moving. “Deal with this,” she said, her voice steady but distant.
“I’ll talk to Andromeda. We’ll see each other later, okay?” She cast him a brief glance before
leading Teddy out of the room.

“Okay,” she heard him say softly just as the green flames swallowed them whole.
 Draco

August 2013

Draco's gaze lingered on the crackling flames of the fireplace for a few long moments after
they left. The truth weighed heavily upon him, sinking deep into his heart. She was right
when she said it before. There would always be the remnants of their history lurking in the
shadows. Every time they believed they had extinguished one fire, another ignited. They will
never be able to move past it.

He settled beside Scorpius, his arms enveloping his son in a protective embrace. "I'm sorry
for raising my voice," he murmured softly, with remorse and anger.

He pressed his face against his father's chest, his voice muffled. "I'm sorry, dad. I didn't mean
to."

Draco’s hand moved in gentle circles across Scorp's back, offering comfort. He tried to
remember the last time his father held him like this, if ever.

"It's alright. I know you didn't," he reassured him. "But there are words we should never use,
Scorpius. And that’s a very inappropriate one. It’s bad, wrong and very offensive."

Scorpius nodded.

"Those words are not for us. We don't use them," Draco said firmly. Not anymore.

Scorp broke the silence after a few moments, his voice tinged with concern. "Is Hermione
angry with me?”

Draco sighed, and his fingers tenderly brushed away stray strands of his hair. "No, she's not
angry. It's just... difficult for her to hear it, especially coming from you," he explained, hoping
he sounds empathetic. "It’s a terrible insult, Scorp. She was caught off guard. She didn't
expect it from someone as good and kind-hearted as you."

His son looked up at him.

"Perhaps tomorrow we can visit her, and…”

A spark of hope flickered in his eyes. "I can apologise?”

Draco nodded. "Yes, love, you can apologise. It's not your fault, you didn’t know, but it will
mean a great deal to her. Just… now that you know… what it means… Never... Never say it
again," he said firmly but pleaded. "Be better. Be better than me, please,” he added quietly.

After a while, he left Scorpius to have a bath and asked Dissy to look after him until he
returned. Draco quickly texted Hermione to inform her that he would be coming over later.
However, he had another stop to make first.

He flew to his aunt's home, entering the living room unannounced and startling her as she sat
reading in an armchair.

"Goodness, the second time!" his aunt exclaimed, placing a hand over her chest. "I would
appreciate a floo call first.”

"Apologies," Draco replied, glancing around the room.

She closed her book and removed her glasses, giving him her full attention.

"So, I assume Hermione explained everything.”

"Yes, she did. Teddy's upstairs," his aunt gestured behind her. "How are you feeling?”

"Me? I'm fine," he replied simply. "And how is he?”

Andromeda nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful. "He explained everything once they
arrived. Your house elf did a good job of healing him. He was a bit on edge after the calming
potion you gave him wore off," she remarked, squinting slightly.

"It was just a simple brew, herbal. Nothing to worry about," Draco explained. "May I go
upstairs?”

He walked slowly to Teddy’s room, taking in the changes on the floor that had occurred since
his last visit upstairs. It’s been years, probably. The walls were now decorated with new
photographs and paintings, and a subtle shade of blue covered the room. He couldn't recall if
it had always been this colour.

He knocked and heard footsteps approaching before Teddy opened the door with a look of
surprise on his face.

"Oh, it's you," he said.

"Yeah. May I come in?" Draco inquired.

Teddy nodded, stepping aside to allow him entry. He took a moment to observe the room of
the teenage boy. It was a stark contrast to his own experience at that age and the rooms his
friends had grown up in.

It resembled Hermione's pink bedroom, but with a dominant yellow and blue theme. There
were posters of quidditch and football teams on the walls, and bookshelves and desks
cluttered with stationery and parchments. There was an armchair covered in clothes and a
messy bed where he was probably in just a moment ago because there was an open book on
it.

"Did I interrupt you while you were cleaning?" Draco jested, taking in the scattered items.
Teddy began folding some t-shirts strewn across the bed. "Oh, yes. Sorry about the mess," he
replied, and his voice was tinged with a touch of embarrassment.

"That's alright," he reassured him. "I imagine my room wouldn't look any better if I hadn't
grown up with house elves."

Teddy nodded, waiting for Draco to continue, and he realised his comment might have been
out of place.

He would likely have enjoyed the same wealth and privileges had his grandmother not
chosen love over bigotry and prejudice. Perhaps it was for the best that Teddy wasn't raised in
the same environment. Well, not perhaps. It clearly was.

Fifteen-year-old Draco would have laughed at him for defending someone who was called a
slur. Stop it. Focus.

He observed Teddy, searching for any signs of the recent fight on his face. "You healed
well?”

"Yes, I don't even know where the cut was," he replied, glancing at the mirror on his
wardrobe. "It's okay.”

"And how are you feeling?" Draco asked, concerned, but his response was a dismissive huff
which served as a clear indication that he didn't wish to discuss it further. "We don't have to
talk about it if you don't want to. I wanted to thank you for stepping up, but…”

"I didn't do it for..." Teddy interrupted himself, stumbling over his words.

Understanding his unspoken words, Draco finished his sentence. "You didn't do it for me? I
thought as much," he raised his eyebrow.

"No, that's not what I wanted to say," he clarified, shaking his head, his gaze fixed on the
folded t-shirts in his hands. "They insulted you both. But... but they insulted Hermione
worse.”

"I know," he responded with a slow nod. "I've actually considered writing to the parents of
those kids you mentioned.”

Teddy interjected. "No, don't," he pleaded. "It doesn't matter.”

Draco nodded. Those ideas and words didn't arise in a vacuum. The children had learned
them from their parents, much like he had. Sending a letter would do absolutely nothing.

"Is there anything I can do to help you?”

He shrugged with resignation. "No, nothing," Teddy replied, his voice filled with a bitter
acceptance. "They didn't say or do anything I'm not used to anymore.”

Draco sighed, concerned about his acceptance of the bullying. "You shouldn't just tolerate it,"
he stated, meeting Teddy's gaze.
He huffed in response.

"Yes, that's why I'm telling you. I know. You need to stand up for yourself and follow the
rules at the same time. It won't be easy." He pondered for a moment before continuing, "I
would also suggest talking to a professor once you're back at Hogwarts, but I imagine that's
wishful thinking, isn't it? Do they have a counsellor or something similar now?”

Teddy nodded. "They do. I think the parents of muggleborns requested it. Hermione
mentioned it's common in their schools.”

Draco again nodded. "Just... don't ignore it," he advised. Sensing that the moment called for a
more personal touch, he decided to share a part of his past with Teddy. "Hermione ignored me
when I bullied her, and now she regrets it. She said she wished she had hit me in the nose
more than once.”

Teddy frowned in confusion. “More than… She hit you?”

Draco smirked and nodded. "Third year. It was rather humiliating. And humbling," he
admitted, causing him to chuckle. "Not that I'm condoning violence, mind you. Especially
since she was remarkably strong, even back then," he joked.

Seeing Teddy's tension ease and a smile grace his features, Draco felt emboldened to address
a topic that had been weighing on his mind for some time.

"I know you don't like... us being together.”

Teddy's cheeks flushed, and he averted his gaze, struggling to find the right words. "That's
not... I'm not..." he stumbled, embarrassed and uncertain.

Draco refused to let him evade the topic, his voice was firm and resolute. "Teddy, I'm not
blind, okay?" he interjected. "I know you care about her. You've known her for... Well, longer
than me, I suppose. Your entire life. It's natural to feel protective."

His lack of enthusiasm was evident, and his discomfort tangible.

"But I hope you understand that she wouldn't choose anyone who would harm her. And I
hope you know me well enough too. I would never do anything to hurt her. I... I care about
her deeply. I thought that was obvious.”

"I know," he nodded. "I don't think you would do anything to hurt anyone." He paused,
gathering his thoughts and summoning the courage to express what had apparently been
weighing on his mind for a long time. "Not anymore," he said quietly.

Draco clenched his jaw feeling the weight of his past misdeeds pressing upon him yet again.

"Yes. Not anymore," he affirmed, his voice tinged with a touch of frustration. "Is that what
the problem is?" he questioned, seeking clarity from Teddy's glare. “I feel a little tired of
having to explain myself to everyone all the time. I thought at least my family could cut me
some slack.”
A brief silence hung between. Teddy's glare softened. "I know it's not fair. I’m sorry," he
offered quietly. "But it's... difficult to understand, knowing... knowing your history," he
admitted.

Draco sighed. Despite his frustration, he reminded himself to remain calm. Teddy's concerns
stemmed from a place of genuine care. And arguing with him would only widen the rift
between them.

"I know I made... terrible mistakes in the past," Draco conceded. "But I've talked to
Hermione about it. That’s all that matters. That’s all that should matter to everyone else too."
He wanted to end the discussion he regretted starting.

Luckily, Teddy got the message. He nodded. “Just... don't let her down," he said quietly.

"I try my best not to, Teddy. I can promise you that.”

Later in the evening, Draco finally made his way to Hermione's house. When he floo in, he
noticed that she wasn't inside the living room, but there was a soft glow of light emanating
from outside.

He glanced through the patio doors before opening them, and there she was, swinging gently
on the swing, a glass of wine in one hand and a kindle in the other. Warm light from a few
lanterns bathed her in a golden glow.

"Hey," he greeted, stepping outside and closing the door behind him.

She looked up at him, her smile soft and welcoming. "Hi. Want some?" she offered, pointing
towards the bottle.

"Yes, please. I'll go get a glass," he replied, ready to head back inside.

"Did you forget you're a wizard?" Hermione playfully interjected.

With a flick of her wand, she conjured the same glass for him, tapping it with her wand,
presumably to cool it, causing a subtle foggy effect.

"Right. Thanks," Draco acknowledged.

He settled next to her on the swing as she made room for him. It was the white wine from her
winery, the one with delicate elderberry flower notes.

"I like this one," he commented.

"Me too," she nodded in agreement. "It's very easy to drink.”

His gaze shifted to the kindle in her hand. "What are you reading?”

"One Hundred Years of Solitude. Marquez.”

Draco nodded slowly. "Is it in Spanish?" he asked.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right," she responded. "I can't read a book like this in
Spanish. Something simpler, yes. Also newspapers, for example.”

"And is it good?" he probed further, genuinely interested in her thoughts.

"Yes. It's another story about generations of the same family," she explained. "It seems I have
developed a fondness for such narratives." Setting the kindle on the coffee table, she turned
her attention back to him. "How's Teddy?" she asked.

"He's fine. We had another overdue conversation," Draco said. "About you.”

"Oh?”

"Yes. He hasn't been exactly… friendly in the last few months," Draco confessed, with
exasperation in his tone.

"I'm sorry," Hermione empathised with her gentle voice. She scooted closer to him, placing a
comforting hand on his knee. "Do you want me to speak with him?”

"I think it's fine," Draco replied, his gaze fixed on her. After a moment, she blinked, and he
took a deep breath. "Hermione, I…”

She shook her head quickly and interrupted him. “What about Scorpius?”

“I… I explained, he understands,” he nodded as he spoke. “We’re going to come over

tomorrow so he can apologise.”

Hermione frowned a bit. “That’s not necessary.”

“It’s the right thing to do. Don’t fight it, please.”

“Okay.”

He sighed and tried again. “Hermione, listen…”

However, she quickly shook her head, interrupting him again. "Don't. Please, just don't," she
implored, with evident annoyance. "We can't keep having these conversations indefinitely.
You don't have to repeatedly apologise for something in the past that we naturally cannot
change.”

Moving even closer, she leaned her head on his shoulder. Draco reciprocated by taking her
hand, their fingers intertwining. Her palm felt slightly chilled from holding the glass, but the
rest of her hand radiated warmth.

“And it’s tiresome. Both for you to constantly apologise and for me to listen. I just want to
move on from it.”
He appreciated it. Draco didn't even know what else to say at this point, so he simply nodded.
He twisted the thin golden bracelet around her wrist, noticing engraved words on it that he
couldn't decipher in the dim light.

"Can I ask you something personal instead?" Hermione suddenly asked. "It is related to the
topic, however.”

"Of course."

"Did you know what that word meant when you were Scorpius' age?" she inquired.

Draco huffed, feeling a faint blush colour his cheeks. "I think I knew even before then, but I
understood it was an insult just before Hogwarts," he admitted, his arm encircling her
shoulders, drawing her nearer. "I believe it was Daphne who told me about it. My father used
it so casually that I didn't even realise it was a slur," he confessed with a shake of his head.
"But there was one time when she was talking about a muggleborn she had met while abroad
for holidays, and I... I didn't refer to them as a 'muggleborn,'" he admitted, cringing at the
memory. "She was shocked. You know her family, they were never purists."

Hermione nodded in understanding.

Draco's mind drifted back to the conversations he had overheard among Death Eaters during
the war, discussing their disdain for the "blood traitors" who refused to participate and their
malicious plans for them after the conflict.

"They were bold enough to remain neutral during the war.”

"Your families are so different," Hermione said after a brief pause. "I'm surprised they
allowed Astoria to marry you, no offence.”

Draco chuckled. You should be surprised my family allowed me to marry her.

"None taken. I think... They saw that we liked each other. Also, I'm a real catch, Granger, so I
don't know what you’re implying," he joked and she smiled. Lowering his gaze to her face,
he observed the fluttering of her eyelashes as she blinked. "The other strong candidate for me
was a thirteen-year-old.”

Hermione's reaction was immediate and as he expected, and her face displayed shock and
incredulity when she sat up to look at him.

“I beg your pardon?”

"Yeah," Draco shifted uncomfortably. "We would have been betrothed for years, waiting until
she came of age to get married, of course.”

She looked repulsed. "That sounds... disgusting," she stated, her words barely concealing her
true feelings. "Also borderline illegal.”

"And unfortunately, all too common," Draco admitted bitterly. "Did Pansy ever tell you about
her potential husband?”
Hermione frowned, probably recalling the conversation. "Yes," she affirmed. Settling back
against his shoulder, she rested her head there. "I could never understand that. My parents
would never approve of me being with someone twenty-something, almost thirty years my
senior. That's a bigger age difference than between me and my father," she shared, shuddering
at the thought.

"Fortunately for me," he jested. "It seems you have a thing for younger men.”

Her laughter filled the air with a sound that always warmed his heart. "What can I do? You're
all a year younger than me," she said.

She exhaled softly against his shoulder, and he could feel her warmth seeping into him. She
smelled as she always did. Notes of vanilla and burnt sugar, a scent that had become
synonymous with her.

Draco found comfort in the smell of her home as well, a warm and inviting fragrance that
lingered from the food she cooked. He knew she always had something sweet that needed
reheating in the microwave, filling the air with the scent of cinnamon and chocolate. She
loves chocolate the most.

Recently, she had purchased a new soap and shower gel, adding an invigorating blend of
orange and, possibly, eucalyptus.

Her bed smelled like flowers. Like a meadow in the summertime, just before a gentle, warm
rain in the evening. It smelled like that in her garden tonight.

Draco glanced towards the sky. He couldn't see any stars. It was probably going to be cloudy
tomorrow.

"He didn't know what it meant," Hermione spoke up suddenly. "Scorpius. He didn't know
what it meant, that word," she clarified.

Draco exhaled, listening attentively.

"You knew what it meant when you were his age, but he didn't. He didn't grow up in an
environment where it was casually used," she explained her thoughts. "You're a good father.”

He furrowed his brow, feeling as if he was given a backhanded compliment. "Is the bar so
low?" he huffed. "I simply don't use slurs in front of my child, and I should receive the Father
of the Year award?”

"Do you use them in front of other people?" she inquired.

He snapped his head toward her. "No, of course not," he replied defensively.

She exhaled softly, refraining from saying anything further.

Draco allowed her a few moments before prompting her to explain. "What are you thinking
about?”
"When he said it, I instantly remembered you from school," she disclosed, sitting back to
scrutinise him. "You are so much alike, and yet so different," she spoke with an expression of
something akin to pity crossing her features.

Draco didn't appreciate that.

"He wants to apologise to me. He is nothing like the boy you were," she said.

He must have looked as he felt, for she swiftly cupped his face in her now-warm hands.

"That's because you are nothing like your father. You are a good parent and a good man,
Draco. I'm sorry you have to keep explaining yourself to everyone," she reassured him.

His heart swelled in his chest. Unsure of what to say, he simply kissed her. He could babble
something accidentally and she would dismiss it because of the moment, so he wanted to wait
for the right time to say it. Her warmth and embrace always grounded him, and made him
feel as if he could soar at the same time.

"Thank you," he said after their lips parted. "Now, tell me, how much did you drink before I
arrived?”

She chuckled. "I'm not tipsy. I just felt the need to say it. Outloud.”

"I know. You just say what's on your mind all the time, I love… that about you," he admitted,
embracing her. Not yet. Not now.

"What do you plan to do tonight?”

"Nothing much, just to read this," she motioned toward the kindle. "And watch a few
episodes of the show Theo recommended. I have to say, he was right. It's very good. You
should check it out.”

"Sure," he agreed. "The one about dragons he can’t stop talking about?”

“Well, yes, but it’s not about dragons. It’s more like a political mediaeval drama with
dragons.”

“Oh. I thought I could watch it with Scorp, but it doesn’t sound like he would be interested.”

"Oh God, no. Absolutely not," she vehemently rejected. "It has way too much violence and
sex.”

He smirked. "Remind me again why I don't watch it?”

The following morning, after breakfast, Draco and Scorp set off to visit Hermione. Scorp had
the thoughtful idea of giving her a pot filled with vibrant flowers that they had made using
potions a few months ago. They stood in front of the fireplace, and he looked nervous.
"Would you prefer me to give you some privacy or stay by your side?" Draco inquired, his
gaze fixed on his son.

He replied hastily, his cheeks turning a faint shade of pink. "No, you can go. It's okay."

Draco nodded.

She was in her kitchen, baking something sweet when they arrived. Draco excused himself,
pretending to need the bathroom and let them talk in private.

A few minutes later, as he emerged from the house, he found them in the garden, searching
for the perfect spot to place the pot. Though the day was warm, the sky was draped in a
blanket of clouds. Hermione brought the cupcakes and tea outside and even Crooks joined
them.

He rarely went outside, and Draco could really look at him under natural light. He looked
thinner now, but maybe because he shed a lot of fur during summer.

Several days later, they attended Albus' birthday party, despite the less-than-ideal weather.
However, Potter had managed to charm the backyard, creating a protective shield against the
light rain. This allowed the kids to take to the skies on their brooms while the adults enjoyed
the outdoors.

Hermione asked Potter to set them up with a portkey for the weekend to her house in Spain.
They agreed on the date, and Hermione took care of informing her parents. The anticipation
began to gnaw at Draco as well, just as it did at Hermione.

The thought of spending an entire weekend together in their private space, away from public
eyes, filled him with anxiety. While he could easily navigate through a lunch or dinner
gathering, the prospect of an extended stay felt more daunting.

He remembered her jokes about her father and torturing dental devices. Draco had stumbled
upon some rather unpleasant photographs on the internet, which rendered Hermione's jokes
about her father far from amusing.

She left him at the table while Albus and Scorp explained to her how safe and stable the
newest Firebolt Fury 1.3 is. She listened but vehemently refused to sit on the broom with
either of them.

He couldn't help but smile at the irony of her fear of flying, considering all the daring feats
she had accomplished in her life. Maybe he could try and make her relax. After all, he had
managed to overcome his own reluctance and drove with her in her car.

"So, meeting the parents," Weasel sat next to him with a glass in hand. "Nervous?”

Draco glanced at him, noting the weight and muscles he had gained since school and the
resemblance he now bore to his father, only Weasel hadn't lost any hair. He still looked
almost the same as he did in school, the only difference being he grew a short beard.
"No, not really. I'm very likeable," he answered sarcastically, taking a sip of his water.

Weasel nodded. "Keep that attitude, and you might not live long enough for the portkey back
home."

Draco frowned.

"I'm joking. It's a joke. He's not violent." Weasel settled more comfortably in his chair and
observed the atmosphere.

"So, I should worry only about the father?" Draco asked, shifting his gaze away from
Hermione and the kids.

"Well..." Weasel pondered.

Oh, great.

"I think Kate doesn't like magic as much as he does. He's very enthusiastic, almost like my
father is about muggle things." He nodded towards him.

The Weasley patriarch was teaching Lily how to ride a small pink bicycle.

"She's more reserved. I imagine it has something to do with Hermione's memory charms.”

"Understandable," Draco agreed, unnecessarily mentally noting not to bring up the past and
to keep the conversation within the safe confines of the last few years since they had moved
abroad.

"Henry is more relaxed. He's curious and intellectual, and Kate is very proper, cool-headed,
and rational. I think you have a better chance of swaying her to your side with your posh
manners," Weasel said with a smirk.

"Yeah, Hermione thinks so too.”

"Just..." he glanced up and down at him, and Draco raised an eyebrow. "They're a working-
class family. I've had to endure plenty of political discussions between them over the years. I
can't say for sure where they stand, but they're not fans of the muggle monarchy. So, lower
the upper-class uptightness.”

Draco frowned at him. "What's that supposed to mean?”

Weasel rolled his eyes. "It means don't prance around like an aristocratic peacock in front of
them.”

"When do I ever...?”

"All the bloody time, Malfoy," Weasel said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Appear more…
approachable. They already don't like you, so you might as well not give them more
ammunition.”
Draco squinted at him.

“That's a muggle expression. Do you see what I mean?" he asked. "But they're reasonable
people, don’t worry about it too much.”

Draco stared at him for a few long seconds, unsure how to process this conversation. "Thank
you.”

Weasel huffed. "Don't look so surprised. I love Hermione, and I want her to be happy. And
you having a normal relationship with her parents would make her happy, so..." he shrugged
and drank a bit of his firewhiskey.

"No, really?" Draco rolled his eyes. "And here I thought you were helping me out of old
times' sake. You're breaking my heart, Weasel," he said and placed hand on his chest
dramatically.

"Don't make me regret talking to you, Ferret.”

"Do you know what I recently discovered?" George interrupted as he walked by. "Ferrets and
weasels are related. I mean, ferrets belong to the weasel family. It's kind of funny, isn't it?
Because we are also related due to all of our incestuous ancestors," he said matter-of-factly
before simply walking away.

"Yeah, you definitely shouldn't mention anything like that to them," Weasel spoke up after an
uncomfortably long silence.

"No, definitely not," Draco said and nodded.

He couldn't remember if they ever spoke like this before. Perhaps there was that one time,
ages ago, in the ministry when Draco summoned his courage and swallowed his pride,
offering a sincere apology for his insufferable behaviour throughout the years.

He began to wonder why Hermione had grown distant from him when she was still close
with Potter. They have dated so many years ago, so it’s probably not the breakup.

Draco glanced at him again.

They both came from pureblood families and shared a similar upbringing, albeit in different
environments. Hermione and him were young when they were in a relationship, but he
probably thought he would marry her. Wasn't that the path they were all expected to follow?
To marry early and start their families sooner than muggles?

That thought flickered in his mind briefly, leading him to contemplate whether Hermione had
ever considered marrying Weasel as well. A pang of jealousy shot through him. Of course she
had.

They were best friends for years, and then their friendship blossomed into love. They were
even each other's first love, it made perfect sense.
Was what they had now stronger than her past relationship with Weasel? It must be, right?
They are older, more mature. They must understand love better now than before.

No, he shouldn't entertain such comparisons. The love he had for Astoria was no less
powerful or profound than the love he felt for Hermione; it was simply different.

His gaze returned to Hermione, who was now guiding Teddy to a nearby table, engaging in a
calm conversation with him. She reached out and placed her hand on his forearm, offering
reassurance in a simple touch.

Draco cherished those moments when she comforted him in such a way. The warmth that
surged through his body and the subsequent calmness it brought were undeniable. She
possessed an innate understanding of how to soothe him, to bring him peace.

For years, Draco never thought he would find someone who could truly know him, inside and
out. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to rely on someone so intimately and have that
trust reciprocated. Was this what love truly meant? It had to be, because he knew without a
doubt that he loved Hermione, for too many reasons to articulate.

His thoughts were abruptly disrupted as Bones approached Weasel, leaning in to share
something with him. Her hands rested gently on his shoulders, and he took hold of one of
them as they conversed. Draco glanced at the ring on her finger. They were supposed to get
married this or next year. Probably the latter, the summer was nearing its end and the
wedding season would soon be over.

The thought that had no right to be in his mind suddenly was born. An image of Hermione in
the same position, with a ring gleaming on her finger, touching his shoulders. Stop it. Stop it
now.

It was far too premature to entertain such notions, especially now when the catalyst for such
an idea was her ex-boyfriend and his fiancee.

"How are wedding preparations going?" Draco inquired as she left them a few moments
later.

"Perfect. We've decided to spare ourselves the stress and hired a wedding planner. Susan has
her heart set on a winter wedding. Her parents tied the knot in December, so she wants the
same,” he replied. "And I'm all about making her happy.”

Draco could see his affection for her in his words. "So, it's happening this year?”

“The end of January, actually. You’ll see when you get an invitation,” he said. “Actually, no,
you’re not getting one. You’re coming as Hermione's plus one,” he said smirking.

Draco couldn't help but find amusement in being referred to as Hermione's guest. As if it
bothered me. As if I minded being called ‘her’ anything.

"I just hope it snows. This year seemed a bit lacking in that department, didn't it?”
Draco nodded in agreement, scanning the surroundings. Despite the clouded sky, a pleasant
warmth enveloped them, courtesy of the protective ward.

"Well, even if the snow doesn't grace you with its presence, there's always Potter and his
remarkable weather charms. He charmed the entire Greengrass estate for Daphne’s spring
party, I'm sure the wedding venue would be just as easy.”

After the party, when they went back to their homes, Draco realised he had forgotten to ask
his mother to look after Scorpius this weekend, so he decided to pay her a visit while also
seizing the opportunity to explore the wine cellar.

He had the idea of bringing a special bottle of wine as a gift to Hermione's parents, but
Weasel's comments had thrown him off course. Should he opt for the most expensive bottle
he could find, or would they appreciate something different?

He asked Popsy to announce his arrival, hoping he wouldn't intrude on his mother’s evening
and made a beeline for the cellar. He summoned the elderly elf responsible for managing the
estate's impressive collection of alcohol.

Draco noticed a subtle glare from the elf when he mentioned his intention to bring wine to
Hermione's muggle parents. However, he chose not to voice any objections aloud. He didn’t
mind expensive muggle bottles in the cellar, but the thought of giving them to muggles was
disturbing for him. Hypocrites, all of them.

Amidst rows of enticing vintages, Draco selected a bottle of Chateau Mouton Rothschild.
The elf suggested a bottle from the 1940s, claiming its superior quality compared to recent
years. But Draco chose a different one.

He couldn't ignore the exorbitant price tag attached to such a vintage selection, not to
mention the risk of Hermione's disapproval if he presented her parents with something so
extravagant during their first meeting.

He found his mother sitting outside on the patio, near a crackling fireplace. Despite the
season, she always felt the chill and required extra blankets and a warmer blaze. Lost in the
pages of a book, with an empty wine glass resting on the coffee table in front of her, she
exuded an air of tranquillity.

"Oh, there you are," his mother greeted him, setting aside her book and removing her glasses.
"Did you find what you were looking for?”

"Yes, I did," Draco replied, placing the bottle on the table before settling into an armchair
near her.

"Don't you have any wine at your flat?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's meant to be a gift. I wanted to ask you something," he said. "Are you available to take
care of Scorpius this weekend? Hermione and I are going on a short trip. We'll leave on
Saturday morning and be back Sunday night, just two days.”

"Of course, dear," she nodded. "Should I stay at your home?”

"If it's not too much trouble. Thank you," Draco replied. "I'll have Dissy prepare the guest
room for you.”

"Very well. So, where are you two off to?" his mother inquired.

He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "We're going to Spain," he revealed. His
mother's reaction was a mix of surprise and acknowledgment. "I'm going to meet her
parents.”

His mother raised an eyebrow, digesting the information slowly. "That's… quite a big step.”

"Is it?" Draco tried to sound nonchalant. "I don't think it is, at least not for them. Hermione
mentioned that they've met all her previous boyfriends." He sighed, feeling the need to
clarify. "Not that she... It's not like... You know what I mean.”

There was a hint of concern crept into her expression. "I understand. I just wasn't aware that...
Well, that you were this serious about her.”

"What do you mean?" he asked, slightly taken aback. "We've been together for months.”

"I know that," she responded. "I just thought... Never mind. Well, I don't know what I really
thought. You introduced her to your son and mother, after all.”

“I think she knew you from before,” he mumbled.

His mother rolled her eyes and frowned more. “You know what I mean. I just don’t know…”
She looked at him for a few long seconds. “What are your plans for the future?”

"I don't have any plans,” he lied smoothly. “I like that I don't have to have my life mapped
out with her."

It wasn't a complete lie. Draco did appreciate the absence of expectations, from Hermione
and from others, but deep down, he did have his own.

His mother sighed, studying him intently. "I don't doubt that. Does she feel the same way?"
she questioned.

Draco realised he didn't have the answer.

His mother continued, with a measured tone. "She's a woman almost in her mid-thirties,
never married, and with no children, unlike you. She hasn’t been fulfilled in that field yet. Is
that even something she wants?”

The thought hadn't crossed his mind, the possibility that Hermione might not desire the
conventional path of marriage. "It's too soon to discuss something like that," he deflected.
"Perhaps to discuss, yes, but not too early to contemplate," his mother countered. "And you'd
be a fool to think she hasn't considered it. If she hasn't even entertained the idea of a future
with you, it would reflect poorly on you as a partner.”

Draco sometimes silently imagined it would be better if she disapproved of this relationship.
This much acceptance was making him uncomfortable. It didn’t feel natural, and he couldn’t
figure out why he felt that way.

"Yes, I understand," he grumbled, feeling the weight of the conversation settling on him. "I
don't want to pressure her. She hasn’t mentioned anything. If she wanted to, she'd say it.
That's how she operates.”

His mother observed him carefully. "You don't want to pressure her," she echoed, her gaze
piercing. "So you have thought about the future?”

"No, I mean..." Draco sighed, rubbing his face in frustration. "You know what? I don't
particularly enjoy being cornered like this.”

"It's not a confrontation, Draco. We're simply having a conversation," his mother replied
calmly.

He glanced around the garden. The moonlight was casting an ethereal glow. Peacocks roamed
between the trees, their presence almost otherworldly, like ghosts in the dark. Blaise and
Hermione were right to find them haunting.

His mother interrupted his thoughts, gesturing toward the bottle on the table. "Is that all
you're bringing with you?”

Draco paused, noticing a soft glow emanating from the greenhouse. A spark of inspiration
ignited within him. "Actually, I have an idea.”

Potter had arranged a portkey for Saturday morning at nine o'clock, and they would be
leaving from his house. When Draco and Hermione arrived via floo around half past eight,
they were greeted only by him in the kitchen. The rest of the family was asleep. Red
apparently had late-night practice.

It had been weeks since Draco and Hermione had ventured up to the third floor, so they
decided to take this opportunity to check on the progress.

To their amazement, even the landing where dangerous artefacts were being disposed of
looked different. Draco noticed a familiar yellow barrel in the middle of the floor, for the
potion used to collect dark magic. It seemed they were still investigating whether there were
any remaining dangers in the open area of the floor.

The black pulsating veins were visible on the floor and walls, but in much smaller numbers
compared to the big room they first got to test the potion in, so they just had to be careful not
to step on any as they walked to it.
The Potters redecorated and now there were no blood stains on the floor in the centre of the
room. The walls were covered with new wallpaper, a pleasing shade of blue with delicate
golden and silver feathers. He revealed that this room had been his godfather's favourite, and
he wanted to honour his memory.

A few pieces of ornate furniture, including a lounge, lamps, and a vanity, were present. Draco
was certain they had removed curses from these exact items, and Potter confirmed his
suspicion, having received clearance from the ministry before bringing them back home.

The small bathroom remained unchanged, but cleaner, and the library had undergone some
noticeable improvements too.

It was brighter and more inviting than before, free from any mould or dangerous books and
items. Potter said the potion pulled out dark magic quickly because most of it was in burned
books so almost all the black liquid was coming out of the fireplace and they could organise
the rest of the library undisturbed.

The books they deemed worth keeping were neatly packed on old bookshelves, protected
with the same magic used in Hogwarts' restricted section. Naturally, the kids were still not
allowed access, but eventually, they would be, and it was necessary to take precautions if his
children turned out to be anything like he had been in his youth.

The other shelves in the library had a more modern and muggle aesthetic, as confirmed by
Hermione, who mentioned they were purchased from a popular muggle furniture store called
Ikea.

Draco found the concept of mass-produced furniture without elegance or soul, coupled with
the effort required to assemble it oneself, appalling. However, he knew better than to voice
his opinion and resigned himself to keeping his thoughts to himself.

It seemed he would have to practise restraint throughout the weekend, considering what lay
ahead of him. The anxiety began to creep back into his gut as he pondered the upcoming
encounter.

Among the shelves, there were DVDs, presumably containing music, as there was no
television in the room. Potter also had a record player, accompanied by a surprising collection
of vinyls. Additionally, there were small rectangular plastic boxes with pictures of various
artists. Draco assumed they were also music-related, although he was unsure which device
they were used with.

The final room on the floor had given Potter the most trouble, but progress seemed to be
going well thus far. Parts of the floor and walls were now clearly visible through the black
liquid that filled the room, with the mass appearing to be concentrated around the barrel. He
said he had invested thousands of galleons in the entire cleanup process, but according to
Hermione, he possessed a small fortune and could sustain it.

With about fifteen minutes left before nine, they descended the stairs. Draco found himself
pacing anxiously in the kitchen while Hermione excused herself to use the bathroom. The
anticipation was getting to him.
Potter was of course unfazed by the impending meeting. He looked at Draco with a half-
smug expression as he casually wiped his glasses on his shirt.

"You can relax, you know," he said, his tone laced with amusement.

Draco scoffed. "Oh, can I? Thanks for the reminder. I had completely forgotten," he replied.

“It’s going to be fine.”

He glanced at him sceptically. "Sure, it's easy for you to say."

“It is, you’re right,” Potter said and leaned against the kitchen counter with a smirk playing
on his stupid face. "You can always drop my name if you want to impress them. Tell them
we're best mates now. Better yet, tell them I said if I had another child, I'd make you their
godfather.”

He couldn't help but roll his eyes at his attempts at humour. "I don't care about impressing
them, Potter. I just want them to accept me," he confessed.

His smirk faded. "Is there a difference?" he asked.

Draco let out a heavy sigh. "The difference is that I'm starting so far in the negative on the
scale of likability that I need to reach zero first before I can even dream of moving to the
positive side."

“Right,” he nodded in understanding. “Makes sense.”

Hermione returned a few minutes later, and they patiently waited for the silver teaspoon with
the Black family sigil to start glowing blue. Potter wished them good luck, and Hermione
squeezed his hand a few times before they were pulled through the whirlpool of space and
time, appearing in a completely different kitchen.

The atmosphere in this one was noticeably warmer, both in terms of aesthetics and
temperature. It felt at least ten degrees hotter here. Draco took a moment to take in their new
surroundings.

The walls were painted in a soothing sage green, and the floor boasted warm brown and
orange tiles. The entire kitchen seemed to be crafted from dark oak, exuding a sense of
cosiness and charm. It was an inviting space, and Draco hoped that the warmth he felt would
extend to the occupants of this home. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this
uncomfortable and nervous.

“I don't know why they're not here," Hermione remarked with a hint of confusion. "They
usually wait for me."

Well, I can come up with a reason why today is different.

She walked over to the kitchen island and placed her bottomless bag on it, while Draco set
down his weekend bag on the floor next to it. She peered through an open door that led to
what he assumed was a garden.

"My dad is out there," she said, and frowned. "Do you want to go outside?"

Her tone hinted at a readiness to confront any potential tension, and Draco already felt a
sinking feeling in his stomach. He felt his neck sweating. He hoped that any difficulties they
might face would at least be postponed a bit, rather than hitting them immediately.

With a nod, he silently agreed. If they were going to make things difficult for her, I’m not
going to add to it.

She stepped outside, and he followed, taking in the warm, humid air filled with the sweet
scent of flowers and fresh grass. If he could push aside his anxiety, he might have actually
enjoyed the beauty of the day that lay ahead.

Hermione's father was kneeling beside a stump in the middle of the garden, tending to his
succulents. Even from this angle, he looked big. Great.

As they approached, her father lifted his head, registering their presence and checking his
watch with a puzzled expression. "Why are you here?" he asked, his deep voice carrying a
hint of confusion, as he slowly stood up. He was a tall and broad man.

But only one of us is a wizard, if it ever comes to that.

"What do you mean?" Hermione walked closer, her arms crossed over her chest.

Her father glanced at him a few times but continued speaking to Hermione. He wiped his
hands on his already stained jeans. "No, I mean, why are you here now? I thought you said
you'd leave at ten.”

"No, I said we'd be here at ten," Hermione clarified.

"Yes," he nodded. "Your ten.”

"No, your ten."

Draco forgot Spain is in a different timezone, but he was pretty sure Hermione's father was
right, however, he decided to stay quiet until they asked him for his opinion, observing the
interaction between father and daughter.

“No, I distinctly remember you said you’ll be leaving at ten. Your ten.”

"No, it's... Never mind," she rolled her eyes, walking closer to greet her father.

"Oh, wait," he said, taking a step back. "I'm all dirty and probably smell of fertiliser.”

"Well, let me just..."

Hermione retrieved her wand from her pocket and swiftly cast a scourgify spell, attempting to
clean him. However, the stubborn stains of soil and grass remained on his jeans and t-shirt.
He probably frequently worked in them.

Draco silently thanked Weasel for his advice. Showing up in a suit would have made him feel
even more out of place. His current attire of a shirt, jeans, and trainers seemed more
appropriate for the occasion.

“There you go,” Hermione said, and they shared a warm embrace. "Good morning.”

"Hello. Good to see you again, love.”

"Nice to see you too, dad," she replied, turning towards Draco. "So, dad... this is…”

"I know," he interjected, stepping closer.

Hermione's father was a very tall, broad man. He was barely taller than Draco, but now,
upclose, he didn't exude the intimidating aura he had expected. That’s not helping much
though, I still hate this.

"Demian, right?" he asked, causing Draco to blink in surprise. Before he could respond, her
father continued, "I'm joking. I know your name." The subtle message was not lost on him,
nor was his glare, but he managed a tense, small smile before shaking his hand. "Nice to
finally meet you, Draco.”

"Pleased to meet you too, sir," he replied, noting the firm grip and calloused palms from his
work in the vineyard and garden.

Hermione discreetly glanced around, trying to divert her attention from the interaction. I wish
I could do the same.

"Henry is fine," her father nodded, waving his hand dismissively. "I'd ask if you travelled
safely, but you're here and alive, so I assume everything went well, yes?" He glanced between
him and Hermione.

"Yes. Where's mum?”

"There was an emergency at the clinic. A kid fell from the swing and cut his gums a bit on
the wires, so he needed to be admitted," her father explained. “She texted me. She’s on her
way back.”

"Wires from braces. Braces make your teeth straight," Hermione clarified, noticing Draco's
bewildered expression.

"Yes, right," he nodded, trying to catch up. They spoke too casually about this injury, so I
guess it was common.

“How do wizards correct their teeth?” her father asked.

Draco was taken aback by his laid-back question. Okay, I can do this.
“Spells. Series of spells, actually, depending on a problem, I suppose. It’s rather painful when
teeth move to do it all in one sitting,” Draco explained. “I mean, I imagine it's the same
with… braces.”

They shared the same penetrative glare, Hermione and her father. They didn’t look much, but
he already saw that in photographs in her home. They had the same curly hair though.

Draco shifted his gaze to the surroundings. "You have a lovely garden.”

"Thank you," her father replied, also admiring the scenery. "It's not as well-kept as when we
had another pair of hands to assist. Well, not exactly," he corrected himself. "A pair of hands
and a wand." He winked at Hermione, and she beamed back at him.

Draco couldn't help himself and felt a sense of unease as things continued to go smoothly and
surprisingly well. He just waited for something bad to happen.

They strolled alongside Hermione's father, who guided them through the garden, sharing
tidbits of information along the way. It was a stark contrast to the backyard of their London
home. Here, the warmer climate allowed for the flourishing of lemon and tangerine trees,
their fragrant leaves filling the air with a delightful scent. However, her father mentioned that
the lemons were too small this year compared to the last.

“Are the cacti all well now?” Hermione asked when they walked back to the centre of the
garden.

The stump in the middle looked like it was cut a long time ago. There were a lot of small pots
with different succulents. A few big white stones were around it too with more pots. They
looked like they were thriving under his care.

"Yes, they're doing well," her father reassured her. "Although I'm almost out of the potion
you sent.”

“I can get you more,” Hermione nodded. “Neville made him something for plant resilience,”
she said to Draco.

“Verdura Vitalis?” he asked and her father nodded. “I thought so. It’s the most potent one that
doesn’t require spells to be activated.”

Glancing behind them, her father increased his voice slightly before speaking. "They arrived
earlier because Hermione miscalculated the time."

Draco turned to see her mother just emerging outside.

"I see," her mother acknowledged, leaving her bag on a patio chair and making her way
towards them.

Hermione, rolling her eyes, interjected, "I didn't mess up the time."

Draco found her blatant lie amusing. The more defensive she was, the more he was sure she
was aware she was responsible for the earlier arrival.
"Never mind. You're here now," her mother chimed in with a smile, shifting her attention
towards Draco. "Hello.”

"Hello," he greeted her, extending his hand. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Granger.”

"Nice to meet you too, Draco," she replied, reciprocating his firm handshake.

He appreciated the strong grip, as he always found a meek and loose handshake to be
underwhelming.

Hermione's resemblance to her mother was striking, with the main difference being her
shorter stature and neatly tied straight hair that showcased more pronounced red undertones.
Hermione's hair had a golden hue to it.

"I'm here too," she announced, interrupting the silence as her mother enveloped her in a warm
embrace.

Her mother gently rubbed her back. "Have you lost some weight?" she inquired with a faint
frown.

"No, I've actually gained weight," Hermione replied, rolling her eyes. "But it's all muscle.”

"Alright," her mother conceded, glancing between them. "Why are you outside? Isn't it
warm?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Hermione’s father gestured towards the house, and they made their way back into the kitchen.
Passing through an arch doorway, they entered the living room, which was noticeably cooler
than the outside, thanks to the absence of direct sunlight.

The entire house seemed to be painted in the same tasteful sage green shade, creating a
harmonious atmosphere. Plants decorated the floor and shelves, adding a touch of nature to
the space. The furniture was arranged around a brick fireplace, and a telly hung above it. On
the opposite wall, an old piano stood proudly. Through the closed glass patio doors, they
could see the garden they had just left.

Her father excused himself to take a quick shower after his gardening activities, and her
mother offered to prepare breakfast. Draco wasn't particularly hungry, but Hermione was. She
mentioned that she avoided eating before using a portkey as it tended to make her feel sick.
With her father in the bathroom and her mother busy in the kitchen, she took the opportunity
to give Draco a tour of the house.

The front yard was simpler compared to the garden, yet it had its own charm. The street was
adorned with vibrant roses, and neighbouring houses boasted similarly colourful flowers and
trees in their yards. While the house was smaller than their London residence, it had a cosy
layout.

The ground floor consisted of a kitchen, dining room, living room, a small bathroom, and
likely a guest room. Upstairs, they had more bedrooms and a spacious bathroom.
Hermione led Draco to her room, where they would be staying for the night. Although it was
smaller than her bedroom at home, it had a lovely balcony that overlooked the peaceful street.
He could see the neighbours' front yards from here better.

Hermione leaned against the fence of the balcony, surveying the surroundings. "Not bad so
far, right?" she remarked.

Draco chuckled. "I have to admit, it's even a bit anticlimactic," he replied.

"Yes, that's a good thing, I suppose," she mused.

"Where is the town?”

Hermione pointed to the right, down the road. "Over there. Maybe we could explore it today
or tomorrow. We'll see.”

As she gestured, he noticed a slight tremor in her hand. "Are you okay?" he inquired.

"Yes, I'm fine," she reassured him. "I'm just really hungry right now. I've only had coffee
today.”

"How clever of you," Draco teased, quickly planting a kiss on her lips before she could roll
her eyes.

They sat down to a simple yet delicious breakfast, with sausages, eggs, and bread with
tomatoes, a common side dish in the region, apparently.

The conversation flowed smoothly as they discussed their friends. Hermione's mother
showed genuine concern for Pansy's health, and Draco learned that difficult pregnancies
sometimes required muggle women to minimise their movements to the point of even
remaining in bed for the entire time. Draco chuckled at the thought of Pansy adhering to such
restrictions. She would surely drive everyone, especially Charlie, insane.

Hermione's father inquired about her books, and she eagerly shared the news of their
upcoming publication. Her work was scheduled to be released on October 1st, along with
Russian and German translations. She also mentioned a guidebook detailing the cleanup of
the Potter's house, which would be published by the end of the year. It required less effort
compared to her other book, she explained.

They asked him about Scorpius and he suddenly became aware of the potential discomfort
her parents might feel about their daughter dating someone with a child. He had been so
consumed by their past as a source of concern that he had overlooked this aspect.

However, to his relief, they seemed genuinely interested and even asked to see photos of him.
Unfortunately, he only had one picture in his wallet from a few years ago, taken at his
birthday party.

Draco half-expected to be chided for not using a phone, but to his surprise, both parents
agreed that it was a waste of time, which was a sentiment that sharply contrasted with
Hermione's previous attempts to convince him otherwise.
Conversation turned towards them, and Draco inquired about their respective jobs. Her
mother worked in a dental clinic on weekends, although during the summer, there was less
work, and she was mostly “on-call”, as she said. However, starting from September, she
would begin working on weekdays as well. Her father spoke passionately about his
winemaking business which he started with a friend from London who was also a retired
doctor.

Draco also discovered that Hermione played a crucial role in marketing their company. She
was the one using the internet to promote it, which Draco learned in recent months was far
more popular than other forms of media like newspaper or television. She didn't even have to
be in the country to do it. Her father took a lot of photographs and sent them to her via the
internet and she used her computer programs to fix the photos and publish them.

When the conversation shifted to Draco's own occupation, he felt himself approaching the
topic he had been unsure how to navigate. He briefly mentioned overseeing the family
corporation and the countless meetings he attended with lawyers, accountants, shareholders,
and investors. He also revealed that his mother makes significant charitable donations, and it
was his responsibility to handle the accompanying paperwork.

They remained polite but slightly tense when his mother was mentioned. They asked a few
general questions about her well-being, which was more than Draco had anticipated.

Hermione however remained mostly silent during the discussion, allowing her parents to take
the lead, for which he was even grateful. He had honed the skill of transforming unpleasant
conversations into pleasant and civil exchanges, pretending to like people he didn't genuinely
care for.

Not that he felt that way about her parents. They were perfectly nice individuals. Even if they
had held reservations, their reasons would have been justified. Draco prided himself on being
able to read people's faces, and it was clear that they were reserved.

A couple of times, he noticed her father attempting to make a joke, only to catch himself as
he remembered the presence of a stranger at the table and was uncertain how he would
respond to his humour.

Her mother was tapping her fingers nervously at the table. He didn't even pay attention to it,
until he saw Hermione glancing a few times. It was probably irritating for her, she hated
small repetitive noises like that, even though she did them herself sometimes.

Her father signalled the end of the meal as he inquired about their plans for the day.

"I wanted to take Draco to the town and maybe visit the beach as well," Hermione suggested.

Thank you.

"We could have lunch at a restaurant, preferably outdoors,” she asked him and Draco nodded.
“And then we can come back here for dinner. Is that okay?”
"That sounds lovely," her mother replied. Turning to Draco, she asked, “What would you like
for dinner? Do you have any preferences or allergies?”

"No allergies, and I'm not a picky eater. Please don't trouble yourself," he responded.

She chuckled. “It’s not trouble at all, what else am I going to do the entire day? What about
you, Hermione?”

"Well, I don't have any specific requests, but I would love to try the new Tempranillo you
mentioned a few days ago," Hermione said. "So maybe something that complements it well?”

"Great. We have plenty of tomatoes, and I was thinking of making a sauce anyway. I'll just
make pasta.”

"Oh, actually, I forgot something," Draco suddenly remembered and walked towards the bag
he had left near the kitchen island.

He pulled out a bottle he had brought and used his wand to levitate the cacti he had taken
from his greenhouse, carefully placed under a protective silver orb to avoid damage in his
bag.

"Maybe this could go well with dinner too," Draco proposed, placing the bottle in front of her
mother, and turning to her father who looked at the silver ball with fascination. "Hermione
mentioned your succulent hobby, so I asked my… gardener, and she gave me some general
instructions."

He removed the silver orb with the flick of his wand and set a paper with information he had
written and a clay plate with three tiny cacti in front of him.

"But with the Longbottom's potion, I don't think you should have any issues.”

"So my wife gets wine, and I get flowers?" her father remarked, putting on his glasses.
"Shouldn't it be the other way around? I thought you grew up in a more traditional
environment," he teased, a smirk forming on his face.

Was that finally a joke?

He grabbed his phone to snap a photo of the cacti.

"I did," Draco replied with a smile and a nod. "I figured, you probably get plenty of them, so
I decided to switch things up.”

"What is that? It's so small," Hermione asked. Indeed, the cacti were no bigger than a
galleon.

"I'm not exactly sure, but she mentioned it was quite rare," Draco answered cautiously,
avoiding any mention of elves, considering they likely knew about their treatment in their
world through Hermione.
"It's not just rare, it's actually the rarest species of cacti in the wild, according to Google at
least," her father chimed in, reading from his phone. "It's called Pediocactus knowltonii or
Knowlton's miniature cactus. It only grows in the US and Mexico." He explained further and
handed his glasses to his wife. "This is… Thank you," he said sincerely to Draco.

"Chateau Mouton Rothschild," her mother exclaimed with a touch of surprise. "I don't think a
simple pasta will do it justice.”

"I don't exactly know what that means, but I heard 'Rothschild,' and that’s all I need to know,"
Hermione joined in. "Maybe you should add it to the others in the cellar.”

"Yes, perhaps that's a better idea," her mother agreed simply. "This is incredibly thoughtful,
Draco. You really shouldn't have. Thank you.”

He kissed her deeply once they were alone in her room again. He would be forever grateful to
Hermione for not subjecting him to spend the entire day with her parents, as he knew
eventually they would run out of safe topics to discuss. He could sense that they too needed
some time alone to process the morning's events.

After changing into more suitable attire, they decided to take a taxi to the town, considering
the time and the increasing temperature. Within a short time, they arrived in what appeared to
be the bustling town centre. It was his first time in Spain, but it looked exactly as he had
imagined.

The atmosphere felt cosy, reminiscent of his time spent in the French countryside in the
south. Hermione treated them to ice cream, and they found a bench on a lively pedestrian
street where children were playing around. Even though Hermione diligently applied sun
protection lotion on both of them before they left, Draco sought refuge in the shade, realising
it provided little relief from the heat.

He admired Hermione as she basked in the sunlight, her skin glowing radiantly. This is where
she belongs.

In a place where the warmth enveloped her, allowing her to wear light, summer clothes, and
where her skin could absorb the sunlight. Somewhere her hair shone even brighter, and her
freckles were always on display.

"What are you staring at?" she inquired, breaking his reverie.

"You," he replied, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Is there something on my face?” She thought she had to remove some ice cream from
around her lips.

“No.”

Hermione playfully rolled her eyes. She suggested they take a leisurely stroll through the
narrow side streets and visit the bookstore where her friend worked. The quaintness of these
streets reminded him of Diagon Alley, with their cobblestone paths and tightly packed shops.

Muggle souvenir stores were everywhere, offering an array of postcards, mugs and magnets.
Draco decided to purchase a few while Hermione explored the nearby bookstore. Pansy had
an impressive collection of them on her refrigerator, and he thought he could start his own.
He regretted never exploring muggle stores during his travels, realising he could have had
quite a few by now.

The woman at the store assisted him with his payment, deftly counting the coins he scattered
on the counter and returning the appropriate change. With the souvenirs safely tucked away,
Draco made his way to the bookstore where Hermione had disappeared moments ago.

It was a small place selling old books and it smelled like it. It was cooler than the previous
store he was in and it looked exactly like a place she would spend a lot of time in, as she
explained to him before.

She was engrossed in conversation with her friend, Sofia, at the counter, and he noticed the
striking resemblance between them. Both had untamed brown hair and captivating brown
eyes. She greeted him warmly, extending a friendly hand and offering them coffee, but
Hermione politely declined, eager to explore more before dinner.

As they prepared to leave, he overheard Sofia making some subtle comments in Spanish. He
could understand a few words, but she was clearly referring to him with a cheerful tone.
Draco smirked, finding amusement in the exchange.

"So, who was that tall blond person she was talking about?" he inquired, his smirk still
lingering.

Hermione rolled her eyes playfully. "Of course, you caught that. But did you hear it when she
said I look good too?”

"Oh, she said I look good?" he replied, straightening his posture with a hint of pride. "I
thought she was simply stating the obvious, that I'm blonde and tall.”

"Ugh, shut up, you prat," she playfully swatted his shoulder before intertwining her fingers
with his.

Walking hand in hand like this was a rare occurrence for them. Usually, in muggle London,
they would rely on her car to reach their destination, and when they did walk, Hermione
would be preoccupied or burdened with bags, or they would have Scorpius in tow, requiring
Draco to hold onto him to ensure he wouldn't wander off while captivated by the
surroundings.

In the wizarding world, they would sometimes attract curious glances, prompting him to
shield her from the attention by not touching her unnecessarily. Draco knew she noticed it
too, pretending to ignore the not-so-subtle stares while seething with anger beneath her calm
demeanour.
But today, he resolved to push those thoughts aside and relish in the simple pleasure of
holding his girlfriend's hand, strolling through the old city like any ordinary couple, in a
fleeting moment of normalcy he cherished and knew they should never take for granted.

She kept walking, and her voice was filled with excitement as she explained the things along
the way. Finally, they reached a set of stairs, and she pointed up to a magnificent, towering
building on their left.

"Do you want to go inside?" she asked, a sparkle in her eyes.

"Absolutely," he replied eagerly. "Is that a church?”

"Yes. A cathedral, actually," she corrected him with a smile.

Stepping through the doors, they were immediately greeted by a refreshing coolness. Draco
purchased their tickets while Hermione grabbed some pamphlets that provided detailed
explanations of each area within the cathedral.

The history of the building was awe-inspiring, tracing back to the times of the Romans, he
learned. With countless chapels and an abundance of art to admire, it was a sensory overload.
Hermione guided them through the tour, her voice hushed as she shared tidbits about the
different rooms and features.

They even found a moment of tranquillity as they sat together on a bench in front of the
grand altar, as she called it, taking in the serenity of the space.

It was really calming. Slightly haunting with its size and general emptiness, but still…
calming. There were a few other people sitting in silence. They were either just sitting and
observing or praying.

The fragrance of burning candles, melted wax and something else he couldn’t recognise filled
the air, creating a soothing ambiance. If other temples were like this, he could understand
why some muggles seek sanctuary in religion.

They visited a belltower as well and a beautiful garden outside too, and after more than two
hours, they emerged from the cathedral and Hermione led them to a charming restaurant
tucked away on one of the quieter streets. Walking side by side, they held hands, their fingers
interlaced, while she patiently answered his questions about the town.

Draco made a conscious effort not to display affection in front of her parents. She didn't
initiate contact first and he followed her lead. But here, in this unfamiliar setting, he could
freely express his desire for her. And he did.

They sat together, waiting for their food, and he reached out to touch her. Her radiant glow
and flushed cheeks from the heat made her even more enchanting. Her lips were cold from
the water she drank when he kissed her but the rest of her body was warm beneath his touch.

Draco placed his hand a little higher on her thigh than it would be considered polite in public,
but she didn't say anything and just held his hand in place. Her palms were warm too. They
were in a foreign country, where no one knew them, and propriety mattered less to him at that
moment.

After lunch they had, Hermione suggested visiting an old Roman amphitheatre before they
headed back home, and he eagerly agreed. It had been far too long since he had indulged in
tourist activities, and he relished the opportunity to hold her hand throughout their
exploration.

When they were in a taxi on their way back home, she leaned against his shoulder, their
hands still entwined, as if they were one. He reluctantly let go of her upon arrival. It was as if
a part of him was missing without their physical connection.

Her mother was alone in the living room when they walked in. She was working on
something on her laptop and she said her husband took a nap in their bedroom.

Hermione said she’d take a shower first and Draco waited for her in her room. He unpacked
some things from his bag and decided on texting Daphne asking her to go to his flat before
Scorp goes to sleep, just to check on them.

He was sitting on the bed when Hermione returned some time later, clad in a comfortably
oversized blue t-shirt that looked oddly familiar. A playful smile danced across Draco's lips.

"When did you steal that from me?" he teased.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione dismissed his accusation. "I didn't steal it. You left it at my
house, and I thought it deserved to be put to good use.”

"Well, you could have returned it to me, you know.”

She tugged on the hem of the shirt, contemplating his suggestion. "Do you want it back?”

Leaning in closer, Draco drew her between his legs into his embrace, her body pressed
against his.

"No," he drawled. "You look lovely in something that belongs to me." His fingers trailed
along the curves of her leg, from her knees to her hips. "But if you feel inclined to take it off,
I won't object.”

A playful smirk graced Hermione's lips. "I'll consider it," she replied, her voice filled with
teasing allure. "But now, it's your turn. Go."

He quickly finished, realising that showering in her house wasn't as fun without Hermione by
his side.

Returning to the room, Draco found her lying on the bed, dressed in a short burnt orange
linen dress. The vibrant colour of her dress perfectly complemented the green walls of the
room, and he admired how she effortlessly brightened up the space.

He lay down beside her, and she eagerly leaned in to kiss him. Her slightly damp hair carried
the scent of her shampoo. Hermione swung her leg over him bringing their bodies closer, and
he ran his hand teasingly along the smooth skin of her thigh and ass.

"I think... I think I've never done this before," she murmured between kisses, with a playful
smile on her lips. "Snogging with someone in my parents' home.”

He completely forgot about them for a moment, but still, Draco's brow furrowed in
confusion. "You were with Weasley for years.”

"We started living together almost immediately and after him, I always lived alone."

A pang of jealousy shot through him as he realised the significance of that step they had
taken early on. Stop it, you got married after the war. I know, but still.

"Alright then," he replied, pulling her closer and guiding his hand higher between her legs.
"I'm happy to help. Is there anything else you've never done before that you'd like to try?"
Draco peppered slow kisses along her neck, feeling the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

Her voice was almost a whisper as she responded, her breath hitching. "There are plenty of
things, I'm sure.”

He could feel the delicate lace of her knickers beneath his fingertips. It always ignited a fire
within him.

"How much time do we have?" he asked, but suddenly thinking how incredibly inappropriate
it would be if her parents would announce the dinner was ready while he was inside their
daughter.

"Enough, but I don't think you should do that. I'm on my period.”

Draco slowed his hand movements, taking in her words. "Is that… a problem?”

Hermione shifted slightly, looking at him intently. "I don't know. Is it?"

He shrugged.

"Have you ever had sex with someone while they were on their period?”

"No," he admitted.

It dawned on him that this kind of intimacy required a certain level of confidence and trust,
something he hadn't experienced with anyone in a long time, if ever.

"Right," she nodded. "Maybe you should do a little research on the internet first. I'm sorry if
this ruins our weekend," she said, squinting at him.

He let out a sigh. "Thank you for apologising for something as natural as regular bleeding,
which is beyond your control."

She rolled her eyes playfully, a smile tugging at her lips.

"Besides, I don't know how I would look your parents in the eye afterward, so it's probably
better this way.”

"Draco, I'm pretty sure they're aware that we've had sex before.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes. "I know, but still. This is their house. It just seems..." He
waved his hand, searching for the right word. "Indecent.”

Her smile grew wider as she leaned in to kiss him. "I love how respectful you are.”

They descended the stairs an hour or so later, their lips still tingling from the passionate
snogging session. It felt exhilarating, as she said it, it was like being teenagers again.

In the kitchen, Hermione's mother was already hard at work preparing dinner, a seafood
pasta. Her father joined in, skillfully handling the shells, while Hermione busied herself with
chopping vegetables. Draco offered his assistance, but they all kindly declined.

Although he felt a slight discomfort at not being allowed to help, he found himself captivated
by the harmonious dynamics of their family.

Their closeness was evident, even before meeting them in person. Hermione had often shared
stories about her parents, and now he could witness firsthand the effortless synchronicity with
which they worked together.

Her parents shared a pair of glasses, which he found endearing. Her father exhibited
meticulous care while cleaning the shells, a trait that seemed to permeate every aspect of his
life. Hermione must have inherited that attention to detail from him.

Her mother, on the other hand, approached her culinary creations with a more relaxed flair,
adding spices without measuring. It was funny to witness Hermione's internal struggle
between following the recipe and yielding to her mother's free-spirited improvisation.
Whenever Draco deviated from the recipe, she would playfully scold him, insisting on
following it.

The dinner surpassed their breakfast, perhaps due in part to the addition of wine. As the
alcohol flowed, Hermione's parents grew more relaxed, revealing their true personalities.

While Hermione shared her mother's physical resemblance, it was her father who seemed to
shape her character more. They animatedly gestured while recounting stories, with
Hermione's mother occasionally playfully restraining her father's enthusiastic arm
movements. Emotions seemed to flow more readily from him, while her mother provided the
steady voice of reason. It was clear where Hermione acquired her rational thinking and
empathetic nature.

The conversation briefly touched upon muggle politics, which of course didn’t mean much to
Draco, but it was easy to understand their general viewpoints. Weasel was right, again. I
might need to send him a ‘thank you’ note.
The revelation that her parents harboured no fondness for the muggle monarchy wasn’t new
to him, particularly her father, who hailed from a hard-working middle-class background. He
shared anecdotes about his parents, a mechanic and a nurse who had met during the Second
World War. Draco only learned details about it recently, when he watched documentaries on
telly.

In contrast, Hermione's mother came from a more privileged background, having attended
prestigious schools and facing fewer hardships. Her parents had even assisted them in
opening their dental practice after they had obtained their licences.

They had first met during their university years and quickly fell in love. Hermione had
probably heard their love story countless times, as she rose from her seat to retrieve another
bottle of wine from under the kitchen island. As she poured them more wine, her hand
gracefully brushed the nape of Draco's neck, and she lingered there, her touch making him
shiver.

For a brief moment, he worried that such a display of affection might make her parents
uncomfortable, but they seemed unperturbed. His mother would throw daggers at indecent
public displays of affection, save for the most formal gestures.

Their knees touched as they sat side by side, and Draco couldn't resist resting his hand on her
lap, feeling a newfound lightness in his being.

A message from Daphne interrupted them for a moment. She had sent a picture of herself and
Scorpius in SpongeBob pyjamas, assuring Draco that both his mother and son were doing
well.

He proudly shared the photo with Hermione's parents, who commented on the striking
resemblance between Daphne and his son. He hummed politely, but vehemently disagreed.
Scorpius looked exactly like him, but had his mother’s eyes.

The evening progressed, the pasta was devoured, the wine bottles emptied, and Hermione and
Draco found themselves once again in the sanctuary of her bedroom.

They settled on the balcony for a bit, enveloped by the gentle breeze and the fragrant embrace
of blooming flowers just talking.

Later on, he could even smell it from the bed, roses mixing with the vanilla notes from
Hermione’s hair, just as he was about to fall asleep.
 Hermione
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

August and September 2013

Hermione gasped for air, feeling as though a suffocating pillow was pressed against her face.
The intense heat made her head spin, and a persistent buzzing sound rang in her ears, adding
to her dizziness. She held her chest, trying to steady herself, while Draco’s warm hand resting
on the nape of her neck, reminded her of his presence.

"I'm sorry... I woke you up," she managed to say between breaths, avoiding eye contact. "You
can go back to... I just need to... the bathroom." Humiliation washed over her.

"Are you okay?" he asked, with genuine concern in his voice, but she only nodded. "Tell me
what can I do?”

"Nothing, really," she replied, rising from the bed and making her way outside. "Thanks for
waking me up. I just need to go to the bathroom... Go back to sleep... I'll be right back.”

Hermione trembled slightly. Her body was as if struck with a fever, her teeth chattering. The
urge to scratch her arm was too strong but she tried to fight it. It wasn’t real. Forget about it.
It’s a phantom sensation.

She tied her hair atop her head and splashed cold water over her face, neck, and chest.
Breathing deeply, she studied her reflection in the mirror, gripping the sink tightly for
support. Of course. Of course something had to happen. She was stressing out about this day
for too long. Okay, let’s try this again.

Five things I can see. On the sink, there were only two toothbrushes in a glass and faint stains
on the mirror, likely remnants of soap or toothpaste. Breathe. Hermione waved her hand,
attempting to clean the smudges, but her magic seemed weakened in her current state.

Bath mats of deep red, almost burgundy, had replaced the previous green ones, and she
couldn't help but feel the new colour clashed with the orange tiles. Breathe. Additional towels
hung on the back of the door, intended for her and Draco's use. Breathe.

Gazing through the slightly open window, she noticed the night still enveloped the
surroundings. Breathe.

Four things I can touch. The sink was wet from the water, and she used her magic to dry it,
not entirely successfully, but better than cleaning. Breathe. Taking a few pieces of toilet
paper, she finished the task, though the sensation of wet tissue paper in her hands made her
shiver uncomfortably. Breathe.
She washed her hands again, noticing that the hand towel wasn't as soft as the ones back
home due to the absence of a dryer. Breathe.

Opening the cabinet above the sink, she retrieved a hand cream, unable to bear the sound of
dry skin rubbing together. As she applied the cream, a sense of relief washed over her.
Breathe.

Three things I can hear. In the quiet of the night, there wasn't much to hear. Hermione opened
the window, allowing in the distant hooting of an owl, the soft chirping of crickets, and the
gentle rustling of leaves carried by a light breeze. Okay, this part was easy. Breathe.

Two things I can smell. The scent of roses wafted in from outside, mingling with the
fragrance of roses in the hand cream, two distinct yet unrelated scents that often irritated
Hermione. Breathe. It was similar to the disappointment of watermelon-flavoured items that
never truly captured the essence of real watermelon.

One thing I can taste. Water. She drank directly from the faucet, finding comfort in the cool
liquid as it touched her lips. Breathe.

Returning to her room, Hermione wasn't surprised to find Draco sitting on the edge of the
bed, patiently waiting for her, although she sighed nevertheless.

"Don't... breathe like that at me," he remarked, his brow furrowed. "Did you really think I
could go back to sleep?”

"No, not really," she admitted, retrieving her beaded bag from the drawer.

"Are you okay now?" he inquired.

"Yes, I'm sorry for waking you up. Did I... say something?”

"No, you were… mumbling something and shifted quite a bit, and it woke me up," he replied,
his frown lingering. "Do you want to… talk about it?”

"Maybe. But not now," Hermione glanced at the clock on the nightstand, positioned on his
side of the bed. "It's half past three. We should sleep." From her bag, she extracted two vials.
"I'm going to take a calming draught and a dreamless potion. Would you like some?”

"No, thank you. Do you always carry those... essential potions with you?" he asked, his tone
tinged with suspicion.

"Not always. Just when introducing my parents to my boyfriends that I have a complicated
past with.”

Draco rolled his eyes. "Hilarious. Now come back to bed.”

Hermione added a few drops of the potions to a glass of water, quickly drinking it before
snuggling up to Draco's warm body.
She leaned her forehead against his chest, and inhaled his pleasant and expensive scent with a
smile. Her left arm twitched uncomfortably, and the urge to scratch her scar still nagged at
her, but Draco probably noticed and gently took her hand, intertwining their fingers before
placing their hands between them. Focusing on the subtle movements of his fingers, she
gradually drifted back to sleep, finding peace in his presence.

She awoke on the opposite side of the bed, before her alarm, to find that morning had already
arrived. In her groggy state, Hermione reached out gently to grab her phone and check the
time, only to discover that Draco was already wide awake.

"You didn't sleep at all?" she asked.

"I did, for a little while," Draco replied, stretching his body. "How are you feeling?”

"Fine. I'm sorry," she murmured apologetically.

"Don't," he dismissed her. "Are you ready to talk now?”

"I think so. Let me just brush my teeth first, and I'll make us some coffee to drink here,
okay?”

"Okay.”

She hurriedly made her way to the bathroom to freshen up and then descended to the kitchen.
It was just after seven. Hermione opened the garden door, allowing the crisp morning air to
fill the room, and prepared a pot of coffee.

While Draco preferred his coffee black, she knew that drinking it that strong would only
worsen her anxiety. So she poured her coffee into a large mug, adding plenty of milk and a
sprinkle of cinnamon for good measure.

When Hermione returned to their room, he was already dressed and had tidied up the bed. He
leaned over the balcony fence, resting on his elbows.

"You really enjoy the view, don't you?" she said with a smile, noticing him wearing the blue
shirt she definitely did not steal from him. It was an item of clothing that had somehow found
a permanent place in her possession.

"Yes, it smells wonderful outside, and it's already so nice and warm. Thank you," he said,
accepting the cup she offered him and settling into one of the chairs. "I wish we had done this
earlier so we could have experienced it during the peak of summer.”

"There's always next year," she reassured him, taking a seat beside him. "If you still want to
keep me around.”

Draco smiled warmly. "I'll keep you for as long as you'll have me.”

Her heart swelled with joy at his words. "Even after last night's episode?”
"Especially after last night's episode. Now, tell me," he urged, looking at her intently.

She chose not to go into all the details of her nightmare, as it was always the same and he had
been a witness to it. Also, she knew vocalising it wouldn't necessarily make her feel better.

Hermione hadn't wanted to share with him that he is a part of it now too. He wasn’t before,
but their growing closeness had changed that. However, Hermione had barely managed to
convince him that she didn't blame him for it, and bringing this up now would risk pushing
him two steps back.

"So, is it safe to assume you didn't have a stress-free day yesterday?" he asked, finishing his
coffee and placing the cup on the table.

"No, it was... fine. Better than I expected, actually. It was just... overwhelming," she
confessed. "I had an underlying sense of anticipation throughout the day. Always on edge.”

He furrowed his brow slightly. "You could have told me. I can't read your mind, Hermione.”

"And what would you have done? Become even more stressed? As if the entire weekend
wasn't already? No," she shook her head. "Besides, you seemed to handle everything well, so
fortunately, I didn't have to intervene much.”

"I was just putting my endless lessons in polite conversation into practice," he replied with a
touch of sarcasm.

"Sounds riveting," she remarked, and he rolled his eyes. "Is Scorpius receiving similar
lessons?”

"No," he quickly answered. "He doesn't need them.”

"Is your mother okay with that?”

"Not exactly, but... she raised her son; she's not going to raise mine," Draco replied, clearly
wanting to change the subject. "So, what are we going to do today?”

"Do you want to grab some breakfast and head to the beach?" she suggested.

Draco nodded in agreement.

Hermione wrote a note for her parents, informing them of their whereabouts, and they
quickly changed clothes and packed a few essentials before setting out. The taxi dropped
them off in the city so they could buy water and something to eat.

Draco had shown interest in the beach they had spotted from the amphitheatre the day before,
so they decided to walk there. It was still early enough to enjoy a few hours without the
crowds, but it was the weekend before school started, which marked the last day of summer
for many families.

Hermione brought an umbrella and transfigured it into a parasol to shield them from the sun.
While she could tolerate the morning sun in September, her fair-skinned aristocratic
boyfriend would likely turn red within minutes.

Draco watched her intently as she undressed.

"Go ahead, say it," she challenged, freeing her hair from its bun.

"What?" he feigned innocence.

She raised an eyebrow. "I don't know, something you're thinking about.”

He appraised her from head to toe, a smile tugging at his lips. "I was just thinking how much
I love your muggle clothes, but I'll never quite get used to them.”

"What's wrong with my bikini?" she playfully asked, well aware that there was nothing
wrong with her simple black string bikini, except that the top might be slightly smaller than it
should be, making her breasts appear fuller. Completely accidentally.

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with it," he assured her, leaning in for a kiss.

When she wrapped her arms around his waist, she could feel the warmth of his skin against
hers.

"Let's go.”

They swam in the warm water, and Hermione was eager to dive and cool off her head. At one
point, Draco disappeared from her view, swimming a distance away. The sun's glare made it
difficult for her to spot him, but he resurfaced with a dive, playfully grabbing her leg
underwater. Startled, she instinctively jerked and accidentally hit him with her knee on his
forehead.

Hermione quickly showered him with apologetic kisses, and it seemed that he had already
forgotten about it as he lifted her up, her legs wrapping around him, and kissed her with a
purpose.

Afterward, they enjoyed pastries she had bought for breakfast, and Draco found a vendor
selling fruit cups on the beach. Intrigued, he got them fresh fruit as a snack. They alternated
between eating and swimming, with Hermione attempting to soak up some sun and get a tan.
However, Draco chided her for risking sunburns and sought refuge in the shade.

It was almost comical how he shielded himself, but he looked rather dashing with the
sunglasses he transfigured from her regular glasses and deep green swimming shorts he
wore.

By noon, the heat prompted Hermione to suggest walking back home. Draco agreed, and they
gathered their belongings. He eagerly took her hand in his, and together, they strolled through
the city. He discreetly cast a cooling charm, allowing them to enjoy the walk comfortably.
Hermione chose a different route, hoping to show him more of the city.

They entered the living room in the house, and her parents greeted them warmly, questioning
about their morning and if they had slept well. Not wanting to burden them with her troubles,
Hermione instinctively fabricated a response, assuring them that everything was fine.

Her parents then extended an invitation to treat them to lunch at a restaurant near their
vineyard. Although she was feeling a bit fatigued from their morning activities, Draco's
enthusiasm for the idea sparked her interest, and she agreed without hesitation. So after
showers and another snogging session in her room, they were on their way.

After a short drive through the picturesque streets, they arrived at the vineyard. The
sprawling estate was a breathtaking sight in summer, with rows upon rows of vibrant
grapevines stretching as far as the eye could see. The air was filled with a sweet, earthy
aroma, carried by a gentle breeze that rustled the leaves of the vines.

They strolled through the lanes, and Hermione's father pointed out the different grape
varieties they had cultivated. He explained how they had carefully selected specific grape
cultivars to suit the unique soil and climate of their region years before they moved to Spain.

There were luscious clusters of deep purple Tempranillo grapes, known for their rich flavours
and bold character. Nearby, they passed by rows of Garnacha Blanca, their pale green skins
glistening in the sunlight, promising crisp and refreshing white wines, her father explained to
Draco. Hermione tried a few grapes. It was sweet and ripe, and it was almost perfect for
harvesting next month.

Draco had never experienced the art of muggle winemaking before, so he listened attentively,
asking a lot of questions. Hermione felt a surge of pride and relief as she watched him engage
in conversation with her parents, as their shared enthusiasm bridged the gap between their
worlds.

The restaurant connected to the vineyard was owned by Dr Spencer who was a retired
orthodontist, Hermione explained to Draco.

They found a nice table outside under the oak tree. Platters of delectable tapas soon arrived at
their table. Patatas bravas, gambas al ajillo, and slices of artisanal cured meats. The flavours
danced on their tongues, perfectly complemented by the wines produced from the very vines
they had just explored.

Despite the delicious feast laid before them, Hermione's mind wandered to the episode she
had experienced last night. She felt a tinge of embarrassment, knowing that Draco had
witnessed her in that vulnerable state. She wished she could have shielded him from that side
of her. Hermione stole occasional glances at him, silently hoping that he wouldn't perceive
her temporary lapse of composure as a sign of weakness.

Her anxiety had always been a silent companion, lurking beneath the surface, and she had
become adept at concealing its presence. But this time, it had slipped through the cracks,
unveiling a side of her that she hadn't intended for him to see. Everytime she told him to stay
and sleep over because she felt something might happen, Hermione was hoping it wouldn’t.
She longed for their connection to remain unmarred by her inner struggles.

Draco seemed attuned to her inner turmoil. His gentle touch on her knee and understanding
glances offered a silent reassurance. It was enough for Hermione to suddenly change her
mind.

What was she even worried about? It was comforting knowing that their connection was built
on more than just shared laughter and light-hearted moments.

"I think my favourite is the one with elderberry flowers, it's beautiful," Draco remarked, his
eyes shimmering with genuine admiration.

A nod of agreement came from Hermione's mother. "That one tends to be a crowd-pleaser. It
has a delightful and easy-drinking quality, don't you think?”

Draco nodded and chuckled softly. "To be honest, I didn't even know what elderberry looks
like, let alone that it could be used for wine.”

Hermione's father wiped his face with a napkin before rising from his seat. "We actually have
some elderberry bushes over there. Come, let me show you," he invited Draco, who eagerly
followed him.

Hermione watched them walk away towards a few small buildings on the property
surrounded by plants. She caught her mother’s gaze when she returned her eyes to the table.

"You look tired," her mother observed, sipping her wine. "What did you do at the beach this
morning?”

Hermione let out a weary sigh. "Nothing, but I had another nightmare last night. I was
stressed yesterday.”

“Because of…?” she sighed and her hand reached across the table to comfort her. "Oh, dear,
I'm sorry to hear that. But everything is going well, don’t you see?”

"I know, but... I can't shake this feeling that something is bound to happen," Hermione
admitted, her eyes drifting towards Draco and her father engrossed in conversation.

Well, her father was talking, Draco was listening.

“I'm sorry you feel that way.” Her expression turned sympathetic. "I understand your
apprehension, Hermione. However, we've invited you… both of you here on multiple
occasions, and I assured you it's not to scold you.”

“I know. I just… can’t help it.”

The two men both looked more serious than before. Somehow I don’t think they’re talking
about the flowers anymore.

"He's a very handsome young man," her mother mused, her eyes twinkling.

Hermione couldn't help but smile in agreement.

"And he carries himself with such grace. I caught myself adjusting my posture a few times,"
her mother admitted with a chuckle, but her face turned serious quickly. “Are you happy?”
Hermione's smile softened with a mix of relief. "Yes, I am." She paused, taking a deep breath.
"At first, I thought I just missed the feeling of being with someone, but being with him... it's
unlike anything I've ever felt before.”

Her mother's eyes relaxed. "Then I'm happy for you, dear.”

A wave of gratitude washed over Hermione as she looked into her mother's loving gaze.
"Thank you," she whispered.

The men returned to the table, the air between them carrying a sense of quiet anticipation.
Savouring the last sips of their wine and indulging in a few more bites of food, the time to
call a taxi finally arrived.

Hermione had another idea for her and Draco, taking a different road to one of the secret
beaches David had shared with her. The one she had frequented with him before held a
special place in her heart, but she didn’t want to take Draco there.

There was another beach nearby, smaller and with a sprinkle of people dotting its shores. It
offered a breathtaking view of the setting sun. The taxi left them close enough so they could
walk and it felt nice after all the food they had.

They strolled towards the beach, and Hermione couldn't contain her curiosity any longer. "So,
what did my dad say?" she inquired.

A smile curved Draco's lips as he replied, "Let's just say we both had our share of first-time
experiences here. You indulged in a… passionate bedroom session with your boyfriend at
your parents' house, and I… Well, I received my first-ever threat from my girlfriend's
formidable father.”

A frown formed on her face. "What did he say?" she pressed.

He shrugged casually. "Nothing you need to worry about," he tried to assure her.

"You should know by now that not knowing something worries me even more," she retorted,
her eyes narrowing.

Draco held his ground. "Well, you'll have to find a way to handle it," he replied cryptically,
provoking an eye roll from Hermione. "I must admit, I half-expected Potter or Weasley to
swoop in dramatically, defending your honour at first, but surprisingly, they didn't," he
continued and pretended he had just realised something. “Huh, I guess your friends don’t care
as much about you.”

"Please," she scoffed. "I explicitly forbade them from saying anything to you. You should be
thanking me for sparing you the embarrassment.”

The small vacant beach stretching out before them, with sand imprinted with footprints.
Hermione and Draco transfigured their attire to swimwear, preparing to immerse themselves
in the refreshing waters.
Seeking some respite after swimming, she settled on a spot of the blanket without the shelter
of a parasol, opting to soak up more sunshine. Draco joined her minutes later, droplets of
water cascading from his hair and trickling over his body as he lay down beside her in the
shade.

He positioned himself on his stomach, hands tucked under his head, and before long, the
gentle lull of the surroundings put him into a peaceful slumber. Hermione watched him with a
fond smile, while his sunglasses rested haphazardly on his nose. Rather than disturb his well-
deserved rest, she waved her hand to move the parasol, shielding him from the sun. Settling
onto her stomach, she untied her bikini top, basking in the caress of warmth and the remnants
of salt in her hair.

Time seemed to drift away, and as the gentle embrace of sleep beckoned to her too. She lifted
herself on her elbows and her fingertips danced through Draco’s hair, making him stir gently.

"Oh, fuck. I must have fallen asleep," he exclaimed, momentarily disoriented.

Hermione chuckled softly. "It's alright. You looked incredibly adorable," she reassured him.

He smirked and his eyes lingered on her, searching for words that seemed to elude him. "You
look... Well, I don't know. I'm at a loss for words whenever you're naked," he admitted, his
gaze filled with awe.

Hermione wiggled her bottom playfully. "I'm not entirely naked, you see?”

Another smirk tugged at Draco's lips. "I see," he replied, his warm hand resting on the small
of her back, gliding delicately along her spine. "Gods, you're absolutely incredible,” he
almost whispered. “Why did you take it off?”

She shrugged, a grin curving her lips. "I don't want any tan lines.”

Draco's finger traced the edge of her bikini bottom, sending delightful shivers down her
spine. "What about tan lines here?" he asked, his touch eliciting goosebumps.

Hermione shrugged nonchalantly. "Those, I don't mind," she confessed. "Besides, I'm the
only one who sees them. Well, you too," she added, looking at him and a smug smirk gracing
his features.

Draco's eyes sparkled with appreciation. "I happen to like them," he confessed.

"Do you now?" Hermione inquired.

"Yes, I love those lines. And these lines as well," Draco declared, his fingers delicately
tracing the skin of her hips and trailing down to her bum, where a few stretch marks
decorated her skin. "You know what they remind me of?" he murmured, his voice growing
quieter.

Curiosity gleamed in Hermione's eyes as she shook her head, inviting him to continue.
"The traces serpents leave when they slither through sand," he said, his words painting vivid
images in her mind. Draco inched closer, pressing a tender kiss upon her shoulder. "Your skin
is always so hot, like a desert."

Sometimes he could be so poetic, he would leave her speechless.

"Actually, no," he corrected himself with a tender smile softening his features. "Deserts are
harsh and unforgiving, and you're everything but. You are like an oasis," he murmured, his
voice barely above a whisper. "Being with you feels like quenching a thirst after wandering
aimlessly through the desert.” He looked at her without blinking and she felt tightness in her
chest. “You are my sanctuary, my oasis."

He kissed her shoulder between each word, and rested his forehead gently against it when he
exhaled softly. Hermione's heart raced. Her voice quivered as she mustered the courage to
finally speak.

"I love you," she confessed.

Draco's head shot up, his gaze locking with hers, his grey eyes reflecting an intensity that
took her breath away.

Unable to contain her overwhelming feelings, she continued, her voice trembling but
resolute. "I feel like my heart might burst if I don't say it. I love you, Draco," she confessed,
and felt tears threatening to spill over.

Hermione could feel her heart pounding in her chest, the intensity of the moment electrifying
the air around them. She sat up to see him more clearly, and instinctively pulled her hair
forward, to shield her nakedness.

“I thought I loved before, but I don’t think I have. Not like this at least.”

He sat up too, pulling her onto his lap. Without hesitation, he closed the distance between
them, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. Breathless, he murmured, "I love you too," his
words interwoven with kisses that quickened Hermione's heartbeat. "I love you so much.”

Overwhelmed by her emotions, Hermione held him tightly, shifting on his lap until she was
straddling him. She kissed him madly, pouring out all the love and affection she had carried
within her.

"I've wanted to say it countless times before," she confessed, her voice filled with raw
honesty. "But I wanted to make sure I was clear-headed, and that I could fully comprehend
my feelings.”

Draco let out a small laugh. “Of course you would over-analyse this,” he said. His eyes
remained on her face, his grip on her unwavering.

Cupping his face in her hands, Hermione locked her eyes with his, her voice steady and
resolute. "I love you, and I don't want another day to pass without you knowing that.”
Draco's eyes shimmered as he met hers. "Then let no more days pass," he replied, and his
voice was filled with conviction. "Tell me every day. I know I will." His gaze bore into her
soul, his love shining brightly. "I love you… so fucking much, Hermione.”

They melted into each other's embrace on the blanket, their kisses lingering for what felt like
an eternity. Hermione thought that she might not feel her lips tomorrow.

The sun slowly set and cast a warm glow, and Draco looked stunning under this light. His
fingers lazily traced patterns on her back, and she reciprocated by caressing his arm.

Glancing at his watch, he realised it was after six and suggested they head back home. "It
would be a bit rude to arrive just minutes before the portkey," he pointed out. “Because of
your parents, I mean.”

"Don't worry, I can apparate us home," Hermione assured him, gazing into his eyes.

She didn't want to leave this place and return to their life in London.

Confusion clouded his face. "Wait, was that always an option?" he asked. "Why didn't we
apparate all the time?”

Shrugging her shoulders, Hermione replied, "I don't know. I used to forget to bring my wand
with me when I left the house, and I guess it slipped my mind. Besides, you enjoy cars.”

Draco drawled, "No, I tolerate them when there's no other choice and because you like
driving.”

A little while later, Hermione apparated them to her bedroom. They quickly took showers,
packed their belongings, and joined her parents in the garden, enjoying their company until it
was almost time to depart.

Her father prepared crates with bottles and some ham and cheese for them to take home.
Draco tried to politely refuse, but her parents were persistent. Hermione placed the teaspoon
that Harry always used as a portkey on the kitchen island and glanced at the clock. Two more
minutes.

"I'll send you a patronus as soon as we arrive," Hermione informed her parents, explaining to
Draco that there would be no phone service at the Potters’.

Her dad turned to Draco with curiosity. "Do you have a… patronus animal?”

He nodded. "It's a scorpion," Draco replied, earning a smile from Hermione.

I always thought it would be something pompous.

“It used to be a dragon, but I guess my priorities changed after my son was born.”

Well, there you go.

"One more minute," Hermione said, hugging her parents tightly.

She silently thanked her dad, who gave her a reassuring wink. Draco shook hands with her
parents, and as the teaspoon started glowing blue, they clasped hands and touched the
portkey, instantly arriving in the Grimmauld Place hallway, just in front of the grand
staircase.

As always, Ginny and Harry were waiting, seated on the stairs. "He's alive," he declared
dramatically, causing Ginny to chuckle.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes, I am.”

Hermione sent her patronus to her parents. "Ugh can we sit down, please?" she requested,
feeling a slight queasiness in her stomach.

She walked to the kitchen and rested her face on her crossed arms on the table. Draco stood
behind her, gently massaging her neck and shoulders while engaging in conversation with the
couple.

"So it seems like everything went better than expected, right?" Ginny remarked after Draco
provided a concise summary of their weekend.

"See? I told you there was nothing to worry about," Harry chimed in.

"Not thanks to you. It's more thanks to your brother, actually.”

"Which one?”

Draco sarcastically replied, "Which one could have had valuable information for me about
her parents, Red? Charlie?”

"Oh, right.”

Hermione lifted her head to look at him. "You didn't tell me you spoke to Ron.”

"Huh, I must have forgotten," he smirked. "Are you feeling better now?"

Hermione nodded.

"Good, I'm going home to see my son. I'll probably have to apologise for leaving him with
my mother over the weekend."

Leaning down, he placed a quick kiss just below her ear and whispered softly so that only she
could hear. "I love you."

Hermione smiled and squeezed his hand in response.

"Good night, you two.”

With a flicker of green flames, he disappeared, leaving Hermione staring into the fireplace for
a few moments before turning her gaze to Ginny and Harry, who wore knowing smirks.
"What?" she questioned.

Ginny pouted dramatically. "Already missing your boyfriend?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut up.”

The following week proved to be a whirlwind of meetings with publishers and lawyers as
Hermione prepared for the release of her upcoming book. The anticipation of a small meet-
and-greet event at Flourish and Blotts made her cringe at the thought of being thrust into the
spotlight. Nevertheless, she resolved to endure it for one night, understanding the importance
of connecting with her readers.

One day she went to Theo and Blaise’s newly opened store with Draco. The Alley was not as
busy as it was before the school started but they still got a few looks when she held his hand.

Hermione noticed he tried to let go, probably some noble act to stop the passers-by from
staring, but they would look no matter what. She firmly held onto him, refusing to let the
judgement of strangers dictate her behaviour or affect their relationship.

They initially wanted to name the store Wyrmwood Wares. Theo said that they could use
WWW on the official logo and he asked Hermione if they could be sued by the internet for
copyrights. She did her best not to laugh and explain that they wouldn’t be. Even with all the
knowledge about the muggle world, he could still surprise her with his questions.

But they changed their mind and decided upon Scales & Potions, with the wordplay on scale,
because they realised George’s shop was already WWW.

Their store exuded their distinct style and attention to detail. Every item radiated an air of
luxury, from the polished wood of the counter and shelves to the elegantly crafted vials and
wooden boxes used for packaging.

Blaise acknowledged that they might experience initial losses in the first few months, but
remained optimistic, knowing they had the means to weather any challenges that arose.

At the end of the week, she invited Padma and Luna for dinner and Parvati invited herself
and Lavender too. Hermione had to admit that Lavender wasn't as annoying as she was in
school, but then again, she might not be annoying at all, but she was just going on her nerves
because of Ron.

In the kitchen, Hermione was in the final stages of preparing a carbonara with pancetta she
bought at the market and cheese her parents had packed for her. She already made a small
vegan alternative for Luna. Just as she was near the end, they arrived together.

Lavender's curiosity about Hermione's assortment of muggle items was clear. Despite having
lived in a moderately technologically equipped apartment with Neville for a few years, she
still found herself fascinated by the electric spice grinder, ice maker in the fridge door, and
the espresso machine Draco had gifted Hermione for their morning coffee indulgence. It was
overpriced but rather useful so she didn’t object.

She graciously explained each item, and Parvati chimed in with her own questions or
insights. Meanwhile, Luna quietly occupied a spot on the sofa next to Padma, who was
engrossed in the documents Hermione had received from her publisher.

"So are we also invited to the book launch party?" Luna asked in her usual absentminded
manner.

"Of course, I want all of you there to witness the spectacle of people staring at me, asking for
photos, and for book signings," Hermione replied with a deadpan expression.

"Marvellous! I'll make sure to mark it in my calendar," Luna cheerfully declared, retrieving
her agenda from her bag and jotting down the details.

Hermione rolled her eyes at Parvati and Lavender and they smiled.

"How many people are they expecting?" Padma inquired, her eyes still fixed on the papers in
front of her.

"I'm not entirely sure. How many people can fit inside Flourish and Blotts?" Hermione
pondered.

"Not many, but do you know how many people can fit in the Alley?" Parvati smirked.
"They'll be waiting outside.”

"How was it the last time?" Lavender asked, sipping her wine but hardly eating anything.

After the final battle, she developed a taste for rare steaks due to being scratched by a
werewolf, same as Bill. Hermione had offered to make the dish for her, but she politely
declined.

“What Parvati said, they were waiting outside. Although, that was six or seven years after the
war. People were more interested back then when they constantly talked about me in the
papers. Now, I doubt they're as curious," Hermione tried to convince herself.

"You're probably right. But regardless, we should go out somewhere afterward. At least for
drinks," Parvati suggested. "It's a significant event, no matter how much you want to
downplay it.”

"I'm not trying to downplay it. We've put a lot of work into it, especially my team. They've
worked even harder than I have," Hermione admitted.

"See? You're doing it again," Parvati remarked, and Lavender chuckled.

"I'm n... Yes, I am," she conceded, rolling her eyes. "I'm working on it, alright?"

"This carbonara is fantastic," Padma complimented, serving herself more. “You’re not very
good when you make dishes with meat but this is great.”
"Thanks, I suppose?" Hermione furrowed her brow. "I've always loved creamy pasta.”

"Me too. This wine pairs perfectly with it," she added.

Lavender grabbed the bottle to pour more into their glasses. "Oh, this is from your vineyard?
Nice," she commented after inspecting the label.

"Oh, right, how was your weekend?”

"It went surprisingly well," Hermione replied, delving into the details for a few minutes while
the other women listened.

"I never doubted that Malfoy could charm your parents," Parvati smirked afterwards.
"Despite your... history. It helps that he's always so self-assured."

Hermione didn't feel inclined to share Draco's insecurities with the others, but she appreciated
that he left the impression of being untouchable. Perhaps it was for the best.

"Draco actually visited my store the day before you went. He needed some ingredients,"
Luna chimed in. "He seemed tense, so I offered him some of my tea.”

"Well, thank you for not giving him something that would put him to sleep. Otherwise, he'd
miss the entire weekend," Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Oh no," Luna quickly waved her hands in defence. "The Serenity Blossoms now have their
own separate stall with a big sign and a warning. I can't afford to get sued.”

The mention of lawsuits prompted Parvati to recall their recent arrests of people who were
mixing regular muggle medicine with harmless potions and selling them at exorbitant prices.

"How did your parents' meeting go?" Hermione turned to Lavender.

She and Parvati had announced their relationship to Parvati's parents first, who were shocked
but accepting. Lavender however had expressed scepticism about her own parents' reaction.

She frowned and cleared her throat. “As I predicted.”

"I'm sorry," Hermione offered sympathetically.

"It's okay," Lavender replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing the glamoured
scar from the werewolf. "They'll come around. I know they will."

Parvati placed her hand on Lavender's knee, and the room fell into a brief silence.

Sensing the need for a change of focus, Padma cleared her throat. "So George and I are kind
of dating now.”

"Officially?" Luna inquired.

Hermione wasn't surprised; it was only a matter of time. Since she found out about them, she
had repeatedly urged George to gather his courage and admit that his feelings for Padma went
beyond casual sex.

"Yes," she nodded. "He said he doesn't want to fool around like a bunch of kids anymore. It
was the most serious I've ever seen him. I almost thought it was one of his jokes that flew
over my head," she chuckled.

"He does make a lot of jokes that I don't understand," Luna concluded.

"And what's happening now?" Hermione asked.

She shrugged. "Well, now I want to move in with him.”

Already?

“Isn’t it too soon?” Luna asked.

Yes.

"I told her the same thing," Parvati added.

"I don't think so," Padma shook her head. "It might be soon if we had just met, but we've
known each other for so long. I feel like... I don't want to waste any more time, you know?”

Hermione understood that. She did move in with Ron as soon as they started dating. But they
have known each other for years before. Well, so do Padma and George.

And she and Draco started their relationship by having sex first and then going on dates. The
coffee meetings before were not dates. Not technically. So in a sense, they didn't waste time.
Maybe I shouldn't judge too soon.

"But what if you discover something about him that you don't like once you start living
together?" Luna raised a concern.

"I mean, it's not like we're getting married. This is the best way to get to know each other
even better." Padma looked around the table. "Have any of you thought about getting
married?”

"Well, I'm not sure how that would work for us," Lavender scoffed.

"Muggles allow same-sex marriage," Hermione stated.

Parvati rolled her eyes. "Yes, but where?”

"Here," Hermione declared. "Starting next year.”

"What? Really?" Lavender's expression shifted to one of shock.

Hermione nodded and frowned at Parvati. "I sent you an article from a muggle news site
about two months ago. I emailed it to you. On your laptop," she added, hoping it would be
enough to remind her to use it.

“Oh, I never check that,” she waved her hand dismissively. “So what does that mean?”

"The parliament passed the law in July, and now they're waiting for each part of the country
to legalise it," Hermione explained. "In England, it will come into effect from March next
year, I think. You did know there was already a legal... civil union or partnership, or
something like that, even before this law, right?”

"No," Parvati admitted, furrowing her brow as if Hermione hadn't sent her numerous articles
to read.

"Honestly, woman, check your emails. This is ridiculous," Hermione scolded, rolling her
eyes.

“But I don't know how that's going to work out. I think muggle marriage ceremonies between
wizards are not recognised here,” Lavender said.

“No, no. Civil union is not recognised,” Parvati said, “but funnily enough, religious is. I
guess because it’s also a type of a sacred ritual.”

The following week, Hermione did something with Draco they have never done before - had
a film night. She chose Shutter island. It was a relatively simple premise, there was not a lot
of unfamiliar technology for him, just a very standard murder mystery.

Transforming her living room into a makeshift cinema, she prepared tortilla crisps, dips, and
popcorn, opting for beer instead of fizzy drinks. However, watching a film with Draco proved
to be both intriguing and exasperating, as he had an abundance of questions.

"Why did they have to surrender their weapons? Aren't they police officers?" he pondered.

"This is the same actor from the Titanic movie? Are you sure?" he inquired.

"Do all muggle hospitals look like this?" he wondered.

“Who is this? His wife? What happened to her?”

“He is a famous actor too? Max Von what? Never heard of him.”

“Why does he have migraines? I feel that’s important, they keep telling us that.”

“So wait, what war was he in?”

“Wait, so who is she?”

"Wait, what? It wasn't real? This whole thing wasn't real? Seriously?”
“Oh wow. Wow. His children…”

"Okay, wow."

Hermione watched Draco process the movie's conclusion.

"So, is he insane or...?”

"I think the intention was to leave it open-ended, to spark discussion," she explained.

"Well, consider me thoroughly confused," he remarked, gazing at the black screen. "Do you
think he's mad?”

"I believe he had a moment of clarity, but overall, yes, he's mad," she shared, joining him in
contemplating the ending. "Did you enjoy it? It's even better upon rewatching, once you
know all the pieces.”

"Yes. Wow," he replied, visibly affected by the film's impact. “You should give me the DVD
so I can watch it again. I watched the Titanic so many times so far, I learned some lines by
heart.”

The Titanic. She nodded and her smile grew at his genuine reaction.

"Yes, well the director is one of the best in the world. He and the main actor, the one from
Titanic, have another movie coming out this year, not suitable for those under eighteen," she
teased, wiggling her eyebrows. "Would you like to see the trailer?”

"The... what? Okay."

She pulled up the video on Youtube, and Draco watched it with unwavering attention.

"It doesn't seem too inappropriate," he remarked after it was done.

“Well, they can’t put naked people doing drugs in trailers on Youtube, can they?”

He narrowed his eyes.

“I’ve read the book,” she explained.

"Alright, let's watch it in the cinema," he said.

"Really? You want to go with me?" she asked, surprised by his enthusiasm.

Draco rolled his eyes playfully. "Hermione, seriously? I want to do everything with you," he
said, pulling her onto his lap. "A movie with inappropriate content unsuitable for minors?
Count me in," he added, kissing her. "You smell like cheese.”

She chuckled. "You do too. Cheese and beer. Very alluring.”

"Let me quickly brush my teeth, and then let's head to bed, alright?”
The following week marked Hermione's birthday, and Pansy wasted no time in finding out
the plans so she could decide what to wear. Her growing baby bump of five months had made
it increasingly challenging to fit into her clothes.

To address this, Hermione, along with Daphne, accompanied Pansy to a muggle maternity
wear store. The disapproving look on Pansy's face upon seeing the pastel-coloured options
was enough for Hermione to never offer anything similar ever again.

She, however, didn't want to make a big deal out of her birthday, considering that the book
launch party would be taking place a few days later. She didn't want to be at the centre of
attention twice within such a short span of time.

Pansy, settling herself on the sofa in her flat and trying to find a comfortable position, voiced
her disagreement.

"The book launch and your birthday are two completely separate events," she asserted. "The
first celebrates your work, while the latter celebrates you. So, don't argue," she said firmly.
"Are you going to say no to a pregnant woman?”

Rolling her eyes, Hermione replied, "How many times are you planning to play that card?”

"Until the February," Pansy declared. "For all of your birthdays next year, I'll have a baby
with me. So, don't ruin this for me now." She placed a pillow behind her back and propped up
her legs on Daphne's lap.

“So we’re all just supposed to bend over for you this year?” Ginny asked from an armchair.
“No one did anything for me,” she mumbled.

“You didn’t ask,” Pansy said. “And also, you know, in some muggle cultures, it's bad luck to
refuse any request from a pregnant woman.”

Hermione raised her eyebrow.

“Yes, I've read the books you gave me.”

"Are we living in that muggle culture now?"

Pansy glared at her in response.

Reluctantly, Hermione relented, saying, "Fine. But honestly, I don't want to make a big fuss.
You can all come over to my house, and we can have some drinks and that’s it.”

Daphne, chiming in, added, "Theo and I can prepare some finger food for you if you'd like.”

"What I would truly prefer is to skip it altogether, but thank you. I appreciate that," Hermione
said.
Two days before her birthday, Hermione joined Draco and Scorpius for dinner at his flat.
They opted for burgers and chips, but Dissy didn't seem particularly pleased with the
deliveries that often happened when she arrived. Feeling the need to make it up to her,
Hermione graciously accepted when Dissy offered to make a birthday cake for her.

"I've already bought the ingredients for the cheesecake I wanted to make," Hermione
informed Dissy. "So your cake doesn't have to be too big.”

Dissy nodded eagerly. "What kind of cake would Miss Granger prefer?”

"Hermione is a fan of chocolate," she emphasised with a smile. "But whatever you have time
to make will be wonderful.”

"No, no, Dissy will make a chocolate cake for Miss Hermione," she replied with a shy blush.

Baby steps, I guess.

Later on, Hermione lent a hand to Draco and Scorpius in their lab while they brewed
Pepperup Potion. Scorpius had been dealing with a cold for the past few days.

Once they successfully completed the potion, Scorpius headed for a bath while Hermione and
Draco settled down in the living room to watch telly. Hermione nestled her head on a pillow
in Draco's lap as he lazily ran his fingers through her hair.

"Hey," he suddenly spoke up, prompting her to look up at him. "Stay here tonight. You've
never spent the night here.”

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked, gesturing towards the bathroom.

"Of course," Draco reassured her. "I'll let him know you'll be here so he doesn't wake us up at
the crack of dawn.”

Hermione chuckled. "Alright, I'll just go back and grab a few things.”

"Good," he replied, returning his attention to the telly. "Tomorrow morning, we're going to
Gringotts.”

"We?" Hermione questioned. "What do you need me for... Oh, is it open now? Really?”

"Yes," he smiled. "Are you still interested?”

"Well, now that you've put in months of work and God knows how much gold, no, not
really," she teased. “Seriously though? Did you have to spend a lot?”

He let out a sigh. "I don't want to come across as condescending or rude, but our definitions
of 'a lot' may differ."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Let's just say I had to return a few borrowed items to the goblins from the vault.”
"Do we also have different definitions of 'a few?'" she quipped.

"No," he replied with a smile. "Don't worry about it.”

The bed in Draco's flat was incredibly comfortable and significantly larger than Hermione's,
even though he also lived alone. Surprisingly, Hermione managed to sleep well despite the
usual challenges of adjusting to a new sleeping environment.

As promised, Scorpius didn't wake them up and instead waited for them at the table. His face
turned red when he caught sight of Hermione emerging from the bathroom a few minutes
before breakfast. She made a conscious effort to wear regular pyjamas, avoiding her usual
sleep attire.

The previous night and morning were devoid of any… intimate activities, as she felt self-
conscious with Draco's son sleeping in the next room. She understood his hesitation to
engage in anything beyond kissing during their stay at her house in Spain.

After breakfast, he began his lessons for the day, leaving Hermione and Draco free to visit
Diagon Alley. As expected, they faced some stares and whispers from onlookers, but it was
nothing they couldn't handle.

Hermione appreciated the respite once they entered Gringotts, the goblins seemed indifferent
to the gossip. However, she noticed discreet glances from the goblin at the desk when they
had to surrender both of their wands for inspection, prompted by Draco's request of visiting
his vault.

When she and her friends visited their vaults, they endured the uncomfortable roller coaster
ride with moderately polite goblins. However, Draco's experience was entirely different.

He took an elegant lift with an exceptionally courteous staff. Although they ended up in the
same place, the journey to the underground with him was far more comfortable. Hermione
pointed out the disparity, to which he simply shrugged.

"I didn't even realise not everyone used lifts," he remarked. "What's a roller coaster?”

Ignoring his question, Hermione mused, "You know what this reminds me of? Titanic. First-
class passengers versus the second and third.”

Draco rolled his eyes. "You're exaggerating. It can't be that bad.”

She shot him a glare. "Sometimes you have to pass through a waterfall that cleanses away
any magic that could compromise security.”

"Ah, well..." He frowned slightly. "From now on, whenever you need something from your
vault, I'll accompany you.”

"Why, thank you, kind sir," she replied, rolling her eyes in jest.
Draco's vault was located deeper underground than Hermione's. She remembered that she had
been in this part of Gringotts only once before, during their unauthorised entry into... her
vault. Pushing the memory aside, she focused on the present.

"Are you alright?" he asked, noticing her shiver.

"Yes, it's a bit chilly, isn't it?" she replied.

Unlike the… other vault on this level that she had visited, this one had a different layout. It
consisted of a small hallway with several large, heavy wooden doors. Each door had worn-
out signs in both English and what she assumed was a goblin language, indicating the various
treasures housed behind them.

The goblin accompanying them glared at Hermione when Draco asked if he wanted to join
them or wait outside.

"You can send me a Patronus when you're ready to leave," the goblin responded bitterly,
bowing slightly.

"Thank you. Let's go in here," Draco said, opening the door labelled Library and gesturing
for Hermione to follow.

She instinctively tried to cast lumos, but her spell failed. Draco quickly lit up the entire space,
which turned out to be as large as the Great Hall. Hermione's eyes widened in awe.

"Sorry. No one but Malfoys can perform spells here. Well, Malfoys and goblins," he
explained.

"That's alright," she replied, her voice barely audible as she took in the sight of tall shelves
filled with hundreds of books. "Fucking hell.”

Draco chuckled. "Feel free to explore and touch anything you want. It's all safe now.”

Hermione realised her mouth was slightly open as she surveyed the room. "I don't even know
where to start looking first."

"Oh, there's a... It's here somewhere... Wait," Draco said, walking towards an old desk in the
left corner covered in papers. "Ah, there it is." He revealed a massive book on the desk.
"Everything in here is listed. There are books, paintings, manuscripts, music scores, a few
original documents, maps, and so on."

Hermione flipped through the pages, which were old, but not yellowed, or brittle, filled with
tiny handwritten text.

"I'm referring to the muggle items, not wizarding ones. I assume those interest you more."

She tried to read some of the listed items.

"Right?" Draco asked when she didn't respond to his previous comments.
“Sorry, yes,” Hermione nodded, her excitement evident. "I'm processing all this information.
I'm so thrilled about it.”

"We can't spend the whole day here, you know?" he reminded her.

"I know. So, what's the smallest category?" she inquired.

Draco tapped on the book, causing its pages to flip until it stopped somewhere in the middle.

"Original documents, it seems," he replied, glancing at the page. "There are only a few dozen.
They're in the back. Let me show you.”

They were walking through an aisle between two long bookshelves, Hermione couldn't
contain her enthusiasm. The last time she had been this excited was when she visited Trinity
College Old Library in Dublin. Old libraries were like Disneyland for her.

"There's no smell," she noticed. "The smell of old books.”

"It's a protection spell. If you take them outside, they'll be affected by the environment like
any other book," he explained.

As they walked, a few moving portraits that were leaning on the ground observed them, some
waking up when a person from a nearby portrait jumped into their frame to whisper
something.

"Here we are," Draco said, gesturing toward a shelf filled with scrolls. It resembled a wine
rack, with each document having its designated spot. "Will you be alright on your own for a
few minutes? I'm just going to find a bracelet my mother requested.”

"Sure, go ahead," Hermione agreed, eager to begin exploring.

However, she struggled to reach the top shelf, prompting Draco to conjure a stool for her.

"Wait, do these scrolls have protective spells too? Or should I wear gloves?”

"The spells keep them safe from everything, so you can touch them with your moist and oily
hands," he teased.

"Ew, go away now."

Draco returned after more than half an hour, holding a small, elongated jewellery box in his
hand and Hermione couldn't contain her excitement.

"This is the Magna Carta Libertatum!" she exclaimed with a scroll in her hands, almost
screaming.

He nodded casually. "Okay.”

"You have a copy of the Magna Carta in your private vault!" she continued, awe-struck. "Do
you realise there are only three or four originals left? The document upon which our
democracy was basically founded!”

"Are you sure?" he questioned sceptically.

"Yes! One is in the British Library. I saw it! I'm not sure about the others," Hermione replied,
gazing at the scroll in her hands, which were now trembling slightly. "This is an original
13th-century document, and it's just... here, on this shelf, collecting dust." Before he could
respond, she interrupted him. "I know, it's a figure of speech!”

Draco smiled uncertainly. "Do you… want it?”

Hermione snapped her head towards him. "No, I don't... Yes, I do, but no, I... Ugh." She
shook her head and glanced at another document. "There's the Treaty of Paris," she said
quietly.

"Was that the one after... the First World War?" Draco asked.

"No, you're thinking of the Treaty of Versailles," she sighed, slightly impressed that he even
made a connection after being introduced to muggle history through documentaries only
recently. "This is the treaty that ended the war between us and America, when we recognized
them as an independent country." She shook her head again. "I can't believe you have this. I
can't believe I'm touching it. It... feels illegal." Hermione carefully returned the document to
its place and stared at the aged paper as if it could speak. "Also, I think I saw a Bill of Rights
there, and I'm losing my mind. So maybe we should go now.”

He smiled. "Okay. We can come back anytime you want now. But I wanted to ask you
something."

Hermione nodded, curious.

"You can say no, of course, but... I thought you might enjoy the library in the manor.”

Hermione was taken aback by his suggestion. "In… inside the manor?”

He nodded carefully. "There was a raid after... the war. The ministry forced my father to
remove all anti-muggle protections so that aurors could work freely. So it's safe," he
reassured her. "They took many books they considered illegal or too valuable for a private
collection," Draco rolled his eyes. "But there's a lot of history. Some potion books you might
enjoy too. I'd love to show you the greenhouse as well. I could connect your fireplace to the
one in the library, and I could apparate you outside. What do you say?”

He appeared genuinely interested in sharing that part of his life with her. Hermione hadn't
thought she would ever have to return there, but Scorpius' birthday had proven that she could,
at least in certain areas. The rooms that held painful memories might be off-limits, but
perhaps she could explore new spaces. With Draco.

"I think I would like that," she smiled and kissed him, and in that moment, she swore she
heard an outraged gasp somewhere in the distance. The portraits would have something to
talk about, it seemed.
After leaving Gringotts, they decided to have lunch at an outdoor restaurant, enjoying the
pleasant weather for as long as they could.

“Honestly, I don't know why he was not more polite, he usually is,” Draco said.

“Goblins don’t like us,” Hermione explained.

He frowned. “Who is ‘us’?”

“The three of us. Since our little break-in many years ago, they have despised Ron and mildly
tolerate Harry.”

He smirked. “Huh, never thought I'd have so much in common with goblins,” he said and
Hermione rolled her eyes. Draco sipped his coffee and asked, "So, what are we doing for
your birthday?”

"We're having a party," she replied nonchalantly.

"No, I mean, what are we doing?" he gestured between the two of them. "Would you like to
go somewhere nice for dinner?”

"Sure, that would be great," she agreed. "Oh, choose something posh, please.” Although I
know that won't be difficult for him. “I have this really nice dress I never got to wear, and I
would like the opportunity. I think you might like it too," she teased.

"Why?" Draco drawled, intrigued.

"Well, because it's very elegant but backless, and…”

"Sold," he interrupted immediately. "When do you want to go? Tonight?" He checked his
watch. "Now?”

Hermione smiled. "I think Friday night sounds better. By the way, what did you get for your
mother?" she asked.

"Oh, it's just a bracelet," he replied, taking out a velvet box from his jacket. "You can't touch
it though. Sorry. There are too many pieces to remove curses from, so she only removes them
from the ones she chooses to wear, one by one.”

"Too many cursed pieces? A humble brag if I ever heard one," she rolled her eyes playfully.
"It's pretty."

The bracelet was a lovely silver piece adorned with a few sapphires.

She felt Draco's eyes on her. "Yes, but it's a little… too much, don't you think?”

"A bit," she admitted apologetically. "At least for me. I'm sure it would look lovely on her.”
"Yes, well. She's going to a gala next weekend, I think," he explained, returning the box to his
pocket. "She also mentioned going on a trip with Andromeda. I think they'll be gone for
about a week or so. Maybe we can go to the library while they're away.”

"Whenever you want. Where are they going?”

"We have a cottage in Scotland.”

Hermione squinted at him. "Do we also have different definitions of 'a cottage?'”

"Yes," he smirked.

The next day began like any other for Hermione. She enjoyed her morning coffee, had a
lovely conversation with her parents who wished her a happy birthday, and was surprised
with a beautiful bouquet of flowers they sent from the local florist, which arrived shortly after
their call.

She delved into her work, reading a variety of interesting essays, although some were less
captivating, particularly those related to economics and business. However, the sociology
essays caught her attention and kept her engaged.

Taking a break from her work, Hermione cleaned up her house in preparation for the arrival
of Daphne and Theo, who had offered to cook for her birthday.

She also took the opportunity to fulfil her long-standing desire to make a burnt cheesecake,
filling the house with a delightful aroma of lemons and caramelised sugar. It should probably
rest overnight in the fridge, but she used spells to speed up the process.

The day progressed, and more flowers arrived, this time delivered by owls. She recognized
the arrangement immediately, they were from Victor. He had remembered her fondness for
some white flowers with lavender and sent them every year. She quickly wrote him a thank
you note, treated his owl to some biscuits, and allowed her to rest in her garden for as long as
she needed.

Around noon, another owl tapped on Hermione's window, bearing a message from Molly and
Arthur. They never forgot her birthday, and this year was no exception.

They had sent a box of her homemade caramels, which Hermione adored using in her
cupcakes. Additionally, there was a beautifully crafted royal blue handmade cardigan, perfect
for the autumn season in her garden. Hermione expressed her gratitude by writing them a
heartfelt ‘thank you’ note. She also felt bad for skipping another monthly dinner they invited
her to.

She even got flowers from Narcissa, which surprised her very much. She noticed the
similarities between her and Draco’s penmanship, but hers was more feminine.

Hermione was in the midst of finishing up her cleaning duties when the fireplace erupted in a
vibrant green flame, signalling the arrival of Theo and Daphne.
"We're here!" she exclaimed, attempting to lift her bags, only to have one of the handles snap,
sending vegetables tumbling onto the floor. "Oops."

But quick as lightning, Theo waved his wand and repaired the broken handle.

"Oh, thank you," she said and beamed at him.

"You're welcome, love," he replied with a playful wink before turning his attention to
Hermione. “Oh don’t you look… not ready for the party whatsoever.”

"I was just about to hop in the shower," she explained. "And besides, no one will be here for a
few more hours.”

Daphne enveloped Hermione in a warm embrace. "Happy birthday, darling.”

"Thank you.”

Theo's long arms encircled both Hermione and Daphne in a hug. "Happy birthday, Hermione.
Now off you go, let us take care of things here.”

After a quick shower, Hermione retreated to her room to decide on her outfit. She settled on a
short, high-waisted, gold sequin skirt paired with a loose, transparent black silky shirt. Any of
her black shoes would have matched perfectly, but she opted for strappy sandals.

"How do I look?" she inquired as she descended the stairs.

Both Theo and Daphne scrutinised her from head to toe before responding in unison. He was
tying her hair because her hands were busy with cutting tomatoes.

“Great.”

"It's not too much?" Hermione asked, slightly unsure, observing their interaction.

Daphne always stated how much she hated someone touching her hair, so it was interesting to
witness the closeness they have.

She shook her head, and Theo rolled his eyes. "No, Granger, my shoes alone cost a few
hundred galleons, and it's not even my birthday. Go all out, it's your day.”

Hermione chuckled. "Fine. What are you drinking? Can I have some?"

Theo promptly poured her a glass of white wine.

"Thank you. So, what's on the menu?”

"We've prepared a selection of charcuterie boards, along with various dips, crisps, vegetable
slices, and breadsticks," Daphne explained with an exaggerated formal voice, receiving a
courtly nod of approval from Hermione.

"Oh, and I found that lovely cheese in your fridge. We've used that as well," Theo added.
"Of course. Thank you both for doing this.”

"Oh, it's nothing," Daphne dismissed with a wave of her hand. "Here, try this. It's salsa verde.
Eat it with tortillas. It should have a spicy and garlicky kick."

Hermione took a bite.

"Is it good?”

"It is. I'm partial to more garlic, but that's just me.”

“Okay,” she said. Daph couldn’t approach the spice rack because Theo was blocking it.
“Could you add more garlic powder, please?”

“Of course, love. What else?”

Sometimes they would make her feel as if she was interrupting something. Hermione had a
weird feeling about them in the last couple of months.

“I'll go to dry my hair a bit and do some makeup, okay?”

They just mumbled in acknowledgment.

She tousled her hair to add a touch more volume and applied her makeup with a hint of extra
glitter and highlighter. Theo was right. It is my day.

She hurried upstairs to make a few adjustments, swapping her regular bra for a push-up and
her comfortable sandals for a sexier but more uncomfortable pair. A cushioning spell would
easily solve any discomfort.

"Okay, now we're talking," Theo exclaimed as he caught sight of her. "You look taller.”

"Yeah, I changed my heels.”

"Good. Better," Daphne chimed in. "Try this." She handed a teaspoon of something to him,
who eagerly tasted it. Her smile grew wider.

He smirked back. "It's good.”

"Is it?" she asked, her eyes gleaming at him and she bit her lip.

"Yeah, perfect," he replied, a smirk playing on his face as he looked all over her face.

Hermione couldn't contain herself any longer. "Okay, what the fuck is going on here? What
is… this?" She waved her hands at them.

"What are you talking about?" Daphne frowned, blinking rapidly.

She narrowed her eyes at both of them, waiting for an answer, and tapped her foot
impatiently on the floor, with her gaze darting between them.
Theo was the first to break. "Fine," he rolled his eyes, and Daphne snapped her head toward
him. "What? We can't lie to her now. Besides, she won't judge," he smirked, his gaze
accusingly fixed on Hermione. "After all, she fucked Draco for months before they said
anything to anyone.”

Hermione tried to process everything she just heard from him. "First of all, it was only like a
month or two, not months," she corrected him. "Months sounds like half a year or something.
And secondly, what? What are you two doing exactly?”

He smirked once again. "You see, when two people love each other, they…”

"Oh, stop it," Daphne finally interjected. "Yes, we're... together. And you know, in a way, it's
thanks to you.”

"Excuse me?”

"I was a bit… emotional when you told me about you and Draco, if you remember," she said.
"And Theo was there to comfort me.”

She frowned at him, and he nudged Daphne, not taking his eyes off Hermione. "Please, give
her more context. From what you said, it sounds like I took advantage of you in a vulnerable
moment," he whispered.

"Oh, no, that didn't happen," she shook her head. "A few days after you shared that news, I
invited them over to talk about you two behind your back.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Lovely.”

"Anyway, when Pansy and Blaise left, we stayed to talk some more and... well, that should be
enough information, right?" Daphne asked, glancing at Theo.

"It is, yes," he nodded.

A montage of the past few months played in Hermione's mind. "Oh my God, I just... that's
why you've been so clingy lately.”

"Hey," Daphne frowned.

"Much more than you normally are. I mean, no offence.”

"Exactly," he nodded.

"So why hide this?" she asked, but they both glanced around the kitchen. "Okay, we don't
have to discuss it. Does anyone else know?”

"Pansy and Blaise.”

"What?! Why didn't you tell me?" Hermione asked, feeling slightly irritated. "And does
Draco know?" If that prick had known and not told her...
"No, of course not," Theo assured her. "If he knew, you would know too. He would have
spilled the beans immediately.”

"So, that's why you didn't tell him?”

"Oh no. It's more like payback. He didn't tell me about you, so I figured I wouldn't tell him
about us," he shrugged nonchalantly.

"And what's your excuse?" Hermione turned her questioning gaze to Daphne, raising an
eyebrow.

"Pansy was feeling terrible, constantly throwing up, and I thought if I gave her something
else to focus on..." she shrugged.

"Okay, fine," Hermione sighed. "How long do I have to keep this to myself?”

"Well, now that a few people already know, not for too long," Theo frowned. "Harry was
already getting suspicious too.”

She recalled his lack of surprise when she had revealed her involvement with Draco. "He's
quite intuitive, isn't he?"

"Annoyingly so," Theo muttered, rolling his eyes.

In the evening, as her friends began to arrive, Hermione found herself surprisingly at ease.
Normally, she would feel uncomfortable with all the attention, but after two glasses of wine,
she felt more relaxed.

In the living room, Luna and Blaise engaged in a lively conversation with Theo in the
kitchen. Meanwhile, Daphne sat in an armchair with Harry and Ginny, enjoying drinks and
snacks.

Since the weather was pleasant and there was no rain, they decided to also utilise the outdoor
space. Harry casted a very advanced notice-me-not charm because it would become
suspicious if neighbours saw a half a dozen people sitting outside, but no one made a noise
because of Hermione's silencing charms.

While refilling the bowl with hummus outside, Hermione was surprised to find Draco
engaged in a conversation with none other than… Ron. Susan, Pansy, and Charlie were also
present, occupying the swing on the patio.

Padma and George shared a lounge chaise in the garden, while Parvati and Lavender
occupied another.

"Do you need some help?" Draco offered, standing up as she carried a few dishes back to the
kitchen.

"Oh, no, it's fine. I can…”

"Yes, you do. Let's go," he interrupted, taking the bowls from her hands and handing them
over to Theo, who conveniently appeared in the hallway.

He looked at the bowls in confusion. "What am I supposed to do with this?”

"Just place them in the sink and fill them with water. I'll put them in the dishwasher later,"
Hermione instructed, and he nodded before making his way back to the kitchen.

Draco grabbed her arm and guided her into the bathroom.

"Wait... Why are we...?" she began to question, only to be silenced by his lips crashing
against hers when he closed the door.

Draco walked her back to the sink, grabbing her everywhere, and lifted her up to sit on it,
positioning himself between her legs.

"Oh, hello," she purred.

"Hello," he replied, his kisses fervent.

His hands explored every inch of her, gripping her thighs and caressing her ass beneath her
skirt. The intensity of the moment left them both breathless.

"Fuck. You are just so… fucking beautiful," he whispered.

Hermione felt a sense of satisfaction. "You've mentioned that before.”

Anticipation danced in his dark eyes as he continued to kiss her, his touch becoming more
urgent, his breathing quickening.

"I have to say it again. And are those snakes?" he asked, gesturing toward her shoes.

The sandals indeed had snakes wrapped around her ankles.

"Yes, thank you for noticing," she replied. "I'm surprised Pansy didn't. They're from a very
famous brand, and she would…”

Hermione was about to mention that she would appreciate the exorbitant price she paid for
them when Draco interrupted her, kissing her more passionately and intensifying his grip on
her thighs.

“I love you,” he muttered against her lips.

Her heart skipped like it was the first time she heard it. “I love you too.”

"I'm staying overnight, just so you know," he declared matter-of-factly, and his voice was
infused with desire and certainty.

"Thank you for informing me," she smirked. "To help me clean up?" she teased, blinking
slowly.
"Can you clean up like this, without changing first?" he asked, his hands trailing over her
thighs.

She nodded.

"Then yes, I'll help you clean up too.”

"Too?" she pretended to be surprised. "What else were you planning on doing?" Hermione
asked, pulling him closer.

She could already feel his hardness pressing against her.

He clenched his jaw. "You.”

She pulled him in for another kiss, wrapping her legs around him. "Do you want to start
now?" she whispered, moving slowly against him, causing him to release a groan.

"No," he drawled, taking a step back and placing his hands on both sides of her on the sink.
He gave her a quick kiss. "Although I have to admit," he smirked, looking at her. "The idea of
fucking you here and then having a conversation with your ex-boyfriend over there is quite
enticing.”

She rolled her eyes. "I thought you liked him now.”

"Like is a strong word, Hermione," he frowned. "Tolerate is more accurate."

Pushing himself off the sink, he glanced at the mirror behind her to fix his shirt, which turned
out to be an unexpectedly alluring gesture. God, will I ever not be horny for this man?

"So, what happened between you two?" he suddenly asked. "I mean, you're not as close as
you were, but you're still close with Potter.”

"No, we're still... close," she replied, somewhat unsure. "Is this what you want to talk about
now?”

He smirked. "I chose the topic specifically to help with my boner.”

"Fine," she rolled her eyes and sighed. "We never tried to get back together after we broke
up, but we did sleep together afterward. The last time was just before I was about to move to
Spain. It was... different."

Draco simply looked at her, waiting for more.

"It felt like he might want to reconcile, but... I tried to limit contact as much as possible to
avoid giving him false hope. And I guess it just stayed that way," Hermione shrugged.

He gazed at her for a few moments. "Bones said they've been together for over a decade.”

She understood what he was implying. "They've had their fair share of breakups. They both
dated other people in the meantime. I didn't sleep with him while they were together. I would
 never do that. And neither would he.”

He nodded. "Does she know?”

"No. No one does," she admitted. "I did tell my mum, though. And now you. But no one else,
so…”

Again, he nodded. "Well, that did the job," he remarked, giving her a quick peck on the
forehead. "The idea that you slept with him when you were young is one thing. You were
inexperienced and naive. But coming back for more Weasel afterward?" he tsked and shook
his head dramatically. "I might have lost some respect for you.”

She rolled her eyes. "Alright, don't push it. Are you ready to go now?" she asked, pointing
toward his crotch, to which he nodded. "Great. I need to pee, so you can leave.”

“I’ll have to leave soon to give Scorp his potion and to bring one to my mother. I think she
caught the cold from him.”

She nodded. “Are you next?”

“If I am, you’ll get it too,” he smirked. “We do exchange a lot of bodily fluids.”

“I don’t think so,” she laughed. “You should see how many vitamins and supplements I
take.”

Draco made his way to the door, but before leaving, he cleared his throat to catch her
attention. "Nice talking to you, Granger," he said and smiled.

A surge of warmth flooded her heart. "You too, Malfoy," she replied.

Chapter End Notes

Hermione and Draco in Tarragona https://www.pinterest.com/tpzzz1105/in-the-mood-

for-truth/hermione-and-draco-in-tarragona/
 Draco
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

September and October 2013

Draco drummed his fingers impatiently on the polished wooden table as his accountant
droned on about second-quarter revenue. The meeting was a mere formality, and he could
care less about the financial details. He had opted for a floo call instead of attending in
person, knowing that his presence was unnecessary. With a Wizengamot meeting looming
ahead, he wanted to conserve his energy and avoid the mundane discussions.

He leaned back in his chair, and his mind wandered to the plans he had made for Hermione's
birthday. He had arranged a portkey to whisk them away to his villa in Grasse. He had
selected a fine restaurant in Cannes for the occasion. She wanted a place to wear a nice dress,
well, I can do as much.

The tedious matters concluded, and Draco’s attention stepped away from the meeting and
sought solace in the music filling his home. It was Friday, and Scorp was engrossed in his
piano lesson. He took a moment to finish up a report regarding a donation his mother had
made to the theatre's costume department.

He glanced at a black velvet jewellery box he had obtained from curse breakers that morning,
and thought again about the piece he had chosen for Hermione. He knew it suited her taste
perfectly. Elegant and understated, without any hint of ostentation. There was no need to be
nervous, he was certain she would love it.

Hermione had mentioned a morning meeting with someone from the publishing company,
they would still have plenty of time to enjoy themselves. The portkey would transport them
to Grasse around six and return them home by midnight, affording them ample time for
themselves.

Last night, she was magnificent. While he appreciated her everyday muggle attire, there were
moments when she took his breath away. Like last night, when she had worn that impossibly
short skirt and a shirt that barely concealed the lacy bra beneath. And those fucking heels.

It had taken every ounce of self-control not to fuck her right then and there when she invited
him. But he had later, in that very same bathroom, on that same sink, in front of that same
mirror. Twice. Draco shook his head, banishing the tempting memories. Stop it, Theo is
coming any minute now.

He had mentioned he wanted to talk about something, likely about their store. Draco had
assured him that he would be there to support them whenever they needed it, even
recommending his accountant before Pansy snatched them away for her firm. It was funny to
him that even in the midst of maternity leave, her dedication to her work never waned.

She was much bigger now. She said the baby hasn't kicked yet but Hermione gave her a few
muggle pregnancy books and she read that it was normal for the first pregnancy baby to kick
around the twentieth week.

Draco thought about the first time he felt Scorp moving in Astoria's belly. It was a precious
memory that had helped him conjure his patronus. Casting the spell had been effortless
during those months. He thought the memory of his birth would create an even stronger spell,
but it didn’t.

He had been struggling to cast it for weeks after he was born. However, Scorp smiled at him
for the first time while being put into his crib about two months after, and not only did Draco
produce patronus successfully again, but it was no longer a dragon.

Theo burst into the room, with evident curiosity as he scanned the surroundings. He greeted
Draco with a nod before his eyes wandered towards the open doors.

"Is that young Malfoy playing?" he gestured towards the distant sound of piano keys.

"He is. He's with his tutor," Draco replied, raising an eyebrow. "Are you going to behave
when she shows up?”

He feigned offence. "Of course. When am I not on my best behaviour?" He settled into an
armchair near the desk and looked around. "So, was Hermione happy after everything last
night?" he asked absently.

Draco couldn't help but smirk. "Oh, she was.”

Rolling his eyes, Theo clarified, "I was referring to the party, you animal.”

"She was, don't worry about it," he assured him. "Do you want to stay for lunch?"

"It depends."

"On?"

"All in good time, my friend," Theo said mysteriously. "All in good time." His gaze still
wandered, and he spotted a cart with a firewhiskey. Pouring them both a glass, he asked, "Did
you tell her where you're going?"

"No, that would defeat the purpose of a surprise," Draco replied, taking a sip of his drink.
"She'd probably try to refuse.”

"Why on Earth would she refuse a romantic dinner in France?" Theo questioned.

"She doesn't like making a big fuss about anything.”

Theo was about to deliver a witty remark when his eyes fell upon the jewellery box on the
desk. Frowning, he asked, "What's that?"

"A gift," Draco shrugged.

"Why is it in a ring box?" Theo's frown deepened, displaying concern.

"It's not a ring box," Draco corrected him. "It's just a.... jewellery box that resembles one for
rings.”

He sighed. "Is there a ring inside that box, Draco?"

"No.”

Theo blinked. "No? Just no?" he pressed. "Just no, and not 'oh sweet Salazar, no, of course
not, it's not a ring, Theo, what were you thinking?’”

"What?"

"Where did you buy it? What is it, anyway?" he persisted.

"A bracelet.”

Theo squinted at him. "It's from your vault.”

Draco rolled his eyes. "What's your point?"

"My point is... you... you remove centuries-old wards to let her, what? Look at old books and
paintings?"

Theo's seriousness unsettled him. "Not only books and paintings, but important historical
artefacts as well," Draco stated simply, trying to lighten up the situation. "Did you know the
United Kingdom is the only country in the world without a written constitution?"

"Of course I knew, everyone knows that! We live in this fucking country!" Theo replied, his
annoyance almost comical.

"I didn't," Draco shrugged. "I guess I didn't care much about muggle governance.”

"Oh that's alright, you didn't care much about muggles at all until very recently," he remarked
sarcastically, provoking a sting of annoyance in Draco now. "Don't change the topic. You
bring Hermione into your family vault, you give her family jewellery. What are you doing?"
he asked. "You haven't been like this... I don't know if you were ever like this. You find
someone after Salazar knows how many years, and suddenly you're all... like that," Theo
gestured towards him.

"What's your problem?" Draco retorted, now clearly irritated with his tone.

"My problem is… you're getting too attached too quickly," he replied, causing him to glare at
him. He shook his head after a few moments. "See? You can't even say that you aren't." He
sighed. "I'm afraid you're going to get hurt. Hermione too, but she seems to be the one more
grounded. Besides, she's had her fair share of relationships and breakups, but you haven't," he
stated matter-of-factly.

“You’re right, it didn't really break my heart when my wife died,” Draco said sarcastically
and Theo flinched at the comment. He rolled his eyes once more. "You know what? I don't
have to listen to this. I'm doing what I want, at my own pace, with whomever I want. We're
not children. I don't have to follow some made-up rules. And also..."

Footsteps interrupted their conversation, causing Draco to fall silent.

"Hello. I'm sorry to interrupt, Mr. Malfoy, but we're done for the day," Scorp's tutor appeared
at the door.

She smiled at Theo, who only nodded in response. It was clear that the conversation had
upset him, because he usually flirted shamelessly with her as if Draco wasn't even in the
room.

"Thank you, Ms. James. Was everything alright?" he inquired.

"As usual, I have no complaints about little Scorpius. I can find my own way out," she
replied.

"No, no, please, allow me to walk you," Draco insisted.

Once he returned to his writing room, he found Theo pacing slowly. "It's a nice bracelet," he
said, trying to diffuse the tension.

Draco couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"I'm sorry, but you left it there. What was I supposed to do?"

"Perhaps not touch what isn't yours?" he retorted before retaking his seat.

"Fine, fair enough," Theo acquiesced, returning to his armchair. "And I didn't touch it. I can
see it's goblin-made. Listen... I just think you need to slow down a bit.”

Draco let out a sigh. "I don't want to, and I don't have to. She doesn't want to either." He
sighed again. Discussing these matters with… anyone was always a challenge. But he sighed
and confessed anyway. "Theo, I... I love her."

Theo's mouth opened slightly.

"And I told her that," he continued. “And she loves me.”

“She said it?”

“No, I used legilimency on her,” Draco deadpanned and Theo rolled his eyes. “Of course she
told me! And if it makes any difference to you, she said it first.”
"How do you know that you love her?" he inquired.

"I don't know, Theo. I just do," he replied simply, shrugging his shoulders. He couldn't
pinpoint a single reason, but the feeling was undeniable. "I can't imagine my life without her
right now, and all I want is to make her happy.”

Theo probed further. "Did you feel that way with Tori?"

Draco nodded. "Yes, but it was different. Everything about it was different because I was
different back then. And they are different too. I don't feel loved in the same way. So, I don't
think I can compare, and I don't want to.”

He nodded slowly. "Talking about feelings without cringing has always been a terrible pain in
the arse for you, hasn't it?" he remarked with a smirk.

"Oh, no, I absolutely and thoroughly enjoy it,” Draco replied sarcastically. “Now, why don't
you share something about yourself, and then we can braid each other's hair?"

Theo burst into genuine laughter. "That's quite funny. You're funny," he admitted. He then
took a deep breath and blurted out, "Daph and I are together.”

Draco finished his drink. “Where were you together?"

“We are together in… a relationship,” he spoke slowly. “You were jesting about braiding
hair, right?” he said, frowning. “Because that would be kind of strange.”

Draco tried to understand the joke he made but it didn’t seem to make sense. “What are you
talking about?”

“Daphne and I are in a romantic relationship. We are a couple," he explained slowly and
patiently, as if speaking to a child.

"Okay, Theo," he replied, trying to process the joke with a smile. However, it soon became
clear that Theo was not joking. “Wait, are you serious?”

He nodded.

“How? And when? And…?"

“Why?” he finished instead of him. "Well, it all started when you kindly informed us about
you and Hermione. She invited Blaise, Pansy, and me to discuss you…”

"Very mature," Draco interjected.

Theo continued, "She was… emotional. Blaise and Pansy left, but I stayed. And then... she
kissed me. However, I stopped her. I knew she was all over the place, and we had been
drinking and you know how pathetic her alcohol tolerance is, so… I didn't want to ruin
anything before it even had a chance to begin.”

Before it even began. So he had hopes for it immediately.

"I had no idea... that you even saw her in that way.”

"I've always cared about her," Theo said defensively.

"Yes, but I thought you cared about her the way I care about her or Pansy," Draco confessed.

Theo furrowed his brow. "Pansy is your ex. It's not the same.”

“When we were fifteen,” Draco corrected him and squinted. “So is this your way of telling
me you definitely weren’t together at Hogwarts? It wasn't your underwear we found in the
common room in the fifth year?"

For years, they had been curious about who Daphne had slept with for the first time, but she
kept it a secret. Blaise always suspected it was Pucey, but Draco had his money on someone
more embarrassing. Why would she hide it if he wasn’t? Pansy knew the truth of course, but
she had never revealed it.

Theo rolled his eyes. “No. It wasn’t me. Do you think I'm dumb enough to forget to wear
pants under my trousers?"

He couldn't resist asking, "Did she tell you who it was?"

Theo squinted and remained silent and Draco's smirk widened.

"She did tell you. Oh, wow, so you two are serious," he remarked, nodding slowly. "You've
kept it under wraps for quite some time. What happened now?"

"Oh no, we told Blaise and Pansy almost immediately," Theo explained, as if it were no big
deal.

Draco's scowl deepened.

"I couldn't keep it all to myself. My brain would have exploded," he chuckled.

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "So, I'm the last one to find out? You bastard.”

Theo shook his head. "You didn't tell me about Hermione," he pointed out.

"I thought you might still have a crush on her," Draco confessed.

"It wasn't a crush," he retorted, and raised his eyebrow. "And that didn't stop you from
fucking her, did it?"

His frown deepened. "Watch it," Draco warned. "Do you want me to start talking like that?"

Theo couldn't help but grin. "Why, yes, please, say something utterly indecent about your late
wife’s sister and your son's aunt," he challenged, clearly enjoying this.

“Fuck off.”
He just realised that if he ever heard any inappropriate stories about Theo's new girlfriend, it
would be about Daph. He hoped that he would have enough decency not to share them.

"So, what happened now that made you decide to come clean?" Draco asked.

"Hermione figured it out last night. Harry knows too, probab…”

That was the last straw for Draco. "You told Potter before you told me? Get out," he pointed
towards the fireplace, frustrated.

Theo rolled his eyes, refusing to comply. "Calm down, drama queen," he scoffed. "I think he
almost figured it out on his own. Those Gryffindors can be quite perceptive," he
remarked. "So, what's for lunch?" he asked, attempting to change the subject.

Ignoring his question, Draco pressed on. "So, this little lecture you gave me about moving too
fast? What was that about?"

Theo sighed, adopting a more serious tone. "I still think you two are moving too fast,
considering your history," he explained. "You were practically enemies at Hogwarts, and then
there was over a decade of literally no contact after the war. Suddenly, you met last year,
finally started talking like normal people, and a few months later, you're dating. A few more
months, and you're… declaring your love for each other. It's a lot, mate," he concluded, with
weariness. “You would say something too if you were me. I'm happy you both found
someone you care about. I'm happy you found each other, really, I am. It’s just…” He sighed
again. “Fuck it, what do I know? What’s for lunch?"

“I think you’re wrong,” Draco shook his head. “Not everything needs to follow a slow
progression," he argued, looking Theo directly in the eye. "You and Daph skipped a lot of
steps too. Did you go on a traditional date to get to know her better? Are you nervous about
meeting her parents? Wondering if her friends will like you? We don't have to conform to
someone else's expectations," he asserted.

Theo shook his head. "You are wrong. It's different, mate. Many people end up with their
childhood friends, but not many end up with their… childhood enemies," he explained with
uncharacteristic seriousness in his voice.

Draco huffed. He was tired of this repetitive conversation.

“We were at the opposite sides during the war. What would have happened to her if we had
won?”

He winced at the thought, knowing all too well. He saw a small part of it in the drawing room
of his own home. Stop it. Don’t think about it now. It’s over.

"I'm sorry, this isn't exactly an appropriate conversation to have, ever," Theo admitted,
probably realising the weight of their discussion. "Especially not now, when you're about to...
not-propose to her tonight," he added, teasingly.

The sound of light footsteps interrupted their conversation.

“I'm this close to uninviting you from lunch,” Draco said, gesturing with his fingers.

Scorpius appeared in the doorway, holding a bunch of papers in his hands. "Oh, uncle Theo is
staying for lunch? Cool!" he exclaimed with enthusiasm.

"Yes, I am, my friend," he replied with a grin, tapping on the armrest. "Come here and tell me
all about your piano lessons. Your lovely teacher says you're quite talented," he said.

They watched telly together for a while after lunch and after Theo left, Draco went to the
bathroom to get ready.

His once perfectly styled hair had grown a bit longer, so he sought the assistance of Dissy, to
give it a quick trim. He explained that he was preparing for a romantic dinner with Hermione,
and she couldn't contain her excitement.

Dissy held a genuine fondness for Hermione, not just because she brought happiness to
Draco's life, but also for the positive impact she had made on the lives of the elves.

Some of the older elves in the manor were against the changes in society and the new
employment system. He recognized that resistance was common across both the wizarding
and elf communities. Older generations often took longer to accept and adapt to new ways.

Afterward, Draco meticulously dressed up in his elegant wardrobe. He was wearing a white
shirt, but was torn between navy and black suit. He made his preparations, and glanced over
at Scorp, who was comfortably seated on his bed, with his phone, texting Hermione.

"She says her dress is yellow," Scorpius said, and Draco nodded in response.

So black suit it is.

The lively tunes of an obnoxious song blared from the phone as he continued their
conversation. "When are we going to go to France again? I really liked it last time," he asked,
focusing on the game he was playing on the phone.

"You're absolutely right. This is your final year without too many responsibilities," Draco
realised. "We should plan a trip somewhere."

It suddenly struck him that next year, at this time, he would be without Scorpius for months,
separated in a way they had never experienced before. Even the thought made him uneasy.

"Hermione mentioned a… theme park in Paris where you can meet all your favourite cartoon
characters. I can't recall the name, but…”

"Disneyland?" Scorpius interjected, his eyes lighting up with recognition.

"Yes, that's the one," Draco confirmed, giving a casual shrug. "She says it's a lot of fun. You
can go on rides, buy souvenirs, and even take photos with the characters.”

He nodded eagerly. "Al told me he went there with his cousins. One of his aunts is from
France.”
"I'm aware," Draco replied, his attention on buttoning his shirt. “So, there you go. We can go
too if you’d like.”

“Would Hermione come with us?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I think she’s been there before. I don’t know if she would be interested in
going again,” Draco said, glancing at his son in the mirror.

He looked like he was about to ask more.

“Why?”

Scorpius shifted uneasily in his seat, avoiding direct eye contact. "Where would Hermione
sleep if we all went together?"

Draco's heart skipped a beat uncomfortably. "What do you mean?" he asked, hoping he had
misunderstood.

"I mean," Scorp hesitated. "When we travel, we usually share a room. And when
grandmother came with us, she had her own room.”

He remained calm, unbuttoning his collar now. "Huh, I hadn't really considered that," he
admitted. I wasn't expecting to have this conversation so soon. "What do you think?"

"I don't mind having my own room," Scorpius shrugged, still avoiding direct eye contact and
engrossed in his phone. "Just like when Hermione stayed over here.” He paused for a
moment. “Where do you sleep when you stay at her house?" he asked more quietly.

"In her bedroom. We don't sleep in separate rooms. Or beds," Draco replied, catching
Scorpius' red-faced reflection in the mirror. "Is there… something specific on your mind?"

"No," he replied quickly.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes.”

"Okay," Draco decided not to press further, wishing he could avoid these conversations
altogether. But he knew they were necessary, regardless of how uncomfortable they made
him feel.

"If you have… any questions about anything, I'd prefer you ask me first, Scorp," he tried to
reassure him, and he finally lifted his head to meet his father's gaze. "Despite what you like to
point out about my age, in the grand scheme of things, I'm relatively young," he joked. "That
means I'm more understanding, unlike your grandmother, for example, but also more
knowledgeable than your friends. Do you understand what I want to say?"

"Yes," Scorpius simply replied.

Dissy apparated into the room, clearing her throat before speaking. "Miss Gr... Miss
Hermione is here," she squeaked with excitement.

Draco nodded, asking Scorpius to keep her company for a few minutes as he finished his
preparations.

He overheard their conversation as he approached the living room.

"...so I'd like you to try it. It's a very popular dessert in Spain," Hermione suggested warmly
and Draco noticed a glass box with a blue lid she used for leftovers.

"Dissy would love to! Thank you, Miss Hermione," the elf squeaked in response.

"You're most welcome," she replied, her smile shining. She turned to Scorpius. "You can try
it too, if you'd like. But without the sherry, of course. Sorry, no alcohol for you just yet.”

"Hey," Draco interjected, capturing their attention. "So... are we ready to go?"

He tried not to focus on how incredible she looked now until they were alone.

Hermione glanced at her watch. "We still have fifteen minutes.”

“No, I could activate it at any time after half past five,” he said. “Shall we?"

"Yes, please," he agreed.

Draco then turned to Dissy. "You know about Scorpius' cold potion, right?"

She nodded eagerly.

"We'll be back before midnight. Scorp, please try not to be too difficult."

"I won't," he assured him, shaking his head. "Have fun.”

Draco activated the portkey with a flick of his wand, and they landed in the warm and
familiar dining room. Hermione's curious gaze swept across the room as she took in their new
surroundings.

"Where are we?" she inquired, her eyes filled with anticipation, but Draco found himself
momentarily speechless as he looked at the breathtaking woman standing before him.

Hermione had been right about the dress; he was instantly captivated by its light, silky fabric
that slipped through his fingers as he pulled her closer, his touch tracing the exposed skin
from her neck to the alluringly low back.

She wore her golden makeup that made her glow from within and the yellow shade of her
dress complimented her perfectly. A few curls fell effortlessly around her face while the rest
was lifted in a nice elegant bun. She was glowing everywhere, on her shoulders and the small
part of her chest visible around the halter neckline that delicately clung to her neck with thin
strips.
"You're... stunning," he managed to utter, his voice filled with sincere admiration.

A subtle blush graced Hermione's cheeks as she responded, "Thank you." Her fingertips
grazed his chest, adjusting his lapels with a feather-light touch that made him shiver. "You
look quite dashing too," she added “I like you in black. It’s very neat. It suits you perfectly."
Casting her gaze around the room, she inquired, "So, where exactly are we?"

Draco smirked. "Take a guess.”

She narrowed her eyes, and surveyed their surroundings. "Somewhere south... it's warmer
here, and the ambiance screams Mediterranean," she mused, gesturing to the beige and light
blue dining room. "Please tell me I'm not jumping to conclusions.”

Chuckling softly, he reassured her, "No, you're not." He approached a nearby window, and
Hermione followed suit.

"Can we go there?" she inquired, looking outside with curiosity.

Draco nodded and swiftly opened the balcony doors for her.

Hermione gracefully walked onto the balcony, and her dress revealed a seductive side slit,
exposing her toned leg. Draco noticed her choice of golden heels, similar to the ones she had
worn the previous night, however without the snakes.

In the reflection on the glass doors, he noticed how, with her elevated height and her hair
elegantly styled atop her head, she stood almost as tall as him.

"Wow," she gasped in awe, taking in the scenery.

Yes, it was stunning.

Hermione observed the stone walls and the vibrant purple flowers of the surrounding bushes.
The colour of the pool at the bottom of the stairs and the light green shutters further delighted
her, in her own admission. Her excitement radiated from her, and it was making Draco's heart
soar.

"My bet is on Italy or France," she said, a realisation dawning in her eyes. "Oh France! You
have a house there. But sorry, I forgot... was it Nice or Cannes?"

Draco nodded, pulling her closer into an embrace from behind. "We're in Grasse now, but if
you look over there," he said, intertwining their hands and pointing towards the small patch
of sea in the distance, "That's where Cannes lies. That's where we'll be heading later. But well
done, Miss Granger,” he gave her a quick peck on the cheek, “Five points for Gryffindor," he
teased.

"I've never been here before." Her gaze remained fixed on the mesmerising view of the other
villas and trees on the hill. "You know, when I mentioned something elegant, I didn't
necessarily mean in another country.”
Draco chuckled, his arms encircling her waist tighter. "I know, but it turns out I loved seeing
you in sunny and warm Spain and I wanted to recreate that atmosphere here, but without the
pressure of meeting your parents or, you know, any torturous dental devices," he replied.

Laughing wholeheartedly, Hermione squeezed his hands resting on her waist. "Thank you,"
she said gratefully. "So, what's the plan for tonight?"

"Dinner is the only thing scheduled," he informed her. "We should be there around half past
eight. So, before and after that, we can do whatever you want.”

"Sounds perfect," she responded, turning around to face him. "Give me a tour, then. By the
way, the villa looks surprisingly muggle. I half expected you to have a castle here.”

Draco explained with a smile, "It is indeed muggle. I bought it a few years after Scorpius was
born; it seemed like a wise investment.”

"And was it?" Hermione inquired.

Grinning, Draco replied, "Absolutely. Have you seen the property prices lately?"

“Yes, muggles are suffering a lot because of it,” she said, rolling her eyes. “One of my
neighbours recently sold their house for almost half a million pounds and it’s much smaller
than ours and dare I say, in worse condition. I don’t know who can afford that. What’s over
there?” She pointed to the other part of the balcony and they walked around.

Hermione's inquisitive nature continued to shine as she questioned Draco about the villa and
its surroundings. She walked ahead, exploring every nook and cranny, and he found her thirst
for knowledge and the fact that she was looking for answers from him incredibly alluring,
even if it was just about his vacation house.

They made their way downstairs, and Hermione knelt by the pool, dipping her fingers into
the water. He made a mental note to suggest a late-night swim under the stars after their
dinner.

They returned to the cooler interior, and Hermione perused the bookshelf in the living room,
finding it a bit unimpressive with its collection of cookbooks and tourist guides.

"I love lavender," she commented, taking in the scent of fresh flowers in vases and the
delicate aroma of dried lavender in the corners of the room wafting through the open
windows.

"Yes, I noticed that yesterday," Draco replied, observing her movements from the comfort of
the sofa. "You received quite a few flower arrangements.”

She nodded. "Your mother sent it to me too.”

"Really? She sent you lavender?" he asked, surprised by her choice.

"No, it was Victor," she replied casually.

“Oh. Why is he sending you flowers?" He couldn't see her face, but he could sense her rolling
her eyes.

"Because some customs and traditions transcend international borders," she explained, like he
was an idiot. "Like gifting flowers to people on their birthdays.”

"Ah, I love how clever you always are," Draco responded equally sarcastically. He tried to
conceal his minor irritation. "Are you in contact with him?"

"Yeah," she answered nonchalantly, walking back towards him. "We exchange Christmas and
birthday cards and occasional gifts. We ask about each other's lives, give vague updates, and
move on until next year." Hermione settled beside him on the sofa. "Is that a problem?" she
inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"No, not a problem," he replied, his jaw clenched.

She let out a sigh. "Why are you jealous?"

"I'm not jealous," he huffed, though her piercing gaze expressed her disbelief. I hate the
thought of anyone else having you before me. It was completely irrational, he was well aware,
so he had to lie about it.

"Shall we visit the wine cellar?"

"Are you deliberately changing the subject?" she questioned.

"Yes."

"Fine. Let's see the wine cellar.”

The dimly lit room was filled with rows upon rows of wine bottles, creating a soothing
ambiance. She scanned the shelves, her eyes gliding over the labels, searching for the perfect
bottle to share. After a moment of contemplation, she selected a crisp and aromatic white
wine.

With the bottle in hand, they ascended back up to the living room, where a beautifully
arranged cheese board now waited for them on the coffee table, showcasing an assortment of
artisanal cheeses, accompanied by an array of sliced fruits and nuts.

"Where are the house-elves?" she inquired, casting her gaze around the room.

"I instructed them not to disturb us," Draco replied, with a hint of nonchalance in his voice.

Hermione's brows furrowed slightly. "So you made them work silently, avoiding our
presence?"

He rolled his eyes. “No, you… No,” he drawled. “I simply requested that they prepare one or
two cheese boards like this and then enjoy the rest of the night off. You know, labour laws in
France are quite different.”
“I know. I had to do a lot of research about elves’ treatment around the world back in the
day,” she raised an eyebrow. “What do they do all the time when you’re not here?"

"Well, since this villa is a rental, the house elves take care of it when wizards rent it. But
when muggles rent, we have muggle employees to oversee things," he explained.

The sun began its descent, casting a warm orange glow over the balcony, so they decided to
continue their conversation outdoors. The ambiance was perfect for unwinding and engaging
in discussions before their dinner engagement.

Gradually, the topic shifted to Draco's introduction to the muggle world, piquing Hermione's
curiosity even further.

"I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw those paperback covers," he exclaimed with
astonishment in his voice. "They were so vibrant and slender. I just had to go to the bookstore
and see the rest in person. And don't get me started on the stationery aisle. Pens and
notebooks in every colour imaginable," he continued and Hermione smiled and listened
intently. "Do you know the first plastic thing I ever touched was a pen?" he revealed. "I
thought muggles had a different kind of glass than us.”

For some reason, Draco suddenly remembered the first time he used a condom. It was during
one of his first encounters with muggle women, and he had sheepishly admitted he didn't
have one. She had responded with a knowing eye-roll, muttering something along the lines of
'typical men.' At the time, he hadn't fully comprehended why muggle men seemed averse to
them, but a few moments later, as she handed him one, he understood it clearly.

“I must have spent an hour staring at those colourful packages until an employee approached
me, probably noticing my confusion. I had to pretend not to speak English because I had no
idea what the markers were.”

"Who were you pretending to be?"

"French," he replied, earning another smile from her. "The employee was kind to me, despite
being a ‘foreigner.’ That struck me the most, the diversity of people inside the bookstore.”

Hermione furrowed her brow slightly. "What do you mean?"

He sighed. "There were all kinds of people. Families with children, old people. Business
people in suits, someone in exercise attire, students in uniforms," he explained, but she was
still confused. "I was always told that only a handful of muggles cared about the arts and
reading, and that most others were… uneducated and unintelligent.” He frowned, feeling he
was blushing slightly. “Also… my father told me… muggles discriminate against each other
for many different reasons and had segregated their societies, but there they were, all those
people of different backgrounds, shopping for books and standing in line together. It was… a
revelation," Draco explained.

To his surprise, Hermione's smile widened.

"What?" he asked.
"It's just ironic," she chuckled, amusement colouring her voice. "Your father, one of the most
bigoted and prejudiced men I've ever encountered, didn't hold racist views. It's almost
unbelievable to hear.”

“He thought it was utterly absurd.” Draco joined in her laughter. "I suppose he had one
redeemable quality.”

Curiosity drew Hermione closer to him as she leaned on his shoulder. "What was your
relationship like with him after everything?" she inquired softly. “Were you close before he…
passed away?”

She still hasn't asked and Draco didn’t try to mention him. He felt slightly conflicted about it.
He wanted to talk about it with her and at the same time, he was grateful she didn't ask.

He sighed. "Strained. Tense. We avoided each other as much as possible," Draco confessed.
"It wasn't difficult to achieve that in the manor, I suppose," he added, a slight frown forming
on his forehead. "I didn't want him around Scorpius. When he was just a baby, sure, but not
later. That was one of the many reasons I wanted to move out. I couldn't allow him to poison
my son."

Hermione tenderly took his hand in hers, offering silent comfort.

"We had a major fight around Pansy's wedding," Draco recalled. "He made some derogatory
comments about Charlie. I didn't even care that he offended him personally. Honestly, I was
more exhausted from hearing him speak. After everything we've been through, after
everything he himself had experienced twice, he still hadn't learned. If another Dark Lord
were to rise, he would make the wrong choice again and drag us all down with him," Draco
explained, exhaling heavily.

"It was too late for him, but I knew it wasn't for me, and certainly not for my son. That's
when I decided to put an end to it.”

"You were right," Hermione affirmed after a moment of contemplation. "About yourself and
Scorpius. But when it comes to your father... it's difficult to change one's worldview
overnight, especially if they're not willing to be open to it," she said, raising her head to meet
his gaze. "He was right about discrimination in the muggle world, you know," she continued,
and her voice tinged with frustration. "It's still very much present. However, the
overwhelming majority is actively trying to fight against it. Marginalised groups are being
included in conversations about the issues that concern them. Not always and everywhere of
course, but progress is being made.” She sighed before she continued. “You wouldn't believe
the looks I received at the ministry when I suggested including elves and goblins in the
legislative process for laws concerning them," she remembered, shaking her head with a
touch of bitterness. "Or when I proposed consulting centaurs about their territories instead of
deciding for them and enforcing official protection, as if we were doing them a favour.”

Her gaze scanned their surroundings, and a flicker of resentment crossed her face.

"We just finished a war, fighting against those who deemed anyone different as inferior, and
yet we were still resistant to change for the better," she sighed in disappointment. "I despised
waking up every morning, knowing I would spend the next twelve hours working for a
ministry that I didn't even support.”

“Is that why you quit?” he inquired.

"In a way," Hermione admitted with sadness. "My dad said I was too idealistic and that no
one can change established systems overnight.”

Draco agreed.

“I was deeply unhappy with myself. I never believed that sitting in an office, buried under
paperwork for the government was something I was supposed to do for the rest of my life. I
never truly respected the ministry to begin with, but I knew I had to seize the opportunity
when everyone would listen to me. Once that moment passed, I knew I wouldn't be able to do
anything else.”

Draco looked at her with sympathy. "It feels like they crushed your spirit.”

"I think it was already crushed long before that. I was just tired of fighting. Fighting for my
place in school," Hermione confessed, her words hanging in the air.

Draco tried to conceal any reaction.

"Fighting alongside Harry during school and in the war. Fighting even after the war. I was
simply... tired of fighting. All I wanted was for things to be easier, for once. I don't think
that's too much to ask.”

"It's not," Draco replied gently as he kissed her temple. "If anyone deserves it, it's you." They
sat in silence, gazing at the tranquil garden for a moment before he asked, "Is it though?
Easier now?"

"So far, it is," she replied, caressing his arm absentmindedly. "I have a home, a good enough
job to cover all my needs so far but allow me as much free time as I want. I'm healthy and
well most of the time. My friends and family are all well too. I'm content with where I am at
this moment, and you… play a significant role in that," she added with a grateful smile.

"Thank you. My life has never been the same since... Can I say 'met you' last year? If I'd say I
'knew you' before, it wouldn't be fair," Draco asked.

"I often use the word 'reconnected,'" Hermione responded.

"Oh, so you talk about me often?" Draco teased, attempting to lighten the mood in the midst
of their heartfelt conversation.

"Of course," she replied, raising an eyebrow at him. "My neighbour was quite curious about
the tall, handsome gardener responsible for my backyard," she added with a mischievous
smile. "My shirtless gardener.”

Draco smirked and shrugged playfully. "Blame it on the heat.”

"No, no, I understand," she replied with mock seriousness. "If only we had some magical
powers to make our lives easier. Oh wait, we do! Ever heard of cooling charms, Malfoy?"

"Hermione, please," he said, feigning offence. "Do you want me to break the Statute of
Secrecy over a little heat?"

"No, of course not," she replied, shaking her head with a playful smirk. "I wouldn't want to
breach any magical laws or disappoint my newly divorced neighbour," she quipped.

"Oh they're divorced now?" Draco asked, surprised. "I thought you said they were working
on it.”

"Apparently, he was hit hard by a midlife crisis. He cheated on her with a young intern from
his company," she explained. "Utterly unoriginal. He should have followed my father's
footsteps and bought an impractical but expensive sports car instead.”

He burst into laughter. "And she told you all of this?"

"Well, when she asked me about you, I inquired about her husband," Hermione replied,
shrugging nonchalantly.

"Subtle," Draco remarked, smirking. He enjoyed that parallel a lot.

"I was merely mirroring her approach," Hermione retorted. "So, how shall we make our way
to the restaurant? It's almost time," she reminded him, checking her watch.

"We'll apparate nearby and then walk. Sounds good?" Draco suggested.

"Yes, please," Hermione replied, extending her hand to him when she stood up from the
lounge.

They strolled along the promenade, and the salty scent of the sea mingled with the alluring
smell of nearby restaurants. Evening had settled in, and the place was bustling with diners
enjoying their meals. Draco and Hermione made their way to a charming wizarding
restaurant of his choice.

It was invisible to muggles, but if they could see it, they would notice a delightful outdoor
seating area with nice small tables, lush plants, and cascading vines. Floating trays gracefully
delivered food and drinks, with only a few waiters attending to other guests as needed. Draco
had reserved a table closest to the beach, offering a splendid view and some privacy.

“I’m kind of surprised you didn't book the entire restaurant,” she joked.

Draco smirked. “You don’t seem like the type to be impressed by it.”

“Correct,” she nodded and looked around at other diners. “That kind of selfishness is never
alluring.”

Soon, their orders were placed, and in a matter of moments, their plates were filled with
delectable dishes.
"Even after all these years, the speed of service in wizarding restaurants never ceases to
amaze me," Hermione remarked, savouring her seafood pasta while glancing around.

“Is that another thing we do better than muggles?” he smirked and she nodded but rather
reluctantly.

Several other couples occupied nearby tables, and a couple more were filled as the time for
dessert approached.

"This place is so elegant. I almost feel underdressed," she chuckled lightly.

Draco looked at her intently. "No, you look perfect."

Her smile brightened, and a blush coloured her cheeks as she glanced away toward the sea.

Suddenly, he remembered, "I have something for you."

Hermione turned toward him, tilting her head. "It's really not necessary. Everything about this
is already more than enough," she said, sweeping her gaze across the enchanting
surroundings.

Raising an eyebrow, Draco responded, "Didn’t you mention that birthday gift-giving is a
universal custom?"

"True, but you gave me flowers yesterday and arranged this wonderful evening.”

"And let's not forget the handwritten card from Scorpius, please," he added playfully.

"Of course, forgive me," she chuckled, though her smile faltered slightly when he placed a
small velvet box on the table before her.

Draco detected a barely noticeable increase in her breathing and swiftly intervened to quell
any rising anxiety. "Calm down, witch. Don't freak out," he drawled with a small smile,
observing her closely.

"I'm... not..." she murmured.

"Yes, you are. Breathe."

And she did, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm as she averted her gaze, cheeks
flushed.

"This is the second time today that someone made assumptions about that box. I suppose next
time I'll have to choose something less ambiguous," he quipped, attempting to lighten the
atmosphere.

"Who did?"

"Theo," Draco replied. “Which now reminded me, how was I the last one to find out about
him and Daphne?” he said, trying to make her relax.
“I wouldn’t know either, but she was practically feeding him in my kitchen last night, so they
outed themselves,” she said, chuckling nervously.

“I'm sorry you had to witness that,” he joked and nudged the box closer to her. "Open it."

Hermione complied, her breathing now calm, after seeing the bracelet.

"See? Nothing to worry about."

He could see the tension release from her shoulders. "I'm not... that's not... please don't," she
said, finally looking back at him, noticing his smirking amusement. "It's beautiful. Thank
you."

Draco observed her steady breathing once more.

She examined the thin golden bangle closely. "It's... different. Is this…?"

"Goblin-made, yes," he explained. "It will always have that unique appearance," he
commented on the design, which seemed to mimic the flow of liquid gold on the polished
surface whenever it moved. "It's also charmed to respond only to the person who touches it
next with their bare hands. So go ahead, make a connection.”

"To respond?" Hermione's curious nature piqued.

"Yes. It's currently too small for you, if I may notice. But once you touch it, it will adapt to
your hand and wrist, and you'll be the only one able to remove or put it on again," he
elaborated and Hermione decided to test it.

She retrieved the now undersized bracelet from the box and attempted to slip it onto her
hand. To her delight, it expanded to the perfect size, fitting her hand first and then narrowed
around her wrist loosely, just as she preferred with her other bracelets.

"Oh, wow. So you can't steal it from me now?" she jested.

Draco attempted to pull the bracelet off her hand, but it remained firmly the same size. "I
suppose not.”

"Amazing. It's beautiful, thank you," she said with a beaming grin. "Could you help me
remove this one, please?" she asked, extending her hand toward him.

He began taking off one of her existing bracelets. "Why?"

Blushing again, she confessed, "I don't like even numbers.”

He nodded. "Why specifically three?"

"One is too few, five would be too many. Three feels just right," she shrugged. "For jewellery,
that is. See? Three earrings as well," she pointed out.

Nodding, Draco felt a sense of ease wash over him. "So I made the right choice?"
"Yes, you did. I love it. And I won't even have to take it off. It's so classic and timeless,” she
said and observed the movement of liquid gold around her wrist.

"Good," he said, seizing the moment to bring up something that had been occupying his
thoughts for weeks. He cleared his throat. "I was relieved when you said my mother's
diamond bracelet was too much," he started.

"I don't think silver suits me," Hermione replied.

"No, you're all golden," he murmured, more to himself, but still eliciting a smile from her. "I
thought the bracelet would be fitting since you often wear bracelets and watches."

She nodded in agreement.

"I contemplated diamond earrings, but I rarely see you wearing them.”

"My hair is usually down, so earrings like that wouldn't be as noticeable," she shrugged,
extending her arm to admire her bracelets. "I tend to opt for something small and simple.

"Indeed. And I imagine a diamond necklace would be too extravagant," he continued,

swallowing hard.

She widened her eyes and smiled. "Definitely too much.”

“And… Based on your reaction before, I think I can guess, but…” Draco paused before he
spoke. "What about a diamond ring?" he inquired, his gaze fixed on her intently.

She regarded him more seriously, sensing the significance of his question.

“I did think about it, you know. A lot.” He tried to maintain composure, although his heart
was pounding rapidly within. Don’t be scared, please. “Hermione, I…” he took her hand on
the table and she breathed faster again. “I know you don’t like surprises. And I know you are
more comfortable when you’re prepared, so… consider this your fair warning, then,” he
exhaled and she just blinked. “If I ever get a chance to give you a ring, I wouldn’t want it to
be merely a gift for your birthday.”

She blinked rapidly, her expression one of comprehension. "Okay," she responded, her voice
and face filled with emotions he couldn’t read properly.

"Okay," he echoed.

"Okay. I... I just need to use the restroom quickly, alright?" she announced, rising from her
seat.

He simply nodded, acknowledging her request.

As she departed, he caught a waft of her perfume, and his shoulders relaxed. I needed to say
it.
Draco packed the bracelet he removed from her hand more securely in the box, just to do
something with his hands until she returned. Was it too early? Was Theo right?

No, he couldn’t fight the way he felt. You could fight the things coming out of your mouth,
though.

No, but she always emphasises the importance of honesty, so it's her fault, really. It's also her
fault that he loves her and would marry her tomorrow if she wanted. Okay, definitely do not
say that outloud.

She touched him with her cool and slightly damp hand on his neck, interrupting his
ruminations a few minutes later. Hermione settled back into her seat and finished her glass of
wine.

"I enjoyed the crème brûlée," she murmured softly, gesturing toward her empty plate.

"Me too."

He observed a few droplets of water cascading down her neck as he looked at her, waiting for
her to say something.

Hermione moved her chair closer, taking hold of his hand. "Thank you, once again. For
everything," she said, meeting his gaze unwaveringly. "For the dinner, the gift. For being with
me. I love you," she said sincerely.

"I love you too," he replied, lightly squeezing her hand. Okay, not scared. Good.

They locked eyes for several long moments. "Shall we head back?" she finally broke the
silence.

"Sure," he agreed, raising his hand to signal the waiter.

"Do you want to go Dutch?" she teased.

"Pardon?"

"Oh, it's a muggle expression. It means 'do you want to split the bill?'" she explained, and he
rolled his eyes. "I'm joking. There were no prices on the menu, and I have a feeling I wouldn't
want to see them anyway," she added softly as the waiter approached.

They strolled along the beach, hand in hand. Hermione decided to take off her shoes, and
walk barefoot on the soft sand. They were both pleasantly tipsy from the wine they had
shared earlier.

Draco noticed she stumbled over her words and mispronounced a few French phrases she had
previously spoken flawlessly. It was endearing to see her let loose and be a little messy, while
he was there to support her, both literally and figuratively.

When they reached the apparition point, a narrow street nestled between two properties,
Draco knelt down to help Hermione untie the tight knots she had created with her wand. She
playfully made a remark about seeing him on his knees, but her sultry tone hinted at a
completely different topic from their earlier conversation at the restaurant. This was one of
the reasons he adored her in this carefree state, she was even more unabashedly honest.

In the dimness of the apparition point, Draco leaned in for a quick kiss, but Hermione
surprised him by gently pushing him against the stone fence of the nearby house. She kissed
him with a passion that ignited his senses, and he could taste the lingering sweetness of
caramelised sugar on her tongue, a taste as magical as her scent.

His hands firmly held her at the back of her neck and waist as he apparated them back to the
villa. Hermione wobbled a bit upon landing on the patio, but after breaking the kiss to assess
their surroundings, she spotted a nearby column and pressed Draco against it.

Her touch grew more aggressive as she kissed him fervently, and Draco felt himself growing
harder against her warm body. The tantalisingly low cut of her dress exposed her back, and
he found himself yearning to bend her over something, anything, and lose himself in her
without hesitation.

"Wait, slow down," he whispered, almost against himself.

She loosened her grip on his arm but continued to plant slow kisses on his neck. Her breath
on his skin made him shiver.

"Why?" she murmured, her voice filled with a seductive allure.

"Let's go to the pool.”

Hermione chuckled. "But I didn't bring any swimwear," she said innocently.

Draco arched an eyebrow. "Do you know how to swim naked?"

Her eyes sparkled and she bit her lip. "I think so. There's no one here, right?"

He nodded.

"And what about the neighbours?"

"There's a ward in place for wizard renters," he explained as his hands moved to untie her
dress. "No one can see or hear us.”

But Hermione stopped him, took a step back, swiftly removing her shoes. "We should come
here more often," she remarked, walking downstairs toward the pool.

"We definitely should," he agreed, his gaze fixated on her slowly retreating form.

She settled into one of the lounge chairs, observing their surroundings. Draco approached the
pool, dipping his hand into the water. It remained pleasantly warm, even in the nighttime.
The soft glow of lanterns cast a romantic ambiance around them.

"What time is our portkey?" she inquired.

"I can activate it after half past eleven, but we should leave before midnight."

Hermione glanced at her watch. "Well then, what are you waiting for?" she asked, her tone
serious. "Take off your clothes.”

Oh, I love her like this.

Draco smirked, slowly unbuttoning his shirt, while Hermione tilted her head, observing him
intently. Despite her tapping foot betraying her impatience, she didn't urge him to hurry.

"And you?" he asked as he removed his belt.

She blinked, a sly smile playing on her lips. "I have nothing on under this dress, so it'll take
you half a second to get me naked.”

He paused. "Really? The entire evening?"

"Oh, God no," she responded, frowning. "Since I went to the bathroom in the restaurant.”

"Why?" he inquired.

"I wanted to skip all of this and get straight to the point."

Draco rolled his eyes at himself, annoyed at having wasted time, and swiftly removed the
remainder of his clothes.

"Oh, yes, just like that," she purred, smirking.

Draco felt a slight discomfort being completely naked while she remained dressed. Growing
up in a puritanical environment, as she called it, even now, it felt unfamiliar to stand before
her in such a state.

"Stand up and turn around," he requested, his tone more serious than intended, but she
complied.

Resting his forearms on her back as he untied the strings holding her dress in place. There
were additional ties in the middle of her back, but they proved no match for his efforts, and
the dress effortlessly fell from her body.

Instantly, she turned around and grabbed his neck, pulling him closer for a deep kiss. Draco
eagerly explored every inch of her body with his hands, a territory he was already familiar
with.

Unsurprisingly, when his hand ventured between her legs, he discovered she was already wet.
He was thrilled by her response, even after all this time. He almost regretted having removed
her dress because he would give anything to have her back in it so that he could bend her
over the lounge and bury himself in her. Or bury his face between her legs. Or....

"Are we going to swim or not?" Hermione moaned softly after breaking their kiss, her eyes
gazing at him, now darker than ever.
"Yes, we are.”

Draco took a few steps toward the pool and dove into the water, despite the inconvenient
presence of his now raging erection. He hoped the warm embrace of the water would soothe
his desire.

He swam around and dove while she casted some spells on her. Slowly, she made her way to
the edge of the pool, her curls cascading over her shoulders as she released her hair from its
bun. She gathered it in front of her, using it to partially cover herself and Draco was
mesmerised.

The shimmers on her skin reflected the dim light. He watched the blue waves of the pool
reflecting upon her as well. When he pressed his lips against the inside of her thigh, close to
her knee, her skin felt warm to the touch.

She gracefully slipped over the edge, and wrapped her legs around him. The sensation of
being submerged in the warm water paled in comparison to the feeling of being inside her.
They kissed leisurely, moving in harmony with the gentle rhythm of the water.

Afterward, they remained in each other's embrace, basking in the afterglow as their breathing
and rushed heartbeats. Hermione cupped Draco's face and kissed him tenderly, but
occasionally, it seemed as though she struggled to find the words until she finally did.

"Draco, I... about what you said earlier, in the restaurant... I…”

"You don't have to say anything," he interjected.

"I don't even know what to say," she confessed.

"Did I scare you?" Draco asked, his fingers gently brushing aside a few wet strands of her
hair.

"No, you didn't," she replied quickly, her hands moving to the nape of his neck. "I'm not
scared. I just... I don't know what to say."

He nodded. "Do you think we're moving too fast?" he inquired after a brief moment of
silence.

"Why are you asking me this?" Her brow furrowing slightly.

"Theo mentioned something.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Are we going to listen to Theo now? The relationship expert?"

I’m even worse.

"I suppose not," he sighed, berating himself for even considering it. "You're right. We should
listen to you and your vast experience," he added sarcastically.

She rolled her eyes again. "We should. I don't think it's too fast. What do you think?"
"I think… I can't stop thinking about how many years we might have wasted. If only I have
spoken to you sooner... So now, I don't want to waste any more time.”

Hermione caressed his neck gently. "We are both to blame for not… reconnecting sooner.
You for not approaching me earlier, and me... well, I told you this before, but I didn't truly
believe the positive things others said about you," she confessed and kissed him briefly. "But
here we are now, together. That's all that matters.”

"I know," he whispered, returning her kiss.

"I don't care what anyone else says or thinks. Not even them.”

"Nor do I.”

"We will set our own pace and do things at our own time. It's no one else's business," she
declared firmly.

"That's exactly what I told him. I knew you would agree," he smirked. Draco kissed her once
again, and she tightened her legs around him.

The following week was a whirlwind of meetings for Hermione with her publishing
company, all in preparation for the upcoming book release event. The pressure of the "party"
that she didn't even care for was starting to weigh on her, and Draco, having experienced his
fair share of dreaded events, simply listened as she vented her frustrations.

To make matters worse, a photo of them surfaced from their lunch outing after their visit to
Gringotts. The image not only captured them discussing the silver bracelet adorned that
Draco had supposedly acquired for her, but it also fueled rumours of Hermione being after his
wealth by implying they had explored the most heavily protected vaults together.

He found it amusing that finally, an article was written about him that didn't paint him in a
negative light, but wisely kept that thought to himself, as Hermione launched into a
passionate rant about sexism and discrimination.

Draco asked her if she’d like to go to Paris with him and Scorpius, but she thought it would
be better for two of them to go on this trip alone, as a family, before school starts. She did
also propose a weekend getaway to Spain, this time including Scorpius, and Draco readily
agreed.

However, he knew it would be too soon to subject himself to another weekend with her
parents, particularly after her father delivered a chillingly convincing warning speech.

He couldn't help but respect Henry. He had maintained unwavering politeness throughout the
entire weekend, despite the underlying tension. If Draco were in his shoes, having to tolerate
his daughter's childhood bully as her partner, he doubted he would be as composed.

That moment in the vineyard, when Henry abandoned all pretence and made it abundantly
clear that he didn't need "a magic stick", as he put it, to find and harm him if anything was to
happen to Hermione again, left Draco with no reason to doubt his sincerity. Perhaps it would
be best to postpone that particular trip for a few more months.

Nevertheless, he was eager to go away somewhere with Hermione and Scorpius. He

cherished the moments they spent together, but he noticed Scorpius's slight reservation when
Hermione stayed the night.

It was important for him to invite her over more frequently, not only because he longed to
share his bed with her, but also to give Scorp the chance to grow accustomed to the idea of
her staying for something more than just a meal.

"I think... I have to have a conversation with Scorpius," Draco said, and his voice filled with
unease as they sat in his office.

Hermione had come over to discuss some questions about a document her lawyer had sent.
Draco shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Hermione furrowed her brow, peering at him above
the rim of her glasses.

"About... you know... sex and other things," he continued hesitantly.

She looked surprised. "Why? I mean... isn't he too young?"

Draco shrugged.

"I mean, maybe he isn't. I don't really know anything about parenting, really.”

"When did your mother talk about it with you?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Hermione's parents seemed to be more open-minded, according to her at least, and being
muggles, they were often more progressive in such matters.

"Oh, never," she replied matter-of-factly.

"Really?" Draco's surprise was evident.

"Yeah. I think I had a vague idea about sex and I heard things from other kids," she
explained. "And then there were magazines and VHS rentals, which is probably not the best
place to learn about it when you're so young. Porn can really mess you up.”

Suppressing any thoughts about Hermione watching porn, Draco refocused on the matter at
hand. "So, what should I do?"

"I don't know," she shrugged, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "Well, actually, you
can use the internet too. Just google 'how to talk to my child about sex' and see what pops up.
Why are you thinking about this now, by the way?"

"We were discussing a trip we could take, and he asked about our sleeping arrangements
when I stayed at your place. He looked... like he was asking about something else," Draco
explained.

She nodded. "Should I even ask if your parents talked to you about it?"

Draco rolled his eyes, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "They organised an appointment
with a healer from St. Mungo's for Theo and me. Blaise's mother felt it wasn't necessary for
him to attend because she is far more progressive than our parents, so she talked to him
instead. As for Theo, well, he made a lot of uncomfortable jokes, and I just wanted to die
from embarrassment.”

Hermione couldn't help but chuckle. "I have to say, I'm surprised they did that for you.”

"Oh, Hermione, you have so much to learn," he retorted, rolling his eyes once again. "It was
to protect me from all the girls who would try to trap me with an unplanned pregnancy. The
only thing my father wanted to know was if I knew how to perform a contraceptive charm.
My mother was too delicate to attend that conversation.”

"I see," Hermione nodded. "Well, when I introduced Ron as my boyfriend to my parents, my
mother tried to talk about it, but she only asked whether I knew how to use protection. I said
yes, and that was the end of it. It wasn't too uncomfortable," she shrugged. "Maybe while I
finish reading this, you can check out some books on kindle about it too.”

Draco did find a few books and read them in the next several days before sleeping. They all
echoed similar advice: it's best to have the conversation now, before Scorpius reaches his
teenage years, when embarrassment and defensiveness might make it more challenging. Keep
it simple, avoid overwhelming details, but use the correct phrases and terms, not childish
euphemisms. Instead of one big talk, incorporate it into everyday conversations. It sounded
straightforward enough, but Draco knew it was far from easy.

An opportunity presented itself after Scorp returned from a sleepover at Daphne's, with Pansy
joining them for breakfast. He said he felt the baby moving in her stomach and thought it was
amazing.

“When is the baby going to be born?” he asked Draco while the commercial break was on the
telly.

“She will give birth in February. That’s when her due date is,” he explained.

Scorpius furrowed his brow, his mind seemingly crunching numbers.

“Pregnancy lasts about nine months, sometimes a bit longer, sometimes a bit shorter. But it's
better if it's not too early.”

"How long was I in mum's belly?" he asked, choosing his words carefully.

Draco pondered for a moment. He didn’t often ask questions about Astoria. “The healers had
predicted your due date to be May 19th, but you surprised us by arriving two days earlier. I
suppose you've always been an early bird,” he winked.
Scorpius beamed, but then hesitated before asking his next question. "How do they know
that?"

Draco took a deep breath, summoning his courage. "Well, they use special spells that tell
them everything they need to know. And also, uh... babies are born about nine months after
their parents... had sex. So, the healers usually ask when that happened, and they can
calculate it easily." He felt the discomfort settling in, sensing Scorpius's own unease beside
him. "Did you already know about that?" Draco asked, deliberately avoiding eye contact,
focusing on television.

One of the books had suggested discussing such matters in situations where you didn't have
to face each other directly, like while driving a car. He couldn't replicate that precisely, but
this felt somewhat similar.

Scorpius responded curtly, his gaze averted as well. "Yes."

Well, that’s enough for the start.

On the night of Hermione's book release, Draco entered her living room to find her in the
midst of packing a few final items into her bottomless purse.

She was dressed in smart trousers and a jumper and she put over a nice robe that definitely
wasn’t muggle, and he noticed that he had never seen her in wizarding clothes outside of their
school uniforms.

The image of her in that uniform now flickered in his mind, but he quickly dismissed it when
she approached him, planting a quick kiss on his lips.

"I'm ready, let's go," she said with a radiant smile.

Draco squinted at her. "You're awfully chipper. What happened? Did you take The Elixir to
Induce Euphoria?"

Hermione chuckled. "Yes, but the muggle version.”

He frowned in confusion.

“Vodka. I had a shot of vodka,” she explained.

"Starting the celebration early, I see," he smirked. "I thought we were going for drinks after
the launch."

"I took one shot half an hour ago to help me relax and feel like a normal person who can
handle attention and engage in conversations with strangers," she confessed, visibly more at
ease than she had been in the days leading up to the event.

"I’m afraid there will be too many people. And you can't smell it on my breath, right?" she
asked, leaning in closer to his face.
He grinned. "Right. Let's go."

Taking her hand in his, Draco apparated with her to the apparition point near the Leaky
Cauldron.

When the event began, Draco quickly realised that Hermione's instincts were spot on. There
were so many people inside and outside of the bookstore that she would lose her mind if she
didn't come already prepared.

All of their friends were there too, but stayed while she read a few paragraphs and answered
some questions but they were all gone one by one when she started signing books.

They had planned to reconvene at the pub afterward, which meant Draco had the
uncomfortable task of spending time with Potter and Weasley, who had remained by
Hermione's side throughout the event.

Draco managed to sustain separate conversations with them, but the dynamic faltered a bit
when they were all together. They had little in common to discuss, especially when fans
began approaching for autographs and photos. Some people gave him curious looks, so he
simply looked away whenever someone approached.

Soon, the crowd grew too dense for anyone to pay attention to their small group and Draco
overheard snippets of conversation that would surely infuriate Hermione, but some remarks
that angered him as well.

"She looked better when she had blonde hair, don't you think?"

"I don't understand why she's with him, after everything that happened.”

"No, I didn't see a ring, but she was wearing some bracelets. Not the one from the Prophet,
though.”

"She seems to have gained weight, but I think she looks better now.”

"Do you think she's still friends with Harry Potter?"

"I hear she moved to Portugal.”

"No, I'm not buying her book, not while she's associating with them. I'm just waiting for a
friend.”

It was infuriating. Hermione would likely urge him to "ignore them because they're not worth
it," but he couldn't let it go.

How much longer would he have to explain himself, justify his actions, and apologise to the
world? And now, these strangers who knew nothing about his life, or hers for that matter,
were passing judgement on her simply because she associated with him.

Everything had been much simpler when he stayed home and met his friends in private,
shielded from the public eye. Everything was easier when he wasn’t pulling her down with
him too. No, it wasn’t easier. You just didn't have anyone.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked as they sat in the pub after her book launch. "Did you get
tired just standing and waiting for me?" she joked, trying to lighten the mood.

That's the more appropriate answer.

“Yes,” he said.

Too many people were still waiting for a chance to talk to her but when it was time to end the
event, they gave her a special quill that signed all the books automatically and they could
leave not too late after that.

"Well, sorry about that," she shrugged, her eyes scanning the lively atmosphere of the pub.
"But hey, at least the drinks are on the house. Might as well enjoy it a bit."

She gestured towards their table, which was full of glasses and filled with their friends
engaged in animated conversations. "I'm going to the loo and then to the bar. Do you want
something?"

"I can go to the bar and get us drinks. Vodka martini?" Draco asked, and Hermione nodded.

He made his way to the crowded bar and patiently waited for his turn to order. As he stood
there, a man accidentally knocked into him with his elbow.

"Oh, sorry, mate. It's too crowded," the man apologised, his hand resting on Draco's shoulder
briefly.

"That's alright," he replied.

"Malfoy? Is that you?" the man exclaimed, his face lighting up with recognition.

Draco vaguely remembered him from their Hogwarts days but struggled to recall his name.

"Of course, it's you. With that hair, it could only be you," the man smiled.

He looked similar to how he looked back in school with his dark hair, eyes, and aquiline
nose. Still, he couldn’t remember his name.

Draco mustered a weak smile. "I'm sure there are a few other people who resemble me."

“Oh you don’t remember me. Steward.” He extended his hand and Draco shook it. Yes,
Steward something, something very pretentious, I forgot his name.

“Archibald Steward.”

Yes. Archibald.

“I was a year ahead of you.”

"Oh, right. Sorry about that. We were on the team together at one point, weren't we?"
Did he know another Steward? Why does that sound familiar?

"We were," he nodded with a hint of nostalgia in his eyes. "I remember when your father
gifted us the new brooms. Those were quite exciting times," he reminisced, but Draco wished
to forget those memories. "So, what's been going on with you? How have you been?"
Steward leaned against the bar, engaging in conversation.

Draco called for a bartender. “Good. Just getting some drinks. I'm with some friends over
there," he gestured towards their occupied tables, and he followed his gaze.

The bartender approached, and Draco placed his order. "Firewhiskey, neat, and one vodka
martini, please. Thank you," he said and then turned his attention back to Steward. "What
about you? What's been going on?"

"Not much, really. I'm getting married next year.”

"Congratulations. I thought you were already married," Draco remarked, trying to recall any
information he might have heard.

"Oh, I was. Now I'm divorced," Steward revealed, surprising him.

Divorces were almost non-existing in wizarding families, pureblood especially.

"Oh, okay. Um... I'm sorry?" he responded, unsure how to react.

Steward waved it off dismissively. "No need. One firewhiskey, thanks," he ordered from the
bartender, focusing his attention on Draco. "I made a mistake once, and I won't make it
again.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Didn't you just say you're getting married again?"

He smiled and rolled his eyes. "Oh no, not marriage itself. I meant the wife. I was young and
in love, and didn't listen to what people were saying. We're just not compatible, you know?
Purebloods and half-bloods. We grew up differently, most of the time. So now I won't make
the same mistake twice.”

Oh good to know you’re the same twat as before.

Draco remembered his father had encouraged their friendship back at school, given Steward's
family's involvement with brooms and quidditch equipment in general.

"I see. So you’re here with your fiancée?" Draco inquired, but his patience wore thin.

"She's not here. She's from Switzerland. Her family owns a few banks there, quite different
from just one like we have here," Steward explained.

"Right," he responded curtly, ready to leave the conversation.

"Yeah, anyway, are you seeing anyone? She has two sisters, if you're interested," Steward
winked. "Well, one is too young, just turned twenty, but the other is twenty-five, twenty-six.
She's over there," he pointed somewhere in the crowd.

"Not interested. I am with someone," he stated, trying to end the conversation.

He didn't like him. Draco hadn't missed the fact that he had insinuated a distinction between
"us" and "half-bloods", completely disregarding muggleborns. In his books, they were
probably out of any possibility.

Steward nodded slowly and glanced towards the table Draco had pointed out earlier, where
Hermione was engrossed in a conversation with Potter and Daphne.

"Right. I saw the newspaper," he smirked, his tone lacking humour or friendliness. It seemed
more like curiosity. "So it's true. Alright.”

"Yeah, well... I'm going now.”

"Sure. Nice seeing you, mate," Steward smirked again, leaving Draco with a lingering sense
of irritation.

He made his way back to their table, feeling a sense of relief. Every time he found himself
interacting with people from his past, he was reminded of the embarrassment associated with
the company he used to keep.

He handed Hermione her glass, and she smiled and winked at him. Glancing around at their
friends, his friends, he felt a sense of belonging.

Theo held Daphne's hand on her lap as they engaged in conversation with Potter. Pansy
seemed restless on her barstool, with George and Red standing nearby. Blaise sat with Luna,
who had draped herself around his neck, while they conversed with Charlie, Weasley and
Bones. Parvati and her girlfriend joined them, and Padma pulled Hermione aside for a private
conversation.

Draco stood beside Theo, not actively participating in the conversation, when Hermione
nudged him with a bowl of snacks.

"Try it," she encouraged, and he took a few small red balls and popped them into his mouth.

They turned out to be intensely hot and crunchy.

"Spicy," he remarked with discomfort.

"Yeah," Hermione nodded, and her observant nature caught on quickly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, really. I'm just not a fan of spicy food," Draco shrugged, attempting to deflect the
real issue.

She gazed at him silently for a moment, concern etched on her face. "That's not what I asked.
You look... tired.”
 “I am tired,” he shrugged again, but when she just kept looking at him without words, he
sighed and rolled his eyes. “I met someone from school and… I just got reminded of how
much I… dislike all of them now.”

"I'm sorry," she said softly, her hand gently rubbing his arm. "What did they say?"

"Nothing specific, but enough to make me want to avoid him if I see him again.”

After a brief pause, Hermione surveyed the room. "Do you want to start avoiding him now?
Let's go back to my place. Pansy mentioned wanting to leave soon anyway, and Harry and
Ginny left the kids with Molly, so they'll be on their way soon too." She leaned closer, her
hand moving from his arm to the back of his neck. "Come on, Draco," she drawled, her voice
near his ear. "I can draw you a nice warm bath, and you can tell me about your encounter,
okay?"

He smiled at her tempting suggestion. "Are you going to sit in my lap in the tub while we
talk?" he teased, and she raised an eyebrow playfully. "It would be very helpful.”

She smirked, and her eyes sparkled. "Yes, I will sit wherever you want me to.”

Draco let out a long-held breath, and a sense of relief washed over him. "Great. Shall we go
now?"

"Okay. Do you want to finish this?" Hermione shook the bowl of snacks, taking a few more
for herself.

"No, I can eat at your place.”

"Oh, sure. What did you have in mind?"

He leaned closer to whisper. "You.”

Chapter End Notes

Draco and Hermione in Grasse https://www.pinterest.com/tpzzz1105/in-the-mood-for-

truth/draco-and-hermione-in-grasse/
 Hermione
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

October 2013

"Place your foot on the clutch and turn the key," Hermione instructed Draco with a touch of
exasperation. "Careful now, let's avoid any more of your magical mishaps.”

Draco furrowed his brow as he struggled with the key. "Is this some sort of…? It refuses to
budge.”

She let out a sigh. "It's called 'turning the key.' Give it a proper twist."

He returned the key to the first position and tried again, this time successfully.

"There you go. Now, try not to hit any unsuspecting pedestrians.”

Accidentally putting the gear in reverse, Draco chuckled. "Well, I hope they were ready for a
surprise."

Hermione frowned at his remark.

"What? There's no one here," he gestured around them.

It was night and they were in a deserted supermarket parking lot she chose precisely to avoid
any incidents.

Hermione rolled her eyes once more. "Fantastic. Now that you've effortlessly mastered the art
of reverse driving, let's focus on moving forward, shall we? Gradually release the brake and
apply gentle pressure to the gas pedal. Emphasis on gentle, Draco.”

He again accelerated too quickly, causing the car to lurch forward. "My apologies. I'm just so
strong, it's difficult to do things gently," he smirked.

Hermione's eyes narrowed as she attempted to separate his hands on the wheel. "Loosen up,
Draco. We're aiming for control, not a death grip," she advised. "Try turning right here and
avoid the parking lines."

But in his overzealousness, he ended up driving all over the lines.

"Well, that was a truly delightful display of your skills.”

"I'm touched by your unwavering faith in my abilities, Hermione," he huffed sarcastically.

"Truly heartwarming.”
Despite the difficulties, she persisted in teaching him, and slowly but surely, he began to
improve.

The initial lessons involved familiarising him with the components inside the car. Everything
made perfect sense to him, except for the manual shift. After Hermione explained the
existence of automatic cars, Draco couldn't fathom why anyone would bother with manual
transmissions.

After several attempts, he managed to navigate a few circles in front of the supermarket, even
if he ended up occupying two parking spaces when he finally brought the car to a stop.

"I do have faith in you," Hermione said, looking at him intently.

He was wearing one of her old oversized Massive Attack shirts with a Mezzanine cockroach
which fitted him perfectly. At first, he had scoffed at the design, but after listening to a few
songs, he had grown fond of it.

He also wore a denim jacket, and his hair was slightly tousled from the crack in the window.
In that moment, with the supermarket lights casting a glow behind him, he appeared almost
unreal.

Hermione unbuckled her seatbelt and then his. “I know you can do this,” she said while he
was frowning slightly, but his expression changed immediately when she slightly
ungraciously moved to straddle him.

There was just enough space for her since he moved the seat back to make room for his legs.
She accidentally honked the horn with her ass and he laughed. Leaning in, Hermione placed
gentle kisses along his neck, eliciting a shudder of pleasure that travelled through her own
body.

"I want you to drive us outside the city," she murmured between kisses. “And park on the
side of the road and then just do this,” she said.

She could feel him smiling against her face. “That’s a little reckless,” he said, as he drew his
hands over her thighs beneath the fabric of her skirt. "Also how can I possibly get a driver's
licence without proper documentation?”

"Maybe we can find… an alternative way to handle any encounters with the authorities.”

Draco moved his head away from her to see her better and arched an eyebrow, his expression
impressed yet tinged with a smugness that was uniquely his own.

"Using magic on innocent muggles, Miss Granger? That's... quite illegal," he drawled, his
lips brushing against hers. “Would you break the law just like that?"

He moved his hand from her thighs to the edge of her underwear.

"This, too, could be considered breaking the law, you know," she said, shifting to grant him
better access.
He smirked barely noticeable before slipping his fingers below the elastics of her knickers.
“Yeah? How come?”

Her gasp of surprise and pleasure filled the confined space, and her attempts to contain
herself gradually gave way to a growing need.

"Public indecency," she managed to say, her voice laced with desire. “Indecent exposure.”

Draco moved his fingers lazily over her, his gaze locked on her intently as Hermione began
to move against his hand.

“There’s no one here. And nothing is exposed. Although I wish it was.”

Her breath hitched as Draco's lips found their way to her neck, just below her ear.

"What colour are you wearing now?" he whispered, his hand teasingly tugged and released
the waistband of her knickers.

The sensation sent a surge of excitement through her.

“Take a look.”

“No, I want you to tell me.”

She smirked. “Your favourite.” I definitely did not plan this.

Draco's pace quickened, his touch becoming more urgent. "Fuck," he uttered. Before their
lips met once more, he whispered, "I fucking love you, you know that?”

Her heart always skipped a beat at those words. "I know," she responded softly. "Should I
lower the seat?" she asked, her voice thick with need.

"No," Draco replied urgently. "I want you close. Is it comfortable for you like this?” he asked
casually while she was riding his fingers.

“I don’t know, we’ll see. I’ve actually never done this before. In a car, I mean,” she almost
moaned.

"Is this a… common location for muggles?" he inquired.

Hermione's smile widened. "Oh, it definitely is.”

“What else would you like to do that you've never done before?” Draco teased.

She felt a hint of blush gracing her cheeks, which of course didn't go unnoticed.

"Come on, don't be shy,” he drawled. “Shall we return home, indulge in a little liquid
courage, and then you can share your secret desires?" he suggested with a smirk.

“That's one way of saying you want to get me drunk and use me.”
"Use you?" Draco frowned slightly, his fingers momentarily withdrawing, leaving her
yearning for more. “Is it consider using you if you want me to fuck you so eagerly?”

She pondered for a moment. "Perhaps you're right. But alcohol can only take us so far.” She
leaned in to kiss him again.

“Do you want me to get you veritaserum?” he joked.

She stopped for a moment but then a smile played on her lips, and she suddenly felt curious.
"Could you?" she asked in a hushed tone.

He was surprised too, and his grip on her hips was tightening. "I... I can. Really?" Draco
stammered, his eyes wide with disbelief and excitement.

She nodded slowly. "Yes. I want that. Are you sure you’re up for it?" she inquired once
more.

He nodded as well with an unwavering gaze. "Yes. I think I would be," he affirmed, gripping
her firmly. "Lift up, please," he urged, and Hermione obliged, her eyes fixed on him as he
unzipped his trousers.

Positioning himself beneath her, he guided her down, and a soft moan escaped her lips as
they joined together. "I'd love to hear the truths you'd only admit under the influence," Draco
whispered, but his voice filled with desire.

“Me too.”

“I don’t have any secrets,” he said too confidently and hissed quietly when she started
moving.

“We’ll see.” Hermione couldn’t find a good angle while sitting like this. “I'm pulling your
seat down,” she said and pressed the button.

Draco leaned backwards and she could feel him deeper at this angle. Much better.

“Are you okay like this?” she asked hoping he was because she would not like to have to stop
now.

“Yeah. Don’t ask me anything,” he muttered with raw desire, and his rough hands on her hips
urged her to move faster.

When she drove them back home later, they took a quick shower before Draco went back to
spend time in the lab with Scorpius. He invited Hermione to join them, but she declined,
mentioning that she had some work to do.

In truth, she wanted to give them private time as this was their last year when they would
spend all the time together and also, she wanted some peaceful moments for herself.
However, she soon found herself feeling bored and decided to invite Padma for a drink.
They sat in the living room, sipping wine and watching the news, and Hermione thought
about how much she enjoyed spending time with her over the years.

They had so much in common, much more than with her other friends. She appreciated her
genuine interest in the happenings of the muggle world. Despite her own limited knowledge
in certain areas, Hermione did her best to explain topics like the current migrant crisis and
conflicts in the Middle East.

Padma had recently moved in with George, in his flat above the store in the Alley. To
celebrate their new home, they had a small housewarming party. Hermione gifted them a
coffee machine since she always used it whenever she visited her house.

They seemed lovely together. Her level-headedness and rationality complemented George's
flexibility and easy-going nature. He was clueless about many things and needed guidance,
but he wasn’t someone she’d necessarily need to take care of. That was one of few things she
didn't like about Ron.

He and George were brought up in the same family, by the same parents, and being close in
age also meant they had similar upbringing, different from Bill and Charlie, per example,
who were older or Ginny, the only girl.

Unlike Ron, who often needed care and motivation, George was independent and driven in
pursuing his own goals. This was one of the things Hermione appreciated about Draco too.
Ron always needed assistance and pushing which annoyed her terribly. Draco wasn’t like that
at all.

He sometimes struggled with his own insecurities however, mostly about their past and how
Hermione viewed it, particularly the events at the manor. Consequently, Hermione chose not
to share all the details about her nightmares with him, as they only occurred on a few separate
occasions over the past year.

First one, when she had an unreasonable upsetting reaction to a conversation with Pansy
about him. Second, when she was cleaning the floor at Harry and Ginny's house. Third, after
Scorp’s birthday and the last one, when they were in Spain. While she couldn't ignore the
connection to Draco during those instances, she didn't want to dwell on it too much. She
knew their journey wouldn't always be easy.

Hermione did discuss these matters with Silva, however. Their sessions were infrequent
because she thought Hermione had created a comfortable routine for herself and should only
sought appointments when necessary, such as after said events.

Even though in all cases she was aware of what caused her to react the way she did, it was
comforting to hear it verified by a professional.

The small, now often quiet part of her brain desperate for praise begged for someone to say
“five points for Gryffindor” everytime Silva confirmed something Hermione already
concluded by herself prior to their session.
She tried to fight that urge for years now. Seeking constant approval and praise was
exhausting, unnecessary and unreasonable. In her opinion, it wasn’t logical to care about it so
much. Together with Silva, they explored the underlying reasons behind this behaviour.

It wasn’t her family. Both her mother and father had always been there for her, offering love
and guidance through both successes and failures. They had a few rough years after their
memories were restored, but they had since resolved their issues. So if it wasn't her family, it
must have been something external. Hermione wanted to share her realisation with Silva right
away when they first started discussing it during her therapy sessions.

It was her desperate need for acceptance from her peers that plagued her, even from her early
days in primary school when she stood out as different.

Not only did she feel different due to her magical abilities, but also because of her intellectual
pursuits. She was labelled a bookworm, a swot, a nerd. It seemed that in both the wizarding
and muggle worlds, those who sought knowledge were often ridiculed and humiliated. The
urge just increased during Hogwarts after being discriminated against by… some students.

Nevertheless, Hermione was proud of herself for successfully separating from the old
Hermione. It was a challenging process that felt like cutting off a part of herself, but she
realised that she could still enjoy her passions - books, art, studying, writing, without making
her knowledge her entire identity. She was more than the grades she aced or the books she
devoured over the weekend.

This is why spending time with Padma was so wonderful for Hermione. While she also
enjoyed the company of Daphne, her interests now mostly revolved around muggle things on
the internet. Padma, on the other hand, was different from Hermione's other friends.

They shared similar perspectives and approached certain topics in a comparable manner.
Hermione felt comfortable opening up to her without the fear of explicit judgement. She
separated her friends into two categories - the bold and explosive Parvati, Ginny, and Pansy,
and the more silent and non-judgmental Padma, Luna, and Daphne.

That's also why Hermione felt she was the most suitable one to discuss something that had
been on her mind for the past few weeks. As she poured them more wine, she stole a glance
at Padma, who was engrossed in the telly.

Clearing her throat, Hermione began, "Draco strongly insinuated that he would propose to
me.”

She blinked in surprise and quickly grabbed the remote control, muting the telly. It felt almost
inappropriate to focus on such a trivial detail in one person's life while they were watching
people losing their lives on the boats in the Mediterranean sea seeking an opportunity for
better life.

"What?" Padma asked, her eyes fixed on Hermione.

She proceeded to explain everything again - the romantic dinner in Cannes, the unexpected
gift, and the overwhelming feeling she had when she spotted the small box on the table. She
even remembered his exact words.

She was taken aback. "Wow. I don't even know what to make of that. What did you say?”

"I don't know either. I didn't discuss it much with him afterward." She wanted to, but then he
was wet and naked in the pool and any coherent thought she had simply evaporated. "He
asked me if I thought we were rushing into things.”

"And what did you say?”

"I said no. Or maybe we are, but I just don't care."

Padma nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I think it's that too.”

"You do?”

“Yes. You’re not together very long but it seems intense.” Hermione was about to protest, but
Padma stopped her. “And it’s not like me and George. We actually have been friends for
years.”

“I know.” She knew how to accept her defeat. “Intense. Is that a good or bad thing?”

“It could be both, but the way you keep describing your relationship, it's a good thing,” she
shrugged. “Although you might be an unreliable narrator because you’re subjective. It makes
sense though, you’re the one half of the relationship, of course,” Padma added after a
moment of contemplating. “But we can see you. Both of you. You look… good for each
other.”

“Right.”

Hermione looked back at the telly where a BBC reporter was interviewing someone in Italy.

"So... Have you considered it?" she asked after a moment. When Hermione just exhaled
without speaking, she asked another question. “If he came over now to ask you to marry him,
what would you say?”

Hesitating for a moment, Hermione replied, "I... I wouldn't say no.”

She noticed the tone of her answer and pressed further. "That's not exactly a ‘yes.’”

"I know, it's just..." Hermione sighed, and stood up to pace around the room. "I love him, and
I want to be with him. It's just... I don't know if I'm ready for such a big change. I've been...
like this, just me, for as long as I can remember." She went to the kitchen and grabbed a glass
of water, desperate to distract herself. "He invited me to his flat tonight, to spend time in his
lab with him and Scorp and stay the night, but I chose to be here and invited you instead
because I needed some alone time in quiet."

"And?" Padma urged.

“And…” Hermione took a sip of water before responding, "Everything changes when we... if
we get married. It's a big change." I would even be a stepmother. I don't know if I even want
to be a mother to anyone. She kept that thought for herself for now.

"Of course it is. But you knew that beforehand," she said reassuringly. "That's why we didn't
marry our first boyfriends right after school. We took our time to grow as individuals, as
women, and now we're ready to take the next step."

Hermione returned to her seat on the sofa.

"It's difficult, and it's a big change. But honestly, what isn't? It was a big change when you
quit your stable job. It was a big change when you moved to Spain. It was a big change when
you came back here.”

Hermione nodded in agreement. "But this is for life.”

"I mean... you can always get a divorce," she teased, and Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm
joking. Although, I don't know how that would work out for you, considering his family.
Maybe we should consult Parvati on that.”

Hermione smiled at the suggestion but decided to do some research on her own. In this
world, he would probably have more protection than she would.

"Do you think I'm freaking out for no reason?”

"No, it's perfectly reasonable. I have to say, it's kind of funny that he knows you well enough
to give you a heads up," Padma chuckled, taking another sip of wine.

"Communication is key, darling. I've explicitly stated many times that I don't like surprises of
any kind.”

"Has he mentioned anything since?”

“No, but he invited me to the library in his… in the manor and said he needed to lift some
wards first and that it would be much easier if we just had the same last name. He was joking,
I know, but…”

Padma nodded understandingly, and then asked more quietly, "Are you going to be okay
going there?”

"He'll connect my floo to the one in the library, so I won't have to roam around," Hermione
assured her.

"Good. Maybe consider taking a calming draught with you," she suggested.

"I did that last time, and I will again. I’ll go to see Luna for something.”

"Maybe one day, when you're more familiar, you can invite me too. They have an impressive
library," Padma said, trying to lighten the mood. "It would be nice if that could happen before
you become... the lady of the manor," she added with a playful laugh.
Hermione smiled, but somewhat uncomfortably. "Oh, God no. Don't even joke about that."
Narcissa would probably burn it down before that could happen.

A few days later, she found herself in a meeting with her accountant, who had the task of
updating her on the initial sales of her book. The financial aspect of her job wasn't her
strongest suit, but she was informed that her book was once again at the top of the bestseller
list, holding the coveted first spot. However, Hermione thought it was to be expected,
considering it had only been a few weeks since its release.

"Oh, no, Miss Granger," the middle-aged man in the ridiculous green robe spoke
enthusiastically. "You have to understand that we published after the new book in the
Moonlight Whispers series had been released a week before us. It's very strong competition.”

"But that's not even the same genre," Hermione remarked.

The other book was a romance novel with a few “scandalous scenes” that would barely raise
an eyebrow with the muggles, but were considered quite provocative in the wizarding world.

"No, but the authors of both books are young women who resonate with the younger
population. The audience overlaps significantly.”

She nodded. "I see. So, we're surpassing..." She checked the table with the titles. "A Love
Story of Two Wands. Great," she said, a smile spreading across her face.

"Yes, we're about to print more copies. But as for sales overseas, we have a report here. It
seems…”

Hermione already knew the details. She had reached out to Alina and Lucas, requesting two
copies of each translation and sent them payments, only to have Alina return the gold with a
thoughtful note, wishing her a belated birthday. She really did her research on me
beforehand.

Hermione had kept one copy of each translation for herself and distributed the rest as
requested - the Russian version to Harry and the German one to Luna. The overseas sales
were surpassing their initial predictions, albeit on a smaller scale compared to the sales in
Britain.

Taking the documents provided by the accountant, Hermione left the building and texted
Draco, arranging to meet him after his meetings. He replied, stating that he would be done in
half an hour.

She made her way to Luna's store to pick up a calming draught and other supplies for the
evening in the lab with Draco and Scorpius.

Blaise was there, waiting in one of the armchairs while she attended to a customer. Hermione
waved to her in greeting and approached him.

"Well, isn't that Hermione Granger, wizarding Britain's best-selling author," he smirked.
"Yes, indeed. Delighted to inform you that my little history book outshined a steamy romance
novel for young adults," she replied with exaggerated pride.

"Oh," he squinted, feigning ignorance. "Which one was that again? Just asking for a friend,
of course.”

"Something involving moonlight and two wands," Hermione said, grinning. "What brings
you here?”

"Theo took over, so I thought I'd drop by to say hello before heading home," Blaise
explained, glancing around the crowded store. "Seems like she's quite busy.”

Hermione looked around as well. "I think it's because of Halloween. These are the
responsible buyers, not leaving everything until the last minute.”

"Are you one of them?”

"Well, I suppose so. I just need some calming draught," she replied.

He pointed towards the shelf left of the door. "Over there.”

She liked Luna’s quirky penmanship. Instead of dots above i and j, she drew stars and hearts
instead of O.

Hermione chose a few ingredients she could use for the potion she wanted to make with the
Malfoy men tonight. Ugh. That sounded like I was talking about Draco and his father. Awful.

"Having a tough week?" Blaise asked when she returned to his side, waiting for the crowd to
clear at the cashier.

"It might be," she replied, and he waited for her to continue. "Narcissa is going on vacation
with Andromeda, so Draco suggested we explore the library in the manor during her
absence.”

"Oh," Blaise nodded slowly. "If I recall well, there’s a grand fireplace there.”

"Yes, there is," she confirmed.

He nodded again. "Well, you're in for a treat. I believe the Malfoy library is the second-
largest private collection in the country.”

"Really? Draco didn't mention that.”

Blaise smirked. "Well, you know how humble he is." His gaze shifted, and he continued,
"Speaking of the devil.”

Draco approached them, and they engaged in conversation while Hermione waited in line
behind a few remaining customers. Luna's cheerful yet professional voice warned against
mixing the calming draught with alcohol or caffeine as she packed the samples too. She then
joined them near the armchairs for a few minutes.
Standing behind Blaise, Luna absentmindedly ran her hand over his shoulder, and he leaned
into her touch. Draco had mentioned that such affectionate displays from him were rare,
resulting in teasing from him, Theo, and Pansy.

They looked good together. There was a calm aura surrounding them, and their voices
matched in tone. Hermione couldn't recall ever hearing either of them raise their voices in
anger. While their personalities were similar, they couldn't look more different.

Blaise is tall and lean, almost skinny, with dark complexion, while Luna was on a shorter
size, just a bit taller than Pansy and even paler than her too.

Out of their group, Blaise seemed to be the one with the most stable relationships over the
years, excluding Pansy who was married.

Hermione remembered him dating Angelina Johnson for a year or so before she moved to
Spain, and she had heard stories from Daphne and Pansy about a few other women he had
been involved with. But now, he seemed content. They both did. Luna truly deserved
happiness, especially after her difficult breakup with Rolf.

Hermione strolled alongside Draco towards the apparition point after her shopping was
complete.

"Where are we headed?" he inquired.

"Just for a coffee. Or are you feeling hungry?"

"Not particularly.”

"Great. I know the perfect place."

With a swift apparition, they found themselves in a small business street with law and
accounting offices. Draco's smile grew as Hermione led the way to a small café they
frequented last year.

"When was the last time you visited?" she asked, settling down at a table near the window
with their orders in hand.

"Maybe last month. It just doesn't have the same charm without you," he smirked.

"Oh, I feel the same. I came here before the book release, and while the coffee was good, I
missed having someone to oppose my every word," she chuckled.

“I did not,” he huffed.

“Oh was that another objection?” she laughed.

Draco playfully rolled his eyes. "Shut up. You're delightful when you're making your point. I
simply wanted to see more of that.”

"So, is that when you started fancying me?" she teased, wiggling her eyebrows.
He gazed at her, seemingly trying to recall the moment. "I can't remember," he admitted. "I
doubt the veritaserum will help me with that, right?”

"I don't think so. It only makes you speak what you already know," she replied.

"Right. We'll find out when we get there," he remarked, and gestured towards her manila
folder. "Did you receive the report?”

"Oh, yes. Take a look," Hermione said, passing him the financial report as she glanced
around the café.

The familiar bartender caught her attention, and she wondered if he remembered them from
their previous visits. The café had undergone some changes, with new decorations and
generic menus replacing the more characterful ones. She didn’t like the new design.

Draco frowned as he was focusing on the report he was reading and she liked seeing him all
business and serious.

"I didn't know you're receiving 15% royalties. That seems good," he noted.

"It was 12% for the previous edition, but I pointed out that muggle publishers sometimes
offer up to 18%," Hermione explained.

"Do they really?" Draco asked.

"Yes, Adda told me. She frequently works with both magical and muggle publishers," she
replied.

He nodded, his focus still on the paper. "Great, so this is on you," he remarked, gesturing
towards their table.

"It is," she smiled. "Try this. It's delicious."

Hermione pushed her plate of banoffee pie towards him, seizing the opportunity to sample his
apple crumble.

"Thank you. It's quite good," he nodded, dabbing his lips with the paper napkin in a manner
that appeared too luxurious.

Hermione struggled to contain her smile.

"What's happening with the guidebook for cleaning?" he inquired, returning the papers to
her.

"They've decided to publish it as part of a comprehensive guide series. A single large tome
that covers nearly every aspect of household management, eliminating the need for multiple
books on the subject," she explained, neatly organising the papers back into their folders.

"Sounds rather useful," Draco remarked.

"It truly is. We covered topics like cleansing dark magic from objects and spaces. One of the
other authors specialises in cleaning dangerous plants and gnomes from estate gardens
overseas," she said. "Oh when I was working in the ministry, a woman from my department
wrote a piece on assisting newly liberated house-elves during their transition period. But this
time, she updated her essays by consulting actual elves about care of the old estates,"
Hermione gushed excitedly. "This will be the first book to acknowledge elves as co-authors.
Do you realise how significant that is?" she asked, looking at Draco, a wide smile on her
face.

"I do. You're making history. Again," he nodded, smiling as he finished his cake.

"Well, I wouldn't go that far. It was her work with the elves, not mine," Hermione replied,
averting her gaze towards her phone on the table.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Are you downplaying your contribution again?”

"No," she drawled. "They did mention that my name would be listed first to attract readers
when the book is printed, and, well, it felt nice to hear that, I must admit." Hermione felt a
slight warmth in her cheeks, hoping he wouldn't notice immediately.

"I can imagine," he smirked.

"I'll credit you as my translator.”

He instantly frowned. "Oh, please don't. It's unnecessary.”

"Actually, it is necessary. I had to reference my sources, and since one of the books is in
Latin, I had to mention who translated it for me," she explained.

"Why didn't you say you did it yourself?”

"I don't speak Latin beyond what I need to know for charms.”

"You could have claimed otherwise.”

"Why should I lie about something so trivial?" she countered, and he huffed. "Relax, no one
pays much attention to the edition notice page anyway. You won't attract any undue
attention.”

"That's not why I said it," Draco spoke more quietly, and Hermione furrowed her brow.
"Never mind. You're coming over tonight?"

She nodded.

"Can you stay the night?”

"Sure, I don't have anything important to do in the morning," she shrugged. "Have you had
further conversations with Scorpius about… the birds and the bees?" she asked after a brief
pause.
"I only recently learned that's what muggles call it. I had to google it to find out," he stated
matter-of-factly.

It amused Hermione to hear him talk about using technology. Just a year ago, she had to
assist him in buying a television.

"Yes, I have. He's going to live away from me in a castle with a few adults. I needed to
explain appropriate relationships with adults who aren't family, especially with teachers.”

"What do you mean?”

"He tends to get overly affectionate. I saw him hugging his piano tutor when he managed to
play a difficult part," he replied, shaking his head slightly.

"Oh. Does he hug his other teachers too?" Hermione asked, trying to imagine Professor
McGonagall’s reaction if anyone hugged her after a successful Transfiguration lesson, nearly
bursting into laughter.

"I haven't noticed," Draco replied.

She arched an eyebrow. "So it's just the young, beautiful female teacher and not the other
middle-aged men?"

Draco smirked.

"Perhaps you should find a new tutor for him, someone who won't let him get carried
away.”

"No, it's just one more year. They've developed a good rapport. I don't want to disrupt it
now," he replied, still smirking.

"Uh-huh," Hermione muttered.

"Is something bothering you, Granger?" he asked, his smugness growing.

She rolled her eyes. "No, education comes first.”

When Hermione arrived at Draco's flat that evening, she had a fun idea of making Fizzing
Whizzbees Elixir. This potion would have the same effect as the candy, but in liquid form.

It involved mixing a bubbling solution with sugar and a splash of magical flavouring.
Hermione bought them a few options. She chose chocolate, Scorp berries and Draco salted
caramel.

Creating the bubbling solution was a relatively straightforward task, and Scorpius was
capable of handling it on his own. Draco offered his assistance when needed, but Hermione
took the opportunity to observe their interaction. In that moment, she looked at him not just
as her boyfriend, but as a father.
Draco looked over his son with a watchful eye, ensuring that he didn't accidentally touch the
cauldron and burn himself. He posed questions during the process and refrained from
immediately correcting him when he made a mistake. Instead, he allowed him to realise his
errors on his own, like when he added an excessive amount of powdered unicorn horn,
causing the potion to transform into a single massive silver bubble instead of multiple smaller
ones. Draco didn't discourage him from starting over from the beginning.

Scorpius blushed and prepared to begin anew, and Hermione's instinct would be to embrace
him and reassure him that mistakes were part of the learning process. However, Draco simply
ruffled his son's hair and made a sarcastic remark about the failed attempt. Scorp laughed it
off and proceeded with more confidence, having become more familiar with the steps.

When he reached the step involving unicorn horns once again, he took his time and measured
the ingredient more carefully. This time, he succeeded, and the cauldron overflowed with an
abundance of shimmering silver bubbles. Scorpius beamed with happiness and immediately
sought Draco's reaction, which didn't disappoint.

He smiled widely and affectionately squeezed his son's shoulders. He instructed him to
swiftly add sugar before the bubbles escaped the cauldron. Afterwards, the potion was poured
into three small jars, one for each of them to customise with their preferred flavourings.

Hermione added three drops of chocolate flavouring to her jar, and the silver potion slowly
became rich brown, like hot chocolate. When she took a sip of the elixir, she immediately felt
a warm buzzing sensation in her stomach, and felt as if she was floating just a few
millimetres above the ground.

Draco mentioned feeling the buzzing too, although he didn't experience a sensation of
weightlessness.

Meanwhile, Scorpius, with his newfound astronaut-like movements, walked cautiously

around the lab, careful to avoid the table and shelves.

Hermione couldn’t believe how tired she was until her head finally touched his soft pillow on
his oversized bed. Draco wrapped his arm around her and drew her closer, his leg entwined
with hers, and soon they both drifted into a peaceful slumber.

He spoiled her.

That’s what Hermione thought first when she was waking up in the morning.

They haven't had sex in the last few days even though they see each other every day. She
discovered she enjoyed watching him in the mirror above the sink behind her, especially
when he wasn’t gentle at all. But that usually resulted with a few days of necessary rest.

Like now.
It was because he had spoiled her with regular mind-blowing sex that she now found herself
dreaming of his hands caressing her skin and his soft hair brushing against the inside of her
thighs while she slept next to him.

It felt slightly inappropriate to entertain such thoughts now, but she imagined Draco's
smirking face, filled with self-assured satisfaction, if she were to confess her sex dreams to
him.

Hermione impulsively squeezed her thighs together, and to her surprise, she felt his fingers
gripping her tightly. It took her a moment to comprehend that her dream had not been a
dream at all. Her heart skipped a beat as she processed the situation.

The wave of growing pleasure crashed over her just as the realisation dawned. She moved her
hands under the covers to confirm his suspicion. Draco mentioned doing this once, but she
didn’t know he was being serious.

When she felt his soft hair under her fingers, she began to move against his face, but he
firmly held her hips, restraining her motions. His resistance only intensified her desire.
Hermione uncovered him, wanting to look at him and assuming it must be too warm beneath
the covers.

"Well, good morning," she whispered with delight and surprise as he placed his tongue inside
her.

She quickly covered her mouth with her hands to contain her moans, but could sense his
smile.

"I silenced the room earlier," he murmured, his warm breath on her sensitive flesh sending
shivers down her spine. "You don't have to be too quiet now.”

“Thank fuck. Faster, Draco, please,” she moaned, grabbing his hair and he nodded barely
noticeable and did as he was told.

He was about to put his fingers inside her but she grabbed his hand quickly to stop him. She
knew she’s still too sore from the other day and didn't want anything to ruin this moment with
unnecessary pain. Especially not now when he was so expertly focusing on her clit, and she
thought the silencing charms wouldn’t be able to cover up how much she’d like to scream.

Draco gently grasped her other hand, interweaving their fingers, and pressed their hands onto
the mattress.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat, anticipating a surge of panic, but surprisingly, she remained
calm. The tender yet firm grip he exerted felt more intimate than if he had merely held her
wrists. It was exciting and comforting at the same time.

Her orgasm was approaching and she squeezed his hands tighter when she came, still trying
to contain her moans. All she could focus on was his tongue and lips and warm breath and
the fact that she was getting chills all over her body and how sweaty she felt beneath her
knees.
When her sensitivity became overwhelming, she pushed him away with her feet on his
shoulders. Draco responded by grabbing her legs and placing gentle kisses on the inside of
her thighs before nestling his head on her stomach, both of them breathing deeply.

Hermione remembered when they first started dating, or just sleeping together, even though
they had a lot of sex, but he didn't go down on her for some time. She thought that he was
one of those men who found it disgusting. If he was, there was no way in hell she would ever
suck him off. Reciprocity is very important for her. She silently hoped that she was wrong
and that they simply weren’t that close yet. Luckily that turned out to be true.

Draco lay there for a few minutes, enjoying the calm before he headed into the shower. As he
stepped out of the room, his voice reached Hermione's ears. He was speaking to Scorpius,
letting him know that she was still fast asleep.

She considered something for a moment.

The thought of sneaking into his bathroom like a girl made her cringe, and she couldn't just
stroll casually with Scorp in the living room, as he might overhear her, so she waited a
minute or so and decided to apparate.

His bathroom was very luxurious, like everything else in his apartment. The shower was
much grander than hers, with sliding glass doors that offered a glimpse inside.

The deep grey, almost black tiles were probably very difficult to keep pristine, but he didn’t
have to bother thinking about it. Hermione quickly brushed her teeth and tied her hair in a
messy knot on top of her head, regretting not bringing any hair products along.

She took her clothes off and with measured steps, silently approached him from behind. He
stood beneath the shower, providing the shield from the water as she embraced him from
behind, her arms encircling his waist. Draco flinched at the unexpected contact but then held
her hands tightly.

"I apparated here. Good thing you lifted that ward for me," she said, peppering his back with
a few kisses.

"I knew it would come in handy.”

Hermione smirked. "Yeah. Speaking of..."

Her hand travelled downward, finding him semi-hard.

Draco squeezed her other hand slightly when she took him in her grip, slowly starting to
pump.

"Thanks for not waking me up.”

He exhaled, clutching her free hand. "I didn't?”

"No. I thought I was dreaming." Hermione liked when he was growing hard in her hand and
how his chest moved just slightly faster. She rested her face on his back.
He chuckled. "Do you often dream about me?”

Her mind was suddenly filled with the image of her nightmare, but with him here now,
responding to her touch, it was easy to erase that thought.

"Sometimes. When you go days without touching me, I…”

"You said you needed time," he protested almost defensively.

She chuckled now. "I know what I said. But it doesn't mean I don't want you."

Hermione moved her fingers over his tip and could feel chills forming on his skin on his back
where she was resting her face.

"What do you dream about?”

"Mostly you and your magical hands.”

Draco took her free hand and guided it to his balls. "You have magical hands too."

Hermione bit her lip to contain her laugh, but she enjoyed his explicit instructions. She felt
less self-conscious when she did that too. It also made her breath faster now.

"Fuck," he muttered quietly.

She had no idea what she was doing or how exactly firmly he wanted her to hold him.

"Don't squeeze too hard," he quickly advised when she increased the pressure.

Hermione imagined it was the same for him when he grabbed her breasts. At times, he started
either too gently or too forcefully, requiring her to guide him to the right touch.

Draco felt so warm even with water that was too cold for her taste. She liked hot water, which
he often complained about. He would flush much more than she would when they were in her
shower and the scars on his chest looked more pronounced on his pale skin.

"What do you do?" he suddenly asked, snapping her out of her thoughts while she continued
focusing on her hand movements, spreading the precome over his cock, but the water kept
fighting back.

She hummed inquisitively.

"When you get yourself off, what do you do?" His voice was deeper now.

Hermione felt her face warming up slightly, thankful that he couldn't see her. She could
pretend not to be surprised by his inquiry, so she responded casually. "I have a showerhead
with excellent water pressure," she admitted.

"Fuck," he muttered again, shifting on his feet slightly. "The one in the shower or the tub?”

She chuckled. "Why does it matter?”

"I'm trying to imagine it accurately.”

Hermione stole a glance at him over his shoulder. He held his hand against the shower wall in
front of him, leaning his head back slightly with closed eyes.

"The one in the tub," she revealed. "It’s very comfortable there. More relaxing with warm
water and lots of foam. I can rest my legs on the sides. It's so much better than just
standing.”

He squeezed the hand she used to pleasure him. "Yes, just like that. Fuck. What else?" he
quickly asked.

"I charmed it so the water can come out in different waves and swirls," she confessed again.

He chuckled softly. "Of course you did." He started moving into her hand faster now.

“Yeah. It can get boring if it's always the same, but different pressure,” she said and squeezed
him tighter, “different angle,” she moved his cock at a different angle now too, “different
speed,” she added and sped up, “it’s much better that way.”

Hermione tightened her grip with both hands, causing him to moan and growl with pleasure.
"Quiet, Draco," she scolded him. "I think you forgot to silence this room."

He nodded quickly.

"Water is nice, but nothing compares to you. Not even me and my fingers. Not even… the
other devices I occasionally use."

He shook his head and muttered something she couldn’t catch. Hermione could sense his
breath quickening. He held her hand on his balls tighter. He was close.

"Is this how you want to come, Draco?" she asked softly, and he nodded again. "You do? You
don't want me to kneel and to...?”

He didn't let her finish.

He frantically pulled her in front of him, pushing her until her back met the tiles. Stepping
back slightly to create space, he positioned her on her knees. Hermione was desperate to take
him in her mouth. Draco always tasted so good and clean, and she loved feeling him struggle
for control while surrendering himself to her. However, he didn’t let her.

He rapidly stroked himself, much faster than she had done before. Unable to grasp her hair
since it was tied up, he held her firmly but not painfully by the jaw. She didn't need
instructions to know how wide to open her mouth this time.

She couldn't admit it to herself, let alone to him, but she enjoyed this even more. He hadn't
done it since that one time, and Hermione would rather die than ask him.

It still felt humiliating, and she was still disappointed with herself for finding pleasure in it.
But with him, she had no will to fight it.
Draco came quickly, panting heavily as he now rested his head on his forearm against the
shower wall. She loved hearing his muffled noises. Hermione swallowed and lifted herself
slightly, running her tongue along the underside of his cock, tracing a vein she could see.

He snapped his head towards her, and she simply wanted to taste him for a moment longer.
Draco gazed at her as she licked him a few more times before he stepped away, extending a
hand to help her stand up. Pressing her gently against the wall, he kissed her deeply.

His hands roamed over her body until they reached between her legs.

"You don't have to..." she started to say, but as soon as she felt his fingers swirling over her
clit just the way she needed right now, she fell silent, resting her head against the wall.

"I think I have to," he smirked, nodding. "I have to because I need to apologise.”

"For what?”

"For not giving you a chance you suck my cock."

Hermione looked back at him, feeling heat creeping up her cheeks.

"I know how much you love it. So I'm sorry about that. Next time, be a good girl and ask
nicely." His face bore an incredible smugness.

“That's alright.” Don't say it. Don't say it. Just don't say it. "I liked what you did instead too."
Bloody hell, woman.

"You did? Why?" He seemed almost surprised and increased the speed of his fingers.

She shifted on her legs to give him better access and started moving her hips in response.

"I didn't ask before if you're okay with it, so I'm sorry about that. For real," he said in a more
sincere tone.

She simply nodded, biting her lip.

Draco blinked a few times and promptly returned to his previous tone. "But now that I have
this new information, you'll leave me with a dilemma each time."

He quickened his finger movements even more, focusing on her clit only. He was holding her
breast tighter, kneading it almost painfully. She was close.

"Should I ask you every time before I come what you would prefer?" he asked casually like
they were discussing weather and it only spurred her even more.

"I'd prefer it if you don't ask me anything and just fucking decide," she spoke through her
teeth, clutching his arm tightly.

She didn’t want to talk now, just to focus on her orgasm.

It seemed she had surprised him. He shook his head slightly, just staring at her. Draco swiftly
moved his hand from her breast to grip her throat, and she grasped his hand.

"I wish I didn't fuck you so hard the other day, you know?” he spoke softly and slowly, close
to her face. “I'd love to stick my fingers in your cunt now and make you come like that one
time before. Remember?"

Hermione dug her nails in his hand and felt blushing, both from his words and the memory.

"Oh, no, no, no. Don't get all shy on me now,” he drawled. “I know you liked it. I fucking
loved it when you squirted all over my face. Every time I wanked off in this shower
afterward, thinking about you, I thought about that," he said without an ounce of shame on
his face while he looked at her without blinking.

This was all too much information all of the sudden, she had to close her eyes and lean her
head back on the wall. She was so close now that tears formed in her eyes, with shame and
pleasure.

"Are you close?"

She nodded.

"Good. Come for me now, Hermione. You're so beautiful when you come."

She grabbed his hand around her throat, encouraging him to hold her more firmly just before
she did. The pleasure was so overwhelming she was grateful for his forceful kisses that
suffocated her moans.

“That’s it, just like that. Just like that,” he spoke calmly as she moved her hips against her
hand in the aftermath of her orgasm. “You’re so fucking beautiful, sometimes I can’t believe
you’re real,” he whispered and kissed her on her burning cheeks.

She felt her legs tremble slightly, but Draco was pressing her against the wall, so she felt sure
she wouldn’t fall. Hermione could feel how hard he was again.

He stopped touching her a few moments later and placed his hands on both sides of her head
on the wall, breathing deeply, leaning in to give her a kiss on her forehead. She was probably
sweaty and now she needed to wash her hair. Draco put a few strands of hair behind her ears
and frowned slightly at the bun on her head.

"You took the term 'messy bun' to a whole new level," he joked, attempting to untie it.

She just watched him, unable to speak, while he was focusing on his task. Eventually, he
succeeded, and Hermione cringed at the thought of how big her hair must be. She moved
under the shower to get it wet as quickly as possible.

She reached for his shampoo, but Draco snatched it before her. "Let me do it," he said, and
she nodded.
His long fingers felt wonderful, but if he asks again sometimes, she’ll tell him no. Hermione
didn't like someone else washing her hair, not even when she went to a salon, but she closed
her eyes, leaning into his touch and allowed him to do this one time. Draco gave her a quick
kiss on the place between her neck and shoulder.

"I love you," she said when she felt his face near hers.

"I love you too," he said back.

She had neglected her gym routine for nearly a month due to numerous obligations
surrounding the book release. Determined to get back on track, she dedicated the next few
mornings to intense workouts. After one particularly gruelling session, she found herself in
need of some relief and decided to indulge in an ice bath.

Draco, finding it amusing, couldn't resist teasing her about her previous tub-related
confessions. The fifteen to twenty minutes she spent freezing in the tub were anything but
enjoyable.

With Daphne and Theo's secret now out in the open, she looked forward to a thorough
interrogation session with Ginny at Pansy's place. They had gathered there, as she insisted on
everyone accommodating the wishes of the pregnant woman, who preferred not to leave her
comfortable sofa.

Despite Pansy's initial reluctance, they managed to bring some wine along, including a non-
alcoholic muggle wine Hermione had bought. Pansy, true to form, was very vocal about her
dissatisfaction with it and questioned Hermione's winemaking ethics and standards.

During one of their regular calls, Hermione's parents mentioned their plans to spend
Christmas in London this year. They expressed their longing for snow and chilly holiday
weather, reminiscing about their last Christmas visit two years ago.

In the meantime, Hermione's father had returned with her after their spring trip over the
Balkans last year, primarily to check on his beloved garden. Although he had been
disappointed with its state at the time, Hermione knew he would be pleased with how she and
Draco had taken care of it.

The new furniture and fresh paint had breathed new life into the space, and they had
diligently tended to the grill, planted flowers, and maintained a herb garden. Hermione even
found herself missing the work she had put into the garden during the warmer seasons, as the
chill in the air made it increasingly challenging to enjoy the outdoors without warming spells
or cosy blankets.

Her next project was going to be cleaning the attic and transforming it into something else.
She’ll see what once it gets decluttered.
The day before her scheduled visit to the library at the manor, Hermione decided to take Al
and Scorpius for what might be their final open-roof ride of the year. It was sunny but cold,
and the warming spell for all three of them became a bit of a struggle as they travelled in a
muggle contraption and she had to focus on the driving. Nonetheless, they made the most of
it and later stopped at a coffee shop for hot chocolate.

Unfortunately, the bartender seemed less than enthusiastic about making their drinks and
displayed a noticeable lack of customer service, causing Hermione to restrain herself from
leaving a tip as originally planned. When they were done, Al and Scorpius enthusiastically
shared details about the upcoming Hobbit movie to be released in December, and they made
their way back home. Hermione dropped off Scorpius first, followed by Al, as she wanted to
visit the third floor of his house.

It had been over a month since she had last visited, and she was eager to see the progress that
had been made. The protective wards had been removed, replaced only by a powerful notice-
me-not charm that was so effective, she momentarily forgot the purpose of her visit until
Harry reminded her.

The hallway had been completely transformed. All traces of dark magic seemed to have been
extracted, hence the disappearance of the large yellow barrel. The ghastly green and mouldy
wallpaper had been replaced with a lighter option that beautifully contrasted with the dark
hardwood. Additional furniture had been added to the big room, and Hermione spotted some
of Al's books, which was a clear indication that he was now allowed to come upstairs.

The library, too, was improving steadily. Gone was the yellow barrel, and new IKEA shelves
were gradually being filled with their own collection of books as well as those belonging to
their children.

Harry had staked out a corner for his CDs, vinyl records, and cassettes, which he had
collected over the years. Hermione made a mental note to check her garage for any items that
might be of interest to him.

The last room still bore the remnants of the black liquid, but the progress made was
remarkable. It seemed to be confined to the floor now, albeit with a layer a few centimetres
deep, indicating that there was still work to be done in its removal.

Hermione hadn't even noticed the door initially, as Harry had again cast a powerful notice-
me-not spell. However, with Al obediently adhering to the instructions, she felt reassured that
occasional supervised visits to the room would pose no harm.

Harry swiftly prepared a pot of tea, and they settled in the cosy kitchen. But their peaceful
moment was interrupted when Ron appeared through the fireplace, brushing off a few specks
of dust from his trousers. His eyes widened pleasantly at the sight of Hermione.

"Oh, sorry. Am I interrupting something?" he inquired, casting glances between them.

"No, we were just having some tea,” Harry reassured him. “Would you like a cup?" He
promptly rose to fetch an additional mug.
"Sure, thanks," Ron accepted, his gaze fixed on Hermione.

With his beard now even longer, he looked slightly different from the last time she saw him.
She recalled asking him about growing it ages ago, though he hadn't been fond of the idea
back then. I guess he is now.

“What are you doing here, Mione?"

"I had a rather eventful day outdoors with Al and Scorpius. So, I brought them back home,"
Hermione explained.

"Oh yeah, it was a lovely day," Ron nodded. "Did you manage with the two boys?”

She shrugged, "They're both great. It's just that Scorp is quite the chatterbox, and that
encourages Al to join in. I haven't had a moment of silence since noon until half an hour
ago."

He chuckled knowingly.

"Is there anything you need?" Harry inquired as he filled up Ron's cup.

"Oh, no. Thanks. Susan's friend had a family issue, so I left them alone to talk. Doesn't seem
too serious, but there was some argument with her parents about her house or something.
She'll fill me in later," he waved off the concern.

"Ah, good old family squabbles," Harry remarked, chuckling lightly.

"Yeah," he agreed, taking a sip of his tea. "What's this? Chamomile? Is someone sick?”

"No, but I asked for the caffeine-free option," Hermione clarified.

He nodded, a faint frown appearing on his face. "Trouble sleeping?”

Hermione shook her head. "Not exactly, but I'll be taking a calming draught, and it works
best without alcohol or caffeine.”

"Oh," he acknowledged, but didn’t probe.

Unlike Harry. "So... trouble sleeping?" he inquired, sensing there was more to the story.

“No.” Hermione hesitated for a moment, glancing between them before continuing. "I'm
going to the manor with Draco tomorrow, so I thought it would be best to be prepared.”

Both Harry and Ron nodded slowly, absorbing her words. "You managed… quite well during
Scorpius' birthday," Harry said. She told him of the problem she had during and afterward.

She rolled her eyes. “That was me with the draughts.”

“Oh.”

“Did it help?” Ron asked.

“Partially,” Hermione shrugged. "They helped me have a successful conversation with
Narcissa, but they didn't do much for the nightmare that followed," she confessed.

"Will mummy dearest be present at the manor?" Harry interjected with a smirk.

"No, she and Andromeda are heading to the cottage in Scotland," Hermione replied, rolling
her eyes. "And by 'cottage,’ I mean an estate probably the size of a football field.”

Ron chuckled, though a hint of concern furrowed his brow. "Why are you going back there...
inside?”

"Draco mentioned that I would love the library," Hermione replied, trying to brush off her
feelings.

Truthfully, she was extremely interested in seeing it, but could live without it. Draco’s
collection in his vault was already too interesting and even after a few more visits, she
couldn’t see half of it. The fear of her reaction after visiting the inside of the manor was
daunting. But he asked without pushing her and it would be good practice.

"Is it safe?" Ron asked cautiously.

"Most likely," Harry said. "Aurors thoroughly searched the entire place after... everything.”

"Yes, Draco assured me of that," Hermione affirmed. "I won't be wandering around, just
visiting the library. Blaise mentioned it's the second largest private library in the country.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Huh, I thought it was them. I wonder who’s the first. I can't
imagine who could be richer than the Malfoys.”

The trio pondered for a moment, sipping their tea in silence.

"Maybe it's Nicolas Flamel," Ron chimed in, prompting both Hermione and Harry to look at
him. "I mean, he lived for so many years. It would make sense if he had an extensive
collection, right? That crazy alchemist bloke. What else could he be interested in besides
books?”

"Gold," Harry and Hermione chimed simultaneously.

He shook his head and tsk. "He didn't strike me as the type.”

Hermione chuckled. "Oh, I’m sorry, did you know the man? Have you had the occasional tea
to discuss each other's personalities, likes, and interests?”

He shrugged. "When Dumbledore asked him to destroy the Philosopher's Stone because of
the potential dangers, he did it willingly, even though he and his wife would have died. He
seemed like a decent bloke who wouldn't be fixated on material possessions," he offered
matter-of-factly.

"That's… good deduction," Hermione conceded, frowning a bit.

Ron raised his eyebrows playfully. "What's with the face? Are you jealous that I didn't figure
it out first?”

"Don't be ridiculous," she retorted, rolling her eyes before continuing after a pause. "Yes, I
am.”

He winked at her. "Ask your boyfriend tomorrow and let me know."

"Did you know he took her to his vault?" Harry chimed in and smirked. "He had the anti-
muggle protection disabled.”

"What?" Ron's surprise mirrored that of everyone else who had heard about it.

Hermione shot Harry a look, raising her eyebrow. "What are you, an expert on vaults now?”

He shrugged. "No, but I was curious after you mentioned it. Especially after the other
purebloods were rather uncomfortable discussing it, so I did some research.”

"That's unheard of," Ron added, staring at Hermione intently.

Harry nodded. “It is unheard of because it was literally never done before. In fact, anti-
muggle protection still is a part of Gringotts. When they built it, there were no muggleborns.
At least, the one’s the wizarding world knew about.”

Hermione frowned because that wasn't true.

“How old is that thing?” Ron asked.

“Gringotts was built in the 15th century,” she said. “Of course they had muggleborns back
then.”

“In 1474, to be precise,” Harry said. “And no, that's when the bank was officially established,
but the building itself existed before that. Its exact purpose is officially unknown. It likely
served as a place to safeguard wizards from muggles. It could be over a thousand years old.
So, because of the ancient wards, when you step inside,” he said to Hermione, “the building
doesn't recognize you as a muggle born, but merely as a muggle. Given that purebloods are
not a majority these days…”

“Yeah, we are an endangered species,” Ron sighed.

"...that's why goblins escort us," Harry concluded. "It's not solely a security measure. Any
third-year student could attempt to curse a goblin from behind and roam freely. They don't
pose a significant threat."

Hermione frowned at this remark.

"But you and I wouldn't be able to wander freely. That's why they check our wands, not only
for identification but also to provide a sort of 'stamp of approval' that informs the wards that
when you're within the walls and accompanied by a goblin, you're allowed to move about,
despite you being a muggle and me being a half-muggle.”
Hermione found it perplexing. "So why not allow purebloods to…”

"To wander freely without an escort and the rest of us with security?" Harry finished her
question. "Wouldn't that be discriminatory? The goblins may not care about our segregation,
but they don't want to create unnecessary unrest.

"But..." she started carefully. "We were inside without the goblins at one point. And with a
stolen wand." It was difficult talking about this because she wanted to forget it but at the
same time she was incredibly proud of what they achieved that day.

"Yes. But we had something else with us," Harry added, smirking as he leaned back in his
chair.

Hermione and Ron exchanged puzzled glances waiting for an explanation, until realisation
dawned on her.

"A dragon!" she exclaimed.

"Ten points for Gryffindor," Harry acknowledged with a nod.

"But how?"

"Dragon magic is ancient," Ron explained, shaking his head in disbelief. "I remember Charlie
talking about it. Some wizards believe that dragons were the ones who first introduced
humans to fire. We are just a product of recent evolution, whereas dragons are an entirely
different breed, probably dating back to the beginning of time. So if it weren't for the
dragon…”

"We wouldn't have been able to escape," Harry concluded. "Even if they had a giant who
could demolish the walls and ceilings, we still wouldn't have been able to leave the premises.
All the wards were activated when we broke in.”

"Is that why no one has been able to steal from Gringotts?" Ron pondered.

"Most likely," Harry affirmed.

"But Quirrell tried," she added. "He broke into an empty vault.”

"There was hardly any security and minimal additional protection. Plus, he had Voldemort
backing him up. That must have counted for something," Harry shrugged.

"Wow," she uttered, genuinely impressed.

"Yeah, we were incredibly lucky," he agreed.

"Where did you learn all of this?” Hermione asked him after a moment. “I’ve never heard of
the building's wards or how old it is. It's not in any books available to the general public, isn’t
it?”
"Of course not. Aurors’ privilege," he boasted, causing both Hermione and Ron to roll their
eyes in unison. "So, that was a lengthy story to emphasise the significance of what your
boyfriend did for you," Harry concluded.

“Yes, yes. I get it,” she said.

Ron shook his head. “Merlin, I still can't believe it's Malfoy when we talk about the
boyfriend.”

“Well, you better get used to it,” she said. “He’s not going anywhere.” Hermione joked but
meant it seriously. If there was still any animosity, it was about time to let it go.

Ron looked at her and nodded slowly. “I know he’s not. The vault… that’s exclusively family
privilege, Hermione.”

She looked at him and felt her face heating up slightly. He rarely used her full name like this.

Mione.

Mi.

Before he had a few other nicknames for her too.

She was Hermione only when it was something serious.

Harry glanced between them, waiting for her reaction. She looked around the kitchen, and the
next time she caught their eyes, they were frowning slightly.

“I… I just didn’t know you two were that serious,” Ron said quietly.

"We are," she asserted firmly. "I'm thirty-four, for fuck's sake. It was serious from the
moment it started. I'm not… I'm not some inexperienced schoolgirl to be lectured about
rushing into things. So you probably shouldn't do that if you don’t want us to argue. And
also, you should really get used to him." Hermione didn't care how defensive she was, she
needed to establish this with them. Especially Ron.

His ears turned red, and he tried to lighten the situation he had unintentionally stirred. "Oh, I
don't mind. I don't even see him that often. You, on the other hand..." he turned to Harry,
teasingly.

"It’s alright, he's not all that bad," Harry shrugged, surprising both Hermione and Ron.
"What? She can sleep with him, but I can't say that he's a half-decent conversationalist?”

"Half-decent?" Hermione raised an eyebrow. "He's very interesting, thank you very much." If
he could hear how much I defend him in front of these two… Oh. Perhaps I should tell him.

Ron rubbed his forehead. "Please, let's not talk about… sleeping with… Malfoy.”

Hermione stayed for much longer than she had planned and they talked a lot.
She missed him. Ron and she grew apart in the last few years. The last time they had sex was
a mistake. It could have ruined their lifelong friendship, the relationship with everyone who
knew them who would be forced to choose sides after they’d inevitably break up because
they simply were not meant to be.

She loved him always more as a friend than as a partner and they would again just waste each
other's time instead of being with people they were actually meant to be with. Ron with
Susan and Hermione with… well, she’s not getting married to Draco, but… she knew it. He
was it for her. She knew she would want to spend the rest of her life with him.

The next morning, Draco arrived at her home after breakfast, ready to accompany her to the
library via floo. He had even offered to bring Scorpius along to lighten the atmosphere, but
Hermione knew that if she had a negative reaction, it would be better for his son not to
witness it.

Summoning all the Gryffindor courage she possessed, she took Draco's hand when he offered
it with a reassuring smile, and they stepped into the floo together, heading for the Malfoy
Manor.

When they arrived, Hermione noticed the distinct scent she adored so much, the smell of old
paper. His vault, while rich in books and antiques, lacked that familiar smell. But here, the air
carried a subtle sweetness, mingled with the scent of polished wood from the numerous
shelves and floors, a scent akin to vanilla. She had expected a grand library, but what she
encountered surpassed her wildest expectations.

On her right side, the windows prevented the installation of additional bookshelves.
However, aside from that wall, the entire room was adorned with towering shelves, reaching
towards the lofty ceilings. They were so tall that the library spanned on two upper levels,
accessible through beautifully crafted spiral staircases situated in each corner.

The display cabinets, constructed from exquisite dark wood, were likely worth more than her
entire house, Hermione thought.

The glass doors had elegant silver handles shaped like snakes, while the cabinets at the
bottom featured locks, presumably safeguarding the most valuable tomes, protecting them
from the sunshine or the intrusion of dust.

Near the fireplace and windows stood a massive and ornate table, beneath an even more
impressive chandelier adorned with flickering candles. Hermione imagined the diligent elf
responsible for lighting each and every candle, likely dedicating a significant portion of their
day to this task.

A brief flash of another elf and another chandelier in this very place entered her mind,
causing her to blink rapidly in an attempt to erase the vivid image. However, her heart
couldn't ignore the sudden rush of emotions that swept over her.
“What do you think?” Draco's voice broke the enchanting silence that enveloped the grand
library.

Hermione turned to face him. "It's... wonderful," she murmured, her voice filled with awe.

The absence of direct sunlight dulled the room's radiance, but Hermione could envision the
space coming alive with even more breathtaking beauty under the caress of natural light just
before sunset. With each step she took, her heels resonated against the hardwood floor,
amplifying the sense of grandeur.

Her curiosity drew her closer to the table, where open books, scattered parchments, and a
disarray of ink bottles and quills were laying around.

“You’re working on something?” she asked.

Draco approached, his gaze fixated on the table as he leaned over the chair. "The
Wizengamot is working on a new act, something concerning wands and their sales," he
revealed.

Hermione smiled and shook her head in disbelief. "I still can't believe that you have a seat
there," she confessed.

His expression remained steadfast. "Of course I do. If history has taught us anything, it's that
the heirs of ancient families possess invaluable insight into the state of our world and we
should undoubtedly have the final say in the legislative process that impacts everyone.”

"Well, as long as you're self-aware," Hermione quipped. "So, you actually take the time to do
the research every time?" She tried her best to sound non-condescending, though her
expectations of their involvement in informed decision-making were rather low.

“You seem surprised.”

She shrugged. "I'm just accustomed to expecting the worst, whether it's from the muggle
government or this one. Particularly here, where the court of law and parliament seem to
function as a unified entity.”

"It's not like that in a muggle government?" Draco seemed surprised.

"Oh no," she said. "Judicial independence is paramount to the concept of the separation of
powers.”

"Uh-huh," he muttered. Draco observed her with a smirk, his eyes tracing her figure. "Care
for a tour?”

"Of course," Hermione replied, excitement dancing in her eyes and she almost jumped a bit.
"Lead the way, please.”

The shelves towered above them, filled with countless books, their spines neatly aligned, just
waiting to be explored. Rays of soft light streamed in from the floating candles, casting a
gentle glow on the covers, creating an enchanting atmosphere.
Draco led her to a cosy reading nook tucked away in a secluded corner of the library. There
were some plush armchairs, with velvet cushions and a small table, with a delicate porcelain
teacup and saucer, and a few books with bookmarks placed one on top of the other.

"This is where mother spends her time reading," Draco said, his voice tinged with fondness.
"I liked it too before. A rare place within these walls where I could lose myself.”

Hermione approached the table to check the books. Two of them were some wizarding
novels, but the last one… Oh this is amazing.

“Your mother enjoys muggle classical literature,'' Hermione tried her best to contain her
smile.

“She does?” Draco asked and stood close enough to look over her shoulder to the book she
held. “Lady Chatterley's lover. Why does that sound familiar?”

“You may have noticed it on my bookshelf… On my bottom shelf,” she added.

She felt him stiffen behind her. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Oh no, I'm afraid I'm not,” Hermione almost laughed too loudly. “Narcissa Malfoy reads
muggle erotic novels.”

Draco snatched the book from her hands and placed it back where it was. “Stop it. Let’s
move on, please. And never talk about it again.” He had a faint blush on his face, so she
decided not to tease him anymore.

For now.

He led her further into the library, and talked about the books or the library itself. They
climbed the spiralling staircases, ascending to the upper levels. Hermione's eyes widened
with each new discovery.

As they wandered through the maze of shelves and alcoves, Draco regaled her with stories of
the books that held a special place in his heart, from ancient spell books to rare manuscripts.

"We also have this book… it’s not here, it’s in a portrait room, but it’s a sort of self-writing
book.”

"Oh, I know about those!" Hermione's eyes widened. “We found one, didn’t we? When we
were cleaning the library at Grimmauld Place?”

"Yeah. Well, in ours, anything related to the Malfoys of course is captured there. Especially
events that occurred on properties safeguarded with Malfoy blood wards. You know, the kind
of information you'd find in a history book about a family. Heavily censored, and with...
artistic liberties taken to save face, mind you," he added.

“What do you mean?”

“For example, one of our ancestors used dungeons to… perform experiments on muggles, but
the book says he imprisoned them because they tried to break into the property.”

Hermione frowned.

“Muggles can’t even see the manor, nonetheless try to rob it. They see the woods around it
and assume there’s nothing there, then they remember something better they have to do and
they forget about coming back. Most old properties have this specific muggle-repenting
ward. It’s a well known fact that they couldn’t even try to get in. But the book had its own
version.”

She nodded slowly. “And everything is written there? I mean, everything?”

“Heavily censored, as I said, but yes.”

"Privacy seems non-existent here," Hermione mused, shaking her head.

"Yeah, but the book can't leave the portrait room, so no outsiders can read it. That’s
something, I suppose.”

"Big Brother is watching you," she muttered.

"Who?”

"Oh, it's nothing. Just a reference from a book... Actually, I think you'd enjoy reading it.”

He kept guiding her through the organised sections, but it was the history section that caught
her attention the most. Her heart skipped a beat when she laid eyes on the first edition of
Hogwarts: A History by Bathilda Bagshot. As it turned out, Draco was right, she absolutely
loved it.

He nonchalantly brushed past the section dedicated to his ancestors, acknowledging their
self-aggrandizing writings. As they reached the back of the library, Hermione noticed a small
area with only a few books placed in glass cases. Draco cautioned her not to cross the line on
the floor.

“I think you'll understand why if I tell you that this one,” he said and pointed towards a very
old open book, “Could be written by our dear old Salazar Slytherin.”

“Could be?” she asked as her eyes widened at the sight.

The book was opened at the first page of the book and the title, Serpents and Serpentine
Magic, was handwritten in a nice calligraphy.

Draco shrugged, his eyes fixed on the ancient book. "No one knows for sure. Take a look at
the signature."

He pointed to the bottom of the page, where a small "S. Slytherin" was carefully inscribed. If
it was genuine, this book could be one of the most historically significant wizarding texts.
She was impressed. “Have you read it? What is it about?”

Draco shook his head. "I haven't. But my father was present when his father called curse-
breakers and appraisers to examine it," he explained. “He said it was as the title suggests, the
use and property of snakes in magic.”

"And they couldn't determine its authenticity?”

"Uh-huh. It's been a subject of debate for centuries. Personally, I like to believe it's the real
deal," Draco mused, his gaze still on the book. "The other books in this section are too cursed
to be handled. I couldn't find anyone willing to remove them, so I keep them here, protected.
They're bound to this library, and leaving them on the shelves seemed too risky.”

Hermione couldn't help but ask, "Have the aurors ever attempted to confiscate them?” It
seemed they would want to take something like this from the Malfoys.

"We... took precautions to safeguard certain things," he admitted, glancing around.

Of course they did.

"Are those in the cabinets?" Hermione motioned to the bottom part of the showcases,
concealed by solid doors instead of glass.

"You don't miss a thing," Draco chuckled, his smirk widening.

Hermione blushed slightly, feeling self-conscious. "Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said simply and gave her a quick kiss. "I've collected various artefacts over the
years," he explained, leading her to one of the cabinet doors. "Step aside, please, just in
case."

Hermione complied, giving him room to work his magic. With a flick of his wand, he
levitated a wooden chest from the cabinet and placed it gently on the floor.

"Some of these items are cursed, while others hold immense historical value."

Each item in the chest was carefully arranged on soft fabric. There was a dagger with a ruby-
adorned hilt, a slightly chipped teacup, silver-bristled paint brushes, a brass bell, and even a
delicate hair comb.

“I bought them at auctions or from not so well-informed street sellers.”

“Why?”

"I'm equal parts fascinated and concerned," Draco confessed and returned the chest to the
other boxes in the cabinet, closing the door. "I want to ensure that no one can misuse or
exploit them. I've learned from your book, the first one, that we had the horcrux diary in our
possession. The same one my father recklessly planted among an eleven-year-old girl's
belongings." Draco's expression darkened as he recalled the past. "I didn't know the
significance of it back then. It was only years later that I learned about its importance when
the Dark Lord punished my father for losing it.”

Hermione attempted to change the subject. "Why did you read my book back then?

Draco shrugged, his gaze softening as he met her eyes. "Initially, it was out of selfish
curiosity. I wanted to see... what you had written about… that day," he admitted carefully.

She nodded understandingly, stepping closer to him. "That's alright. You've given me my
12%," she joked, intertwining her fingers with his.

A smile tugged at his lips. "Actually, I borrowed the book from Blaise.”

"Oh, well, you still have a chance to make it 15%. With inflation and all, it's practically the
same," she quipped, giving him a quick kiss. "Are you okay?”

"I should be asking you the same.”

"I am. Now, about those closed doors," Hermione inquired, her eyes scanning the three pairs
of doors on the wall opposite the windows.

"They all lead to the same hallway," he revealed.

A spark of curiosity ignited within Hermione. "Can we... um... go there?" she asked. She just
wanted to test herself and see what will happen if she pushes further from this room.

Draco opened the closest one. "We can see peacocks from here, just so you know," he
informed her.

Carefully, she followed him into the hallway.

Through a massive window, they had a picturesque view of a small part of a garden with a
fountain, lush greenery, and statues, and peacocks leisurely strutting about.

"I never hated any birds more," she admitted, and Draco laughed. "And they didn't even do
anything to me. It's completely irrational." Hermione took in the surroundings, noticing a few
doors and a staircase at the end of the hallway leading upwards. "What's upstairs?

"Every floor is similar here. Just more sitting rooms, reading rooms, balconies, and the like,"
he replied.

She furrowed her brow, trying to recall something.

"What?" Draco asked, curious.

"Nothing. There was something on the tip of my tongue, but it slipped away," she said,
shaking her head in frustration.

“Yeah. I know what it is. Let’s go back,” he said, directing her to the library. "It was a notice-
me-not spell,” he said as he was closing the door. “The stairs were on the right side of the
hallway, and you probably wanted to ask what's on the left side, but you forgot.

"Yes." I hate that fucking spell. It was useful, but it always felt like someone was tampering
with her thoughts.

"We don't go there anymore. It wouldn't be anything you'd recognize, but... it's close," he said
cautiously, studying her expression. "Too many terrible things happened there to even
consider cleaning it up and using it again.”

Hermione nodded, a sudden unease washing over her. She looked around the library,
wondering how many others had walked these same floors. Her brain started working.

Has Voldemort been here? Has she? Most likely, she thought bitterly. She might not have
been the intellectual type, but she would have relished establishing her dominance in every
room of this fucking estate.

God, who needs this many rooms anyway? Only three of them lived here. Draco would need
a dozen siblings for this place to be fully utilised. The elves would have so much work to do
if they would all be like young Draco.

Where did all the elves sleep? In the past, it was probably some undignified space, like the
dungeons or cramped broom closets or under the staircase.

Under the staircase. That's where Harry had lived for years before Hogwarts. Those
despicable people should have been charged with child abuse. I wonder what happened to
them. Harry mentioned exchanging letters with his cousin for holidays, but...

"Where did you go?" Draco's voice interrupted her spiralling thoughts as he placed his hands
behind her neck.

"I'm sorry," she replied, gripping his hands tightly. "I'm trying not to think too much about
who walked these halls before us. Who may have stood right here where we're standing
now.”

"If it’s of any consolation, very few of them had any interest in reading," he reassured her.
"Do you want to leave?

"I can stay a bit longer," Hermione shrugged. "Do you need any help with your research?”

They lingered in the library for about an hour more and eventually, Hermione decided it was
time to head home. Draco mentioned that he would continue working there for a few more
days until his mother returned. He extended an invitation for her to join him and also to sleep
at his place tonight, and she gladly accepted.

After coming back home, she went for a run to clear her mind, losing herself in the beats of
'90s music blasting through her headphones. The rhythmic pounding of her feet against the
pavement helped release the tension that had built up throughout the day.
 When she arrived at his flat later in the evening, Scorpius greeted her with curiosity, eager to
hear about their visit to the library. He even expressed his desire to join them another day,
hoping to catch a glimpse of unicorns in the woods.

Before they settled in for the night, Hermione made a request to Draco to silence the room,
just in case she experienced another nightmare. But as soon as he lay in bed next to her and
hugged her with his strong arms, smelling so clean, masculine and luxurious, she was ready
to put those silencing charms to better use.

Though she cherished the intensity of their more passionate nights, and no matter how much
she enjoyed him being rough and dominant, it was nights like this one that Hermione
treasured the most.

When he was gentle, careful and slow, so painfully slow she could appreciate every inch of
him. His kisses, soft and deliberate, sent shivers all over her skin. Their touch became a
sensual exploration of each other’s bodies. With each caress, he seemed determined to etch
the memory of their connection into his very being. And she did the same.

Their rhythm remained slow, with Draco's unhurried movements on top of her and deep
gazes. Only when they were both teetering on the edge of ecstasy did he increase his pace,
lifting Hermione's leg over his shoulder, offering her a new depth of pleasure. Guided by his
skilled fingers and the overwhelming sensations coursing through her, Hermione quickly
reached her orgasm, her body convulsing in sheer delight.

In the aftermath, she felt an incredible sense of gratitude for being a witch. With a simple
swish of her wand and the scourgify spell, she didn’t have to leave the bed and could keep
enjoying the warmth of Draco's embrace and the softness of the bed they shared.

She loved falling asleep with him behind her.

He would put his hand over her, close to her chest and she would hold him there with her
fingers loosely around his wrist. There was no clock in his room to tick and help her count
something to fall asleep faster so his steady pulse provided that for her. Draco always fell
asleep before her.

Chapter End Notes

Malfoy Manor library https://www.pinterest.com/tpzzz1105/in-the-mood-for-

truth/malfoy-manor-library/
 Draco
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

October and November 2013

Draco often found his research for the Wizengamot tedious, especially when confined to the
solitude of the manor. However, with Hermione the experience took on a whole new light.

She threw herself into the task with fervour, retrieving stacks of additional books that
expanded their knowledge beyond what Draco had initially intended to look into.

She flipped through the pages, and regaled him with fascinating facts and offered her
insightful commentary. Occasionally, her huffs of disagreement with certain authors would
interrupt his train of thought, but he didn't mind. Her presence alone in the library brought a
sense of relaxation. He didn’t like being there alone anymore.

Normally, Draco would rush through his obligations, eager to complete them as quickly as
possible. But with Hermione, he found himself wanting to linger and enjoy each moment
spent just sitting and reading. He stole glances at her as she immersed herself in the texts, and
memories of their time at Hogwarts would resurface.

He remembered her sitting alone or with Potter and Weasley in some secluded corner, having
whispered conversations barely audible to others. In those days, he would silently make snide
remarks about her hair, the quality of her quills, or the seemingly boring way in which she
wore her uniform, unlike the other Slytherin girls. He cringed at the thought. Stop it. It’s all in
the past now.

Shaking his head to dispel those thoughts, Draco stood up from his chair and approached her,
wrapping his arms around her in a warm embrace and planting a quick kiss on her cheek.

"Where are you off to?" she inquired, momentarily glancing up from her reading.

"Just going to fetch some more tea," he replied.

"Okay," she nodded, returning her attention to the pages before her.

Scorpius had joined them the previous day. The weather seemed nice, prompting him to
suggest they search for unicorns. Hermione assured him it would be fine to venture out alone
with his son because they don't like adult men anyway.

However, as soon as Draco returned to the library, raindrops began pattering against the
windows. He retraced his steps to the patio, peering out to check if they had made it back in
time. After a few minutes of anticipation, he caught sight of them dashing from the woods.
Hermione conjured a large umbrella, but the relentless wind scattered rain in all directions,
rendering their protection somewhat futile. Scorpius laughed wholeheartedly, gripping onto
her jumper as she held him close, her arm draped over his shoulders.

It made Draco feel suddenly… warm seeing them like this, together, but as soon as the
warmth found its place in his stomach, guilt hit him harder. He felt remorse for thinking that
someone has to fill in… a mother figure's place in his life, and for entertaining the idea of
placing Hermione in that role when she had never even asked for it.

Popsy made them more tea and put a permanent stasis charm on it. Hermione requested a
herbal blend to avoid any interference with her calming draughts. The scent of peppermint
and lavender wafted through the air, following Draco until he reached the library. When he
returned back to his place, everything smelled like vanilla and caramel.

"Okay, I have to ask," Draco said, settling back into his seat. "What is that scent you always
have? It's not from your bathroom, I checked. I mean, you have quite a collection of
cosmetics there, but it's definitely not coming from them.”

Hermione peered at him over the rim of her glasses, with a hint of amusement dancing in her
eyes. "Did you... go through all my products in the bathroom?"

"Yes," Draco admitted. "You have quite an impressive collection of skincare items. How
many face creams does one truly need?"

"A few," Hermione replied, ticking off her fingers. "There's one for the face, one for the neck,
another for the under-eye area, and of course, SPF for sun protection. Oh, and let's not forget
the treatments for wrinkles and occasional acne…”

"Alright, alright," Draco interrupted, raising his hands in surrender. "I get it." A few my arse.
He let out a huff. "So, where does that scent come from then?"

"It's a perfume," Hermione shrugged, returning her attention to her book. "I keep it in my
bedroom, not the bathroom.”

"I didn't see it there," Draco mused. "Is it hidden away in that locked drawer in your
nightstand?"

“No, it’s…” Hermione's head snapped up, her glasses now perched on top of her head. "Wait,
you tried to go through my private drawers?!" she exclaimed, her voice laced with surprise
and indignation. "Are you five years old?"

I guess I hit a nerve.

Draco feigned nonchalance, offering a shrug in response. "Everything is private in your own
house, isn't it?"

"Did you peek into my closet too?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, but only recently," Draco admitted with a smirk. "I didn't want to overstep boundaries
when we had just started dating.”
"Oh, so is that what they teach you in your upper-class etiquette lessons? How considerate,"
Hermione retorted, putting her glasses on her nose again and returning to her reading with a
slightly furrowed brow.

Draco found himself more intrigued by their interesting exchange than the ancient text on
wandmaking before him.

"So, what's in that drawer?" he pressed after a few moments of silence, unable to resist.

"Nothing," Hermione replied a tad too quickly, and her tone betrayed nervousness.

This is great.

"Uh-huh. You've gone to great lengths to protect that 'nothing.' Even alohomora didn't work,"
Draco pointed out, keeping his gaze on his book but feeling her intense glare on him.

"Jesus! Really? Private things, that's what's inside," Hermione said, and her irritation was
now more evident.

Draco couldn't help but find her reaction amusing. He had a pretty good idea of what she
might be keeping there, considering her previous openness about owning muggle sex toys.
What else could make her blush and act so flustered?

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Go on, ask whatever you want," she said, meeting his gaze
once again.

"I think I'll save that question for when you take veritaserum," Draco teased with a smirk.

"When we take it," she corrected him. "Don't think for a second that you'll gain the upper
hand.”

"Never. And like I've said before, I have no secrets that would pique your interest," Draco
replied confidently.

"Uh-huh," Hermione hummed sceptically. "My perfume, by the way, is next to a jewellery
box on the vanity," she added quietly.

"Huh, I must have overlooked it," Draco remarked.

The next day was filled with morning meetings for Draco, while Hermione had planned to
keep herself occupied with gym and proofreading a new book.

They had arranged to meet in the library later in the evening, knowing it would be their last
visit for the week due to his mother's imminent return and Draco's upcoming Wizengamot
appointment on October 29th. Draco arrived at the library before Hermione, but it didn't take
long for her to join him.
One thing about her, she apparently had quite a collection of tight jumpers. Whatsmore, tight
knitted dresses. It was colder now, so she wore them often. He remembered this one.
Hermione wore it when they were meeting in that cafe last year.

It was a soft beige colour with a polo neck, long sleeves and it reached her knees. Perfectly
acceptable and not at all provocative… if it wasn't so fucking tight and fitting her perfectly.
She also wore brown high heel boots that looked like they were made of snakeskin. This is
madness.

It was difficult to focus on the work so he tried to minimise the number of times he would
look at her moving chest and try to guess what she was wearing under the dress.

"Huh, I didn't know wand repairers were this common," Hermione remarked without looking
up from her papers. "I always assumed wand makers would handle repairs when needed.”

"Yeah," Draco said, his gaze shifting between her face and her body.

"Can a repairer become a wand maker?" she inquired, twirling a curl around her finger as she
spoke.

"In theory, yes, but it has never happened," he responded, trying to focus on his papers. He
managed to delve into reading about a proposed bill before she spoke up again.

"Who is the Chief Warlock now?"

"Blair Sparks," he answered.

"So not the Minister?" she continued her inquiry.

"No, that's only in exceptional circumstances," Draco explained.

"Oh right," she sighed, making a connection. "It's similar to our parliament and the Queen.”

"Yeah?"

She nodded. “She can take power over it in exceptional situations too. I mean, formally the
monarch still has authority over the government. However, this power may only be used
according to laws enacted in parliament and within constraints of convention and precedent.”

Draco listened and looked at her without blinking.

Hermione probably thought he didn't understand, so she changed the tone. “For example, at
any time the Queen could… I don't know, dissolve the parliament and call a general
election,” she said. “However, in accordance with constitutional convention, she wouldn't be
acting independently, but at the request of the Prime Minister. Is it the same with the Minister
and Chief Warlock?” she asked.

“It is.” Draco couldn't help but smirk, thoroughly enjoying her intelligent discourse. I like it
when she talks like this.
He reached out and took her hand, silently signalling for her to stand. Hermione looked
slightly puzzled but followed his lead as he moved his chair away from the desk, creating
space for her in front of him.

"Does that mean the Prime Minister holds more power over the Queen?" he asked,
deliberately keeping the conversation going.

With a flick of his wand, he moved their books and papers farther away, and she rolled her
eyes playfully, smirking as he gently guided her to sit on the table.

"I thought we were here for research," she said softly, crossing her legs and arms while
looking down at him still seated.

“We are. You were talking about… royal prerogative?” Draco said, sliding his hands under
her dress, his touch causing her to shiver.

“Really? This is what’s working for you now?”

"Everything about you is working for me. But now, I just want to learn," he replied, standing
up and placing his hands on the table on either side of her, bringing them face to face. "Teach
me, Hermione," he whispered before capturing her lips in a slow kiss, one that she eagerly
returned.

She swallowed hard and licked her lips, her voice slightly breathless as she spoke again.
"What would you like to know?" she asked, her eyes locked with his.

"Does the Prime Minister hold more power than the Queen?" Draco repeated his question,
while his gaze roamed over her face, captivated by her every word. "Don't simplify it, use
your best words. I enjoy hearing you speak.”

She squinted at him while thinking. “No. The monarch is regarded internally as the absolute
authority,” she stated, adopting a lower, more authoritative tone that sent shivers down his
spine.

He was ready for whatever she had to offer.

“She can exercise the royal prerogative and go against the advice of the prime minister or the
cabinet, but in practice…”

Draco interrupted her by uncrossing her legs and positioning himself between them, his
actions causing her to pause, waiting to see what he would do next.

"Yes? But in practice?" he urged. His fingers traced a path over her thighs, testing her
response.

Hermione blinked. “But in practice, she would likely only do so in emergencies or…”

He stopped her again when he pulled her dress up and drew his hands over her tights. He
nodded again to tell her to continue.
“She would do so in emergencies or where existing precedent does not adequately apply to
the circumstances in question,” Hermione finished her thought quickly and he could see she
was breathing faster now.

"Uh-huh," Draco nodded, subtly wetting his suddenly dry lips. "It seems her power isn't
precisely defined," he remarked quietly, pulling her hips closer to the edge of the table,
drawing them closer together.

“It isn’t,” Hermione shook her head and kept looking at him hungrily. A few loose curls
escaped from the bun she had created, tempting him to run his fingers through her inviting
hair. “The so-called ‘royal prerogative’ has been a notoriously difficult concept to define
adequately, I think legal experts stopped trying a long time ago."

Draco pressed his fingers into her hips, and his touch ignited a fire within them both. “The
other day, you mentioned that the Wizengamot combines elements of a court and a
parliament?” he asked.

Hermione nodded, her hand intertwining with his as he helped her stand.

“Turn around, bend over the desk and tell me more about the muggle court.”

She blinked a few times. “How is bending over the desk in relation to anything?"

“It’s in relation to what I want you to do,” he said firmly.

Hermione squinted at him. "What if someone walks in?" she asked.

"Who?" Draco huffed dismissively. "My mother in Scotland or my dead father?"

Rolling her eyes, she retorted, "You certainly know how to set the mood, Draco. What about
the elves?"

"Have you seen any of them around? I told them not to disturb us," he assured her.

She fixed him with a narrowed gaze. "Can we go somewhere... over there?" she gestured
toward the back of the library, away from the fireplace and doors.

She was right.

Absolutely right, as always.

A few minutes later, he found himself kissing her furiously amidst the section filled with
books written by his fucking ancestors.

Draco positioned her at the edge of the cabinet, where he kept valuable objects he had
obtained that were "protected" from wizards and witches like her. She was leaning back
against the case, which held books on Malfoy blood superiority, and he couldn't help but
think that it was a perfect place to finally fuck her in a library.
The intensity between them was undeniable as she guided him with a tight grip on his aching
cock into her warm and already wet cunt. Hermione wrapped her legs around him, drawing
him closer, and they quickly established a rhythm that caused the glass door behind her to
tremble and make noise with each forceful thrust.

She gripped his arm and shoulder, grinding against him as she pleased, and it only spurred
him on further. He loved her assertiveness, how she liked taking charge of her own pleasure
without hesitation. But still, he reached between them, determined to make her come faster.

"Slow down, Draco," she whispered against his ear, her breath sending goosebumps all over
his skin. "Are we in a hurry?" Her hands caressed his face and neck, and she bestowed slow,
tender open-mouth kisses down his neck.

"No, but if you continue like that… I won't be able to control myself," he confessed, his eyes
shutting as he tried to distract himself.

She smiled and nodded. "Then don't. Tell me what you want me to do." She kissed him again,
unhurried and intoxicating, delicately nibbling on his lower lip.

He opened his eyes and glanced behind her, and his eyes fell upon the very books that had
been a part of his upbringing.

Memoirs of a Pure-Blood Prince by Phineas Nigellus Black and The Malfoy Family Vault: A
Legacy of Wealth and Power by Lucius I Malfoy. He had spent countless hours in this very
library at the same desk, immersed in discussions with his parents about these pretentious and
bigoted volumes, including Pure-Blood Etiquette: A Guide to Polished Wizarding Society by
Euphemia Malfoy, which his mother had insisted upon.

Blood, legacy, and etiquette - the obsessions of his ancestors that now disgusted him to the
core. He couldn’t believe that he had once embraced those beliefs himself.

Anger ran to his head and he, yet again, felt frustration, humiliation and disappointment in his
past self.

Draco turned his gaze back to Hermione, the muggleborn woman who defied their prejudice.
She was holding his face with her warm hands and looked at him with so much love and
desire he was sure no one has ever looked at him that way.

He loved her with every fibre of his being, even though the very society he was born into
would despise her, never accepting her presence anywhere, especially not in this sacred space
solely because of her bloodline.

All because of her blood.

Her blood and his.

Her flushed cheeks and bruised lips spoke of their passion, and in that moment, Draco knew
what more he wanted from her now. He didn't want to ask, so instead, he simply acted upon
his selfish desires.
He kissed her with a fervour born of both love and guilt, eliciting a beautiful moan that
escaped her lips. But his own actions surprised even him when he bit her lip first softly, then
forcefully, causing her to growl in pain and pull away.

He felt her clench around his cock and stiffen entirely before she pushed him back with her
hands pressed against his chest and he had to make a few steps back.

Hermione was… furious.

Her brows furrowed, and she wiped her bleeding lip with her index finger, staining it
crimson. Draco licked his own lips, tasting the metallic tang of her blood. She gazed at him,
torn between anger and confusion, her eyes shifting between his eyes and his mouth.

Almost instinctively, he rushed toward her, grasping her hand with a bloody finger. She tried
to tug her hand away from him.

"Make me bleed too," he pleaded, barely audibly but she heard.

Whatever response she was about to utter seemed to fade away. Hermione stared at him with
her wide eyes and he could see shock and concern. Her breaths were deep and ragged, and
her bloody mouth slightly ajar.

"Please," Draco continued, attempting to kiss her, but she moved her head away.

Her anger was still evident.

He glanced behind her again and his eyes fell on an old deep green tome. Pure-Blood
Principles: A Comprehensive Guide by Armand III Malfoy. Draco looked at her again.
Understand me, please. I'm begging you.

“Please, just… Make me bleed and let me taste us together.”

She should leave him.

Hermione should punch him in the face right now and just leave him. The way she looked at
him suggested she was on the verge of doing just that. However, he misjudged her intentions,
for instead of a punch, her hand met his cheek with a resounding slap. Close enough.

It was a sharp, stinging blow that carried another undeniable weight of humiliation, however
this humiliation he welcomed. Draco stumbled backward, cradling his burning cheek,
wondering if she was the only person to have ever struck him. He felt the wave of blood
rushing through his body at the thought.

When he turned his gaze back to Hermione, she seized his face, kissing him with a ferocity
that matched her bite. She sank her teeth into his flesh, and he felt the moment she split open
his lip.

The pain was sudden and overwhelming, and he attempted to push her away, but she
persisted, forcing him to grasp her by the hair at the back of her neck. She let go and panted.
Draco looked at her lips, smeared with their mixed blood and completely lost it.
He was on her again, and he kissed her messily and furiously, filled with a raw and primal
hunger that consumed them both. The taste of metal mingled with their lips and tongues as
they explored each other’s mouth with desperation.

Without wasting another moment, Draco lifted Hermione onto the cabinet again and she
guided him once more inside her. The urgency was overwhelming, driving him to thrust into
her with unbridled force. Her grip on the cabinet’s edge and his shoulder provided the
stability she needed.

With each thrust, Draco held her hips tightly, their moans mingling within their mouths. He
came with a guttural growl just moments later, his focus solely on his own pleasure, not
thinking if she was even close.

Hermione clung to him, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he breathed heavily
against her dishevelled hair. She lifted her hands to touch his face. Looking down at her, he
saw her blinking slowly, while she tenderly wiped his face and lips clean.

She let go and stood before him now. "Never do something like that without asking me first,"
she said, firmly and seriously, and he nodded in understanding.

She then placed her thumb in her mouth, licking it clean before adjusting her dress. Their
eyes locked, unbroken, as she posed a question that held a world of intimacy within it.

"So? What do we taste like?"

He remained silent, his desire urging him to again act instead of speaking. Summoning his
wand, he knelt before her, lifting her dress once again.

“Draco…” Hermione attempted to protest, but he used her wand to vanish her knickers,
causing her to gasp and instinctively tug at her dress to cover herself. "Please, scourgify me
first, Draco," she pleaded urgently.

“No.”

He pushed her hands away and lifted her dress, exposing her to his hungry gaze. With
calculated intent, he ran his tongue over her swollen clit, evoking a moan and a shiver that he
felt coursing through her body.

A bit more forcefully than he’d like to, he adjusted her legs to grant better access, grabbed
her hips to hold her still and immersed himself in the act with unwavering determination.

“Please, just…” Hermione began to express her concerns, but her words dissolved into
incoherent pleas as he intensified his licking. “It can’t be… nice to…”

“Don’t worry, we taste good together,” he murmured, feeling her relax under his touch as she
grabbed his hair, uttering words he couldn't comprehend amidst her panting and moaning.

They truly did.

The idea of doing this to anyone else would be so vile but with her everything was different.
He could see traces of his come glistening on the inside of her thigh. With gentle insistence,
he used his fingers to put it back inside her. Where it belonged.

She clenched around his fingers the moment he started pumping them inside her. Hermione
gripped his hair so tightly it bordered on pain, only easing her grip when she lifted her legs
onto his shoulders.

If he had to choose, Draco found himself revelling in the exquisite pressure she exerted when
she squeezed her thighs around his head. Curling his fingers inside her, he sought out that
elusive spot, honing in on the place that would bring her the most pleasure.

"Yes, there!" she gasped loudly, followed by moans of delight after a few moments. "Draco,
please, don't stop now! Please... Fuck!”

He would etch this knowledge into his memory, ensuring that he would always know how to
elicit such responses from her. The squeeze of her legs against his face intensified, sending
vibrations through his very core, but he didn't relent.

He continued to lick and suck and pump his fingers with even more force and speed,
following her every reaction. The sound he made with his fingers inside her cunt that was
filled with his come was so intoxicating, he never wanted it to stop. By her breathless pants
and the trembling of her legs, he knew she was close to coming, and his excitement almost
mirrored her own.

Hermione tried to grind against his face, seeking more stimulation, but he pressed his hand
firmly against her lower belly and her sudden lack of movements and only the subtle shaking
of her legs around his face indicated he did everything right.

He felt her cunt clenched around his fingers, her essence pouring down his chin, neck and
hand. A primal growl of satisfaction escaped his lips as he revelled in his ability to make her
come like this. Like no other man has. Only me.

Draco only ceased his actions when she forcefully shoved him away, causing him to fall back
onto the floor, sitting before her, breathless and self-satisfied.

Hermione swiftly summoned her wand, skillfully casting a series of cleaning spells to restore
her body to the previous state. She then slid down to the floor, leaning against the cabinet,
panting, and gazed at Draco, her eyes slightly red, her face flushed, and her lips bruised. He
could see the swollen part where he had bitten her. He had to occlude for a moment.

"Can you heal me?" she asked, and he nodded in response.

Draco took his wand, delicately holding her face, and focused on mending her broken lip. His
hands were shaking, so he could only stop the bleeding, but not heal it all the way through.
She just looked at him intently throughout the process.

"Do you want me to heal you?" she asked.

"No.”
They sat in silence for a while longer, the weight of what they… what he just did lingering in
the air. Draco performed a few spells to clean himself up before dragging himself to sit beside
her on the floor.

"I like your snake boots," he remarked, attempting to break the silence.

"It's a crocodile. You don't know your reptiles," Hermione quipped, and he simply nodded.
After what she deemed an appropriate amount of time, she spoke again. "Should we talk?"

"Not now, please," he requested.

"Okay.”

When he felt his breathing return to normal, and could stop occluding, Draco extended his
hand to help her up and they stood face to face.

"Thank you," he said, planting a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"For?" she inquired softly.

"For allowing me to baptize this fucking place with your holy water," he replied.

Hermione blushed instantaneously, and instead of teasing her about it, he chose to capture her
lips in a tender kiss.

She looked around. “I think you might need more than that.”

They spent more time immersed in their research before Hermione departed first, leaving
Draco to return the books to their designated locations.

His mother and aunt returned the next day, and Andromeda invited them for lunch at her
house. Scorpius was slightly bored because Teddy was at Hogwarts, but he tagged along
anyway.

They talked about their trip and the hiking trails they explored. Draco chuckled at the thought
of his mother willingly spending time outdoors in rainy Scotland in autumn, but his aunt was
very persuasive.

“Where did you cut yourself?” she asked between bites, gesturing towards his lip.

"Oh, I... Hermione... uses her hands a lot when she talks, and um... she accidentally cut me
with her ring," he said, hoping his feeble lie would go unnoticed.

It did.

Andromeda laughed. "Oh, Merlin, she can be very enthusiastic sometimes."

However, his unconvinced mother glanced at him with a politely hidden disapproval, but
fortunately, she didn't question him further.

The final discussion and voting in the Wizengamot were quickly concluded, with the bill
approved with a few amendments and changes, one of which he suggested based on
Hermione's advice.

The proposal stated that first-time wand owners may be required to take a Wand Oath once
they come of age, pledging to use their wands responsibly and for the greater good, in line
with the principles of wizarding ethics.

However, they decided to omit this proposition for the time being because of the specific
definitions of "greater good" and "wizarding ethics", as these terms were subjective and open
to interpretation. Oaths were delicate matters that needed to be approached with caution, and
they wanted to ensure there was no room for misinterpretation.

Draco texted Hermione to inform her that he was finished, but she didn't respond. They
hadn't seen each other in the past two days, and he believed it would be better to give her
some space to process everything before they met again. And to come up with a good
explanation.

He decided to floo-call her that evening to check in, listening to the sounds of her busy
kitchen as he arrived in her living room.

"Hi," he greeted, but she didn't lift her gaze from whatever she was doing.

"Hey.”

Draco scratched Crooks behind his ears and settled on a barstool, observing her in the
kitchen. The warm scent of cinnamon, ginger, and other spices enveloped the entire space.

"What are you making?" he asked.

"The old lady down the street had some extra pears she didn't know what to do with, so she
gave them to me. I decided to bake them with some honey, butter, and nuts," Hermione
explained, placing a few halves of pears in a glass container.

"It smells amazing," he complimented, inhaling the enticing aroma.

"Thank you. This batch is just done," she said, gesturing toward the pan nearby. "Would you
like to try? It's delicious with some goat cheese or vanilla ice cream on top.”

He furrowed his brow slightly. "Ice cream, please.”

"Don't make that face. It's fantastic with cheese," Hermione defended her culinary choice.

"Great. You enjoy it then.”

"I will. Padma and Luna are coming over later, so don't eat everything," she warned as she
retrieved an ice cream from the refrigerator.
Draco scooped a bit of vanilla ice cream, allowing it to melt slightly before tasting it. "It's
really good," he complimented after savouring the flavour. Hermione truly had a talent for
making desserts.

"Thanks. I'm just going to take this to Mrs. Smith. I'll be right back," she said, slipping on her
coat and disappearing momentarily.

Taking advantage of her absence, Draco took a moment to explore the kitchen. He noticed
another batch of pears baking in the oven, with sticky honey sizzling on top. He watched as
the pears caramelised, and their sweet aroma filled the air.

He glanced at the packaging of the ice cream she had chosen. It was labelled as vegan. How
can ice cream be vegan, isn't it made of milk, and well, cream?

He read the information on the back and it said it was 100% soy milk. Soy milk? How does
one make milk from soy?

Draco took his phone to check. It was difficult for him to admit, but phones were rather
useful. Especially when it helped him not to sound like an uneducated child in front of her.

It turned out that soy milk was used as a substitute for dairy milk, a plant-based alternative. It
was just water and soy mixed and blended together. It sounds more like soy water than milk,
but whatever.

After a few more minutes of looking around and checking the new books she got, Hermione
came back. Her cheeks were a bit red from the cold and she rubbed her hands together when
she came back to the kitchen. She placed a slice of pear in her place and crumbled some goat
cheese on top.

“So we’re done with the bill. It’s going to be implemented from January 1st,” Draco said,
breaking the silence between them.

“Oh yeah, I got your message,” Hermione replied, focusing her attention on the pear in front
of her.

Well, you could have responded to it, in that case. What happened with ‘Communication is
crucial, Draco. We need to talk to each other, Draco’, and all that.

But he pushed those thoughts aside for now. He didn't want to argue.

"The oath part has been ruled out," he continued.

"Oh, good. A lot of things could go wrong with it," she responded, with a note of relief in her
voice.

"Yes, exactly. Many members agreed when I suggested it," he explained, grateful for the
support he received.

"Of course, otherwise, it wouldn't have been overruled," she said with a smile.
"Right. So, where were you?" he asked, genuinely curious about how she had been spending
her time.

"Here, mostly. Just reading the book for my job and another one that Theo recommended. I
also took my car for inspection and took Crooks to the vet," she replied, nonchalantly licking
the remaining honey from her lips. The cut was no longer visible.

“Who healed you?” Draco asked.

"I did," she answered simply, straightening her back. "Practice makes perfect, I guess. Let me
fix you." Hermione walked over to him, her wand at the ready.

"You don't have to," he protested, though he knew it was futile. She was determined.

“I didn’t ask.”

“You are shit at this,” he huffed.

Hermione rolled her eyes and scoffed. “No, I'm not, I'm just not great. Also cuts and burns
are different.”

She spoke incantations and he felt warm orange light heating his skin and tingling sensation
as the cut repaired and closed. It felt slightly itchy afterward, so he absentmindedly scratched
his lip for a moment.

"There. Good as new," she declared, looking at him with concern and tenderness. Hermione
leaned against the island, and focused on him. "So?" she said softly.

Draco hesitated for a moment, then sighed. "There's no escaping you, is there?" he remarked.

"Of course there is," she scoffed again. "I left you alone, didn't I? You came back to me.
We're doing this under your conditions.”

"If it were up to me, we would never have to talk about it," he admitted, almost with regret.

"And if it were up to me, we would have talked about it immediately and not let me overthink
everything for two days. But I guess this, my friend, is what they call compromise," she said.

Hermione looked at him for a long moment and her eyes held understanding and support. She
placed her palm on his forearm and rubbed slow circles to soothe him before she spoke
softly.

"You shouldn’t occlude all your feelings away. Not when you have me."

I don't deserve you.

He didn't want to say it because with all of her honesty, she might agree with him, and he
didn't want to hear it, so instead he opted for, “I'm sorry. I should have said something before,
but… I needed it and didn't want you to say no.” He cringed at that but her face remained the
same. “I know… how that sounds now when I say it outloud, but… I'm sorry, I…” Draco
moved away from her touch and walked to the sink to put his plate and dessert fork for
washing.

Hermione remained seated on the barstool he had just occupied, her eyes fixed on him with
unwavering patience. He preferred it when she yelled, when they engaged in heated
arguments. This calmness unsettled him, forcing him to confront his own shortcomings and
take responsibility.

Draco chose to wash the plate just so he wouldn't have to look at her while he talked.

“It's the manor. And the library. And the fact that you were there. Specifically you," he began,
his voice filled with shame and anger. He couldn't hold it in any longer. "I... you don't want to
know what kind of things I've been taught in that very room. What I agreed with and nodded
my head to, for years before Hogwarts. Since I was much younger than Scorpius is now."

Hermione stood up and walked behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist, seeking to
offer comfort and understanding. The warmth of her body against his and the slow rhythm of
her breathing helped him steady his own emotions.

“You know you're probably the first muggleborn to ever step foot in that manor? That's a
damning testament to our fucking history, isn't it?” he murmured, his voice tinged with
sadness and frustration. “It stood there for centuries, and you’re the first one.” He exhaled
before he continued. “I saw some books I had to learn by heart behind you and I just felt… so
much anger.”

She hugged him tighter.

"The manor, with its centuries of books, the pride of every Malfoy... Besides the vault, of
course. I just wanted…” He felt shame and heat in his face. “I just wanted you to leave a part
of yourself there. The part of you they are most afraid of.”

She waited for a few moments before she exhaled too. Hermione held him tighter, and her
embrace felt like a cure for his soul.

"Draco, I don't appreciate being used like that," she said gently, her voice laced with concern.

He had to turn around to look at her.

"I understand why you did it, but if you had done this when we first started dating, I would
seriously question whether you truly liked me for who I am or… or if you were simply using
me to prove a point. To your surroundings. To your mother. To yourself. I know you’re not,”
she said before he could protest. “But… is there… at least a small part of you that feels this
way?"

“I'm not using you, Hermione,” he said quickly. Draco took her hand, again so as not to have
to look at her eyes.

She was wearing the bracelet he gave her for her birthday.
“But I'm not going to lie and pretend I don’t feel… better about myself because I love you.
And you love me back. Hopefully still,” he added with a faint attempt at humour and she
shrugged, playfully dismissing him. "You helped me break this generational curse," Draco
continued, his voice softening. "It wouldn't have happened without you.”

Hermione reached up and cupped his cheek, with tenderness and understanding. "I think you
broke that curse a long time ago, Draco. You just never give yourself enough credit.” She
took his other hand too. “Daphne told me… many years ago… that your parents didn't
exactly support your choice to marry Astoria because the Greengrasses were not… well, as
dedicated to your… traditional lifestyle as they should be.”

He looked at her now.

“You broke the curse there. Maybe even before. And again with everything you're doing
while raising Scorpius. I just happen to be there along the way,” she shrugged. “You've made
choices that have set you apart from all of them. Choices that have defined who you are. I
wouldn't love you if you haven’t."

Hermione gave him a quick kiss and he hugged her. Her hair smelled like cinnamon and
cardamom now.

Draco didn't like when she spoke about him like this. He just stopped being a bigoted spoiled
prick and became a normal person. Is that something he should be praised for? Being just
normal? Like most other people were anyway?

Again, he didn't want to argue and listen to more of her excuses for him. “I'm sorry I hurt
you,” he said as he rubbed her back.

“Draco, I don't mind the pain, I care about the reason behind it,” she said. “And also…” she
started but the oven alarm interrupted her. Hermione checked the remaining pears, turned the
oven off and left them in there.

“And also?” He encouraged her to continue.

“And also…” she sighed and rolled her eyes as she was blushing slightly. “I wasn’t…
completely against the idea. I mean obviously, since we had sex afterwards. But I don't want
to have to explore with my therapist why I wasn’t against it, so let’s just never do it again,
okay?” she said quickly, looking everywhere but at him.

“Okay,” he said simply, trying not to smile.

He lingered with Hermione until Luna and Padma arrived through the fireplace and then he
decided to head back home.

Scorpius wasn't in the mood for potions, especially because he had to finish the book
assigned by his English tutor. Draco thought it would be a good opportunity to meet up with
Blaise and Theo for a drink, so they arranged to meet at Mint's an hour later.

However, as usual, Theo was running late.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Daph held me up," he apologised as he took off his coat and surveyed
the surroundings.

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Yeah, it's always someone else's fault.”

"It really was this time. She made some oysters and baked beans, and you know how that
goes," Theo dismissed with a wave of his hand.

"Did you end up spending half an hour in the bathroom?" Draco teased.

"No, we ended up having sex in the kitchen," he shrugged, nonchalantly signalling for a
waiter who didn’t seem to notice him.

Draco glared at him.

"I don't know about you," Blaise interjected, "but I find these comments about Daph rather
uncomfortable.”

"Same here.”

"You prudes," Theo rolled his eyes, turning to Blaise. "I've decided on food for the party.”

"Oh, thank Salazar. That was bugging me for days," he replied, finishing his drink. "They had
amazing appetisers last year. That garlic bread was to die for.”

"Yes, I've chosen it again, don't worry.”

"So, what can we expect this year?" Draco inquired.

Their joint birthday party was always one of the biggest events of the year. Neither of them
were too shy and loved being the thing to talk about for weeks after the weeking. While
Draco wasn't particularly fond of going out and partying, he appreciated the opportunity to
socialise with friends who were now relatively tame and no longer stayed out until the early
hours of the morning at clubs.

"Oh, nothing too special, similar to last year," Blaise responded.

He rolled his eyes. "You had dancers in bikinis performing with snakes just because you saw
it in a muggle film, and you call that 'nothing special?'"

He was still shocked by the performance. He also remembered secretly hoping that Hermione
would attend the party, as he wanted to see her outside of their usual café rendezvous. The
memory brought a smile to his face.

"Oh, mate, you didn't see what else happened in that scene. Ask Hermione to show you,"
Theo chimed in, raising an eyebrow suggestively, but Draco frowned. "To show you the film,
of course, not what happens in the scene. I mean, I don't know, unless you have a foot
fetish..." He trailed off, and Blaise laughed. "Never mind. It's called From Dusk till Dawn. I'll
go get us another round," he said, excusing himself.
Draco turned his attention to Blaise, changing the subject. "Is your mother coming for your
birthday?"

"She'll be here tomorrow. Hosting a Halloween party. I believe Narcissa is invited as well.”

"Oh, she didn't mention it. But she rarely invites me to those events anymore, so that's
probably why," Draco shrugged. "Are you going?"

"No, I only attend when she doesn't have an escort. She has one now," Blaise replied with a
touch of disdain in his voice. He must not like the man who was courting her.

Draco had learned long ago not to inquire about his mother's numerous partners over the
years. Blaise had never pressed him for details about Lucius' involvement with the ministry
or later with the Death Eaters, so Draco reciprocated by keeping his curiosity at bay. That
understanding has remained between them to this day.

He didn't appreciate it when he occasionally heard Blaise’s mother being badmouthed by

other socialites, his own mother occasionally too. She was far more approachable and open-
minded than most of the parents he had encountered throughout the years. The relationship
between Blaise and her reminded him somewhat of Hermione and her parents. Despite living
in different countries, they remained incredibly close.

"Will she be there for your birthday?" Draco asked.

"Of course. Not at the party, if that's what you're asking."

"No, of course not."

Theo returned a few moments later, and he was not alone. "Hey, look who I ran into! Our old
classmate," Theo announced, moving closer to Draco. "What was his name again? Prewett?"
he whispered.

"Steward," Draco corrected, trying not to show any negative emotion on his face. He still
couldn't remember why was his name so familiar.

"Oh, hey, mate! Long time no see," Blaise greeted him, standing up to give him a hug.

Steward reciprocated, grabbing his shoulders afterward. "Zabini, looking good as ever.
Evening, Malfoy," he greeted Draco, who simply nodded in response. "What are you fine
gentlemen doing here?"

"Just having a drink after a long day. What about you?" Blaise asked.

"Same, I guess. I'm heading back to Switzerland next week, so I'm catching up with some
people. But let me tell you, going out and drinking every night? Not as easy as it used to be,"
he replied, shaking the two drinks he was carrying.

Theo nodded in agreement. "Definitely not.”

"Are you free this Friday?" Blaise asked. "Theo and I are having a birthday party. We should
catch up.”

"Great, thank you. I'll try to stop by," Steward replied, looking over their shoulders toward a
table filled with women. It was safe to assume that none of them were his future wife. "Owl
me the details, will you? See you." With that, he made his way to the table.

"What was his name again? It was something ridiculously posh," Theo pondered, glancing
back at Draco. “Bartholomew? Sebastian?"

"Archibald," Draco responded.

"Ah, yes. Archibald! I don't remember him at all.”

"You weren't interested in quidditch," Blaise remarked. "He was on the team for a few years.
You know him, right?" he asked Draco.

"Yeah, we met again about a month ago," he replied. "I don't particularly like him.”

"Why not?"

"He seems to have changed very little since our Hogwarts days," Draco said.

This was a code for ‘he is still a bigoted prick.’

"Well, fuck. I didn't know that," Blaise commented with disappointment.

Theo sighed. "Try not to invite the next person you see.”

"Okay, then. I should also inform you that Greg and Milli came to our store yesterday, and
they're invited now too," he stated. "But they're alright, aren't they?"

"They are, both of them," Draco nodded, glancing back at Steward's table.

He was standing very close to a woman, whispering something in her ear with his hand
placed low on her back.

"You know, I always find it shocking when I encounter people like him who haven't changed
one bit, but then I remember. They're not the odd ones, we are.”

On Friday evening, Draco asked Dissy to watch over Scorp and Albus, who were having a
sleepover. Knowing that both Potter and Red would be attending the party, and likely
returning home late, it was best to have someone responsible look after the children. Their
daughter was left with her grandparents, because she was, as her mother described her, an
"incredibly loud and overdramatic cryer."

Hermione arrived just before they did, and Scorpius immediately jumped her with questions
about the book he was reading. However, as soon as the Potters arrived, his homework was
quickly forgotten.

The group made their way to Theo's home sometime later, after giving unnecessary
instructions to Dissy, who assured him that she could handle the boys by herself. As they
entered the parlour of the manor, more people flooded in, exchanging nods of greeting.

The place was dimly lit, and Draco assumed the other rooms would be even darker. They
took the opportunity to grab their drinks from the floating trays. They opted for flutes of
champagne, except for Red, who chose vodka.

Draco couldn't resist. "I hope tomorrow's hangover won't affect your next game, Ginevra," he
said, purposely using her given name, which she had once mentioned hating.

It was a bit stupid to admit that to him. What did she expect, never to use it against her?

She frowned, but retorted, "We don't go out together much, Malfoy, so you don't know me.
But I can handle my drink. He can't," she gestured towards her husband.

"It's true. But I came prepared," Potter interjected, pulling out a few vials from his pocket.
They looked like hangover or sobering potions. "So if anyone needs help later, you know
where to find me," he winked, finishing his glass. "Why are we standing here? Let's go
inside," he said, beckoning for a tray to take his glass.

Potter offered his arm to his wife, and they walked towards the sitting room, which had been
transformed into a club.

Draco took a moment to stop Hermione from following them. "Have you ever been to their
parties?" he asked, feeling a bit uncomfortable.

"Once or twice, many years ago. Why?" she replied, curiosity evident in her voice.

"You should be prepared," he advised.

Hermione waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, Daphne warned me too. But you should know,
whatever they're doing, I've probably already seen it in muggle clubs before," she assured
him.

He nodded, appreciating her confidence. Now that they were alone, he took a moment to
observe her. "You look great, by the way," Draco complimented sincerely.

Her makeup was different, with darker, almost black tones around her eyes that perfectly
matched her all-black outfit.

She wore knee-high black leather boots, which accentuated her short skirt of the same
material. A tight, slightly transparent sweater completed the ensemble, with delicate golden
threads woven into it, causing her to shimmer when the light hit her just right. She would
have looked perfect if not for... What expression did she use? Ah yes, the elephant in the
room.
She narrowed her eyes at him, sensing his hesitation. "But...?" she prompted, waiting for him
to voice his thoughts.

Draco took a moment to choose his words carefully. "Your hair is... different," he finally said,
unsure if she would take offence to his observation. After all, he had never seen her with
straight hair, except for when they were in the shower, but that didn't count.

Hermione looked uncertain. "Does it look okay?" she asked, running her fingers nervously
through it.

He gently took her hands in his and planted a quick kiss on her lips. "It looks more than okay.
You’re beautiful. It's just... different. I happen to prefer it when it's all… big and bouncy.”

She rolled her eyes playfully. "And when I'm not wearing any makeup, just t-shirts and
sweatpants.”

"Oh fuck, no, I like this more than sweatpants," he teased, gesturing towards her with a
smirk.

"Good. I knew you had a thing for black, so I wanted to match," she said, unbuttoning one
button on his shirt.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I was thinking when I said I like it. The colour.”

They entered the party together, and Draco couldn't help but feel a sense of apprehension. He
knew that this moment was inevitable ever since he and Hermione started dating.

Typically, he would navigate events like this by casually mingling with acquaintances,
engaging in polite but brief conversations to maintain pragmatic relationships. He was
directly or indirectly doing a lot of business with them or their families. However, he was
sure that some of these individuals harbour the same concealed bigotry as Steward. Some?
Most of them probably are.

Draco definitely didn't want to put Hermione in a situation in which she would offer a hand to
someone and be rejected or insulted, but he also didn't want to exclude or hide her from them.
There was no reason for that.

"Do you want us to find the others?" Hermione spoke loudly near his ear, her voice barely
audible over the loud music.

He nodded in response.

"Lead the way," she said, taking his hand.

It didn't take long for them to locate Pansy, Charlie, and the Potters. Draco noticed the Patil
twins, Brown, and George on a nearby table and waved to them.

Trays floated around, offering drinks, and Draco grabbed another glass of champagne. He
knew he would need some assistance to navigate conversations smoothly. Hermione engaged
in a lively discussion with Pansy, so he quickly informed her that he would mingle and she
nodded in understanding.

Blaise and Theo had truly outdone themselves this time. The room seemed to have expanded
magically, with a higher ceiling than usual. DJ, equipped with muggle technology, spun
tracks on a laptop. He wondered what those pureblood snobs thought about it.

There were elevated platforms resembling cages where people danced. The furniture had
been replaced with private lounges featuring plush velvet cushions and tall-backed chairs, as
well as bar tables with stools.

Draco engaged in brief conversations with familiar faces in the dimly lit room, making small
talk for a few moments. Camilla, a women he has been hooking up with a few times in the
past, pulled him to her table that she shared with a few other people and stood next to him
rather closely and held his arm, but when she asked who did he come with and Draco
mention his friends and his girlfriend, she immediately let go and continued the conversation
with a more appropriate distance.

Spotting Blaise with Luna and Daphne, Draco made his way toward them. Daphne expressed
her desire to return to their table and leave the pair alone while Theo played the role of the
gracious host, effortlessly chatting with everyone.

On their way back to the table, they bumped into Goyle and Millicent. They engaged in a
friendly chat before Daphne excused herself to find the others, disappearing before Draco had
a chance to say anything.

"Draco, how old is Scorpius?" Millicent inquired.

"Ten.”

"So, off to Hogwarts next year? Are you excited?" she asked, a smile on her face.

"Excited and worried," Draco replied, glancing at Goyle, who nodded in understanding. "All
at once.”

"I can imagine. We still have a year or two to wait for that, but even now, I get nervous.”

Goyle surveyed the surroundings. "You came with Daphne?"

"Among others.”

"Granger?" he asked, suddenly appearing nervous. "I... read the Prophet," he admitted,
sounding slightly uncomfortable.

Draco simply nodded.

"Good for you, mate. It's good to have someone," Goyle added, wrapping his arm around
Millicent, and she squeezed his hand.

"Yeah, it is," Draco acknowledged.

After finishing another glass of champagne, they had made promises to catch up for a drink
or lunch, as they always did, knowing full well that those promises were rarely kept. Some
friendships didn't survive graduation, and Draco had accepted that.

As he walked toward their table, exchanging greetings along the way, Steward intercepted
him. The blonde woman on his arm wasn't the one from the pub the other night, but Draco
vaguely remembered seeing her at Theo's previous parties.

"We seem to keep running into each other at parties and clubs, but I assure you, it's not all I
do," Steward said with a smirk.

"I'll take your word for it," he replied, attempting to leave, but he halted him once again.

He looked already slightly drunk. "Come and have a drink with us over there," he gestured
toward a nearby lounge area. "You probably haven't caught up with everyone recently. Avery
and Burke are there, as well as my brother. I don't know if you remember him; he was four
years ahead of us.”

Something that had been nagging at Draco for weeks finally fell into place. "By any chance,
does your brother have any children?"

Steward nodded. "Two boys. Why?"

"They're at Hogwarts, right?" Draco inquired.

He suddenly recalled Teddy mentioning a kid who relentlessly bullied him, and Draco knew
his name was Steward. Archibald didn't have children of his own yet, so they must be his
brother's.

"Yeah, they are. Your kid too?"

"Not yet," Draco quickly replied, then walked toward Hermione, who was engaged in a
conversation with Daphne.

However, Steward stopped him for the third time, this time placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Listen, come with me and Rosalind and… Oh, right, I forgot," he said, looking behind
Draco.

Hermione and Daphne were leaning over the bar table, conversing with Pansy, who was
sitting on a nearby chair. Draco noticed Steward's eyes roam up and down Hermione's figure,
and a slow smile spread across his face.

"Well, I can see why you're eager to go back to your little... girlfriend."

Draco wanted to smack the smirk away from his face, but Rosalind, apparently that’s her
name, and he now remembered her from school, being one or two years younger, playfully
hit him on the shoulder.

“Stop it, Archie. Don’t be rude,” she said jokingly and looked around.
“You’re right, love, we shouldn’t get in a way,” he said, smirking. “Well, we’re over there.
Join us when you get bored.” He saluted and walked with the woman holding his hand now.

She quickly looked back at Draco and mouthed 'sorry' and he just nodded, feeling irritated
and relieved.

"Sorry it took me so long," he said as he leaned on the table next to Hermione.

"Oh, it's okay. I almost forgot we came together," she replied with a raised eyebrow. "Did you
see anyone interesting?"

"Millicent and Goyle. A few other people," he shrugged.

"Huh. Millicent Bulstrode," she said, her eyes narrowing as if recalling something in the
distance. "Have I ever told you I transfigured into her cat once?"

"You what?" Draco exclaimed, surprised by the revelation.

Hermione launched into another fantastic story from her time at Hogwarts, and he reached for
another firewhiskey from a passing tray.

Her skin glowed with the warmth, perhaps enhanced by the alcohol, and he found himself
only half-listening, half-imagining what they could do later when they returned to her house.

About an hour later, Goyle and Millicent made their way toward them, preparing to leave.
Daphne moved closer to Pansy, creating space for the interaction. Goyle carefully extended
his hand to Hermione, and she shook it in return. They engaged in a brief conversation before
saying their goodbyes. Pansy and Charlie followed suit.

She walked gingerly in her high heels, cradling her belly. Draco noticed the subtle changes in
her face. He couldn't recall if Astoria had experienced similar changes during her pregnancy.

Her cheeks appeared fuller, and her lips seemed more pronounced. Remembering Hermione's
previous comment about Pansy complaining about feeling swollen, Draco decided against
making any remarks. She gave them a kiss, Charlie hugged Hermione and shook his hand,
and they bid their farewell. Theo finally appeared at their table.

He stood between Hermione and Daphne, placing his arm around her waist. "Is everything
alright? Do you need anything?" He surveyed their table. "If you do, don't ask me. I'm not a
waiter. Just summon trays or check the menus. Hey, look at your hair!" he exclaimed,
noticing Hermione. "How did you manage to do that? I can never do anything with mine,"
Theo gestured toward his own head.

He did have a considerable amount of wavy hair, not as curly and untamed as hers, but close
enough.

"Don't tell him," Daphne interjected, speaking to Theo. "I like your hair better like this," she
said, running her fingers through it a few times.
"Oh, okay, then never mind. She likes my hair better like this," he grinned and pulled her into
a dance, sharing a rather passionate kiss before they swayed to the music.

Draco had to look away, while Hermione watched them with a fascinated gaze.

"It's still kind of strange seeing them together," she remarked.

Draco nodded in agreement. "Yeah, but they seem to fit well. I didn't think they would, to be
honest.”

It had taken some time for Draco to adjust to the idea of them as a couple. However, on a few
unannounced visits to Theo's place, Draco had stumbled upon them in compromising
positions on his living room armchair and sofa. Since then, it had become all too easy to
imagine them as a couple, despite Draco's desperate desire for someone to obliviate those
mental images.

When he initially informed Scorpius about their relationship, he had expressed

disappointment, which had surprised Draco since Scorp liked Theo. However, that night in
the lab, he had asked if Theo had "any other girlfriends" at the moment, and Draco explained
that he did not.

Although Scorpius remained sceptical, he eventually reconciled with Theo after a

conversation with Daphne. The two of them seemed to have a mutual language that Draco
couldn't quite grasp, but it had brought Scorp back to his usual self around Theo.

Hermione mentioned needing to use the bathroom, leaving Draco to spend time with the
Potters. He discovered that they weren't as insufferable as he had initially believed. They
weren't the kind of couple constantly in need of physical contact.

In contrast, Theo and Daphne couldn't seem to keep their hands off each other at the moment.
Draco wondered if this would become a lasting characteristic of their relationship or if it was
simply due to the fact that they were no longer hiding.

Pansy and Charlie never engaged in passionate snogging sessions like teenagers, but there
was a constant sense of intimacy whenever he was alone with them. She would always touch
his arm or chest, and he would rub her neck or something similar.

As for the Potters, Red would occasionally lean on her husband’s shoulder or he would hold
his hand around her waist, but when engaging in conversation with others, they would give
their full attention. Draco found himself appreciating that level of attentiveness.

When Hermione returned a few minutes later, she came bearing two glasses of water. "Here,
take a break," she urged, offering him a glass. "I need you not to be completely intoxicated
later, but just the right amount.”

He smirked and took a sip. "The right amount for what?"

"For when you're just uninhibited enough to let loose," she winked, and Draco smiled.
Hermione seemed to be more carefree when she had just the right amount of alcohol in her
system too.

He remembered that one recent night at Blaise’s. His mother invited Hermione to show her
antiquites she collected over the years and afterwards extended invitations for tasting some
wines from Italy.

When they went back to her home, she was adamant about not having sex in kitchen due to
hygienic reasons even though he tried to convince her otherwise, but they found the common
ground which was fucking her on the kitchen island, but on the side facing the living room.

"By the way, a man stopped me and told me to tell you that you promised to have a drink
with him and some other 'old friends,'" she said, her eyes narrowing. "He seemed... I don't
know, I just got a weird vibe from him.”

Draco shifted his position so that the lounge area where the Slytherins he didn't want to
encounter was behind him.

"Is he behind me?" he asked, Hermione nodded, and he sighed. "He's the one from the night
at the pub after your book release."

She nodded slowly, recalling what he said about the encounter. "Are you going to go see
him?" she asked.

"No. Did he say anything else?"

Hermione shook her head, and he noticed a few loose strands of her hair started to curl again,
likely due to the heat. Draco couldn't wait to see her hair return to its natural state. She was
effortlessly beautiful like that.

He wanted to cup her face and kiss her, but on previous occasions when she had worn a lot of
makeup, she had told him not to touch her face. So now he decided to just kiss her without
touching her. However, she pulled him closer by his shirt and drew him near her by his
waist.

"Are you two trying to compete with those horny teenagers over there or...?" Red's voice
interrupted a few blissful moments later, and Draco reluctantly let go.

"Ginevra, stop staring at other couples and implore your husband to entertain you better," he
retorted.

She smirked, and Potter rolled his eyes.

"Let's join the horny teenagers," Hermione said, tugging at his hand. "I know this song.”

She led him through the crowd, and they slowly danced together to a song he may have heard
playing in her home once.

"Who's singing this?" he asked, his voice low against her ear.
"Adele. But it's not her original song; she covered it from the band The Cure," Hermione
replied.

Draco hummed in response, leaning into her hair. Her vanilla scent calmed him amidst the
loud music and bustling atmosphere.

“I think I love this song now,” he mumbled near her ear after hearing a few lines that hit a bit
too close to home.

"I love you," Hermione whispered, her smile radiant.

"I love you too.”

"Aww, I love you both," Daphne interrupted, joining them and enveloping them in a hug.
"Theo is mingling around. Can I stay with you?" Her eyes were glassy, she wasn't the best
drinker.

"Of course, Daphne, stay here," Draco replied.

"I'm going to get some water," Hermione shouted over the music as a faster song began. "Be
with her."

He nodded in agreement.

Daphne danced and occasionally shouted something to him, though he couldn't quite make
out her words, so he just nodded. Another slow song started, and Draco took her hand to
steady her, swaying slowly with her on the dance floor. As the song neared its end, she
stepped aside and glanced behind him.

"Who's that with Hermione?" she asked, squinting.

It was Steward.

"Let's go to her," Draco said and frowned, guiding Daphne in front of him as they made their
way toward their table.

The Potters had left, but their things were still there, meaning that they hadn't gone home yet.
Hermione was desperately trying to move away from Steward while nodding, but he kept
talking and had his hand on her back bringing her closer.

Daphne sat on one of the chairs, squinting at them, while Draco stood behind Hermione,
waiting for the idiot to remove his hand on his own, without having to intervene.

At first, Steward didn't budge. He noticed him standing behind Hermione before she did and
made no effort to move. Draco glared at him, not blinking or saying a word, until Steward,
almost imperceptibly, rolled his eyes and created some distance between them.

"There you are," he drawled, sounding and looking quite intoxicated now. "I thought you left
without saying goodbye.”
Draco continued to glare at him for a few long moments before turning his attention to
Hermione. "Is everything okay?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied a bit too quickly.

"I think we might need a sobering potion for Daphne. Where's Potter?" Draco inquired.

"I don't know. Maybe they're dancing somewhere," she said, observing him carefully.

He didn't direct any words towards Hermione either, just looking at her until she understood
what to do. Ever perceptive, she stood up immediately.

"I'll go find him. Don't do anything stupid," she added quietly.

She whispered something to Daphne, who nodded and followed her. Draco refocused his
attention on Steward, who raised his hands in mock surrender.

"Well, don't avada me for being curious about what turned the Draco Malfoy to the other
side. I was just interested," Steward shrugged and glanced behind him, where he assumed
Hermione had gone with Daphne. "I get it, though. She's a delightful little thing. You're a
lucky man." He winked, and Draco still remained silent, growing increasingly angry.

His hand twitched near his wand, but he reminded himself that he couldn't afford any
incidents. His wand was being monitored, just like many others in the room. Even after so
many years. Control yourself. Breathe.

"Now, why was I under the impression that she was married to Potter?"

Just as if summoned, Potter appeared with Ginevra, completely oblivious to the conversation
happening nearby.

"Ah, no. My mistake," Steward mumbled. "The redhead. She's a Harpy, right? Weasley, was
it?" His eyes widened, and he smacked his forehead in realisation. "Oh, right," Steward
drawled. "Not Potter, but Weasley. Weasley fucked your girlfriend."

Draco moved closer to him, his jaw clenched and his hand tightened around his wand. One
unprovoked curse, and aurors would be knocking on his door first thing in the morning with
an arrest warrant. Don't do anything stupid.

But it was easier said than done. Rage coursed through his veins, a feeling he hadn't
experienced in a long time. It wasn't like him to let his emotions take over in such a way. If
his father could see him now, he would criticise him for acting beneath his station.

Where would we be if we paid attention to the thoughts of every insignificant man? Malfoys
don’t concern themselves with the opinions of others.

Steward waved his hands dismissively. "Sorry, sorry. That's not what I meant. I'm really
drunk. I'm so sorry, mate," he said, rubbing his forehead. "I mean, she wasn't your girlfriend
when he fucked with her," he mumbled as he stood up to leave.
Draco never felt like he wanted to break someone’s bones before.

But before he did the smart thing and walked away quietly, he chuckled and turned around.
"Isn't it funny how life works? One day, you're making fun of Weasley because they live in a
slum and eat leftovers, and the next day, you're eating his leftovers.”

Draco's patience snapped. He grabbed Steward by the throat, and the look of shock on his
face was undeniable. He saw his face turning red, his eyes almost bulging out.

Potter immediately stood next to him. "Malfoy, what are you doing? Let him go.”

Two men arrived moments later, one of whom Draco recognized as Flint when he spoke.

"Malfoy, mate, come on. Whatever he said... He's drunk. Let us take him outside. Let's not do
anything that could get us in trouble, okay?"

"Draco, please," he heard Hermione speaking, gripping his arm tightly. He hadn't even
noticed her return. "Just let him go.”

His face was still flushed when Draco released him, and he stumbled backward. Flint and
another man grabbed hold of him, pulling him away from the group.

Draco turned to look at Hermione, paying no mind to anyone else around them. He couldn't
decipher the look on her face. There were so many emotions mixed within her gaze.
Resentment. Pity. Annoyance. Gratitude. Worry.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her grip still tight on his arm.

He blinked and quickly scanned the area. Daphne appeared slightly bewildered but sober,
Potter wore a frown, and Ginevra seemed genuinely concerned. A few others around them
had noticed the commotion but swiftly returned to their conversations and drinks. Thanks to
the loud music and dim lighting, nobody else seemed to have noticed.

"I'm fine," Draco responded, his voice strained.

Hermione's expression remained enigmatic. "I told you not to do anything stupid.”

"I didn't," Draco snapped at her through clenched teeth. "Doing something stupid would be
hexing him and getting Potter to arrest me tomorrow.”

He attempted to mediate. "That's not what would happen, but..." But he trailed off under
Hermione's piercing glare. "Okay, never mind," he conceded with a nod.

"Okay. So, for the next time, don't do anything I wouldn't," she stated, and her gaze was fixed
on him.

"Fine," Draco muttered, avoiding eye contact.

Suddenly, he felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him.

Embarrassed for overreacting.

Embarrassed for not doing more.

Fucking idiot insulted her and I just stood there and let him.

Draco gestured towards a passing tray carrying a firewhiskey and grabbed two glasses. He
downed one immediately and left the other on the table. He noticed Hermione next to him,
taking deep breaths and crossing her arms over her chest. She was clearly displeased with
him. Well, I'm not pleased with myself either.

He gulped down another glass and felt the urge to leave the room.

"Where are you going?" Hermione asked, attempting to grab his arm again, but he gently
brushed her hand away.

"To the bathroom. Stay here with Potter, please. I'll be right back."

He could clearly read her emotion now - anger. Draco couldn't focus on her feelings when his
own were in disarray.

Weaving through the crowd, he passed by the lounge where Steward had been seated. Some
people wore apologetic expressions, while most smirked and snickered. He wasn't there. I
suppose they really did take him outside.

Part of Draco hoped he would find Steward now. But he didn't.

The night air was refreshing, a cool breeze soothing his head when he found a balcony door.
The drinks he had consumed were beginning to take their toll. He knew he would have a
raging headache tomorrow. I mustn't forget to ask Potter for that sobering potion.

Fucking birthday party. Fucking Blaise for inviting that prick. Fuck everyone here. He felt a
wave of dizziness and nausea wash over him.

Draco didn't know how long he stood on the balcony, in the cold air, but when he eventually
returned to the parlour, he noticed people were leaving. The drinks and his overall state were
making him feel sick, and he desperately needed to find the nearest bathroom. He stumbled
into one, only to find Steward, Flint, and another man inside. A surge of adrenaline rushed
through him. Perfect.

Steward's shirt and hair were soaked with water, but he didn't seem to notice Draco's
presence. The other two men in the bathroom glanced at each other and then at Draco as
Steward continued to lean on the sink, water running over his hands. He lifted his head and
caught sight of Draco in the mirror.

"Hey, there you are. I was just trying to sober up," he slurred, swaying slightly. "Can you
imagine? No one prepared any potions. You can piss over there, we won't look," he gestured
vaguely towards the back of the bathroom.

"Shut up, Archibald," Flint commanded.

"What do you want?" the other man interjected, his voice surprisingly loud for someone
shorter and evidently weaker.

"Step aside," Draco told them, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Don't do anything stupid, Malfoy," Flint warned. "We're all in the same boat here, you know
it."

None of them had their wands drawn, aware of the potential consequences if they did.

"I know. That's why I said, step aside.”

Following Draco's order, Flint moved away, casting a disdainful glance at Steward. "You
know what, I don't have time for this," he muttered, exiting the bathroom.

"You should leave as well," he advised the remaining man, as his eyes shifted between
Steward and him and then he wisely chose the door and left.

"Do you want me to apologise? Is that it?" Steward said, still gazing into the mirror and
rolling his eyes. He appeared oblivious to the fact that they were now alone. "I'm sorry, okay?
I'm sorry if I offended you.”

"You didn't offend me," Draco replied slowly. "Someone like you could never offend me."

It felt almost inappropriate how much he wanted to be successful at channelling his father’s
superior attitude. He knew he was failing.

"So what? Do you want me to apologise to her?" Steward turned to face Draco directly.
"Come on, mate. You can't be serious." He laughed and almost burped. "I mean, I get it.
We've all been there. Well, some of us when we were young, and rebellious. Not now. But I
suppose we all have to go through the 'playing in the mud' phase eventually.”

It was as if someone had cast a hex on him, compelling him to act against his own body. Until
a few minutes ago, Draco had felt on the verge of vomiting, feeling dizzy and exhausted. But
now, he was wide awake, filled with energy and surprisingly calm.

His fist collided with Steward's face, and the sound of impact ringed in his ears. He could
even hear the distinct crunch of something breaking. His nose probably. Or teeth.

He stumbled and fell to the floor, groaning in pain.

Draco inspected his knuckles, now smeared with blood. He couldn't tell if it was his own or
Steward's. He had never hit anyone like this before.

Roughly lifting Steward and propping him up against the sink, Draco observed the man
clutching his face, blood staining his hands.

"I can't believe you punched me," he almost laughed. "Why? For a little mud joke? It was a
bad one, I admit. You didn't even hear a good one.”
"Try me," Draco spoke through his teeth.

Steward straightened his back, swaying slightly. "You're dragging a good Malfoy family
name through the mud.”

Draco swung his fist again, aiming for his nose once more, but accidentally struck his jaw. He
realised he had no knowledge of physical combat. There had never been a need for it. He
most likely wasn't doing something right. His knuckles throbbed with pain.

Steward growled and spat out more blood on the floor. "You used to be so much fun, Malfoy.
And now..." He paused as if contemplating something. "Now you're just a stick in the mud,"
he said with a sense of pride.

Draco punched him again, this time in the stomach, causing him to double over and clutch his
shoulder for support as he vomited violently onto the floor.

Disgusted while holding him, Draco frowned. "I'm sorry, but did you really think you would
get out of this unharmed?"

"You're a fucking imbecile," Steward managed to say between retches as he leaned back
against the sink.

Draco used his wand to clean the blood and vomit off his own trousers and shoes.

"A fucking imbecile, yeah. I knew you were a blood traitor before, but..." Steward laughed,
spitting out more blood onto the floor. "You've absolutely lost it. Even before the mudblood.
When did it happen, huh? When your wife died or when your father killed himself like a
weak little bitch?"

"Somewhere around that time, yeah," Draco replied calmly, swinging his fist once again. This
time, he was almost certain he heard something bounce off the tiles, like a tooth. "Are you
done? Have you had enough?" he asked, observing Steward's disfigured face.

He spat out more blood. "I'm going to report you to the aurors tomorrow, you fucking
maniac.”

"You should," Draco said calmly and nodded, walking over to the adjacent sink to wash his
hands. "But here's the thing. I'll have to provide my memories when they ask for them. And
when they become a part of public records, everyone will see and hear what I saw and heard.
Tell me, does your fiancée know how you spend your time here and with whom?"

A painful worried expression flickered across his face.

"I assume it wouldn't reflect well on the bank heiress to be married to a cheating bigot. You
live abroad, you know how seriously they take discrimination and minority rights in the
continent.”

Draco gazed at the wounds on his knuckles, the clean cuts steadily filling with more blood. It
strangely soothed him. He couldn't tear his eyes away.
"We needed Hermione to teach us that, just a decade or so ago. She still holds considerable
influence. So imagine what will happen when people find out about your offensive comments
regarding The Golden Girl." Draco almost cringed at the title remembering how much she
hates the nicknames.

He sniffled and spat again before turning around to wash the blood from his face. Draco
approached him, and although he flinched, Steward refused to meet his gaze, focusing instead
on his own reflection in the mirror. His breathing and blinking was rapid. Draco studied him
for a long moment.

His face was now a mess, covered in blood. His shirt was soaked with it. He was definitely
missing a tooth. The stench of vomit, alcohol, and blood emanated from him, and Draco
sighed. He used his wand to clean up the floor.

"There are so many stairs in this fucking place. It's easy to slip and fall down, especially
when you're drunk. I suppose you were just unlucky tonight, weren't you?" Draco said
calmly.

Steward did not respond, instead clenching his jaw and continuing to wipe his face.

Draco exited the bathroom, finding the parlour even more crowded than before. People were
bustling around, waiting for their turn to leave through the floo network. As he made his way
back to their table, he noticed Hermione's glare as she caught sight of him.

"Where were you?" she demanded, her eyes scanning him frantically.

"In the bathroom," Draco replied, trying to steady himself.

Hermione's gaze fell upon his hand, probably noticing the blood and frowning. Though he
couldn't see her expression clearly in the dim lighting, he could imagine her anger rising. The
queasiness that had been lurking in the background suddenly intensified, causing the room to
spin around him.

"I slipped and fell. There are so many stairs here. I'm very drunk.”

She didn't offer any comment on his state. Instead, her tone turned stern. "We’re going
home.”

"Okay," Draco nodded.

Hermione efficiently gathered their belongings and led him towards the floo, the silence in
her house contrasting sharply with the chaotic atmosphere they had just left behind.

As they entered, his ears were buzzing with silence and Draco clumsily tried to remove his
jacket but accidentally knocked a floor lamp, causing it to lean towards Hermione. She
swiftly grabbed hold of it, restoring its position.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled.

 She remained silent, but he could feel her anger radiating. Once he had finally managed to
remove his jacket, Hermione spoke again. "I can't apparate us upstairs. Can you walk?"

The tone of her question struck a nerve within Draco. It was one thing for her to be angry
with him for getting drunk, but it felt entirely different to be treated as if he were incapable of
taking care of himself.

"Yes," he replied curtly, his irritation seeping through.

They climbed the stairs in strained silence. Draco struggled to remove his shoes and trousers
when he was sitting on her bed all the while Hermione watched him.

When he began unbuttoning his shirt, he felt it suddenly open, realising she had used her
wand to speed up the process. He would have rolled his eyes in annoyance, but the fear of
aggravating his dizziness prevented him.

He settled into her bed, and Hermione's voice reached him. "I conjured a self-cleaning bucket
here, just in case, so if you feel like…”

"I'm not going to throw up," he interjected, irritated by her assumption.

"Of course you won't," she retorted, her bitterness evident. "But when you do, please try to
aim for it.”

With that biting remark lingering in the air, Draco closed his eyes, seeking solace in a brief
moment of rest.

The last sound he heard before drifting off to sleep was Hermione muttering something
remarkably similar to "I'm going to fucking kill him tomorrow.”

Chapter End Notes

Blaise and Theo's party https://www.pinterest.com/tpzzz1105/in-the-mood-for-

truth/blaise-and-theos-party/
 Draco

November 2013

He felt the soft tickle of hair on his nose and detected an unpleasant odour, an odd
combination of fish and rotten eggs. Draco instinctively tried to move his head away from it,
only to flinch when he realised something wet and rough was scratching his face. Opening
his eyes, he discovered Hermione's cat perched near him on the pillow, licking his face.

"Why is your breath so foul when you come from a family of dentists?" Draco groaned, his
voice rough and deep from sleep and the throbbing hangover in his head.

He scratched the cat behind its ears, enjoying the sensation of his soft fur. His breath might
be terrible, but he smelled nice overall. Crooks nestled closer, seeking a comfortable spot
beside Draco on the pillow, and began kneading the fabric with his paws. Hermione referred
to it as "making biscuits.”

Glancing to the other side of the bed, he noticed it was neatly made. "Where did she sleep last
night?" he mused aloud, though he didn't expect an answer.

However, Crooks turned his head and looked toward Hermione's old room next door. Purring
contentedly, the cat settled down, his gaze fixed on Draco with slow, blinking eyes.

"Is she angry?" he inquired, and Crooks wiggled his tail in response. "Quite a lot, huh?"

The tail wiggled again.

"I'm not entirely sure what that means, but thanks for the warning," he said, pushing himself
to sit up.

His brain felt like it was bouncing within his skull as he swung his legs over the edge of the
bed and rubbed his tired eyes. His hand throbbed with pain, and when he inspected it, he saw
his bruised knuckles. Ah, right. I punched that bastard.

Hermione had likely closed the shutters last night, as there was minimal light filtering in.
Draco glanced down and noticed the bucket she had left in case he needed to vomit. Judging
by its untouched state, it seemed he hadn't required it, so he made it vanish with a wave of his
wand.

On the nightstand, he noticed a small vial alongside a glass of water. Although it lacked a
label, he could guess its purpose. He opened the vial and consumed its contents, downing the
entire glass of water as well.

Instantly, the headache and dizziness that had plagued him disappeared, and even the
lingering nausea subsided. However, a sudden surge of thirst and hunger washed over him.
Searching for his clothes from the previous night, he discovered they were missing, replaced
by a t-shirt and sweatpants. He couldn't recall bringing them to Hermione's home. He decided
to freshen up with a shower before wearing clean clothes, and chose to walk only in his
underwear.

Instead of proceeding further downstairs, he veered toward Hermione's old room. The bed
had been neatly made, but he noticed another empty glass on the nightstand, confirming
Crooks' earlier observation. He picked up the glass and continued on his way.

Hermione sat on the sofa, and her attention was on her laptop. Her hair was back to its
normal state. A frown etched her face while she peered through her glasses.

When she lifted her head to meet Draco's gaze, her expression remained unchanged. His heart
would usually swell whenever she would smile at him after frowning deeply at her work, but
she didn't do it this time.

"Good morning," Draco greeted cautiously, setting the two glasses on the kitchen island.

"Good morning," Hermione replied, briefly glancing at him before refocusing on her laptop.
"I left you clothes on the chair.”

"Yeah, I saw them. I wanted to take a shower first," he explained.

"Okay. Are you hungry?"

"Not really," he responded, though his stomach betrayed him with a loud rumble, as if on
cue.

She closed her laptop and removed her glasses, placing them both on the coffee table. She
walked over to the kitchen, opening the oven and retrieving a large plate, which she placed
on the island.

"When did you make this? You didn't have to," Draco said, feeling embarrassment in the face
of the tantalising spread of a full English breakfast that made his mouth water
uncontrollably.

"I didn't. Dissy did," Hermione revealed, arranging utensils around the plate. She gestured
toward the chair.

Taking a seat, he succumbed to the irresistible scent of fried eggs and sausages that filled the
air. His stomach growled once more, this time even louder.

"You went to my flat?”

"Yes, to get you some clean clothes," Hermione confirmed, pouring water into her electric
kettle.

"You're not going to join me?" Draco asked between bites of baked beans and toast.
"I've already eaten. I can't sleep for too long after drinking, so I've been up since eight," she
explained.

"What time is it?" he inquired, his mouth still full of food. He was unconcerned about his
lack of decorum.

She checked her watch. "Half past ten. Would you like some tea?"

Draco nodded appreciatively. "Please.”

"I'll make you ginger and lemon tea," Hermione announced, placing tea bags into mugs. "You
shouldn't have any caffeine for a few hours to avoid interference with the potion.”

"I know. Thank you," Draco replied.

Hermione attended to something in the kitchen, and she waited five minutes before removing
the tea bags from the mugs. Placing a mug next to his plate, she took a seat across from him.

“Honey?"

“Yes?"

He could see her clenching her jaw, hopefully fighting a smile. “Do you want honey in your
tea?"

“Oh no, thanks.” He continued eating.

Hermione swirled her teaspoon in her mug making occasional scraping noises that probably
irritated her but she kept playing with it, just to do something with her hands until she
gathered her courage to start interrogating him.

He decided to jump ahead of her, so Draco took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before
speaking.

"Listen, Hermione," he began, capturing her attention. He paused, half-expecting her to

interject, but she remained silent, prompting him to continue. "Wow, this might be the first
time I start a sentence like that and you don't interrupt me.”

She smirked. “I bet you'd like that now.”

Draco nodded. "Yeah," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. His hand throbbed with
pain. "I'm sorry for my behaviour last night. I drank too much, and... I'm sorry I ruined your
evening.”

"That should be the least of your concerns,” Hermione spoke calmly. “Can you tell me what
happened? From the beginning, starting when that man approached our table until the
moment you..." She rolled her eyes. "Fell and injured your hand."

I forgot I said that.

Draco omitted certain details as he recounted the events, mentioning that Steward had
insulted Hermione but refraining from repeating the words.

He explained that he had indeed gone outside for some fresh air, not with the intention of
seeking a confrontation, but when the opportunity presented itself in the bathroom, he had
taken it. He shared what had transpired there, once again avoiding direct quotes.

"I've never punched anyone before," he confessed, gazing at his bruised hand. "I don't think I
did it correctly.”

"How did you do it?" she asked, and he made a fist to demonstrate. It was painful. "You
should have kept your thumb outside, like this." Hermione adjusted his hand gently. "It's
probably dislocated now. I don't know how to fix bones properly.”

"It's fine. I'll ask Dissy," Draco replied, glancing around the room.

After a moment of silence, Hermione spoke again. "I didn't know your wand activity was
being monitored.”

Draco shrugged. "It's a small price to pay, to be honest. They also monitor my vault. They
keep an eye on big expenditures, not small everyday purchases. After Azkaban, I was
prohibited from travelling internationally for five years.”

"What about the others?" Hermione inquired.

“No, Theo and Blaise were not involved in anything so they’re okay.”

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. “No, I meant… your other friends.”

"They're not my friends, Hermione," he said with a touch of frustration. "And yes, most of
them are monitored too.”

Her frown deepened. "Who were the others sitting in that lounge?"

Draco raised his eyebrow. “Just my old friends from school, I guess.”

She just glared at him and he rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to talk about them, but since
she’s insisting...

“Avery, Burke. That Steward bloke has a brother. His kids are bullying Teddy. I think you
know Flint. One of them, I don't know his last name, but his mother was Rosier. The tall
blonde one? His uncle is Rowle. Thorfinn Rowle. You might remember him. He tried to catch
you three in muggle London when the ministry fell.”

“Okay, okay. I get it,” she interrupted and frowned. “Why were they invited?"

“Because, Hermione…” He sighed loudly. She will not get it. “We can not avoid them.
Burkes and everyone related to them practically own the entire Diagon Alley. I don't know
who exactly is the owner of Blaise and Theo’s store but it must be someone like them. My
legal company, Abbott & Shafiq? It used to be Abbott, Selwyn & Shafiq, but they removed
the Selwyn name due to its tarnished reputation. Doesn't mean there are no Selwyns or their
relatives working there, it’s just that they’re… less noticeable now. Even your publishing
company. Who’s the owner?”

“I don’t know,” she shook her head.

“Harper Owler. Owlers are related to Yaxleys and Mulciber and Lestr… And others.” He saw
her flinching before he stopped himself. “We can’t escape them and need to keep these
relationships going. I don’t give a fuck about Steward and those like him. He’s
inconsequential. He’s what you’d call, new money.”

She just listened and blinked.

“They have some businesses with brooms and quidditch clubs. He doesn’t matter to me. But
the other ones…” Draco pulled his hands through his hair with exasperation. “I will never be
able to distance myself from them. So once or twice a year, I have to suck it up and shake
hands and laugh at stupid jokes and promise that, yeah, we should meet for a drink because it
has been a long time since we talked. And then I never owl them. And they never owl me.
We just say it out of obligation.”

He finished his monologue, and let out a sigh of exhaustion. Hermione's brow furrowed, and
she nodded.

"What's going to happen with Steward now? Will he simply forget about your
confrontation?"

“If he knows what’s best for him,” Draco shrugged and she did not look happy with his
answer. “If he reports me, I'll share my memory with aurors. He’s supposed to get married to
some Swiss bank heiress and he’s fucking his way around London right now.”

“So you blackmailed him?"

"Yeah, I suppose I did. Is that a problem?" he responded sharply.

"Yes, it's literally illegal," Hermione retorted. "But I'm trying to piece everything together
before forming an opinion on the overall situation. Is that a problem?"

"No.”

She studied him for a long moment before sighing. "Please, never do something like that
again... and claim it's because of me.”

"And claim it's because of you?" Draco repeated, perplexed.

What was she insinuating? That it wasn't?

"He insulted you, Hermione. Multiple times," he argued, the anger bubbling up once more.

She looked at him in disbelief. "A member of a pureblood family insulting a muggleborn? In
other news, the sky is blue.”
Draco shook his head. "So the next time someone insults you in front of me, I should just let
it go and be the bigger person?"

She was quiet.

“I will not allow that.”

"I feel like this was more about your feelings than mine," she said and he felt like she slapped
him. "Someone you consider beneath you insulted me and in extension you.”

Draco blinked, taken aback by her words. "You think this is about my ego?"

"I don't know. Is it? At least a little?" Hermione questioned, with a steady gaze.

Of course it fucking is.

He could very easily feel the weight of his wounded pride. Stupid little fucker tried to rile
him up. Who the fuck does he think he is to even assume he could talk like that with a
Malfoy? Stop it. Stop thinking like that. You’re not your father.

Hermione waited for his answer, having a knowing look on her face, but he didn't want to
admit anything. So instead he huffed in exasperation, and acted in defence.

"You know, sometimes you can really be a bitch.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she scoffed. "Oh wow, how offensive. I wish my big bad boyfriend
were here to punch you in the face for what you just said."

Draco rolled his eyes.

"Fine," she sighed. "If you want to engage in physical altercations with everyone who insults
me..." Hermione paused. "You should probably learn how to form a proper fist for punching
first."

Another eye roll followed.

"I'm sorry, okay?" she spoke quietly. "Thank you... for standing up for me. However, I did
ask you not to do anything stupid.”

“You told me ‘don't do anything I wouldn't.’ If I recall well, you have punched before.”

"Yes, compare yourself to a fourteen-year-old," Hermione sighed, glancing at her watch.

"Blaise sent me a text before you woke up. He said he'll be here after eleven. Maybe you
should take that shower now.”

He nodded and stood up to leave, but as he walked past her, Hermione grabbed his arm to
stop him.

“Draco,” she said, frowning and looking him in the eye. “I was worried when you were gone
moments after I found out from Harry you wouldn't even be allowed to defend yourself if the
situation requires it. Don't let me wait for you like that ever again.”

He frowned too, and he nodded earnestly. “I won’t. I promise.”

Hermione nodded back, her expression softening slightly. “Also, if you ever get this drunk
with me again, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Oh, there it is. I knew I heard that last night.

He took his clothes from her room and went downstairs to shower. The warm water over his
body eased his tense muscles and cleared his mind. Draco almost invited her to join him, but
he knew better than to test her patience now.

He managed to relax a bit, letting the water wash away the remnants of the previous night's
events.

Hermione wasn’t as angry as he expected her to be, which was great, of course, but a bit
suspicious. He decided not to dwell too much over it. It’s also better not to poke a dormant
lion. If she had something to tell him, she would. In her own time.

When he finally felt fresh and clean, he dressed up and stumbled upon Blaise, Theo, Pansy,
and Daphne in the living room.

“I was told only Blaise was coming.”

“So was I,” Hermione said, as she was cleaning up her coffee table covered in papers and
notebooks.

Pansy almost lounged on the sofa with her feet in Daphne's lap, and Theo and Blaise
occupied the armchairs.

“Blaise told me, Daph overheard, so I invited Pansy too,” Theo explained, raising his hands
in mock surrender. “Please, don’t deck me, Draco.”

He rolled his eyes. “How long can I expect you to do this?"

“It depends on how good the story is,” Pansy smirked, trying to make herself even more
comfortable. “Can you share with the class?"

Hermione gathered her things and was about to leave them.

“Where are you going?” Draco asked her.

“I've already heard it. I have to submit this soon so…” She trailed off, not even looking at
him. “Don’t make yourself too much at home,” she told the others before heading upstairs.

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence, the lingering sound of Hermione's footsteps
fading away. Draco sighed.
“So, is it safe to assume she’s not as amused by this as I am?” Theo asked, breaking the
silence.

“Clearly,” he replied dryly, running a hand through his damp hair.

“Are you okay, Draco?” Daphne asked.

“Yeah, I'm fine. Nothing happened to me. Don’t worry about it.”

Theo chimed in playfully, “Yeah, you should see the other guy. That’s something muggles
would say, I think. We should ask Hermione.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “We should not ask Hermione anything,” he retorted.

Blaise stretched his arms lazily before speaking. “Come on, mate. Make us some tea and
talk.”

“Make you some tea?” He raised an eyebrow.

He grinned. “I mean, since you’re already there.” He gestured towards the kitchen.

Draco rolled his eyes again. “Fine. I'll make the bloody tea.” It would be easier to talk
without having to look at them anyway.

He filled up the kettle, and the familiar sound of water boiling filled the kitchen a few
minutes later. He worked on the tea, and began recounting the events of the previous night.

Theo interjected with his unsolicited jokes, Pansy and Blaise asked for clarifications, and
Daphne listened attentively. Draco carefully omitted certain details, again choosing not to
repeat the exact words Steward had used to insult Hermione.

“I don't know what she is mad about, you defended her,” Pansy shrugged.

Her nonchalant attitude contrasted with Daphne's concern.

She frowned at her. “Pansy, not everyone appreciates violence as a display of love and
affection.”

“He was not violent towards her but towards someone who was insulting her,” she clarified.
“And if we even disregard his sexist comments about her and Ron, what he said afterwards
was actually offensive.”

“Yeah, I agree. You did what you had to,” Blaise nodded, gesturing towards Draco's hand.
“Not very successfully, I see, but still.”

“Oh, and you know so much about fighting?” Draco retorted.

“Let me see,” Theo asked and he showed his hand. “Oh I can heal that. Sit.” They moved on
kitchen stools.
Theo unfortunately had a lot of experience healing his own bones and muscles growing up
with an abusive father. His orange light felt different then Hermione’s, more confident and
stronger.

“So you didn't know about this?” Daphne asked Blaise. “He didn't say anything before he
left?"

“I didn't even see him leaving. I didn’t exactly say goodbye to every person,” he shrugged.
“But I went to that bathroom and didn't see anything.”

“I cleaned up before I left,” Draco explained and flinched when he felt sharp pain of bone
healing or returning to its place, he wasn’t sure.

Theo smiled apologetically. “Taking care of the crime scene. Smart.”

Blaise laughed. “Assault, blackmail, and tampering with evidence. You had a busy night, my
friend.”

Pansy and Theo joined in the laughter, but Daphne didn’t seem so pleased.

“I still don’t see how this is funny for all of you,” she frowned.

“And I see why you and Hermione get along so well,” Pansy interjected, rolling her eyes.
“Draco’s not injured, the bastard will remember his place, and he’s also going to keep quiet.
As far as I can see, everything turned out well in the end.”

“So if Charlie got into a fight with someone you would be this supportive?” It wasn’t a fight.
He didn’t strike back.

“Because of me? For the right reason? He would get the most gratifying ‘thank you’ gift
upon returning home,” she smirked suggestively, and Daphne frowned. “I would certainly not
sulk in my bedroom pretending to work.”

“For the record, I do not like this nonchalant attitude.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Draco said to Daphne.

Theo healed him successfully. He could flex his fingers without pain.

“Thanks. And there’s nothing for you to support. It’s not like I’m going to go around and get
into fights from now on everytime someone looks at her the wrong way.” Although a few
people I repeatedly see in the Alley glaring at us everytime we walk together might deserve
it.

“I think we all just need to understand that this was a unique situation and we should just
move on from it,” Blaise said. “As Pansy said, there are no issues anymore, so…”

Daphne's frown deepened. “You're getting off too easy.”

“He’s not, Daph,” Theo chimed in. “Hermione’s giving him the silent treatment. That’s worse
than any argument,” he smirked.

Crooks sauntered into the room, rubbing himself against Draco's leg.

“She’s not giving me the silent treatment,” Draco said, picking him up and scratching him
under the chin. “We... talked, right?” he asked Crooks and he wiggled his tail. “I don’t know
what you mean when you do that.”

This earned him a bewildered look from his friends.

“What? He’s not just a cat, he's part kneazle. They’re very intelligent.”

Pansy left first, claiming she had a lunch date with a friend from work. Blaise and Theo
decided to accompany her, feeling a bit awkward being in Hermione's house without her
presence. It was interesting how they never experienced such unease when visiting Draco's
flat when he’s not there.

Daphne, on the other hand, expressed her desire to stay with Hermione, and when she came
downstairs for snacks, Draco took the hint and made his exit. The air between them was still
tense, and her responses were short and curt. He understood that she needed some space.

Upon returning to his flat, Scorpius wasted no time in teasing his father about his drunken
escapade, clearly having received an earful from Dissy.

“We didn't make any headache potion,” he said as he was smirking from the armchair at
Draco’s desk in the office.

“Hangover potion.”

“Yes, that one. So how did you survive?"

“I think Hermione took some from Potter.”

His son grinned mischievously. "Do you want us to whip up another batch tonight, just in
case you decide to go out again?"

Draco's expression turned serious. "We can, but I don't plan on going out anytime soon,
Scorpius.

On Sunday, Draco, Scorpius, and Blaise attended the Puddlemere United vs. Montrose
Magpies match together. The weather was chilly but pleasant, with no clouds or rain to
dampen their spirits. Puddlemere put up a good fight, losing by a mere twenty points when
the Magpies' seeker successfully caught the snitch. Scorpius couldn't hide his disappointment,
uttering a loud expletive that earned him laughter from Blaise and a reproachful look from
Draco.
After returning home, he found a letter from Pansy waiting for him on his desk. She was the
only one among his friends who still exclusively used letters and owls for communication,
and Draco appreciated her approach. However, he did not appreciate the content of her letter.

Draco,

I bumped into Narcissa at Madam Malkin's this morning, and I accidentally let slip that there
was "an incident" at the party. She immediately started prying for details, and I caved under
the pressure. I'm sorry, blame it on my pregnancy brain. I mean, I'm pregnant, so I can't be
held entirely responsible for my actions. At least until February, but even after that, I'll still
be in a delicate situation.

I hope you enjoyed the game. I can't remember who was playing, but that's a common
occurrence when you're pregnant. You tend to forget things quite often.

Anyway, did I mention that I'm pregnant? Please don't forget it. It would be rather rude to
argue or, worse, be cross with a pregnant woman.

Your dearest and oldest pregnant friend with fuzzy brain,

Pansy

Draco rolled his eyes in exasperation. The last thing he needed was his mother lecturing him
about appropriate behaviour, treating him like a child. That's why he deliberately avoided
visiting her this weekend.

If he had gone, she would have inevitably inquired about the party and sensed that he was
hiding something. Apparently, his skills as a liar were no longer as sharp as they used to be. It
was all Hermione's fault, with her insistence on honesty, open communication, and other
stupid things.

As if on cue, the sound of knocking interrupted his thoughts. He turned towards the window
and spotted one of the manor's magnificent hawk-owls perched outside.

Draco always admired his mother's elegant penmanship. Her handwriting was round,
flowing, and distinctly feminine. She had taught him to write in this style, and he had tried
his best to emulate her grace.

In contrast, his father's handwriting was sharp and angular, often requiring multiple readings
to decipher everything when he received letters from him during his Hogwarts days. But with
his mother's letters, he never encountered such difficulties.

Draco,
Come to the manor tomorrow morning after breakfast. I have a free schedule until after lunch
and would like to speak with you. It has been a few weeks since we last saw each other, and I
believe it's time we catch up.

Dissy mentioned that you are available during Scorpius' morning lessons, so I thought it
would be a suitable time for our conversation.

If you'd like to join me for breakfast, please send a note to Popsy to let her know in advance.

Looking forward to seeing you.

Your mother,

N.M.

He would have to have a word or two with Dissy about keeping his secrets to herself. It
wasn't lost on Draco that his mother had intentionally invited him when Scorpius was busy,
indicating that she wanted to speak to him in private.

He quickly wrote a note back, informing her that he would be there after breakfast. Whatever
she was about to say, he figured it would probably ruin his appetite, so it was best to eat first.

The next day, during breakfast, Dissy served one of her signature dishes - eggs poached in
tomato sauce. Scorpius managed to make a mess, staining his shirt with the red sauce.

Draco scourgified as much of the stain as possible, shaking his head. "What are you going to
do next year? You need to be more careful. Hogwarts elves don't wash clothes every day, you
know.”

Scorpius shrugged, unconcerned, and continued eating. "Maybe I'll learn how to clean my
own clothes. When will I get my wand?"

He sighed, but a hint of a smile played on his lips. "I've told you already. As soon as you get
your letter, we'll go to Diagon Alley. But you won’t be able to…”

“To use magic until I go to Hogwarts. Yes, yes, I know,” he said and rolled his eyes. “It’s
going to be so difficult during summer, isn’t it?"

“Oh you have no idea,” Draco smirked.

In less than a year, Scorpius would be off to Hogwarts. Draco's heart already ached at the
thought of being away from his son for such extended periods. They had never spent more
than a few days apart before. Will it be as difficult for him as it will be for me?

Draco tried to recall his own departure for Hogwarts. He couldn't quite remember his father's
reaction, but his mother's watery eyes were etched in his memory. She never cried in public.
Not in front of all those people on the platform. However, there was one occasion when
Draco saw her shed tears in public.

He was around six or seven years old when his mother took him shopping with her. While
she was occupied with trying on different robes, Draco spotted a tin of mouthwatering salted
caramels on the register counter.

The seller offered him one, but when he wanted another, the person was busy attending to his
mother. The tin was out of his reach, and he wanted those caramels desperately. In a moment
of sheer desire, he imagined them in his hands, and to his surprise, they appeared.

His mother caught sight of the flash of light in his hands before he opened the paper and ate
the caramel.

She grabbed him by the shoulders with an urgent expression. Draco initially thought he had
done something wrong, that he shouldn't have taken the caramel without asking first. But
instead of anger, she looked happy and excited, something he couldn't recall seeing in her like
that before.

"What did you do?" she asked breathlessly.

Confused, Draco replied, "Nothing, mother. I just wanted one more. I'm sorry.”

She shook her head, her eyes welling up with tears. "No. Don't apologise. Don't ever
apologise. You did it. You made it happen. My dragon," she said, embracing him tightly.

Her eyes were almost red, and she quickly wiped away her tears before apologising to the
seller. She ran outside, apparating them both home.

She was practically yelling throughout the manor, calling his father until he rushed from his
office, looking worried. But all the fear vanished when she told him that Draco had used his
magic for the first time that day.

He could practically see his father in front of him now, how his back straightened and his
face swelled with pride. It was likely the only time he witnessed his parents sharing a real
kiss and not just on the cheek or hand.

"Dad, did you hear me?" Scorpius interrupted his thoughts.

Draco snapped out of his reverie. "Sorry, what did you say?"

He sighed. "I asked if I could bring a phone to school. You know, so we can talk more
often.”

"You know muggle devices don't work at Hogwarts, but nice try," he replied, winking at his
son.
He rolled his eyes, but with a smile.

I will definitely not miss those eyerolls.

When his history lessons began, Draco flooed to the manor. Popsy informed him that his
mother was in the library, so he made his way there, trying his best to push aside memories of
his last visit.

He found his mother in the reading area. She removed her glasses and set the book she was
reading, including the muggle one Hermione had noticed, on top of it. Great, that's exactly
what I don't need to focus on right now.

As always, his mother was patient enough not to immediately bombard him with questions,
unlike him. Instead, she beat around the bush for quite some time.

When she mentioned seeing Pansy at the boutique the day before, Draco eventually had to
bring up the party and admit that he got shamefully drunk.

"How did the rest of the evening go? Besides your intoxication," his mother asked, raising an
eyebrow.

He couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Can you, for once, just ask what you want instead of
playing this game?" Draco was growing increasingly impatient with her lack of directness.

She sighed. "If I thought I could, I would. But you are always so defensive when I try to be
direct, so I attempt to ease into the conversation before you shut down.”

"I'm not... that's not..." Draco faltered. Maybe I am.

"You are. You never talk about anything, and even when I manage to glean some information
from you, it's usually just bits and pieces," she added.

Hermione complained about that too.

"But if that's not true, then there should be no problem with sharing with me what happened
on Friday night.”

"Pansy didn't share all the details?" he retorted.

"No, she mentioned being late for something. Now I understand she was late to inform you of
her mistake," his mother replied.

Draco sighed and took a sip of tea to buy himself some time. "Some... idiot said something
about Hermione. And I didn't let him get away with it," he finally admitted.

"What did you tell him?" his mother asked, her tone slightly disapproving.

"Nothing.”

"What did you do? I hope you remember that you…”

"I know. I didn't use my wand. I just... punched him a few times," Draco interrupted,
frustration seeping into his voice.

His mother frowned. "Draco, that is... unbecoming.”

"No, unbecoming was what he said. My reaction was inadequate," he drawled, his frown
mirroring hers.

She shook her head. "You need to be more careful. I know you're responsible, and I know you
don't let yourself slip often. I can imagine that's not easy. But you need to pay more attention
to your behaviour.”

"I know.”

"You know there are plenty of people waiting for our downfall. Patiently. Don't give them
any reason or show any weakness.”

"I know.”

She studied him over the rim of her teacup for a long moment. "Who was that man?"

Draco shrugged. "Does the name Steward mean anything to you?"

"Not much, but it does sound familiar. Is he of any importance?"

"Not really. His area of influence is mainly related to quidditch teams, gear, and brooms.”

"So your confrontation doesn't affect us. Good," she commented, taking another sip of tea.

Draco didn't particularly like that this seemed to be her sole focus.

"Do you run in the same circles?" she asked.

"No, he doesn't even live here. He resides in Switzerland."

"Well, at least you won't run into each other and continue the quarrel.”

Draco looked at his mother, his frustration now slowly simmering. "It wasn't a... quarrel. I
told you, he insulted Hermione.”

"Yes, I heard you the first time. Did he injure you?"

"No, I think my thumb was broken or dislocated," he replied, examining his hand. "But Theo
healed it, so it's alright.”

His mother observed him for a few moments over her teacup. "Honestly, Draco. Fist-
fighting? So primitive.”

"I thought you'd be grateful considering I didn't use magic.”

"I would be most grateful if you hadn't done anything at all.”

"What?" Draco's confusion deepened. "Just let him say whatever he wanted?"

"Well, no. However... What did Miss Granger have to say?" she asked.

"Not much. She's not exactly pleased. So we haven't been talking much since yesterday,"
Draco admitted, shifting uncomfortably.

It had only been less than a day since their last conversation, and he already missed her
terribly. I hope she feels equally miserable when I'm not around.

"Good. Now that you know she would not be pleased with your... brutish display of
protectiveness, the next time it happens, you will think twice before you act," his mother
stated, placing her teacup back on the saucer.

"The next time it happens?" his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Well, I mean... Draco," his mother began in a tone she used to use when explaining basic
things to him when he was a child. "You can not possibly believe that this man is the only
one who harbours those... ideas. It's just something you'll simply have to get used to. I know
you don't want to hear that. I'm sure Miss Granger understands. It's just the way things are.”

"It doesn't have to be that way," Draco asserted firmly.

"Are you going to change it?" she asked, raising an eyebrow and there was a hint of harmless
mocking in her voice. "Not much has changed after the war, so you shouldn't get your hopes
up now, years later.”

"I don't care. I can isolate myself from everything, just as I did for many years before her," he
stated.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Draco. That's not possible," his mother replied, shaking her head.

He frowned. "It is. In a way, I'm still doing it. I never attend the galas you invite me to, I don't
go to their weddings or celebrations. I rarely attend opening ceremonies of whatever they're
unveiling. I simply don't participate.”

"But you do," she countered. "Don't think for a second that the successful business you're
maintaining has nothing to do with the name you carry and what we represent.”

"What do we represent?" Draco questioned.

"Tradition. History," she responded.

"Is there anything else you'd like to add?" he challenged her, narrowing his eyes.

She returned the gesture with a narrowed gaze of her own.

"I want to change that. Transform it into something else.”

"I know. I see you doing that. In public and in private. I can see the way you raise Scorpius,
your relationships with your friends and Miss Granger. Everything is different," she
acknowledged.

"What about my relationships?" Draco inquired.

"They're just... different," she shrugged. "My friendships are different from yours."

Yes, because mine are real and yours are just a necessity.

"And Hermione?" he pressed further.

"Do I really need to say how different she is? And not in the way you're thinking," she
clarified, almost rolling her eyes. "She’s independent, smart, responsible. I'm glad you found
someone like her to help you get out of… whatever phase of your life you were in. It also
doesn't hurt that it leaves a good impression," she added with a softer tone.

Of course she would think that.

"She's not helping me go through... anything. We are... I'm not using her for good
impressions.”

"I'm just pointing out the obvious, Draco," his mother stated carefully. "Your relationship has
improved your image. I don't see any distasteful articles about you. The Malfoy name has
been mentioned in the papers without a poisonous connotation but more as... a modern and
progressive example. That's what you said you wanted, didn't you?" She raised an eyebrow as
if to say she had proven her point.

"Yes, but not by using Hermione," Draco replied firmly.

"I know you're not, but it's an inevitable consequence. Just like those little comments you're
going to have to endure," she remarked so casually that it instantly made him angry.

"Little comments?" he repeated, incredulous. "He said I was dragging the good Malfoy name
through the mud. Comparing her with mud is not 'little.’"

His mother blushed slightly. Good. At least she recognized the weight of those words.

"Perception is everything, yes, but you're not dragging our name through... anything. You
know that," she said, placing her hand over his on the table. "Your reputation has improved,
so don't worry about that. And, in the end, even if things don't work out between you two,
you'll still have plenty of opportunities.”

Draco blinked, struggling to comprehend what she had just said. "If it doesn't work out
between us? Why wouldn't it?"

His mother opened her mouth to speak but stopped herself each time. “I just think… you
haven't been courting anyone for years,” she said with uncertainty. “And now you finally
started… Again.”
She thinks that now that I broke the ice with Hermione, I'd be eager to go back to her
market.

"You still don't think I'm serious about her. You think this is just a little fun thing on the side
for me that’s conveniently going to fix our reputation until you match me up with someone,"
he said quietly, shaking his head in disbelief.

"No, I do not think that," his mother replied calmly, trying to defend herself.

"Okay, you don't think that," he nodded angrily, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared
at her. "But do you hope it is? Do you hope that we'll stay together just long enough to lift up
the good Malfoy name before I leave her or she leaves me, and I can settle for someone you
can find me at one of your fundraisers?"

She blinked rapidly, taken aback by his accusation. "I just want you to be happy.”

"What makes you think I'm not?" Draco shot back, his voice tinged with hurt and frustration.

“Because…” his mother sighed, exasperated, before launching into a rant. "Because what
happened on Friday demonstrates that you will never be able to truly be yourself with her.
You will never be able to successfully merge both of your worlds, no matter how much you
desire it. I'm not saying it's wrong to want that, so do not twist my words," she quickly added,
noticing the look on his face. "I'm just saying you need to be realistic. You'll never be able to
navigate both worlds smoothly, and deep down, I think you know it. Perhaps it's better to
understand that now rather than later when you become… too emotionally involved and
then… find it difficult to make the right choice when the time comes.”

Draco was about to explode. "Make the right choice?" he repeated, scoffing. "After
everything we've been through, the way we were treated during and after the war, do you
honestly think there's even a moment's hesitation for me between her and all of this?!" He
gestured around the library, his voice resonating through the silent room. "If you truly believe
that I would even consider..." He paused and shook his head in disbelief. "I would choose her
over everything and everyone.”

"Even over your son?" his mother asked, narrowing her eyes dangerously at him.

"What does Scorpius have to do with any of this?" Draco shot back.

“He is everything. Our future. He is your heir.”

He didn't hear these words being spoken out loud for so many years. It almost made him sick
and panicked. He felt his heart beating painfully in his chest and moving slowly to his throat.
Is this how Hermione feels when someone mentions war?

"Think for a moment about where his place would be when he becomes of age if you make
the wrong choices now.”

"His place? Where?! Do you think I want to groom my son to be my heir?" Draco huffed,
standing up and beginning to pace, attempting to calm himself. "What have I done during all
these years of being a parent to indicate that I want that kind of life for him?! If he ever
shows interest in anything I did when I was his age, I will consider myself a failure as a
father!"

His mother grew angrier, her breathing quickening as she glared at him with icy eyes.

"I don't want that for him. I don't want to mould him into the Malfoy heir. I don't want him
aspiring to continue this ludicrous pureblood tradition that... that..." He paused, suddenly
realising the truth. Of course. Scorpius. It makes sense now. "Is that why you were okay with
me and Hermione? Because no matter what happens between us, no matter what I do now, I
have fulfilled my duty. I have a pureblood heir."

His mother blushed and looked away, unable to meet his gaze.

"I can't believe you," he said with disbelief and disgusted amusement in his voice. "No,
actually, I can believe you. What I can't believe is myself. I thought you had changed.”

"Draco…”

"I told her I wanted to marry her," he interjected, cutting her off.

She remained silent, jaw clenched.

"Not in those exact words, but she understood. How would that make you feel, mother?" he
asked.

His mother took a deep breath before responding. "Draco, all I want in life is for you to be
happy and…”

"How would it make you feel if I wanted to have more children with her? Children with my
name and her blood?"

Draco didn't even know if Hermione wanted children. It was embarrassing that he was having
this conversation with his mother before even discussing it with her first.

"If that's what makes you happy, I would…”

"Yes, you would be immensely happy for me, I understand that," he said, cutting her off
again. "And what if I didn't have Scorpius, huh?" Draco pressed on. "What if I had never
married Astoria?" He huffed, frustration evident in his voice. "Gods, you barely tolerated her
because she wasn't pureblood enough for your archaic standards. How would you feel if I met
Hermione back then?"

He finally got to her. Draco could see the exact moment her facade crumbled.

"There's no need to discuss things that would never happen," she almost smirked and spoke
in a low voice. "You would never have married her ten years ago. You wouldn’t even speak
to her ten years ago. You offered your little forced half-apologies to everyone except her. So
don't pretend you're better than me." Her words carried a poison.
Draco felt his blood boil as she stung him deeply.

"You're young and idealistic. I simply understand how the world works. If you don't like it,
don't blame me.”

Don't blame you?

"By participating in it, you perpetuate everything that's wrong with it," Draco retorted
sharply.

"And you don't?" she huffed. "Tell me, son, everything you have in your life, did you build
yourself, or are you simply continuing what was gifted and assigned to you long before you
were even born?" She shook her head knowingly. "It would be easy to show disdain for our
society if you weren't the perfect product of it."

Draco felt his face flush with anger.

"If you have to pretend in front of her, you don't have to act in front of me. Stop trying to...
put yourself to her level. You are not the same! Hermione built everything for herself because
she had to. Her position, her image, her wealth. You didn't because everything was given to
you. Everything." His mother grasped the armrest, using it to straighten her back. "You didn't
have to worry about your future from the moment you understood what it meant, and you
won't have to until the moment you die. Not many people have that privilege, Draco. But we
do. And you will be grateful for it, stay quiet and fulfil your duty because you would not
survive outside in the world now!”

He painfully acknowledged the truth in her words. "And whose fault is that? You raised me to
be a poster child for your cause and nothing more. You say all that and you still don't see why
I don't want that life for my son?! I was branded like an animal during the war when I was
just a fucking child to…”

“Watch your language!”

"...serve a purpose that went against everything you're saying now! I was disposable.
Insignificant. My future didn’t matter. I was just another footsoldier meant to fulfil its
purpose. I didn't have a moment of peace during the time we played houseguests with
Voldemort!"

He could see her flinching at the name and realised that he never said it before.

"I could have died many times while you were trying to rebuild the world you thought we
should live in! You didn't seem to care about my future back then."

As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew they were wrong.

His mother widened her eyes at him before almost shouting, "I have always cared about your
future! All I cared about was you! And don't blame me for the war! I never wanted to
participate in any of it!”
"Neither did I!” he yelled. “But you allowed him to use me to rebuild his reputation. It cost us
everything! And now my son and I are left to pay the debt. Not him though. He chose the
easy way out."

Draco knew he was hitting below the belt, but he couldn't stop himself now. He had kept
these feelings bottled up for far too long.

His mother looked almost furious. "Don't talk about him like that! Ever again! You will not
speak ill of your father, do you hear me?!”

Draco shook his head in disbelief. "He is the reason we are where we are.”

"Alive and well?” she huffed. “With everything we had before the war, and perhaps even
more, after all these years?"

"Alive and burdened for the rest of our lives! I don't give a damn about you and me, but my
son is innocent! And he will have to bear the weight I placed upon him even before he was
born! He will never be able to shake it off," Draco said as he angrily ran his hands through
his hair. "But I will do everything in my power to end it with me. I will ensure he receives the
best education, opportunities, and if he wants, a chance to live a normal life he deserves far
away from all of this.”

His mother almost laughed at him. "The best education. The best life. Paid for with gold
accumulated over generations of wizards you now despise being associated with, I assume.
Do you think moving away will solve anything?" She shook her head. "He's a Malfoy. Just
like you. There's no escaping that.”

"You mean it will haunt us forever?"

"It's a part of both of you, whether you like it or not. It comes with burdens, yes, but also with
privileges that others would kill for. And they did in the past," she said, her voice now
calm. "You should think very carefully before you decide to throw it all away for a... woman.
You may not consider it now, but you will find many doors closed to you if you continue
down this path."

Draco rolled his eyes.

"And you may think you don't need them, but up until now, they have all been held wide
open to you. You don't know what true isolation means. But if you want to know, ask your
aunt."

That was true.

When Draco was released from Azkaban, he was met with a mix of reactions from wizarding
families.

The ones who had endured similar fates during the war welcomed him with open arms,
understanding the shared struggle and wanting to unite against the lingering resentment
against them in the wizarding community. Others, however, regarded him with disdain, their
eyes filled with hatred and animosity, believing that he deserved every ounce of punishment
he received.

Yet Draco persevered. And doors remained open.

He moved forward with his life, not seeking the spotlight like his father once did, but rather
conducting his business quietly and efficiently. He understood the importance of maintaining
a balance, reminding both his allies and adversaries of the influence he still held. Engaging in
charity work, particularly with causes related to the aftermath of the war, allowed him to
contribute positively to society and reshape his public image.

Draco knew he couldn't stroll through the Alley with the same swagger his father had
exhibited in the past, nor did he desire to. The superficial allure of power and prestige had
lost its appeal. However, he couldn't ignore the fact that his family name still held weight in
certain circles.

Many saw it as an honour to collaborate with him, eager to associate themselves with the
Malfoy legacy. And even those who cared less for honour and tradition recognized the
shrewd business sense of aligning with a name that carried influence and connections.

Perception was everything, and Draco had worked tirelessly since the war to transform his
reputation, using his name as a tool to enact positive change.

His mother observed him, her expression filled with careful contemplation. "If you were to
marry her..." Her jaw clenched, as if the mere thought pained her.

Draco felt his anger rise, but he held his tongue, allowing her to continue.

"If you were to marry, you should thoroughly research the consequences. And I'm not just
referring to societal implications; I mean the ones that truly matter to you." Her deep frown
conveyed the weight of her words, and Draco listened attentively. "It wasn't my father who
decided to ostracise Andromeda from our family, it was blood magic. Bonds, wards, rites...
Call it what you will, but old family magic doesn't easily allow for the breaking of certain
traditions," she explained with a sigh. "I don't know if she would be able to carry your last
name, Draco. I don't know if your… potential children would have the right to inherit
anything. I don't even know if you would be stripped of the rights you currently possess, or if
everything would automatically transfer to Scorpius. All I know is that if you were a Black,
you would end up like Andromeda. Malfoy blood magic might differ, but I can't imagine it
being much more accepting.”

His mother rose from her chair, signalling the end of their conversation. Draco remained
fixated on the empty space she left behind.

"If you were stripped of everything we have, the future you envision for him would remain
just that, a vision, nothing more," she stated firmly. Placing a brief hand on his shoulder, she
offered a final piece of advice. "Take your time. Take your time to consider what you might
have to sacrifice."

With that, she left him alone in the silent library, accompanied only by the ticking of an old
clock in the distance.

He didn’t even think about it. Or I did and I just didn't want to think about it actively.

There must be some sort of loophole; they couldn’t have thought of everything.

He surveyed the library, which had once been a source of comfort and familiarity during his
childhood, and long ago became a battleground of conflicting emotions and uncertainty. He
needed to leave and deal with this later.

The rest of the day passed by in a blur. Draco had lunch with Scorpius, who excitedly talked
about his history lesson on Vikings raids and shipbuilding.

Amidst his distractions, he received several messages from Hermione, which he chose to
ignore until he finally went to her place after Scorpius had fallen asleep.

He entered Hermione's living room, and noticed just one lamp dimly lit in an otherwise
empty room. The sound of running water indicated that she was in the bathroom. Draco
turned on more lights to get a better view of her bookshelf.

He noticed a few new titles, including cookbooks with faces of people he might have seen on
telly. Hermione often had it on while she did other things, and that's how he learned words
like ganache, sautéing or tenderizer.

On her coffee table, he spotted an old and visibly used copy of Crime and Punishment, along
with a new book with elegant black covers. Draco was about to read the title when he heard
Hermione leaving her bathroom.

“Don't be scared,” he said softly, not wanting to startle her, but his words must have caught
her off guard anyway because he heard a small gasp.

“Hey,'' she greeted him, clad in her pyjamas, a very washed-out t-shirt with the logo of the
football team she probably supported, and red Gryffindor trousers.

“Hey. Gone Girl,” Draco said, holding up the book. “What's it about?"

“A woman disappears, and her husband becomes the main suspect, but not everything is as it
seems.”

“I see. So someone is framing him?"

“Could be.”
He carefully placed the book over Crime and Punishment. “Should I be worried about your
reading choices?"

Hermione chuckled. “Perhaps. I don't take kindly to my messages being ignored.”

“You mean, I ghosted you?” Draco gently pulled her closer by her hand until she was
comfortably sitting on his lap. “Yes, I know about it. I use the internet now,” he teased when
she looked surprised.

Her scent, now a blend of soft powder and vanilla, soothed him instantly.

“Isn't it funny though? Muggles say it’s ghosting when someone just leaves or stops talking
to you without explanation, but that’s not what ghosts are. Quite the opposite, really. They
stay forever and haunt you with their presence, regardless of whether you want them or not.”

Her arms wrapped around his neck affectionately. “I never thought about it that way before.”
She looked at him for a few long moments. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

Hermione gently rubbed his shoulder and arm before giving him a kiss. Her lips were warm
and tasted like mint and cherry balm.

“I'm sorry I… overreacted. I just don’t know how to handle this situation. I don't like the idea
of you getting hurt, especially because of me. I don't like anything about what happened,
even though I understand it. I just don't know how to react properly.”

Draco held her waist tightly, feeling grateful for her honesty. “I like when you express
yourself like this. It feels like I'm hearing your thoughts straight from your mind.”

“How else would I express myself if not like this?"

He shrugged. “I don't know. People often say things they don’t mean. But I can always count
on you to be honest.” Draco looked into her eyes, gently running his fingers through her
slightly damp curls. “I'm sorry too. Not for what I did, Hermione, but that I made you upset,”
he added, frowning. “I won't allow anyone to speak to me like that, especially not those…
pathetic little men. Yes, it's also about my ego, though not nearly as much as it is about your
honour. I won't let anyone insult what's mine.”

He tightened his embrace around her waist and drew her closer to his chest and she let out a
deep breath.

“I know I can't shield you from every look and comment, but the least I can do is to put them
in their place when they dare to speak in front of me like that.”

He felt her nodding before she almost whispered thank you.

“I love you,” he told her, looking deeply into her eyes.

“I love you too.” Hermione kissed him again, this time lingering and slow. After a few
moments, she spoke first. “Can you stay tonight?"

“Yeah.”

After a quick visit to the bathroom, Draco joined her in bed. The feeling of being close to her
after just two days apart overwhelmed him. Hermione tenderly scratched the back of his neck
and gave him a gentle kiss, and already, he wanted her. They discarded their clothes with a
sense of urgency but moved slowly afterward.

Her skin felt soft and inviting beneath him as he buried his head in her neck, savouring the
scent of her hair. Yet, his mind couldn't fully escape the conversation he had in the manor.

The future and his right to choose whom he wants to spend his life with was jeopardised. And
what his mother said… about stripping him of everything… The anger towards his family
and the life they imposed on him resurfaced again.

Draco felt blood rushing through his body when he took Hermione’s leg under her knees and
started pounding in her faster. She wrapped her other leg around his waist. He picked up the
pace, and felt her tighten around him, but even the sensation of bringing her closer to orgasm
couldn't fully shake his frustration.

Unlike the last time he experienced this anger, it didn't fuel him; instead, it made him feel
weaker, and… softer.

He sighed loudly and pulled away from Hermione a few moments later, lying beside her,
angry, dissatisfied and ashamed.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said after a few moments, rubbing his eyes. This is the last thing I
fucking needed. “I don’t know… It usually doesn't… I’m sorry.”

“It's okay,” she assured him, resting her head on his chest and draping a leg over his. “Are
you okay?”

No, I’m fucking not. “Yeah, I just had a bad day.”

Draco turned around on his side and kissed her deeply. He moved his hand over her body and
felt goosebumps forming on her skin until he reached between her legs. At least one of us
should have an enjoyable night.

She moaned softly in his mouth. “Draco… You don’t have to do this.”

“I want to.”

“Please,” Hermione said firmly, but gently removed her hand from him and he sighed. “Stop.
Relax and breathe.”

He tried to.
She put her hand on his chest. “No one died from not having sex one night. I think we’re
going to make it,” she smiled warmly and kissed him. It helped calm his heart but not his
ego.

In a swift motion, she turned around to reach for her wand. After cleaning them both, she
pulled the covers over them, cocooning them in warmth.

“Let's sleep,” she said, wrapping her leg around him once more, pulling him closer.

He placed his face on her chest and could feel her steady heartbeat. She somehow smelled
even better now. They were both clean but smelled of sex. Unsuccessful sex, but still.

Draco almost fell asleep just like this, his mind drifting between being awake and asleep,
wrapping his arms tightly around her waist. He tried to remember the last time he fell asleep
not thinking about her. He didn't know what he did to deserve her. He couldn’t imagine his
life now without her. Don’t leave me, please. I love you so much.

“I won’t, Draco. I love you too.”

 Hermione

November 2013

Draco's mind is a labyrinth, intricately organised with a network of tunnels and deadends,
very similar to the layout of his vault. Within, sturdy stone walls and imposing wooden doors
with engravings in his own handwriting created a surreal atmosphere.

Some doors were just years. 1986. 1989. 1990.

The others are more specific and arranged haphazardly. Quidditch. Astoria. Scorpius’ 1st
birthday. Blaise. Pansy. First year, Hogwarts. Theo. Fifth year, summer. Daphne. Third year,
Hogwarts.

Hermione tried to enter that one, but found the door too heavy. Her legilimency skill was
limited.

A few weeks ago, when he was having his driving lessons with Hermione, they talked about
the skills they wanted to learn or improve.

Draco wanted to take her on a ride on his broom, but luckily the weather was so bad recently
that even he thought it would be better to postpone it, and the other time it was actually
favourable, she had to go to the Weasley dinner. She imagined he refused to accompany her
there, yet again, as a form of retaliation. After that, Hermione mentioned she wanted to
improve her occlumency and he offered to assist with legilimency too.

At first, the idea seemed… inappropriate. Delving into someone's unfiltered thoughts and
emotions was a daunting prospect. No wonder the skill was viewed with caution, if not
outright fear. But she couldn't lie to herself and say she wasn’t intrigued, so they set clear
boundaries before attempting to navigate each other's minds.

He was the one to open up first. Casting the spell was simple, and though Draco willingly
allowed her in, Hermione struggled initially.

"I don't think you want in as much as you should. You need to truly mean it," he advised.

She arched an eyebrow. "Sounds like some other spells I've never been good at performing.”

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Yes, well, that's precisely why they didn't teach us this at
school.”

Eventually, she managed to breach the barriers. While she was freely traversing the corridors
of his mind, Hermione was struck by the coolness, the scent of clean floors, luxurious
aftershave or cologne, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. It reminded her of Draco's
flat.
“Is the smell and the feeling I'm getting in my mind or is it part of your design?” she asked
and explained what she was sensing.

Even though they were physically sitting on her sofa facing each other, Draco remained
invisible while she explored the depths of his mind. His smugness however emanated through
the mental connection.

"No, that's your interpretation of me. I must say, I'm flattered," he teased.

She tried to push the door marked with Third year, Hogwarts, but it felt so heavy. She
strained and pushed again, but to no avail.

"You’re using your physical strength to move a door that doesn't truly exist, Hermione. Focus
on your mental power, and the door will respond," Draco advised.

She made another attempt. "I can't." The frustration of not excelling at something on the first
try weighed on her.

"You can. I'm not resisting. You're the one holding back," Draco observed, pausing
thoughtfully. "What do you want to see in there, anyway?"

Hermione chuckled. "When I punched you. I want to see it from your perspective.”

Draco's mental nod was evident. "And what do you wish to avoid? There must be something,
or else you could move the door effortlessly.”

Pausing to consider, Hermione fixed her gaze on the door. "I don't want to hear what you said
about me afterward."

The answer just slipped from her lips. She wasn’t even thinking about it.

He nodded again and she could feel his discomfort washing over her. "I can't recall exactly,
but once you find the memory, I'll remember it too, so I'll stop it before I say anything…
hurtful," Draco reassured her.

Satisfied with the assurance, Hermione pushed the door, and this time it yielded effortlessly,
just like any door in her own home, incredible really, considering how heavy and thick they
are.

Inside, she discovered a small room similar to a broom closet, housing a shelf filled with
numerous glowing glass cylinders. Each cylinder contained vivid scenes, like a miniature
telly, playing memories from Draco's teenage years.

She glanced over them, trying not to pry too much, if there was something too private she
shouldn't see. These were teenage boy’s memories after all.

But as she perused, her eyes fell on one that featured Draco and Pansy engaged in a
passionate snogging session within the Slytherin common room, she assumed, based on all
the green furniture.
"I could go a lifetime without witnessing this," she quipped, with just a hint of jealousy
lacing her words. Hermione sensed his amused reaction.

"Then I'd suggest you avoid the rest of that shelf and venture toward the end, almost at the
bottom.”

"Thanks.”

But she glanced up and her eyes landed on a memory of Draco lying on a hospital bed in
Hogwarts' infirmary with his arm bandaged. His father sat beside him. Hermione picked up a
larger jar-like cylinder to view the memory more clearly. The glass, although thick, felt
strangely light, and it radiated warmth to her touch.

"I won't let that oaf get away with it. Not with my son."

Hermione felt a pulse of satisfaction and gratitude through the glass.

“What’s going to happen to the beast, father?”

She forgot how he sounded as a child. She suddenly felt uneasy.

"What should happen to all wild abominations. I will have it dead as soon as possible," his
father declared, and Hermione felt a warm undercurrent of excitement. "We can't have it
harming any other innocent student," he added.

She could see that he didn't care about anyone else, but so did young Draco, it seemed,
because the jar pulsated with recognition of deception mixed with satisfaction and pride.

“Thank you father,” he said and smirked.

She remembered why she didn't like it before. It didn't look nice on his young face.

His father tapped his covered legs slightly and observed his arm. “Don't overplay it. You
don't want to seem frail. Malfoys aren’t some weak creatures that can be frightened by
halfbreeds and their pet animals.”

Hermione felt shame and acknowledgment wash over her fingers.

"Of course, father.”

She quickly placed the cylinder back on the shelf. Upon releasing it, she sensed chill around
her, a stark contrast to the warmth and emotions it previously radiated, accompanied by a
deeper sense of shame stemming from the outside, from him.

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't pry.”

"It's not the worst thing you could have seen," he replied thoughtfully. "If you focus on the
memory you're searching for, you'll know where to find it.”

Hermione did just that.

She closed her eyes and delved deep into her mind, seeking the memory she desired. Almost
instinctively, a feeling guided her to the second-to-last shelf on the far left side, where a
cylinder glowed in an intriguing mix of green, blue, and grey hues.

She carefully lifted it and found herself immersed in an outdoor scene, where Draco hid
behind a rock, gazing at Hagrid's hut surrounded by trees and the serene lake in the distance.

As she observed the memory, Hermione sensed excitement and anticipation, but those
emotions swiftly shifted when she saw her younger self approaching Draco. She felt surprise
and again anticipation through her fingertips and Hermione didn't focus on what they were
saying in this memory, because she knew it already, but instead on his emotions.

He was feeling thrilled looking at her angry face. Hermione sensed something similar to hate,
but not entirely, not only that. And not the same kind like the one he felt when he looked at
Ron and Harry who were approaching behind her.

He felt amusement and contempt towards Ron, wounded pride and hate towards Harry and
annoyance, and superiority towards her. But under all of that laid something else.

He was hiding it well. Almost like he didn't even admit it to himself yet. It took her a moment
longer to differentiate it when Ron or Harry told her to let him go because he’s not worth it.
One blink and she would miss it, but it was clear as day.

Jealousy.

Hermione frowned. “What were you envious of?” as she observed her younger self lowering
her wand.

“Your friendship, I suppose,” Draco replied, but she could sense the concealment of emotions
from the outside. He was clearly holding something back.

He chuckled. “I knew you’d be brilliant at this. The first time you’re properly in and you
already can focus on two sides.”

Pride surged within her at his compliment. Oh I didn't know he could feel that.

He chuckled again. “I can.”

“How?” she inquired, watching her younger self deliver a well-deserved punch. Hermione
smirked a bit. Look at me here, forming a good fist. No thumbs injured.

He snorted, almost as if she could see him rolling his eyes. “You're not blocking the channel
from your side.”

Hermione felt a tinge of disappointment for not fully mastering the task, but he was quick to
reassure her.

“It takes time, don’t worry.”

The memory shifted, and young Draco ran away with his friends. Hermione felt a mix of
anger and shame emanating from the cylinder. He had threatened them not to tell anyone.

The scene then transitioned to Draco's chambers in the dungeons, where he sat on a bed,
looking at himself in a mirror while young Theo attended to his injured nose. Hermione
chuckled because he was chubbier but still had his recognisable hair and piercing green eyes.
She couldn't hear their conversation, but their animated lips suggested an intense exchange.

“I'm not sure what we're discussing, so I think it's best if we don't hear it,” he wisely
suggested.

Young Theo left the room, and Draco's gaze remained fixed on his reflection. He touched his
face as he recalled the event, anger surged from the cylinder, mingling with excitement but of
a different kind.

His blood rushed through his veins, and Hermione sensed a hint of… arousal mixed with
shame. That’s… different.

Suddenly, she felt as if someone was pulling her out of the memory, and she found herself
back in front of the door marked Third year, Hogwarts.

A wave of cool, newfound shame washed over her.

"Oh wow," she couldn't help but exclaim. Hermione tried not to be satisfied with this little
discovery because he was clearly uncomfortable with it.

"Yeah, I forgot about that, um…" he stammered, radiating awkwardness. "It could have
switched to the shower, and I don't think you want to see that.”

Hermione snorted, trying to hide her amusement. It’s totally unnecessary, he can feel me
anyway.

Draco chuckled. "I like how you sound on the inside. Surprisingly, very little difference from
how you speak.”

"I'm nothing if not an open book," she quipped, feeling a sense of comfort and intimacy in
this uncharted territory.

“I think we should stop now; you’re getting tired.”

“No, I'm not,” Hermione retorted, determined to push on.

“You are, you just can't feel it,” Draco replied gently.

She released him from the spell and blinked a few times until her eyes adjusted to her living
room. He looked the same, not the hair out of his place, but she felt like she just came back
from running.
Her body felt hot, and beads of sweat trickled down her neck. Raising her hair to cool herself
down, she noticed her t-shirt clinging to her chest and back. Fatigue washed over her, and
even performing a simple aguamenti felt like a herculean task. The water filled the cup on the
coffee table at a snail's pace.

“Fuck. That absolutely drained me,” she admitted.

Draco did the spell instead. “Yeah, I could give you a potion for energy, but I'd prefer if you
can heal naturally. Just rest, you know.”

Hermione downed the water in one go and asked for more. “Yeah. Why couldn’t I feel…
me?"

Draco refilled her glass. “It's difficult to focus on your physical self when you're going into
emotions from my memories, my current state of mind, and your own. As you get better,
you'll not only feel your body's reactions but also mine.”

“What do I have to feel about your body? You look untouched,” she teased, suppressing a
snort.

He smirked. “I'm not. I'm just better at controlling it.” Draco extended his slightly trembling
hands.

Of course, he excelled at concealing emotions. Oh no, I shouldn't think… Oh, actually, he

can’t hear me anymore. I'm good.

“You're doing great, by the way. I assumed you couldn't feel me and just guessed correctly
what I thought, but you actually felt me."

“Yes, you’re clearly different. I feel your memories like...” Hermione searched for an apt
comparison while sipping on her third glass of water. “Your memories are like if I were to put
my hands in warm water, but your true emotions just washed all over me in a cool wave. It
was easy to differentiate.” She shrugged, then squinted, recalling something she saw on the
shelf. “I don’t remember you ever catching a snitch while playing against Gryffindor.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Why did that draw your attention?"

“It didn't have the same... vibe like the other memories.”

He shook his head and smiled. “You’re too good at this. It’s a fake memory. I have a lot of
those. Just to distract potential intruders. I planted many small, unimportant ones, so if
someone broke in, they wouldn't notice the difference easily.”

She swallowed. “Was it ever… proven to be useful?"

“A few times,” he said, his expression sombre, but he tried to lighten the mood immediately.
“They weren’t as gentle as you were.”

“How do I feel?” she asked, intrigued.

He contemplated for a moment and there was a twinkle in his grey eyes. “Physically... gentle,
as if you were running your fingers through my hair. Slightly ticklish, but not too much.
Pleasant, almost,” he said and smirked. “Mentally, however... I felt like you intruded into my
mind, but you were not there to disturb me or be violent. Your presence was foreign, and I
wanted you out, but... at the same time... I wanted you to stay, to see what you would do.” He
blinked a few times before continuing. “You know when you once said that you like it when I
cook here for you, but you hate that I'm in your kitchen making a mess?”

Hermione smiled and nodded.

“Well, something like that.”

She took her wand to dry her t-shirt and managed to fill the cup by herself. “Okay, your turn.
Make a mess in my kitchen now.” Hermione settled back on the sofa, looking at him.

“Are you sure? You’re not tired?” Draco asked with concern.

She shook her head. “No. You'll tell me if I am, and we'll stop, right?"

“Of course.”

He looked slightly more excited than she thought he would be before he casted the spell and
penetrated her mind.

It didn’t feel like what he was describing just before. It was rather intrusive and
uncomfortable. Like someone was standing too close to her, tightly hugging her and touching
her everywhere when she didnt want it. It was suffocating.

Hermione desperately tried to raise a shield between the intruder and her library of memories
but it felt like it was in vain. However, the intruder was out by themselves as soon as she
started laying bricks.

It took her a moment of blinking to collect herself before she remembered it was Draco who
was trying to get in.

He frowned a bit. “Has anyone… performed this spell on you?"

“No, why?”

He looked slightly impressed. “Because your defence was messy and all over the place, but
incredibly efficient. You were thinking about a library but I couldn't see anything.”

“I don't think I did it intentionally. It was probably instinctive, I didn't even have time to use
protego.”

“Yeah, you’re right. The wall was, though.”

Hermione nodded, slightly breathless. “Yes.”

“I'm sorry.” Draco leaned and gave her a quick kiss. “We shouldn't have done this when
you’re tired.”

She squeezed his hand. “No, let’s try again.”

After a few more attempts, Hermione finally managed to let Draco in without resistance. The
experience was now oddly comfortable, as if she could feel his presence moving through her
carefully constructed mental space.

He strolled around, observing the shelves filled with books, VHSs, and DVDs. She sensed his
excitement and impatience as he glanced over some of the covers.

"This is… impressive. Did you come up with it?" Draco asked, waving his hand around the
modern library with its tall ceilings and numerous windows.

"No, there was a picture I saw somewhere," she explained. "I thought it would be clever to
organise my thoughts in something muggle and confusing in case anyone tries to intrude.”

"It works perfectly," Draco acknowledged, moving towards a large touch screen that
resembled those found in shopping malls, displaying information about stores and parking
locations. "What does this do?"

"If you're looking for a specific memory, you can just search for it there."

Draco attempted to interact with the screen, but to no avail.

"Oh no," she continued playfully, "I guess it uses fingerprint recognition technology and only
responds to my touch.”

"Clever," Draco remarked with a mix of pride and irritation in his emotions as he couldn't
access the function.

Hermione smirked at his reaction.

"You don't have to be so smug about it," he said.

"I know," she replied with a hint of amusement.

The shelves in her library were arranged in a deliberately disorganised manner, and inspired
by various items from IKEA catalogue designs. While the modern aesthetic didn't entirely
appeal to her, she couldn't deny its usefulness.

She had also strategically placed VCRs, DVDs and tellies around, including the older ones
with antennas and black-and-white screens, to further confuse any potential intruders. No
wizards or witches would know how to use videotapes. She smiled to herself.

“I know how to use them. I think it's pretty much the same as DVDs, right?”
She nodded. Mentally.

Draco pulled out one book that had a dragon drawn on it. He felt curious about the title which
said In the Heart of the Forbidden Forest: A Gryffindor's Adventure but he couldn't imagine
what it was about. Hermione could sense his confusion.

How the fuck am I going to learn about this? By reading? This has like a few hundred pages.
At least mine are moving pictures.

“I think you can just open it and you’ll know because I'll allow it.”

He did just that, and Hermione felt relief as he grasped the content in mere seconds. "So let
me get this straight," Draco said with a wry smile. “You carried, what im assuming was fairly
heavy dragon baby from Hagrid’s hut to the top of a fucking tower, all the way through the
castle and on your way back, you forgot the invisibility cloak?"

“Yes, that’s exactly what happened.”

Draco felt a sense of amusement that one of their plans didn't go as intended. Those
Gryffindors always had special treatment. Cocky little brats.

“You know I can hear you, right?"

“Obviously.”

He walked more and pulled out others and commented.

Time-Turner Chronicles: Unravelling the Mysteries of the Past. I can’t believe they allow her
to use that for fucking studying.

The Triwizard Triumph: A Tale of Bravery. This is probably full of that Bulgarian git.

The Battle of the Department of Mysteries: My Role in the Fight for Freedom. Nope.

The Sorcerer's Stone and Beyond: Tales of Magical Discoveries. No, I don't want to see
Voldemort’s face at the back of someone’s head.

Hermione chuckled.

Draco eventually picked a VHS titled From Muggle to Magic: A Journey To the Wizarding
World and after he figured out how to use VCR, he watched how her parents and she got
introduced to Professor McGonagal for the first time in summer before the first year. He held
the plastic case in his hands tightly and looked at the nearby screen without blinking.

Young Hermione was seated between her parents on the different sofa in the same living
room and Minerva was sitting on the armchair Crooks now owned. Slowly, the stern-looking
professor explained the existence of the magical world, and Hermione's parents listened with
scepticism and awe. Their doubt quickly vanished when Minerva transformed into a cat
before their eyes, causing them all to jump in surprise.
Young Hermione looked at her parents with the look that said, “See, I told you so?"

"Why did you feel relieved?" Draco asked, breaking the silence with his hushed voice.

Hermione let out a sigh, her thoughts drifting back to that moment. "Mostly because I was
happy to change schools. There were some… bullies at my primary, and I longed to go
somewhere far away where I could be myself without judgement." She couldn't help but
almost snort at the memory.

A wave of sadness and shame emanated from Draco, his self-deprecating thoughts echoing in
her mind.

"Want to move forward?" she asked carefully, and he did without answering.

Draco picked up another book, Dumbledore's Army: United for the Greater Good, but he just
huffed and continued his search, pulling out Wandlore and Wizardry: Mastering Magic's
Greatest Tool.

Hermione sensed curiosity from him before he inquired, "What's your wand core?"

"Dragon heartstring. Yours?"

"Unicorn hair.”

"Really? That's... something.”

She sensed his sudden exasperation. "If you're going to say how unicorn hair wands are the
most difficult to turn to the dark arts…”

"No, I wanted to say how they're usually the most loyal, but it seems yours switched its
loyalty to Harry as soon as he disarmed you."

He just hummed.

Maybe it’s because you tried using it for dark arts and it wanted to get away from you.

His indignation was palpable, and he couldn't help himself but hiss, "I felt that.”

"Sorry.”

He was sulking for a few minutes until he glanced down and a smirk slowly formed on his
face. “I almost forgot about your bottom shelves here.”

The titles there were less creative. Most of them just had a name or a date. It wasn’t only
private and… intimate memories, but also some terribly embarrassing ones. Like when Ginny
got drunk at her hen do and Luna brought her… I shouldn't think about that.

No, you most definitely shouldn’t, she felt him smirking.

Hermione sensed a myriad of emotions swirling within him.

He was intrigued. Excited. Confused. Worried.

“What are you worried about?"

He picked up a DVD. “Three men and you were apparently together in Prague for a weekend
in 2009.”

Hermione almost laughed out loud. “Jack is my cousin. Adam and Dave are his friends and
they are a couple. They invited me for an art exhibition.”

“Thank Gods. Why is it here then?"

“I mixed a lot of Becherovka with beer and admitted to the most embarrassing things while
crying uncontrollably.”

Relieved, Draco returned the DVD and continued his exploration. He soon stumbled upon
something that made him smirk. “Who’s Sarah?” he asked. “And why is there…” he started
counting DVDs. Oh please make it be what I think it is. “...an entire series with her?”

Hermione sensed his excitement and anticipation. "My ex-girlfriend." His arousal sent a
shock through her mind, and she quickly added, "Don't play that. That's private.”

"Of course I'm not going to, Hermione. I'm not a fucking pervert." He managed to remain
incredibly calm on the outside, despite his racy thoughts. "Well, I can't control them, sorry,"
he added.

But he wasn’t sorry.

Exhaustion lingered as he released her from the spell a few minutes later, though not as much
as when she delved into his mind. Now, she simply let him wander around and listen to the
thoughts he sent her, yet Hermione still relied on him to conjure a glass of water once more.

Draco remained with her for a while, making a mess in her kitchen, now quite literally.

While his pasta for lunch was delicious, he left her dishwasher full and didn't seem bothered
by it. He stayed until Padma showed up.

It was a Saturday evening, and the women had invited themselves over to Hermione's house
to get drunk and try out the veritaserum that Draco had acquired.

Last weekend, they celebrated Pansy's birthday on a smaller scale than last year. She only
invited the closest friends and family. Draco had asked Theo or Blaise to obtain a vial of
veritaserum for him, and they brought it to the party. He had then asked Hermione to test the
appropriate dosage to avoid turning them into soulless truth-machines.

When she mentioned it to Daphne, she thought the idea of testing it together seemed fun, and
Pansy overheard, spreading the plan to the others like wildfire. So, tonight, they all gathered
to embarrass themselves with their most intimate confessions.
“Have you ever faked an orgasm?” Pansy was in her element, showing her real Slytherin
colours.

They set up some ground rules before, but she was masterfully edging on them.

They all confirmed verbally.

Padma pondered for a moment. “Have you ever faked an orgasm with your current
partners?"

Pansy and Ginny admitted to it, leading the others to burst into laughter.

“What? Harry’s my only partner and we've been married for thirteen years!” Ginny said
defensively. “I've probably had more sex on average than all of you combined! It’s bound to
happen.”

“Yes, statistics are against you,” Pansy chimed in, humorously supporting Ginny's claim.

It was Daphne's turn. “Have you ever done something during sex that you think we would
shame you for if we knew?"

“Yes,” Luna, Pansy, and Hermione admitted.

“Interesting,” she nodded thoughtfully and squinted. “Did you do it with your current
partners?"

“Yes,” they all confirmed once more.

“That's two questions, Daph. You're skipping the next round,” Pansy playfully decided.
“Who’s next?"

“Me,” Parvati said, taking a sip of her wine. “Do you think you can share if we all promise
not to judge?”

Pansy rolled her eyes, and Daphne nodded in agreement.

“No,” Hermione and Pansy replied in unison, but Luna simply shrugged. “I think you might
find it strange because it's me, but I don't think it's that unusual in general,” she explained
politely.

Lavender cleared her throat. “So, Luna, do you want to share it?"

“Yes. Rope bondage,” she nonchalantly revealed, and the others nodded in acceptance and
silence.

“You were right, it’s not that weird; it’s just hard to imagine you specifically in that
situation,” Hermione spoke first, but then the veritaserum kicked in. “Of course, now I can't
help but imagine you, and that's all I'm going to think about until someone switches my
focus. And maybe even after tonight. For at least a few days or weeks. Every time we meet.
Somebody, please stop me from talking,” she quickly added, taking her wine to silence
herself.

They all burst into laughter, and Ginny took the opportunity to speak up. “Well, it's my turn
now. It’s not fair that only Luna admitted her little secret. Let’s make this equal, shall we? I'm
sure we all have a few, but what are your kinks? Don’t name them all, just pick your
favourite.”

“Degradation,” Pansy said without hesitation.

“I already regret this,” Ginny frowned and blushed furiously. “Breeding.”

Parvati snorted. “Who would have guessed, mummy. Choking.”

“Me too,” Hermione added reluctantly.

“Edging,” Daphne said, covering her face with her hands.

“Oh I’d choose it too,” Lavender agreed.

“Role play,” Padma said.

“I'm not surprised. George is so fun,” Luna remarked nonchalantly. “Spanking.”

“Wait, didn’t you say bondage before?"

“Yes, but it wasn't for me,” she clarified, as if it was obvious.

Hermione shook her head. “I don't like spanking. Oh okay, it’s my turn. What gives you ick?
What's something that specifically makes you cringe and you wouldn't do it for that reason?"

Daphne's disapproval of the term 'daddy' resonated with most of them. "It's just so weird to
call someone you’re shagging something you call your father," she frowned.

Ginny nodded in agreement. "I could never do that either.”

"Any of those names really,” Pansy added. “'Master' or 'sir’, for example. I mean, some
people are into that whole BDSM power dynamic thing, but there's absolutely no one in the
world I'd call 'master.' Willingly. Especially during sex.”

"My ick is a praise kink,” Padma said. “I know it’s common, but I don't want anyone to call
me ‘good girl’ or say some other generic phrases.”

Hermione felt her cheeks turning warm, especially when she glanced at and caught eyes with
Pansy, who was blushing in the same manner. Pansy smirked and looked away.

“I met a bloke a long time ago who thought it was so hot that I'm so much shorter than him,”
Lavender said. “What’s with men and their obsession with little girls?"
“Oh schoolgirl uniform!” Luna said. “I mean, I might wear it, however I'm curious as to why
you want to see me in clothes I wore when I was fourteen?"

They kept drinking more, and Hermione concluded that mixing alcohol with veritaserum was
not the best idea. Nonetheless, she noted that using a smaller concentration, around one and a
half drops in a glass of wine, was enough.

When she tried three like it’s usually advised, she and Luna sounded less like themselves and
more like robots, but smaller concentration made them speak the truth and still have some
agency over their answers.

The night was filled with laughter as they shared their most embarrassing secrets. Pansy
wasn’t drinking of course, Ginny as well because of early morning practise, but the other
ones let loose. Hermione thought that perhaps, before leaving, she would suggest they make
an unbreakable vow to keep these intimate revelations amongst themselves.

They were now comfortably sitting or lounging on the floor, and the questions had become
more direct.

“What’s your body count? Give the approximate number, not the precise one."

“More than twenty, less than thirty.”

“That many? I only slept with four men.”

“Practically a virgin. Is sex better with men or women?"

“With women. Strictly statistically speaking, I have never not come with a woman.”

“Who has slept with all four houses? And who was the best?"

“I have. Ravenclaws on average. Very observant and methodical.”

Luna and Padma exchanged a celebratory high-five.

“Has anyone had a treesome or anything with multiple partners?”

No one did.

“Has anyone made a sex tape?”

No one did, but Daphne found it intriguing.

“Has anyone ever tried anal?”

Pansy admitted that she had, which caused Ginny to call it a night, making her dramatic exit
while Padma inquired about the preparation for the act and Pansy explained in great detail. It
was rather educational.

"Daphne, we all heard stories. So how big is Theo?" Parvati playfully inquired.
She blushed and pressed her face into a pillow before quietly mumbling her answer no one
heard, causing the rest of the women to burst into laughter.

“That big, huh?”

She just nodded.

“Of course he is. He’s tall and skinny, they always have the biggest one.”

“Blaise is tall and skinny,” Daphne raised her eyebrow at Luna.

“Oh yes, indeed, he is,” she smirked.

"What about your Slytherin, Hermione?" Padma asked with a glint in her eye.

Hermione nodded, acknowledging the question, but veritaserum was forcing her to speak.
"Yes. He's well endowed too.”

“Malfoy looks like he’s always put together, but he’s probably wild behind closed doors,
right?” Parvati asked after contemplating.

Hermione couldn’t stop her answers, but she could control them. “He is.”

“So same as you?” Daphne asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, I guess so.”

"I bet he's into being very dominant, he seems like that type, doesn't he?" Luna pondered
absentmindedly.

“Yes.” She tried to give as little details as possible.

Padma, however, seemed to have a different agenda. "See, I don't buy that. Those people who
are too controlling and composed in their everyday life, they are the ones who want to let go
and give control to someone else for a while, and sex is the perfect opportunity for it."

I don't have to answer that, she didn't ask the question.

But she glanced up at Hermione, seeking confirmation. "Am I right?"

Rolling her eyes, she couldn't help but admit, "You are.”

Pansy looked like Christmas came earlier this year. "Oh, I'm loving this. Don't you just love
how we're all learning more about each other?" She grinned as the others mumbled in
agreement or not. “So he’s into both? Interesting. Are you?"

“Of course I am, how else would we… achieve it?”

Lavender lifted her head from Parvati’s lap. “What would you say was the wildest thing you
did together?"
Hermione's mind raced back to that brutally raw and passionate sex they had in Draco's
library at the manor. Heat rushed to her face, and she quickly jumped to her feet, trying to
conceal her embarrassment.

“We were in his library at the manor,” she said, attempting to play it off casually as she tried
to grab a pillow from Daphne, who hid it behind her back, laughing.

The idea of the encounter was so indecent and primal that she didn’t want anyone else to ever
find out about it. She couldn't even explain logically to herself why she liked it.

“We had sex against one of the bookshelves…”

They all hid pillows and laughed.

So she ran to her kitchen. “But before we did it, he bit my lip too hard and…”

She found some kitchen towels and covered her mouth while she rambled the rest of the
answer. The mere thought of it was making her feel on fire again, and she needed to regain
her composure.

“All I could understand was that there was some eating out at the end,” Parvati teased,
laughing, and Hermione had to nod in response.

“Okay, now I desperately want to hear more, but at the same time, I'm afraid I’ll never look
at you two in the same way,” Daphne chuckled.

“That’s true, so please don’t,” Hermione replied, feeling incredibly hot in her face.

“Biting and eating out in the library,” Pansy smirked. “Granger, you’re kinky.”

“Yes. Are all questions going to be about sex?” Hermione frowned.

“Of course. What did you think we’re going to talk about? Who do we think has the best
hair?"

“Parvati,” almost all of them said in agreement.

“Oh, thank you.” She blushed, appreciating the compliment.

After another session of uncomfortable truths and one more bottle of wine, they went back
home one by one. Hermione was pleasantly tipsy and chatted a bit more until the potion
stopped working some half an hour after they all, except for Padma, left. She stayed behind
to help her clean up.

Before she went to sleep, she decided to text Draco.

1½ drops in a regular glass of wine. Maaaybe 2 for you bc you’re bigger

Great. We’ll try. How was your evening?

Informative. Learned more about them tonight then in years that i've known them

Anything I would find interesting?

Literally everything. But i'm taking secrets to the grave

What if I ask you about them when we take the potion?

Then you'd learn some very personal things about pansy and daph

No questions about other people then. Got it. What are you doing now?

Nothing. I'm in bed. Reading. Hermione snapped him a selfie with a clay mask on her face.
You?

Stunning as always. Same. I think our practice today finally got to me. So I'm going to
sleep. Have a good night.

You too

The following week seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. Each morning, Hermione
diligently went to the gym, switching to yoga as the weather grew too cold for outdoor
running. She was making progress with her flexibility, but the mental and spiritual aspects of
yoga remained a challenge.

On Monday, Hermione took Crooks to the vet again. He had been throwing up more
frequently and losing a distressing amount of hair. The vet explained that it was normal for a
cat of his age, but also hinted that she should prepare for the inevitable goodbye in the near
future. Devastated, Hermione spent the rest of the day in her bedroom, tearfully cuddling
with Crooks on the pillow beside her.

The following day, after her morning gym session, Hermione visited Luna's store to purchase
everything she could to make Crooks' remaining days as comfortable as possible. Luna came
over after work, and they both found solace in each other's company, shedding tears together
before turning to American sitcoms to lift their spirits.

On the third day, Pansy needed someone by her side as she went for her regular monthly
checkup at St. Mungo's because Charlie was suddenly invited the night before to go to
Scotland to deal with three baby dragons that were flying around muggle cities without a
mother.

They decided long ago not to find out the sex of the baby but almost everyone had their
money on a girl. Hermione accompanied Pansy for the appointment, and afterward, they
enjoyed a nice brunch together.

In the evening, she was eagerly finishing the last two episodes of the show recommended by
Theo. But a total massacre happened in the penultimate episode and she felt an uncontrollable
urge to strangle him.
“Theo, open your floo for me. Now!” she almost yelled over her phone when she called him.

“Um… it’s open. Do come in.”

Furious, Hermione stormed into his living room, disregarding the presence of Draco and
Blaise, who looked bewildered by her sudden arrival.

"What the fuck, Theo?!" she exclaimed, tapping her foot anxiously on the floor.

“You’re going to have to be more specific, darling.”

“Game of Thrones,” she growled. “Season three. Episode nine.”

Theo looked apologetic, attempting to offer her a hug, but she slapped his hands away. He
frowned and rubbed them dramatically. “I’m so sorry. But you read the books, right?"

“Yeah,” she deadpanned. “This is what I look like when I watch an episode where I know
exactly what’s about to happen!” She sighed loudly. “What… How can they… Who…?
What’s the point anymore?!”

Blaise interjected with his usual nonchalant drawl, "Don't be so dramatic, Hermione. You'll
get over it. When you read the next book, you'll feel better.”

"But they all died!" she protested.

"Not all of them. There will be revenge, I promise," he reassured.

Hermione let out a heavy sigh and allowed Theo to hug her.

He gently rubbed her back. “Where are you now when it comes to the books?"

“Only the second. So many names and families, I had to start writing things down," she
confessed. "I just got to the part where Cersei sent for all Robert’s illegitimate children to be
killed.”

"Ah, you still have a long way to go," Theo remarked.

“Yeah.”

They were quiet for a few moments. “What the fuck are you all watching?” Draco asked, so
they spent the rest of the evening explaining the premise without spoiling too much because
he said he’d start watching soon too.

Hermione had a few meetings at the end of the working week in regards to the publishing of
the guidebook she participated in. It will be released a week before Christmas, if everything
goes according to plan.
On Saturday, she made chocolate cake with almonds and raspberries and did some cleaning
before Draco arrived in the evening, excited like a child to finally try veritaserum.

She first thought to start off easy, with light questions, such as, “Was the steak I made last
week really perfect, as you claimed?” to which he replied, “No. I said I like medium rare and
you made it well done.”

But he wanted to jump into different questions immediately.

“Do you know what I was thinking?” Draco asked after a few minutes of sitting in silence
and just breathing.

They were on her bed, sitting in a so-called “lotus position”, chest to chest and completely
naked. Hermione tried to maintain a semblance of modesty, and draped her hair over her
chest, but he was quick to move it away.

“No, it’s tickling me and I want to look at you.”

She rolled her eyes. “No, I don’t know what you’re thinking.”

He took a sip of wine she poured them before, containing one and a half drops of veritaserum
and levitated the glass back to the nightstand.

"The book you lent me, it spoke about the emotional link between partners, almost like a
spiritual bond. Opening up your mind and connecting it with another person.”

“That’s… one way to interpret it, I guess.”

Draco's fingers traced a slow, comforting pattern on her back. “It reminded me of some kind
of bonding magic. Soul bonding through a magical core.”

“Isn't that permanent?”

Draco leaned in to kiss her gently before replying. “Yes, when you perform a full ritual with
blood, wands, spells and so on. When you don’t want that, there are ways to replicate it.
Temporarily. It’s basically legilimency, but on a more… intimate level,” he explained.

“More intimate than scrolling through all of my memories?” She raised her eyebrow.

“Yes, because I wouldn’t be going through your library,” Draco said. “I would just feel
everything you’re feeling. Mentally and physically.”

Interesting.

Hermione squinted at him. “You seem to know quite a lot about it. How come?"

"I read it in the book when I was preparing to practise with you because you are a beginner
and I didn't want to push you too hard. One chapter was about this, it sounded exciting, and I
wanted to try it with you," he admitted, the veritaserum pushing him to be honest, otherwise
he would just shrug it off and say something like ‘oh I don’t know, I read it sometimes
before.’

“So what should we do?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant while secretly feeling the
thrill of anticipation.

Hermione shifted to make herself more comfortable, trying not to press against him to
disguise how desperately turned on she was because he wasn’t even doing anything, they
were just sitting, not kissing or touching. It didn't help that he was hard almost the entire
time.

“This is going to be very difficult for you,” he smirked. “You need to clear your mind first.”

“Fucking hell,” Hermione said through her teeth.

Draco laughed. “Come on. Relax.”

He drew her closer by her waist and released a quiet but sharp exhale when their hips met.
Hermione wanted to tease him, but he would probably say something dirty and honest and it
would make her lose her mind, so she kept quiet instead.

Draco took her face to bring her closer and pressed his forehead to hers. “Try to breathe
slower.”

She nodded and closed her eyes, following his series of inhales and exhales.

“Try to stop your mind from spiralling out of control. It’s not possible to not think about
anything, so don’t even try to do that.”

“So I should just focus on one thing instead?"

“Yes. Focus on me.”

Okay, I can do that.

Hermione took a deep breath and followed his lead, closing her eyes and concentrating on the
sensations around her.

She felt Draco's warm breath against her skin and his steady heartbeat, both of which calmed
her nerves. She slowly drew her hands over his arms to his shoulder and neck, tracing a few
scars he stopped glamouring, and to his hair, enjoying the softness. Draco shifted a bit when
she pulled her fingers through it.

He smelled like a perfect mix of his aftershave, wine and just a bit of sweat. Hermione hoped
this was as difficult for him as it was for her - just sitting and looking, not touching each
other like they both clearly wanted.

“I'm going to try and enter your mind and then I’ll let you in mine,” he said calmly. “I expect
you’ll reject me at first.”
“Probably, yes. Try it.”

He was somehow more gentle now then the last time. Or maybe Hermione knew what to
expect now so there was no element of surprise.

She let him in after the second attempt and it was surprisingly easy to get accustomed to him
because she didn't have to “welcome” him in her library. He was just… there.

Somewhere.

"I can't place you anywhere. I don't know where you are," she said, trying to understand the
peculiar sensation of having him in her mind without a clear location.

His amused chuckle resonated in her thoughts, leaving behind a curious tickling sensation.
Not unpleasant, but a feeling of itchiness she was dying to scratch. Draco increased his hold
on her hip and gave her a gentle kiss near her lips and she broke the connection immediately.

She was startled by his touch. Hermione had to blink a few times to realise that he really did
just that.

“How can I feel me and you physically now, but I couldn't last time?”

“This type of connection is not as demanding for your mind as classic legilimency,” he
shrugged. “You don’t have to focus on keeping the design of your library as it is or
acknowledge me walking around or follow my next step and the memories that I'd choose to
see. You just need to focus on simple things - the physical,” Draco said and gave her a quick
kiss, “and the sensation it creates in our minds as a response.”

Hermione nodded, feeling slightly more excited with the idea. “I got it. Try again.”

She made an effort to relax and not resist his intrusion, but it was almost a reflex to try and
defend against his efforts. However, after a few gentle nudges and pushes, he was back inside
her mind.

Drawing her closer, he placed slow, open-mouthed kisses all over her neck, focusing on the
sensitive spot under her ear, which sent instant goosebumps all over her skin. His soft lips
and warm tongue left her breathless, causing her heart to beat just a bit faster.

Draco chuckled, his voice tinged with a different tone. "I can… feel that," he said, equally
breathless. "I felt what you felt when I kissed you."

Pulling her even closer, she tried to resist the urge to grind herself against him, but it was
difficult. He was so hard.

"I can hear you, Hermione. Do it," he urged urgently. "I want to know how it feels for you.”

Without hesitation, she shifted her position, moving onto her knees. Both of them moaned as
she lowered herself onto him, gliding over his cock effortlessly. She still kept her eyes closed
and focused on the physical. He was pressing his fingers more into her skin.
"Fucking... incredible," he muttered, holding her hips and guiding her all over his length in a
slower pace. "I'll… open my mind to you now. You'll be overwhelmed, but please try not to
break the connection again.”

How hard can it be, he’s doing it right now.

However, as she entered his mind, a wave of mixed feelings hit her hard, momentarily
disorienting her. The flood of stimuli from different sides felt like being in a room with
dozens of tellies all broadcasting different programs, making it hard to distinguish which
sound comes from where. She knows what the sides were.

My body. His body.

My mind. His mind.

I should organise them somehow.

"Yes, do that," he said, his voice strained. "Let me help you." Draco almost whispered, and he
began sucking and licking her already sensitive neck. "Focus on yourself first, don't think
about me." His fingers moved between her legs, and she trembled with anticipation.

Hermione couldn’t focus on her alone, because he was loud. So loud. His dirty words,
descriptions and observations echoed in her head.

Can you be quiet for a moment?

She felt him smiling on her neck and he somehow managed to stop sending the thoughts to
her. Instead, he circled her clit with two fingers, and she instinctively started moving on his
hand. If he could just… more fingers would be better and… increase pressure… just a bit…

And he did.

Yes, just like that. Thank you for listening.

He chuckled softly, almost laughing. "You're welcome. Now, switch your focus on me.”

It was effortless to comply since his thoughts were now again loud and clear, entirely there
for her to feel them. She knew from their legilimency practice what he sounded on the inside,
but now she wanted to feel what he felt.

Leaning forward, she kissed him, savouring the taste of wine mixed with the cake she had
made earlier. Hermione felt his desire and hunger when she pulled his bottom lip between her
teeth. He tensed and moaned from the back of his throat and she shivered.

God, how much I love those sounds.

I love the sounds you make too.

She smiled and moved her hands from his neck to the back of his head and anticipation and
arousal from Draco’s side washed all over her when she pulled his hair lightly. The sensation
was similar to what she felt when he would grab her tighter. It was appreciation of control
and slight pain that just kept igniting the want for more.

She could feel all of him and all of her slowly together and it felt like… a completion.
Hermione felt an extraordinary sense of unity, as if they were two overlapping circles moving
towards each other until they merged into one. What’s that called? Venn’s diagram? Yes,
that’s it.

She opened her eyes, seeing Draco's dark gaze and the subtle rosiness on his fair face.

His amusement and arousal were clear. "Are you thinking about mathematics right now?" he
asked, playfully teasing her.

She felt a sudden rise of self-consciousness, but he kissed her faster and deeper, increasing
the speed of his fingers on her clit. "Don't," he urged. "I fucking love how your mind works."

He could probably feel what this was doing to her stupid praise kink Padma said was
embarrassing.

Draco chuckled.

Hermione seized the opportunity to put their silent communication to good use.

Now would be a perfect time to put your fingers inside me, she suggested.

Draco responded with a smirk and wasted no time in doing just that. He watched her face
intently with his mouth slightly open, eagerly observing every reaction, determined to find
that sweet spot that would drive her wild.

Ah, there, just there. Yes, she thought a few moments later, feeling another wave of
excitement emanating from him when he hit the right spot.

With his increased pace, Hermione moved her hips, fully surrendering to the pleasure that
only he could provide. Not even the expensive vibrator she had bought for almost a hundred
and fifty pounds could do it properly, not her fingers, not...

Suddenly, Draco shifted his focus and she felt it before he spoke. "What was that?" he asked
urgently, and she sensed a surge of arousal coming from him as he quickened his
movements.

"My vibrator," she moaned. I forgot about the potion.

“Forgot about it, huh?” he smirked, as if just heard the best news in the world. “Where is it?"

“In the drawer, over there,” she said pointing to the nightstand.

“Open it up.”

Hermione couldn't help but snort at his demand. "That’s not how this works," she replied,
sensing impatience from him, but he didn't stop pleasuring her. She moved against his hand
even faster, encouraged by his touch.

“Alright. Tell me how to open it up.”

“I... ah... charmed the handle to react only to my touch or spell,” she almost moaned, but
pushed her fingers into his hair and enjoyed the pleasure it caused him.

Words of impatience, annoyance, and even more arousal flickered through Draco's thoughts.
“Describe it to me in great detail,” he commanded.

Hermione's playful grin matched his intensity. "It's made of plastic, silicone-covered, phallic
shaped, purple, water-resistant, rechargeable via USB port…”

Draco rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress a hint of amusement. “Hermione, how big is it?”

He was smirking, but she sensed a sting of self-consciousness.

“The usable part? A bit more than five inches, I think.”

Now it was replaced by… relief and a whole lot of content.

“What are you so smug about?” she asked.

“About the fact that I'm much bigger.”

“Yes, you are, but do you have a rotating head and an extension for triple clitoral
stimulation?"

He almost laughed. “No, I most certainly do not.” The desire in his eyes intensified as he
leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. "I want to see how you use it to fuck yourself. I want to
feel what you feel when you come," he said through gritted teeth.

Her cheeks flushed and Hermione shook her head. "I want to feel you too," she said,
wrapping her fingers around his cock gently.

Draco twitched in her hand, and she tuned into his thoughts, following the unspoken
instructions. She moved her hand faster, tighter than she normally would in the beginning
because that’s what he desired, and when she rubbed her fingers over his leaking tip, she felt
him almost melting on the inside and skyrocketing pleasure.

Oh, okay, now I get it.

“I want to know what you feel when you come inside me,” she mumbled against his lips and
lifted herself, pulling his hand from her.

Draco hissed loudly as he positioned himself at her entrance and pulled her down slowly.
Hermione wasted no time in setting her own tempo, riding him with abandon, and he didn't
protest. He held his hand between them, adding extra stimulation for her pleasure.
He kissed and nibbled at her neck, probably leaving marks and that thought sent shivers
down her spine. She knew he knew it now too, so he sucked on her skin more before he bit
her. Hermione felt an intense mix of pleasure and pain, but she loved the raw sensation and
the way his warm breath soothed her skin.

She suddenly remembered that day in the library, how much she hated the stinging pain he
caused her when he split open her lip and how much she loved the idea of doing the same to
him.

Draco twitched inside her, and grabbed her hip tighter. He kept the pressure of his teeth and
licked her skin until she felt he might break it, but she told him not to stop. And he didn’t
until he felt the discomfort overcoming pleasure, and only then he stopped.

He looked at the mark he left and moved to the next spot on her neck he thought needed
embellishing. “It’s going to be bruised for days,” he murmured.

Hermione couldn't feel any remorse from him, just some primal satisfaction and pride. But
she could care less about the potential bruise; she was too engrossed in her approaching
orgasm.

Since their minds were fully connected, he didn't need to be told what to do next. Grabbing a
fistful of her hair at the nape of her neck, he pulled it suddenly, causing her to arch her back
and cry out in pleasure. But he moaned too. This time, he felt what this was doing to her.

He savoured the taste of her skin around the bite mark, and she was so sweaty and wet that it
was becoming a challenge to keep riding him the way she wanted.

“Remember why we took veritaserum in the first place?” he asked with a shaky voice.

She shook her head. It was somewhere in her mind, but she was so close to coming, she
couldn't remember it.

“I wanted to know your fantasies, but you kept uncharacteristically quiet,” he almost
whispered before he grabbed her hips to stop her from moving and Hermione felt like wanted
to slap him. “You can if you want, but it’s not going to have the effect you think,” he said,
smirking. “I thought that was obvious. Apparently not.”

Her sudden irritation simmered beneath the surface, too close to orgasm to deeply analyse his
words, and his amusement and smugness only fueled it.

“Tell me what you want to do with me.”

“I want to sit on your face,” Hermione blurted out before she even had a chance to think
about the proper way to answer.

He blinked, his pupils dilating even more. “Why didn’t you ask?"

She sighed, feeling embarrassment and anticipation. “Because it's a thing where you’d be
doing most of the work and it seems only fair for you to be the one to suggest it.”
Draco nodded slowly, not blinking. “That’s all?” he asked, mildly amused that she had hidden
it from him, but still excited.

“I…” Hermione thought for a moment if there was anything she wanted to do for the first
time or something they didn't do often. It clicked and veritaserum forced the answer out.
“One time you covered my mouth… I liked that. I want you to do it more often.”

“Anything else like that?” he asked patiently, but with a husky voice, rubbing slow circles on
her skin, but still holding her firmly on him, not allowing her to move.

“You can cover my eyes if you want,” she remembered. “I never tried it before.”

“You can do that to me too,” he said and clenched his jaw. She felt his sting of
embarrassment for being too honest. “Do we need to establish safe words?"

Hermione shrugged. “I don’t think so. It doesn’t sound too dangerous. And if I mind
something, you know I'll tell you,” she said. “I expect the same from you. Even without
veritaserum or legilimency.''

Draco should know she means it. She did say it just now, while under the potion.

He nodded again. “Can I tie your hands?” he asked with a faint blush.

“No,” she said almost immediately and felt slight disappointment and hurt from him, but she
would not let him turn this on her. “My turn. What do you want to do with me?"

“I want you to let me fuck your mouth,” he said simply.

Shock and intrigue washed from inside her, along with his mild discomfort and more shame,
but his excitement and anticipation remained unwavering.

“Wow. So why not say anything?"

“Because it's something where you would be doing most of the work and it seemed more
appropriate if you’re the one to suggest it,” he smirked, the faintest blush still gracing his
face.

She rolled her eyes. “Cheeky. Any other reason?"

“You would probably make gagging sounds and I don’t like hearing them.”

“Me too. I hate the gagging sensation as well.”

“I like it,” he said and Hermione raised her eyebrow. “The physical aspect of it, that is. It
feels fucking amazing. But the idea that something I'm doing to you could make you vomit is
not as enticing.”

“It’s a reflex.”

“Never mind. I would be causing it.”

“We should find the solution for that,” she said, and he was already conjuring up mental
images to assist. “What else would you like me to do?"

“I'd like you to wear your Hogwarts uniform sometimes.”

“Why?” Hermione couldn't help but recall Luna's comments from last week.

Draco's expression shifted as he saw her thoughts. He frowned. “Because... I never fucked a
Gryffindor before you, but now from that perspective, it seems weird, so I don't think I want
it anymore.”

"No, no, that's perfectly fine. We can do that," she replied, her voice slightly breathless.
"Really? You've never been with a Gryffindor before me?"

Draco shrugged. "Apparently, I'm not the favourite choice among your lot. Quite the mystery,
really.”

She rolled her eyes and thought for a moment. "Alright then, setting Gryffindors aside, based
on your extensive data," Hermione began playfully, "which house would you say was the
most memorable shag?"

"Hufflepuff," Draco stated matter-of-factly, and her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "They're up
for just about anything, really. But, if I am to include Gryffindors in the mix, well then, it's
Gryffindor," he said, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that made her shiver.

His hands roamed over her body until he reached between her legs and began circling her clit.
She started moving again, grateful for the brief respite as she already felt her orgasm drawing
near.

“Why don’t you want to open your drawer for me, Hermione?” he asked eventually, his
breath warm against her ear.

“Because... I don’t like the thought of being exposed that much. I think some things should
be private. I understand why it would be fucking fantastic for you to watch me masturbate,
but I would not be comfortable with that,” she said honestly, feeling him twitching inside
her.

“Okay,” he paused. Hermione felt uncertainty as he carefully considered the next question.
“Why can’t I hold your hands?"

Her movements faltered, caught off guard by the sudden inquiry. “You can, just not like…”

He was looking at her without blinking, but didnt stop touching her. She didn't want to delve
into this discussion now, so close to orgasm. Again.

“I need to have my hands free because I need to know that I can defend myself at any time.”

He stopped, a wave of discomfort and fear washing over her, with anger simmering
somewhere in the background.
“Was there… ever… a situation where…?"

“Oh, no. No. But I had to… prepare myself for any… scenario… years ago, and I guess it
kind of stayed with me, so…"

Hermione felt incredibly self-conscious and worried that this discussion might break her
focus, preventing her from reaching orgasm, or perhaps making it difficult for him to stay
aroused. She sensed his wounded pride, but she couldn't afford to let that affect her now.

“Well, I'm not sorry,” she said, slightly angry now. “I was about to come and you’re making
me feel…”

“Sorry,” he said quickly, leaning in to kiss her. He took her hands and intertwined their
fingers. “Can I hold your hands like this?”

“Yes,” she replied, the tension between them momentarily forgotten.

Draco moved their hands slowly and low behind her back, making her arch her back. Her
chest was now closer to his face.

“And like this?” he almost whispered, his breath on her skin sending goosebumps all over her
body.

She nodded, flexing her fingers in his hand, and he squeezed them back. She had to let her
head back and closed her eyes as he started slowly kissing the underside of her breast, and a
new wave of wetness washed over her as she resumed moving her hips.

His warm tongue on her nipple made her forget about the fact that she had never been in this
position before. Draco, on the other hand, felt a surge of pride and… gratitude for allowing
him to be the first one to hold her like this, assuming she wasn't hiding her real thoughts.

"I'm not," she moaned softly as he took her nipple gently between his teeth, her movements
growing more fervent. "There are things we have done that I never did before.”

“Such as?” he breathed against her skin, his voice a tantalising whisper.

“I never suck off anyone while driving.”

Hermione felt him smiling against her skin, and the image of his one hand on the wheel and
the other in her hair formed vividly in his mind.

"It was my first time too. You're a good motivator, but an irresponsible instructor.”

A chuckle escaped her lips. "And you?"

“I never let anyone know I like being choked,” Draco blurted, and his breath immediately
hitched. She felt discomfort mingling with vulnerability.

“Why?"
He swallowed before he spoke. It was easier for him to admit something difficult when he
didn’t look at her, she noticed. “It seems… emasculating. It feels… embarrassing to enjoy it.
Like I shouldn't.”

Hermione understood it oh too perfectly. She turned her face down to look at him and he
looked up at her. “Does it feel… humiliating?"

He clenched his jaw, grappling with his emotions. “Yes.”

“But you like that?"

“Yes,” he confessed quietly, holding her gaze with apprehension and a touch of defiance, as if
daring her to judge him.

She wouldn't. So, she opened up to further create a sense of equilibrium. “I never let anyone
come on my face.”

Draco swallowed audibly, his grip on her hands tightening as he encouraged her to move
more slowly. “Why?"

“Because it’s humiliating, degrading, and I've felt like it goes against my principles as a
feminist,” she explained.

Her honesty fueled by veritaserum painted a candid portrait in her thoughts. She remembered
all the other things she liked that didn’t feel very empowering.

He fought back a smile, his lips twitching as he grappled with his own emotions. “So why did
you let me?” he asked and his voice was slightly deeper now.

Hermione sighed, but didn’t avert her gaze. The determination to understand herself was
driving her words. “Because it is humiliating, degrading, and I think I’m definitely a bad
feminist for not only allowing it but wanting it. Because I’d do almost anything you want as
long as I can be the only reason you come.”

His chest seemed to surge with a mix of emotions. Hermione could feel him radiating
intensity, as if he were on fire with a jumble of feelings. Draco didn't immediately respond
with words. Instead, he slowly kissed his way from her neck to her breast. It was a silent
gesture of understanding and acceptance.

“Yeah, I feel the same way,” he confessed in a breathy whisper against her skin. “I also want
to be the only one you think about, even when you make yourself come.”

You already are, she thought, and felt him twitching inside her.

With his hands otherwise engaged, she adjusted her position to find the angle that would
stimulate her clit, her focus locked solely on her own pleasure now, with little regard for his
comfort.

“Don’t think about it,” Draco hissed, taking the other nipple between his lips and sucking on
it.
Hermione couldn't help but moan loudly.

“Use me however you want. Take whatever you need,” he urged. Tell me what you want, he
thought as he held her hands tighter behind her back.

He bit her softly again, but she wanted more. More. Harder. He listened, though he seemed a
bit hesitant.

She wanted to convey it to him, to break through any doubt he might have. Her mind reached
out, attempting to share the frustration of past experiences, the craving for a touch that was
unapologetically uninhibited. She wanted to scream, don’t be gentle. I need you to not be
fucking gentle with me. She pushed the plea into the depths of their connection.

It was mostly wizards, not muggles who were soft, too soft with her. Wizards who knew her
and wanted to treat her with respect and kindness, which was admirable and she was grateful
for it, but not here. Not in her bedroom. I don't need to tell you when to stop, you’ll sense me
anyway.

Hermione felt him twitching inside her again. She was just… there. And he felt it too. He
waited, somewhat impatiently, but she couldn't focus on his emotions right now.

A sharp, exquisite pain shot through her as he took the peak of her nipple between his teeth,
sending shockwaves of pleasure directly to her core, all the while he was gripping her hands
tightly. It was a heady mix of sensations, a concentrating pain and overwhelming pleasure
merging together, sending her spiralling towards an orgasm.

He was breathing rapidly against her skin, holding her hands tightly which was something
she didn’t know she could find joy in. When she finally reached the edge, her orgasm crashed
all over her. Hermione kept prolonging the pleasure, grinding against him slower, panting,
and moaning softly. His uncensored thoughts helped. There was definitely something about
those interruptions he made. Her orgasm felt stronger than it normally would.

Breathing heavily, he eventually spoke, "That was... fucking... incredible... Does it always
last so long?"

“So long?” Hermione asked breathlessly and confused, her legs slightly trembling.

Draco grabbed her thighs and flipped her onto her back, positioning himself slowly inside her
again. He hovered over her with his forearms around her face before he kissed her quickly.

"Yeah, it's only a few seconds for me. It felt... much longer than that. And I felt it...
everywhere."

She didn't have time to answer. Draco's punishing speed began immediately.

She had already come, and now it was his turn. Hermione intended to let him do whatever he
wanted and needed, desperate to experience his orgasm too, but he suddenly lifted her legs
onto his shoulders, thrusting deeper than usual, feeling pleasure and sensitivity that bordered
on the edge of exquisite agony. She wanted him to stop, but at the same time, she thought
she'd kill him if he did.

Harder, Draco, please.

He felt her turmoil, her desire to fulfil his needs, and he was more than willing to oblige. He
plunged into her vigorously and fucked her harder. Hermione could barely keep up with the
incoherent thoughts racing through his mind.

…so fucking tight… perfect… the pain… mine… feels like… beautiful…

Her fingers found his skin, nails digging in as she urged him to continue, not to stop. And he
wasn't planning to. As she approached her orgasm again, she dug her nails into his skin more,
begging him not to pull out.

…hurts so good… her perfect cunt… not going to last… fill her with my come… only mine...

Hermione was lost for words and desperately tried to focus only on him, wanting to feel what
he felt. When he finally came, the experience was… indescribable.

His orgasm felt like it was happening to her, yet she was fully aware that it wasn't. Hermione
surrendered completely to the maelstrom of pleasure while he was panting in her neck. It was
unlike anything she had ever experienced before. An external overwhelming pleasure so
realistic and convincing, it messed with her mind for a moment. The lines between their
bodies and minds blurred when their pleasure merged into a symphony of shared sensations
that left them both speechless and breathless.

He was right, it lasted much less than it was for her, but it was equally intense. This could be
addictive. She wondered if they could ever go back to having normal sex after this mind-
bending experience.

Hermione felt his chuckle reverberating through his body, still lying on top of her for a few
seconds, seeking enough time to collect himself. Their breaths mingled in the air as they lay
together, intimately connected by both body and mind. He pulled out too quickly, leaving her
with a sense of disappointment at the loss of fullness, but he quickly replaced it with his
fingers, pumping them fast and hard, without warning.

The whirlwind of emotions hit Hermione all at once - surprise, shock, gratitude, arousal,
confusion - everything was intermingled as she found herself getting close again.

“You were so close, and I want you to come again,” he managed to say with a desperate
shaky voice, not tearing his gaze off her when he grabbed her by her neck. “You’re right, it is
addictive,” he added, focusing on that perfect spot inside her.

Tears welled up in her eyes. She dug her nails into his hands. It was all too overwhelming -
the wet sounds coming out of her, his ragged breath and tight grip on her throat, their sweaty
bodies.

“Come for me, Hermione, please. I need to fucking feel it again,' he spoke between his teeth.
She didn't need any convincing, and it took her less than half a minute to reach another
orgasm.

He closed his eyes, burying his face in the crook of her neck. “Fucking… amazing…”

She squeezed her legs around him, and he slowly released the grip on her neck.

This time, Hermione didn't have to move his hand away from her; Draco sensed the moment
it became too much and withdrew his fingers. They lay next to each other, panting, and the
room fell into a peaceful silence. She looked at him and his mind was still in haze.

…smells so fucking good… fucking love her… tighter next time… can’t think straight
anymore… do it again as soon as… taste like heaven… everything is a mess… so wet and...

Feeling a sudden boldness, Hermione took his hand, which was inside her moments ago, and
put his fingers in her mouth, licking them clean.

“You were right, we do taste good together.”

Draco looked at her, focusing on her lips for a few moments before turning his gaze to the
ceiling, closing his eyes.

…can’t even look at… so fucking insatiable… takes anything like a… mine… such a slut for
me...

He broke the connection abruptly.

A buzzing noise filled Hermione's ears, and the silence was suddenly too loud, similar to
returning to a silent home after a night of clubbing.

She looked at him and he blushed. “I… I'm sorry you heard that. Not sorry I thought about it
though. Because I think it's true. Fuck.” He rubbed his face, clearly flustered. “Fucking
potion.”

Embarrassment washed over her. “Okay. I heard it now, but I don't think I want to hear it
again,” Hermione said honestly.

“Okay. I understand.”

“I mean, don’t say it out loud. I get that you can’t control what's in your mind. I don’t think I
like it,” she admitted.

Draco huffed. “Who does like it?” he mumbled to himself.

“Pansy,” Hermione blurted out thanks to veritaserum, slapping her hand over her mouth.

Draco frowned.

“Fuck. Forget about it.”

He rolled his eyes. “I can’t. I'm going to think about it every time I speak to her from now
on.”

They lay together for a few more minutes in silence.

“Are you tired?” Hermione asked, breaking the quiet.

“Yeah. I didn't expect it to be this draining. You?"

“Yes. Do you want to have a shower together?"

“Of course,” Draco said, sitting up at the edge of her bed.

He exhaled and ran his fingers through his messy hair. Hermione liked it that way, and she
couldn't help but admire the slight sheen of sweat on his broad back. She crawled over to
him, and hugged him around his waist, pressing her chest against his back. They breathed
together, taking a moment to bask in the afterglow.

“Do you want to try and fulfil the fantasy you mentioned before?” she asked, placing her chin
on his shoulder.

He smirked. “Yes. Which one specifically?"

“The one where you fuck my mouth without me gagging.”

Draco turned his head slowly towards her, and his pupils dilated so much, Hermione thought
it wasn't humanly possible for it to happen so quickly. “Fuck yes. Seriously? Now?"

“Yes, now. I mean, in the shower. You made me come twice and I don't like leaving things
uneven.”

Draco looked at her and blinked. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she said and squinted. “I wish I knew what you were thinking about now,”
she said curiously.

“I know you do, but I think it’s better that you’re not.”
 Draco

December 2013

Hermione's body was a maze, a puzzle of sensations that Draco found endlessly intriguing.
Every time he had the chance to explore her, he felt like he was unearthing a new treasure,
uncovering secret pathways to pleasure and intimacy. He revelled in the discovery of her
body's nuances, from the spots she loved to be touched to the ones that made her giggle
delightfully.

Her feet were particularly sensitive, and Draco learned that the hard way. One innocent
attempt to rest her legs on his lap during a movie night almost resulted in a collision with his
nose as she jerked away suddenly. Despite her ticklishness, she enjoyed him holding her by
her ankles or caressing her calves. She found the gesture comforting.

She took pride in her legs now, thanks to the gym, but oddly, she didn’t like her knees. He
had never really paid much attention to anyone's knees; they were simply the joints that
connected two parts of the legs.

Hermione mentioned her enjoyment of being taller than most of her shorter friends, except
for Daphne and Ginevra, who were of similar height. These extra few centimetres made her
feel powerful when she wore high heels, ensuring that no one towered too much over her.

She had several scars on her body, but most of them weren't like his. Hers came from a skiing
accident, a daring dive from a cliff, an underwater cave, her father's attempts to teach her how
to ride a bicycle in their street, or the time her mother took her to the community pool and she
slipped, cutting her foot on a shard of broken tile.

Among those was a small, round one near her shoulder. She briefly explained it was from
something called a vaccine, which he learned was a muggle preventive measure against
certain diseases administered to newborns. After that, he found himself curiously studying
people's arms whenever they visited muggle London.

Recently, Hermione had cut her hair so now, it was somewhere above the middle of her back,
leaving it shorter and more curly. She mused that the lack of weight pulling it down might
have contributed to the curls.

Draco liked it like this even more. On rare occasions when she allowed him to touch her hair
outside of the bedroom, he would enjoy the explosion of vanilla when he pulled his finger
through her curls.

He noticed a long time ago she was surprisingly smooth everywhere else considering the
amount of hair on her head and he made a stupid mistake of commenting on it because she
went on a rant on hair removal and double standards for men and women. Hermione even
mentioned some muggle technology involving lasers, which he later googled and decided
was best left unexplored.

Her body was decorated with freckles, sprinkled like stardust on her shoulders, arms, and
even her thighs. Though they weren't as prominent in the winter months, especially now as it
was the middle of December, he promised himself he would whisk her away to a sunny and
warm destination come summer.

He yearned to witness her glowing, tanned skin under the sun, just as he had in Spain and he
remembered the taste of her warm skin mingled with the sea's salty breeze.

She tasted warm, salty and wet now too.

Draco continued to run his tongue over her too sensitive clit. He didn’t need legilimency to
tell, she came already two times.

Hermione's reactions were a treasure to him. Every flicker of pleasure, every gasp, and every
squeeze of her thighs around his head. She was so strong and soft at the same time, a perfect
contrast that drove him insane.

He wanted to explore her even further from this angle, but she hesitated to fully surrender to
the intensity of the moment, even though he pulled her down a few times. He tried to
encourage her to sit properly, hoping she would let go and allow herself to drown in pleasure
completely.

"You won't be able to breathe," she moaned, and he sensed both concern and excitement in
her voice. “It would be such an embarrassing way to die.”

It would be the perfect way to die.

He could already see the titles.

Golden Girl with the Golden Cunt: Cleaning the world from Death Eaters even after the war.

Draco L. Malfoy, 33, a former Death Eater and a sole heir of Malfoy Corporation, found dead
after giving 2 (two) mind-blowing orgasms to Hermione J. Granger.

Draco Malfoy: reformed Death Eater or enthusiastic Cunt Eater?

He stuck his tongue inside her and she almost jumped. Draco heard the rustling of papers,
worried she might drop the book on his head. But Hermione skillfully held it in one hand
while gripping the headboard with the other.

She adjusted her glasses on her nose. "I can't... focus... when you do that," she said, her voice
trembling with pleasure.

"Keep going," he mumbled, licking his lips. "What did he say about the trees full of their
sweet juices?”
She chuckled. "Your translations are wild. He said: ‘J’irai là-bas où l’arbre et l’homme, pleins
de sève, se pâment longuement sous l’ardeur des climats.’ Sève. Sap, not sweet juices.”

"Slip of a tongue, I guess.” He gave her a long lick, relishing her shiver of pleasure. “Go on.”

Hermione continued to read the poem from the antique book he had given her last year.
Draco wasn't particularly fond of poetry, but the opportunity to have her read the book in
French while sitting on his face, trying to keep her composure and not mess up her
pronunciation, was too enticing to resist.

He guided her movements with hands on her hip and arse, savouring her reactions.

“'Je plongerai ma tête amoureuse d’ivresse dans ce…'”

She gasped and moaned loudly when he sucked on her clit. It was endearing being the reason
for her to lose the focus from a book. Draco gave her a light tap on her behind to encourage
her to continue.

“'Je plongerai ma tête amoureuse d’ivresse dans ce noir océan où l’autre est enfermé...'”

Hermione read faster, surprising him with her impeccable pronunciation. She did however
pronounce "océan" as "ocean," but overall, she did great.

Draco found himself admiring Baudelaire's way with words. When she read, “Sur les bords
duvetés de vos mèches tordues je m’enivre ardemment des senteurs confondues de l’huile de
coco, du musc et du goudron,” he could feel the picture on his tongue. He could taste it all.

Feeling her clenching around him as he added his fingers inside her, Draco asked, "Are you
going to finish soon?" He continued to lick and suck rapidly, holding her waist to keep her
steady as she moved even faster.

"Yes, yes, fuck, I'm close," she moaned breathlessly.

"I meant the poem," he clarified.

Hermione chuckled and moaned. “'N’es-tu pas l’oasis où je rêve, et la gourde où je hume à
longs traits le vin du souvenir?'” She read quickly and levitated the book to the nightstand.
“There. Done.”

Even in the heat of passion, Hermione handled the delicate book with care. Gripping his hair
and the headboard tightly now, she surrendered completely to the pleasure he provided.

Now that she was stable, Draco could let go of her waist to grab his cock. He was painfully
hard the entire time and he tried not to touch himself before she was done but then he realised
how much he liked seeing her coming like this, so now, almost three of her orgasms later, he
deserved something too.

Her body trembled with pleasure as she came, and Draco savoured the taste of her on his
tongue. He loved how responsive she was to his touch, how every movement and caress
elicited a reaction from her. As she collapsed next to him on the bed, he wiped his face with
his hand, and used it to stroke himself slowly.

He closed his eyes and turned towards the ceiling. Draco felt her shifting towards him, her
breath still rushed from the pleasure when her voice broke the post-orgasmic silence.

"Need a hand?”

"No, not a hand, but if you'd like to suck me off, I wouldn't mind. You know, in the name of
equality and all that.”

Hermione chuckled, and soon her hair tickled his stomach and thighs as she positioned
herself. He watched her on his left, her lips and tongue working skillfully on his tip, her body
bending down and her ass up in the air.

He traced his fingers along the inside of her thighs, teasingly avoiding her wetness. Draco
was almost tempted to use legilimency to tell her to pick up the pace, but he didn't want to
spoil the moment. He did enjoy the feeling of her slow strokes, her tongue dancing sensually
over his tip, but it wasn’t enough.

He let his fingers move higher, barely touching her, knowing he was merely teasing her.
Hermione moaned and shifted, giving him better access, but all he could feel was his arousal
building.

"Hermione?” he said and she moaned in response. “Be a good girl, suck faster, and I may
touch you if I think you deserve it.”

Her mouth started working more enthusiastically, and Draco felt her hands softly caressing
his balls. He was in heaven as she took him deeper, moaning around him, driving him wild
with desire. Well this definitely means she deserves it.

"Come over here," Draco said, pulling her legs until her knees were on either side of his
head.

She lowered herself, and he needed to pull her down more to reach her, but it was worth
it. They had never tried this position before, but it was perfect. He could feel her moving her
hips impatiently, and her moans were driving him insane. Her excitement and arousal were so
obvious, spurring him on to give her even more. She was also sucking him off faster which
now he regretted asking because he would not last for too long like this.

Hermione slowed down and took him deeper in her mouth and she was moaning all the time
but that didn’t help at all. At one moment, she probably relaxed her throat so he could feel the
back of it like he never did before. It was embarrassing what kind of noises he would make if
his mouth were not busy with her cunt at the moment.

He tried to stay still and not move because he didn't want to hear her gag or hurt her but then
luckily she released him from her mouth with a pop sound.

“Fucking hell,” he mumbled against her skin and licked faster.

She flinched and kept riding on his face.

She didn’t take him in her mouth again but instead wanked him fast and hard and he was sure
he would come before her. He was so close now he had to flex his hips up all along focusing
on making her come first.

He tried to, but the sensations she was causing were almost too much to handle. He was
getting close to the edge, she was probably noticing, but he still had to make a quick
announcement.

"Herm… fuck… I'm going to come," he blurted and pulled her down even more, grabbing for
her arse.

It was perfect, like the rest of her. Whatever she was doing in that gym was worth it. If she
would allow him, he would lick and eat every part of her, but for some reason, she wasn’t
interested.

The moment of truth arrived as he felt her resting his cock on her tongue and Draco almost
cursed her for not doing it earlier so he could watch. But he could imagine.

He imagined her soft pink lips opened widely and her tongue ready for his come. It didn't
take him long after that. He resisted the urge to thrust into her mouth, letting her set the pace
as he came, relishing the pleasure.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her even close. She shamelessly rode his face
until her own pleasure peaked, and he felt a sense of satisfaction knowing he could make her
feel this way. Can’t believe she didn't say she wanted this before.

Hermione lay beside him and he reached for his wand to cast a quick scourgify on both of
them before he settled beside her. As they lay there, their breathing gradually returning to
normal, their gazes fixed on the ceiling. She rested her head on the opposite side, so he let his
hand rest on her thigh, his fingers tracing gentle circles. It was a simple touch, a way to bask
in the comforting warmth of each other's presence.

"When are your parents arriving?" he inquired, breaking the silence.

"They're scheduled to land early on Monday," she replied, her voice soft. "And they're
staying for about a week.”

He nodded, absorbing the information. "And you mentioned they're heading to Lisbon for
New Year's?"

"Yes," Hermione affirmed with a nod. "They're quite excited about it.”

“I've never been to Lisbon,” Draco said. “I did go to Porto once, when Portugal played
against England.”

“Never been to Portugal. Is your mother doing something for the holidays?” Hermione asked
and ran her fingers over his thigh.
Draco shrugged. "She usually attends a New Year's gala, but I'm not entirely sure about her
plans this year," he admitted. "She's been contemplating organising her own event for years,
but it never seems to happen.”

In all honesty, he didn't know what she was planning on doing. Usually they would have
breakfast together and spend the day somewhere, but they didn't speak since the last time in
the library.

His mother wasn't initiating contact with him. She only asked Dissy a few times about
Scorpius’ schedule for holidays because she wanted to see him before. It was fine. Draco
didn't want to speak to her anyway.

Hermione shifted slightly. "So, what do you think we should do during the holidays?" she
asked. "I mean, my parents will be here for Christmas. Would you like to join us for lunch or
dinner?"

"Of course," he replied, and surprised even himself with how sincere he sounded. He wasn’t
really looking forward to it. "Just let me know what works best for you.”

She shifted. "I don't want to intrude on your plans, though.”

Draco shook his head. "I haven't really made any plans, to be honest. So, whatever suits your
schedule is fine by me.”

"Alright," she said. "And, well, I don't know if it wasn't already clear, but you should bring
Scorpius along.”

He chuckled softly. "Yes, it was. Thank you."

Their conversation settled into a comfortable silence. He felt her fingers tremble slightly as
they intertwined with his, and he couldn't help but smirk. There were few things he enjoyed
more than the knowledge that he could bring her to such heights of pleasure that her very
core quivered with the intensity.

"I've never actually tried this position before," Draco admitted.

“Sixty nine?” she asked and he nodded. “You know, when I was younger, and kids would
joke about it, I used to think there were sixty-eight other positions that I didn't know about. I
couldn't fathom how people could possibly memorise them all.”

It was his turn to shake, but with laughter.

Hermione lifted herself on her elbows to look at him.

“Oh, that’s fantastic,” he barely managed to say, rubbing his eyes. “Quite the interpretation.”

"I’m glad you’re amused," she replied, her laughter joining him. "It's a bit challenging to
focus on two things simultaneously.”
Draco almost snorted. "Considering your usual penchant for multitasking, I find that hard to
believe."

She rolled her eyes.

"I think you managed quite admirably," he countered with a teasing tone. "I'd say… 'E' for
Exceeding Expectations.”

Hermione arched an eyebrow, an incredulous expression on her face. "An 'E?' Why not an
'O?'"

"You made a few minor mistakes while reading," he explained with a smirk.

She rolled her eyes. “That shouldn’t count.”

“Everything counts, love.”

Draco almost didn't want to leave her house for the next couple of days because once her
parents arrived, they wouldn't spend as much time together. He understood of course, they
haven't seen each other since September. Family gatherings during the holiday season were
important, yet he yearned to be by her side more than ever, especially now, since he still
wasn't talking with his mother.

Her latest co-authored book had been released as well, but fortunately for her, it didn't create
the same kind of frenzy as the first one. However, this didn't mean it was any less successful.
Opting for a release date close to Christmas had proven to be a brilliant move by her
publisher, as many considered it an ideal gift choice. As a result, their initial sales projections
had been surpassed.

After she was done with her meetings for this year, Hermione took Scorp and him to muggle
London to Christmas markets. The bustling stalls and myriad offerings left Scorpius wide-
eyed and fascinated. The array of candies, drinks, toys, and trinkets had him almost
overwhelmed, making it a challenge for Draco to keep up with his curiosity.

Knowing that Scorp might get carried away in the crowd, he discreetly cast a spell that
created a bluish-green aura around him, visible only to him, ensuring he remained more
visible amid the bustling crowd.

She guided them through the streets, sharing tales of her own childhood and holiday
traditions. Mulled wine and hot chocolate warmed their hands while they strolled, and Draco
found delight in a stall that offered one of his favourite, caramel apples.

During the past few days, they had indulged in holiday movies and cartoons. Hermione was
sharing her nostalgic favourites with them.

Yesterday, it was one with neglectful parents who somehow managed to leave their child at
home while they travelled abroad during holidays. In their defence, they did have a lot of
children, something like the Weasleys, but he couldn't imagine the parents of the family
forgetting any of their kids.

Hermione said it was a comedy and it was not to be taken seriously, but it was too late.
Scorpius had taken it at face value, meticulously memorising the intricate traps the young
protagonist set for the intruders, just in case he was ever in the similar situation.

Today, they delved into a beloved cartoon from Hermione's childhood, a tale of a missing
Russian princess set against the backdrop of the October Revolution. The story held a unique
blend of history and magic, with the main villain being attributed fantastical powers. Typical.

“Noticing a trend here,” Draco whispered, his voice carrying a hint of annoyance. “Seems
like only the bad guys get to wield magic.”

Hermione shook her head. “That’s not true. There are a lot of movies where magic is good.”

They spoke in hushed tones as Scorpius had dozed off in the armchair, cocooned under a
knitted blanket, his breaths steady and peaceful.

“Rasputin wasn’t a wizard. I think I would hear about him if he had such a big role in muggle
history.”

“He wasn’t, but there were certainly peculiar circumstances surrounding his death,”
Hermione explained. “And when logic fails, people often turn to myths and fantasy for
answers.”

They nestled in her dimly lit living room, with a single lamp and the television casting a soft
glow. She leaned comfortably against Draco's shoulder, and his fingers traced gentle patterns
on her arm. The movie went on, Hermione quietly mouthed lines she knew by heart, and he
found a certain joy in her familiarity.

“That dress is stunning,” she mused, her gaze fixed on the screen. The princess graced the
scene in a deep navy blue gown with delicate white gloves. “The trail, it shimmers so
beautifully.” Hermione contemplated for a moment. “I might try to find something similar for
Ron's wedding. Do you think it would suit me?"

“Of course. You’re fucking fit. Everything looks amazing on you,” he replied candidly,
earning a light chuckle from her. “Do you have a diamond necklace to complement it? And
earrings? And… what’s that thing called?” Draco gestured toward her head. “The decorative
piece in her hair.”

Hermione responded with a touch of sarcasm. “Of course, I’ll just choose from the vast
collection of precious stones I have.”

“I could always fetch something from the vault.”

She shook her head, her curls bouncing softly. “That won’t be necessary. It would be too
much. It’s not my wed… I mean… I don’t like when… That's a bit excessive, don't you
think?"

“Alright,” he agreed quickly, sensing her slight discomfort.

He knew she was trying to tread carefully, and he didn't want to add pressure to the situation.

Draco had intentionally avoided discussing marriage since their last conversation about it. He
understood the weight of the topic and didn't want to rush her into anything she wasn't
prepared for. He felt ready himself, but he respected that she needed time. What’s the phrase
she uses? The ball is in her field now? Or something like that.

Of course, he wouldn't expect her to raise the question either. He was a man after all and even
though he believed in breaking away from traditional norms, it felt like this was a point of
agreement in both the wizarding and muggle world. Draco felt a nudge of responsibility.

“Do you want to have children one day?” he asked all of the sudden.

She lifted her head to meet his gaze. He admired her ability to maintain eye contact even in
uncomfortable situations, though it did make him feel slightly uneasy. He’d prefer if she
would just keep looking at the telly.

"I… I don't know," she admitted. "I've never really envisioned myself as a mother.”

“Why not?"

She shrugged slowly. "It's… a monumental commitment. Raising a child requires a lot of
courage. Responsibility. Knowledge that goes beyond… academics.”

He almost laughed. “And you think you’re not brave, responsible or knowledgeable
enough?”

She was all that and more.

She frowned slightly. "Why are you asking me this?"

Draco looked at her for a moment and sighed. “Hermione...” he sighed and took her hand.
“You know why."

She shifted her gaze between their joined hands and Scorpius's slumbering form. "Is this the
right time to discuss this?"

Draco didn't answer, he just squeezed her hand reassuringly.

“I… I like kids. I really do. But…” she sighed. “If I could somehow skip the entire pregnancy
part and the first few years of their lives when they are incapable of surviving by themselves
and…”

“And jump straight to when they become working adults and get married and you can be a
grandmother?” he smiled.
Hermione smiled and nodded. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I was thinking, thank you.” She
sighed again, glancing at telly a few times, before she asked quietly. “Do you want more
children?"

Draco shrugged. “Why not? It’s easy enough for me. When it comes to pregnancy at least. Of
course, I had a lot of help when he was a baby, from Dissy, my mother and my aunt.
Eventually, I managed quite well on my own.”

Hermione chuckled and shook her head. "I can't quite picture you dealing with nappies.”

He leaned back thoughtfully, remembering how happy he was the first time he did it
successfully by Dissy’s standards.

"Oh, I changed plenty of them. Let me tell you, no one warns you about the first week of
poop. It's fucking disgusting. And later on, I swear, he had a penchant for it, at least five
times a day.”

She almost laughed, but glanced at sleeping Scorp and stopped herself. “Thank God you're
rich. Nappies can be quite costly.”

Draco frowned in confusion. “Really? Cloth nappies?"

“No, the disposable ones?” she said. “You use them one time and throw them away.”

“No washing?” She shook her head and he followed suit but in disbelief. “Fucking muggles
have solution for everything,” he commented, mostly to himself, but she smiled. “Don't say
that to Dissy. Poor elf had to wash so many of them.”

He looked at their intervened fingers. The soft lighting cast an enchanting glow over
Hermione's features as he watched her. His heart swelled with affection as he took in her
radiant presence.

"I wouldn't want you to miss out on anything," he admitted gently.

“I know,” she nodded slowly. “I wouldn't want that for myself either. To regret not doing
something. Especially not something so important. It’s just… I don't have a definitive answer
to your question. Is this… something that’s important to you?” She looked almost
apologetic.

He shrugged again. “I have a son. I am a parent. I… would like it if he could have a sibling.
Or siblings. It was lonely at times growing alone. Right?”

Hermione nodded in agreement.

“But it’s not… a dealbreaker or anything like that,” he said and squeezed her hand again. “I
love you.”

“I love you too."

A tender smile graced her lips, and she leaned in to give him a quick kiss. She returned to her
comfortable spot against his shoulder, and he could play with her soft curls like this. They
were so bouncy, it was almost hypnotising.

The silence settled between them, and his thoughts drifted.

"It would be nice, you know. To have someone who shares your looks but possesses my
charm. Someone with your intelligence and my personality.”

Hermione's amused gaze met his, “What’s wrong with my personality?"

"Let's not open that door, shall we?" Draco waved his hand dismissively.

Her chuckle filled the air, and she nestled back into his embrace. Their closeness felt natural,
like a seamless extension of their bond.

Draco released a quiet breath. "If you were to choose me, I would consider it an honour.”

Hermione looked at him and leaned in to press a lingering kiss to his neck and he shivered. "I
already chose you," she whispered against his skin.

The following morning, Hermione headed to the airport to pick up her parents. Throughout
the day, she sent him sporadic texts, each one a new instalment in the saga of their
interactions. Draco's phone buzzed approximately once every hour, and he found himself
chuckling at her descriptions of the escalating absurdities.

There was the matter of the meticulously organised kitchen that apparently didn't meet her
parents' standards. Then, there were the items she had decided to throw away, which they
seemed to mourn as if they were treasures. And of course, there was the great debate over the
precise symmetry of the hedges that surrounded the yard.

Some time before, Draco had helped Hermione clear out the attic, transforming it into a
potential reading haven. With a sizable skylight that cast inviting glow, especially on rainy
days, the space was perfect for conversion into a serene reading room. Hermione had planned
of decorating it with lush plants and comfortable chairs, envisioning herself spending
countless hours engrossed in books and tranquillity.

Christmas drew nearer, Dissy inquired about the number of guests expected for the day.
When Draco requested preparations for only himself and Scorpius, he noticed the faint
disapproval that shadowed her features. She didn't openly comment, but her expression spoke
volumes. His mother had clearly been in touch and shared her version of events.

Scorpius wondered if they were going to visit his grandmother. Draco gently deflected the
question, explaining that she was preoccupied with other matters at the moment, but luckily,
he just wanted to see Teddy who was back from Hogwarts for holidays, so they went to his
aunt’s house on Christmas morning.
She was much worse than his mother in hiding her emotions, or maybe she didn't even try.
Regardless, Andromeda wasn't pleased with Draco and he didn't have to guess why. Her
disapproval of his perceived actions was apparent in her demeanour.

Draco suspected his mother had spun a tale to her too that conveniently shifted the blame,
and he found himself ironically looking forward to the relative calm of dinner at Hermione's
house.

In the evening, before they left, Draco took a moment to remind Scorpius that Hermione's
parents were muggles, and that if they happened to ask questions about magic, it would be
important not to laugh. After all, politeness mattered. Though he had little doubt about his
son’s impeccable manners, he felt the need to underscore the point.

They startled them a bit when they flooed in her living room where Hermione was sitting
with her mother watching telly. Her father, meanwhile, was engrossed in some task in the
kitchen.

After a round of introductions and greetings, which proved to be refreshingly warm and
genuine, they moved to the dining room, a part of the house Draco had ventured into only a
couple of times before.

The cosy space was an extension of the kitchen. Hermione's father explained that they had
initially found the kitchen to be overly spacious when they first purchased the house. They
had decided to reconfigure the layout, creating a more intimate dining area that perfectly
complemented their familial gatherings.

He found himself drawn into their anecdotes and laughter, feeling a sense of connection
between them that he hadn't experienced himself with his family. It was a stark contrast to the
tense undercurrents he was accustomed to with his parents. Or only his mother now. Even for
holidays.

“You don’t spend much time here?” her father inquired.

Hermione offered a casual shrug. “Not really. I usually grab a quick bite at the island or sit in
front of the telly.”

Scorpius quickly turned his gaze to Draco, with challenge in his eyes.

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Don’t give me that look. She’s an adult, free to do as she
pleases. However, meals will be eaten at the table,” he asserted.

Both Hermione and Henry shared amused smiles.

“Your father has a point,” her mother chimed in with a gentle tone. “We also have a rule
against eating in front of the television as well. Even now. Right, dear?” she directed her
question to Hermione.

“It’s true,” she confirmed with a nod. “Also I’ve noticed how you eat in front of the telly,
Scorp. That’s why I’ve limited the offerings to dry snacks only. No more drinks while you’re
watching.”

A faint blush tinted his cheeks, but he smiled and continued eating undeterred.

Dinner went well. There were both turkey and chicken, a thoughtful choice given her
mother’s distaste for turkey, a sentiment Scorpius shared. He had prepared himself for
heaping portions of roasted vegetables and cranberry sauce, but this was a delightful
surprise.

Scorp was utterly engrossed in conversation about their professions. Kate engaged him with
the same warmth, patience and calmness Draco had imagined her using with her young
patients. He knew she primarily worked with children. She employed a couple of medical
terms they didn’t quite grasp, though she quickly corrected herself.

“And she actually bit your finger?” Scorpius looked at her incredulously, hanging on her
every word during one of her anecdotes.

She chuckled, and Draco could see the resemblance between mother and daughter. This is
what Hermione would look like in a few decades, albeit with even wilder hair.

“Indeed, though it wasn’t painful. She’s only five, so his bite wasn’t all that strong.”

“Wow.” Scorpius was thoroughly impressed.

Henry cleared his throat, interjecting, “I had this patient once. A boy, slightly older than you,
but good heavens, his bite was ferocious! I actually needed stitches.” He shook his head,
laughing, though Scorpius seemed perplexed.

Draco was about to provide an explanation, but Kate beat him to it.

“Um… you see, when… muggles sustain a deep cut, they use a special needle and thread to
sew up the wound,” she elucidated.

Scorpius froze, and his eyes resembled saucers.

“Generally, it isn’t too painful,” Hermione tried to reassure, chuckling at his concerned
expression. “And in case it does hurt, they have potions and ointments to manage pain, or
they simply put you to sleep, and you don’t feel a thing.”

Scorp turned his gaze back to her father.

“I didn’t have to sleep when I got hurt. It wasn’t too serious,” Henry explained. “Although, a
few years back, I had heart surgery, and that required being put to sleep before they could
mend it.”

His eyes widened further, a feat Draco hadn’t thought possible. “How did they fix your
heart?"

Her father gestured to his chest, explaining, “They had to make an incision here, and…”
“Perhaps this conversation might be better suited for another time, Henry,” Kate gently
reprimanded, placing her hand on his. It was reminiscent of his mother’s manner.

“Right. Later,” he said, winking at Scorpius.

Henry seemed to visibly relax once the formalities were set aside, and he found a genuine
connection with Scorpius. When it was time for dessert, they moved back to the living room
and Scorp settled into an armchair with Crooks in his lap, lending his full attention to Henry's
explanation of his heart surgery.

While he was intrigued by the medical talk, he diverted his focus to the enticing Christmas
trifle that Hermione had brought to the coffee table.

“Wow, did you make this?" Scorpius exclaimed with wide-eyed wonder and she nodded.
"Dad, take a picture and show it to Dissy. She's going to be so envious she's missing out!" he
exclaimed, and his enthusiasm was bubbling over as he admired the layers of the dessert in a
glass bowl.

"I'll pack some for you to take to her when you leave," Hermione promised, which earned an
appreciative grin from Scorpius.

Kate turned to Draco and asked, "Who is Dissy?"

He cleared his throat. "Our... house-elf," he replied, bracing himself for the questions he
anticipated.

A contemplative expression crossed her face as she searched her memory for something. But
before she could piece it together, Henry intervened.

"I thought it was now illegal to own house-elves," he interjected with disapproval, casting a
critical glance between Draco and Hermione.

She took it upon herself to explain, placing saucers on the table for everyone. "It is. Owning
them as unpaid labour is illegal. But Draco and his mother…" she began, her gaze shifting
towards him.

"They are our employees," he cut in firmly. He watched as Hermione expertly portioned the
trifle onto festive plates. "Registered as part of the labour force, just like any other
employees. They receive appropriate compensation, holidays, social and health benefits, and
the rest. All thanks to Hermione," he added sharply.

Henry has been fine the entire evening and he seemed genuinely nice while talking to
Scorpius. But Draco had been having a rough day, burdened not only by his unresolved issues
with his mother but also by the stress of dealing with Hermione's parents and he had reached
his limit.

Her father just listened and observed, and broke eye contact when Crooks jumped from
Scorpius’ lap and walked to him. He attempted to pet him, only to be met with a scratchy
resistance that made Draco internally smirk. Thanks for having my back, Crooks.
The topic shifted, and Kate inquired about Draco's mother. His response was curt, deflecting
the conversation away from her. He could see she was asking just out of politeness, just
because she was mentioned. Salazar, they are so alike. If I tell Hermione, she’d be pissed.

“When are we going to see grandmother?” Scorp asked before he took a spoonful of dessert.

“Another day,” Draco said slowly.

“You haven't seen each other yet?” Hermione asked him, and he just shook his head.

She looked at him for a few more moments, waiting for an explanation, but he didn't provide
one.

“No, but we went to aunt Andromeda and Teddy,” Scorpius jumped in with his own chatter.
“He has a girlfriend.”

“He does?” she asked with a surprise and Scorp nodded.

Draco's eyes rolled almost involuntarily. "He doesn't," he corrected, his exasperation
showing. "Don't spread rumours, it's impolite.”

Scorpius wasn't dissuaded. "Aunt Andromeda said Victoire is his girlfriend.”

"Victoire?" Hermione asked in surprise. "As in, Bill and Fleur's Victoire?"

"Apparently they're working on a project together," Draco interjected before Scorp could
elaborate further. "She's just making it into something it's not. So, Hermione said you’re
going to Lisbon for the New Year’s?” Draco asked her parents, her mother mostly, and she
responded enthusiastically.

The remainder of the evening passed in a somewhat subdued peace. It seemed that Henry had
recognized his earlier lapse in etiquette, as he remained relatively quiet for the duration of the
visit. He redirected his conversational efforts toward Scorpius, answering his inquiries with
patience and respect.

Draco noticed a tinge of disappointment in Scorp’s eyes when he announced that it was time
for them to depart. However, they were staying for a few more days, so there was a good
chance they would share the meal at least once again.

Scorpius retired to his bed after bath and drifted into sleep. With the flat enveloped in a
semblance of stillness, Draco retreated to his office.

Of all the rooms in his home, his office was the one where he felt the most in control. The
sleek, mahogany desk he brought from the manor held a collection of documents, neatly
organised in perfect order amidst the chaos of his mind. He sat behind the desk, a furrow
etched between his brows, his fingers rhythmically tapping against the smooth surface.

The faint glow of his desk lamp illuminated the room as he settled in to complete some work-
related reports that he had intentionally postponed until after the New Year. Fire was
crackling quietly in the other end of the room.
It was a fucking terrible Christmas.

Frustration simmered within him like an unrelenting storm. It had been far from the joyous
celebration he had hoped for. He resented the emotional hold his mother still had on him, and
his anger only intensified by her silence. Yet, he stubbornly refused to be the one to initiate
contact.

The next paragraph of the report dealt with proposed holiday bonuses for his employees; he
signed the document and stamped it with his signet ring without so much as a second glance.
His frustration seemed to ricochet in every direction - at his mother, his aunt for her
judgmental glances, her parents who added an unwelcome layer of tension to the day. And
then there was Hermione.

Should he have reached out to her, called her? She would say ‘of course, yes.’ But what
would he have said? Should he ruin her holidays with his problems too?

No, that would have been unfair, but the bitter taste of disappointment still clung to his
thoughts and he mentally berated himself for it.

He was irate at her for not sensing the tension that coiled tightly within him like a venomous
serpent for weeks. And he knew it was irrational of him.

But even then, if she had dared to ask him if something was wrong, Draco knew he would
have deftly spun a web of lies, convincing her that everything is fine and yet, strangely, now
that she had not questioned him, he found himself stewing in the notion that she didn't care,
that his obvious foul mode was insignificant to her.

It was a paradox he wrestled with, he knew that, especially because he also knew how much
she cared.

A soft knock on his office door interrupted his unreasonable thrall of thoughts. In her cosy
bathrobe, with her hair playfully gathered at the top of her head, Hermione looked like she
was ready to sleep. The glasses on her face caught the warm lamplight in a way that Draco
found utterly endearing.

“What are you doing here? Everything alright?” he inquired as she approached his desk,
casting a curious glance around.

“Perfectly fine,” she replied. “I didn't mean to intrude. Sorry.”

“No need. I was just going over some documents,” Draco said, gesturing towards the papers.

Seating herself in an armchair opposite him, Hermione settled her hands in her lap and
continued surveying the room. “Do you have something to drink?”

Draco nodded and made his way to a tray stocked with glasses and a bottle of firewhiskey.
After pouring a glass for her, he was about to return to his seat, but her words stopped him.

“Aren't you joining me?” she asked with a smile, prompting him to pour himself a glass.
“Cheers,” she offered, raising her glass.
“Cheers.”

He downed his drink swiftly, while Hermione's sipping was accompanied by a grimace and a
shiver. Her candid reaction amused him. “This stuff burns like hell,” she exclaimed.

Draco chuckled. “Perhaps your delicate throat is too refined for strong drinks.”

Suppressing a snort, she retorted, “Refined? Definitely not. Also, delicate? I beg to differ,”
her voice trailed off softly.

A smirk danced on his lips. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Hermione took another measured sip. “I simply wanted to understand why you're in a bad
mood and if it has something to do with your mother.”

His previous stupid thoughts evaporated like mist.

“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” Draco responded, watching her calmly and she
met his gaze unflinchingly. “We had an argument… a few weeks ago. We don't talk. And… I
was in a bad mood because of it.”

“You didn't speak for weeks?” she asked, somewhat worried.

“It happens sometimes even when we are not fighting, so that’s not unusual for us. But…
Now we don't speak.”

She nodded. “Can I ask what happened?"

He sighed, stood, and replenished his glass. “Your parents are asleep?” he inquired and she
just nodded.

Hermione savoured her drink more deliberately, then set the glass on the desk before
approaching him. She studied him for a moment before attempting to perch on his lap.

The smell of her freshly showered skin enveloped him, and her bathrobe felt soft under his
touch. Her lips brushed against his, tasting of cherries and mint, the familiar prelude to her
bedtime routine, though now accompanied by the lingering hint of firewhiskey. He wanted to
drown in her.

“Tell me what happened,” she almost whispered.

A sigh escaped Draco's lips as he lightly squeezed her thigh. “You're quite the manipulator.”

“Is it working, though?” she inquired playfully, but he sensed her concern beneath the smile.

“Hermione, I…” His voice caught. “I don’t want to ruin your Christmas.”

“Your silence is worse for me now,” she said, and her expression reflected worry. “How bad
can it be?"
Draco decided to just be honest with her. She deserved the truth and he needed the relief from
the pressure he had been carrying. Taking a deep breath, he recounted the conversation he'd
had with his mother in their library.

Hermione's face remained composed, yet he could sense a simmering disdain beneath the
surface. As he spoke, her fingers found their way to the back of his neck, lightly playing with
his hair. However, her touch halted midway through his tale. She didn't interrupt, merely
observing him. Apart from a slightly hastened breath, she betrayed no other emotion.

The vulnerability he felt was almost embarrassing. He had to admit to Hermione the hurtful
words his mother had said and how they threatened their relationship, their shared life, and
his son's future.

When he finished, she nodded briskly, her gaze shifting to his chest. She resumed her gentle
scratching of his head. It was a simple but comforting gesture that eased the tension.

“I… I think I anticipated something like this,” she finally spoke. “It seemed too simple, too
easy for you to escape without consequences. I'm sorry that you can't simply evade… what's
expected of you.”

Draco's brow furrowed slightly. “You're taking this rather well. I've been on edge for weeks.”

“Do you feel better now?” Hermione inquired, and he nodded in affirmation. “Well then, next
time, just talk. As for your mother...” A deeper frown creased her features. “If I'm being
frank, I wasn't particularly fond of her to begin with, and now… Well, I'm even less so.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “I had hoped she had changed.”

“She did. Just not as much as you,” Hermione remarked, her hand absently rubbing the back
of his neck. “Honestly, what offends me the most is the thought that she considered us not
serious enough."

Arching an eyebrow, Draco responded, “I tell you she struggled with the idea of us getting
married and having children, but the fact that she believed you were merely a passing fling is
what bothers you.”

Hermione looked at him with a soft smile. Yet, her expression quickly shifted to a
contemplative frown. “There must be some loophole, right? Exceptions, perhaps. If not…
Well, I suppose I can spend forever living in sin with you. You don't have to… marry me.”
She was joking, but there was an underlying hurt, he could tell.

“I brought some books from the manor.” Draco gestured toward a pile of ancient tomes on
the coffee table near the fireplace. “Pureblood marriage histories, including those concerning
specifically my family and the Blacks. Just for comparison. After the holidays, I'll reach out
to my lawyers. They should have more insights. Or maybe they're just better at researching
than I am.”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. “You should give me a few of those. Let me dive into this as
well. And you're right, you should talk to them as soon as possible. We agreed not to waste
time anymore, right? So, let's find a solution,” she said, her gaze fixed on him. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Draco responded.

Hermione leaned in, capturing his lips in a tender kiss. “We can overcome this too. Together,”
she assured him. Her hand moved from his neck to his shoulder, giving it a reassuring
squeeze. “How are you feeling now?"

He exhaled. There was a weight lifted from his shoulders. “Lighter. I should've said
something sooner.”

“You should have. I've lost count of how many times I've told you that. Don't make me repeat
it again, especially if it concerns me, please. You've been sulking for the past month, and I
refrained from prying because you always get so defensive. You'd respond with, 'It's nothing,
just tired from the meetings,’” she mimicked, adding a deep voice for emphasis.

Draco blinked and laughed. “That was terrible, Hermione, I do not sound like that at all. But
you’re right. I'm sorry. Again.”

She rewarded him with a quick kiss before standing up. Her gaze drifted over his desk, from
the scattered documents to the photographs. There were several of Scorpius, some featuring
his friends, and his mother and aunt. All of them were moving, except for two.

One captured Hermione and him on a beach in Spain, and the other was of Daphne, Pansy,
and Astoria, forever frozen in time. Hermione pointed at the latter photo, a smile gracing her
lips.

"I think I took this one.”

"You did?"

Her finger traced the date written at the bottom of the polaroid. "Yes, it was in Edinburgh, I
believe. You can see my handwriting there.”

Draco's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Huh, I never really noticed. I should have, no one writes
like you.”

Hermione playfully rolled her eyes, but her attention was still fixed on the photo. "I never
really spent much time with her. We went out a couple of times, maybe. Saw her at their
manor once or twice. She was always just Daphne's little sister to me.”

"She did mention you a few times," Draco recalled. "Once she spoke about one of your nights
out and how much you could drink. I thought she must be mistaken. Granger? Drinking and
having fun to the point it's worth mentioning? Didn't sound like you I knew from school."

He also remembered Astoria chiding him for not speaking to Hermione when he had already
apologised to Potter and Weasley, but he had been too much of a coward back then.

Her lips curled into a thoughtful smile. "Yeah, but... you didn't know the real me from
Hogwarts either.”
"True.”

"I wasn't one to skip studying for parties, but every time they had drinking games in the
common room, I was there," Hermione explained.

"Drinking?"

"Butterbeer only. I was a lightweight back then.”

"When did that change?"

"After Ron and I broke up," she said, and there was a sudden blush tinting her cheeks. "It
was... difficult to process how different my life would be without him as my boyfriend and as
a friend. We thought it would be better to take some space from each other until we got used
to the idea of not being together."

Draco nodded in understanding.

"He started dating before me, and I... felt a lot of insecurities. Everyone said it would be
easier for me to move on because I'm a woman. That I would find someone new easily. But it
wasn't. I couldn't relax enough to talk to anyone, and alcohol kind of helped," she admitted,
her expression growing more serious. "I wasn't drinking and going on dates and sleeping
around while drunk. No, it's just... that initial step, just starting to talk to someone I didn't
know. That was so difficult for me. It still is.”

Draco nodded in empathy. "I understand. Sometimes, it's not just about starting a
conversation. It's about being with other people. It's difficult. And after Azkaban... alcohol
didn't help, but potions did. I even tried some muggle medication, but getting the prescription
was too difficult, and I couldn't discuss my issues with a muggle mind healer."

Hermione listened intently.

"But I was cautious because they're so addictive. Besides... I knew I would be marrying
Astoria, and we'd start trying for a baby soon after, so…”

"Right.”

"Yes." Draco nodded, memories resurfacing. "My parents were there to keep me in check too.
They didn't allow me to overindulge." Well, mother did. Father was...

"Must be tough for you, to be limited in your excessiveness," Hermione's eyes twinkled with
amusement.

Draco playfully rolled his eyes. "Contrary to popular belief, my childhood was quite
controlled. I couldn't do whatever I wanted.”

"Ah, so that was just at Hogwarts. Spoiled brat," she added quietly.

He rolled his eyes again, feigning annoyance. “Shut up. Do you want to spend the night
here?"
"No, I should go," Hermione replied, starting to walk towards the fireplace. "My parents will
be here tomorrow, but then they're going to visit my aunt and uncles and stay there for two
days.

Draco followed her. "I didn't know you had relatives.”

"I do. My mother has a younger brother, and my dad has a brother and a sister. Our
relationship has been strained ever since my parents… abruptly decided to move to Australia
without informing anyone. So, they're working on it now," she explained with disappointment
crossing her features as she touched upon a less pleasant part of her past. "By the way, that
firewhiskey is atrocious.”

Draco chuckled. "You just have no taste.”

"It's like pain in a bottle.”

"That's the point. To feel something.”

"There are other things to feel. Like joy, happiness, and you know, flavour," she said and was
ready to floo back home.

"I'll come to see you when they're away," Draco promised, earning a nod from Hermione.
"And I'll bring Scorp over one more time before they go back. He seems to really like your
father," he admitted with some difficulty.

The following day, Daphne invited Draco and Scorpius for brunch. Theo was also present,
having essentially moved in since his birthday. He had been clearing his own manor with a
small army of house-elves, and somehow, the convenience of staying with Daphne seemed to
have won him over.

Upon arrival, Draco exchanged polite greetings with the Greengrasses. The formality was
lingering as it always did. Scorpius enjoyed his grandparents' company, though their
interactions weren't as close as with his mother. Draco observed as they departed, and Scorp
launched into a lively tirade about Hermione's parents to Theo, who was now fully engrossed
in a detailed account of the perils lurking within the muggle dental industry.

Pansy, feeling unjustly left out from the post-Christmas brunch, cajoled Draco into inviting
her over for supper. He attributed her long lasting bad mood to her pregnancy, watching her
become increasingly irritable especially in recent weeks.

He was compiling a mental inventory of topics to discuss with her after the baby arrived,
thoughts he hoped to share a few weeks postpartum, when her sensitivity would hopefully
have tempered somewhat. He knew that the interactions would either lead to her shedding
tears or throwing punches, with no middle ground in sight.

He asked Dissy to prepare supper for the guests he'd gathered, Blaise and Luna included. He
had originally planned to meet with him later in the evening for drinks, but he figured this
gathering would serve a dual purpose.

"You just need us to act as a buffer between you and Pansy," Blaise quipped upon their
arrival.

Draco smirked, nodding between them. "No, I need both of you. There's something about
your combined presence that has a calming influence on people. Together, you're… a potent
source of tranquillity.”

Luna studied him with those serene eyes before speaking softly. "Finding inner peace is the
key, Draco. Once you achieve it, sharing it with others becomes effortless.”

He squinted at Blaise. "So, are you at peace with yourself?"

"Absolutely. Never been more content," he responded, planting a kiss on Luna's cheek, to
which she smiled.

Draco wondered about the validity of that claim. He knew his mother had returned to London
and yet again harangued him about his lack of marriage despite being in his thirties.

Blaise had confessed to Draco and Theo just days ago that he had been seriously
contemplating proposing to Luna. Now, however, he hesitated, just because it might seem
like he was caving in to his mother's pressure.

"That's a fucking ridiculous reason not to propose," Theo scoffed that day in his sitting room.
"If you're already thinking about it, just do it.”

“How seriously are you thinking about it?” Draco asked.

"Serious enough that I've been to several muggle jewellery shops and researched lab-grown
diamonds online," Blaise replied, nonchalantly.

"Excuse me, what?"

"Lab-grown diamonds," he repeated. "Muggles create diamonds in laboratories now.”

"What's the issue with mined diamonds?"

"Apparently, they aren't ethically sourced," he explained. "They often involve underpaid or
unpaid labour, sometimes even child labour in certain countries. Luna wouldn't want
anything associated with that. And the jewellery from my vault… Well, there's nothing
ethical about those pieces either," he added in a hushed tone.

Draco wasn't taken aback by Blaise's confession. A decade earlier, perhaps, he would have
been surprised, but in their thirties, the concept of engagement seemed almost unnecessary to
him.

When he finally resolves his situation with Hermione, he'll propose they get married without
delay. No need to linger in engagement limbo. Though planning the wedding she dreamed of
would, in a way, be their own form of engagement.
Blaise might feel differently, but he and Luna possessed a patience that Draco and Hermione
simply did not. It was a small consolation to know that Theo shared a similar sentiment,
though his relationship with Daphne unfolded differently.

Pansy's eyebrows shot up as Blaise quickly explained the concept of buying new jewellery
over using family heirlooms for such a significant life-changing event while Luna was in the
bathroom. Despite her current working class status, Pansy's snobbish tendencies still
persisted, an observation that would have made a fine joke had she not been expecting. Draco
smirked and mentally saved the quip for a more opportune time.

The due date was slowly approaching. She said they didn't buy anything for the baby yet
because they chose not to learn the sex but almost everyone thought she’d have a girl. For
Draco, though, it didn't matter. As long as Pansy and the baby were healthy and well, that
was all he cared about. The baby moved a lot when she placed his palm on her stomach and
he could swear he felt a small fist punching him.

His room in the manor was brimming with old baby clothes, toys, strollers, and bassinets that
Scorpius had outgrown. Suggesting they go there to find anything the baby might need had
excited her. With the passage of time, these items had become vintage, as she said, and she
seemed to enjoy the idea.

The following day, when Hermione's parents went to visit their relatives, Draco brought over
the books they had discussed. They delved into research, side by side, much like they did last
year. He took his place on the sofa, and Hermione settled on some pillows on the floor,
focused on jotting down notes.

Draco recollected how he used to carefully avoid gazing at her last year, pretending not to
notice her when she furrowed her brows while poring over her glasses or when she chewed
her lip in deep concentration. But now, there was no need to pretend. And she wasn’t either.

She rose at one point, crossing the space between them to straddle him, planting a deep kiss
on his lips.

"Time for a break," she declared, and he willingly agreed.

Who was he to complain when she wanted to deviate from the study schedule she made?

Her parents were coming back home for dinner so Draco returned to his flat to bring Scorp
too. He headed straight to her old bedroom to pick up some biology textbooks because he
watched a lot of animal documentaries recently.

"I find it hard to believe that in, what, a thousand years of your family's history, there wasn't a
single… normal person who tried to break away from all that nonsense," Hermione
commented, gesturing towards the books as she worked on finishing the pasta sauce.

"There probably were," Draco mused. He placed the heavy research books in a corner, near
the sofa, and cast a strong notice-me-not spell to avert any questions from Hermione's
parents. "Those individuals likely weren't important enough to be mentioned. Or they died
young and unmarried.”

"Did someone... kill them?" Hermione asked, with astonishment.

She shouldn't be surprised; after all, his family's history was riddled with heritage-obsessed
maniacs.

"No, I doubt it," Draco replied, rolling his eyes. "Our blood is too precious to be spilled,
remember?" he quipped, scoffing at the absurdity. "Perhaps they were ostracised, like
Andromeda. Not talked about, their existence brushed under the rug. It would have been
exceedingly embarrassing and inappropriate to acknowledge that a Malfoy chose not to
follow pureblood traditions, especially back then. It was easier to fabricate stories.”

Hermione mixed the pasta with sauce, and the moment she added an extra layer of cheese, a
heavenly aroma filled the room.

"So, who documents your family now? You?" she inquired.

"Gods, no," Draco shook his head, levitating the plates to the dining room. “Remember the
self-writing book I mentioned before?"

“Ah yes,” she nodded and kept mixing. “Goodness,” Hermione froze a moment later, and
then her eyes widened even more, and her cheeks flushed. "I was there too. In the manor and
we…”

"Yeah, um..." Draco looked away as he positioned utensils around the plates one by one, a
task that could be easily accomplished with a wave of his wand. "I wouldn't be surprised if
there's a paragraph or two about how you tricked me into defiling the sacred grounds of our
ancient lineage by bringing you to the library to read. Among other things," he added with a
hushed tone.

Her parents arrived not five minutes after they had set the table, and dinner proceeded
smoothly.

Hermione inquired about her cousins and relatives, and they mentioned that one of her
younger cousins was getting married because she was pregnant. She seemed unperturbed by
the information, appearing genuinely happy for her. However, it took Draco a moment to
remember that in the muggle world, it was perfectly acceptable for someone to be pregnant
before getting married. It was with some wizarding families too, for sure, just not in his
circles.

The conversation flowed, and they discussed one of her uncles who was set to retire as a pilot
next year in April. This tidbit provided an opportunity for Scorpius to delve into a topic
unfamiliar to him - the world of aeroplanes.

Henry, despite his limited knowledge of… aeroplane technology, did his best to answer his
curious questions.
“But you use an aeroplane when you travel between Spain and England, don’t you?”
Scorpius asked. “So how come you don't know how it flies?"

Henry shrugged with a wry smile on his face. “Do you know how your broom flies?”

Caught off guard, Scorpius shook his head.

“Well, me neither. I just… get on it, take my seat, and hope it doesn't decide to take a
nosedive before landing,” he quipped, attempting to ease Scorp's concern with humour.

It didn’t work.

“You're scaring the boy, Henry,” Kate interjected. “It’s not dangerous, Scorpius. Aeroplanes
are actually one of the safest forms of transportation. In fact, cars are more dangerous,” she
reassured, though her words seemed to have the opposite effect on him.

“They are?” his eyes widened, clearly surprised by this revelation.

Hermione rolled her eyes playfully. “Mum, really."

She proceeded to offer a detailed explanation of statistics, a view that benefited Draco as
well. He had never really considered the idea that cars might be more dangerous than
aeroplanes. However, it made sense; they were everywhere.

“How come they never collide in the air?"

“Each plane has to be in communication with airports on the ground to inform them about
their height all the time,” Hermione explained. “They use computers for that. I'll find some
books about it on kindle so you can understand better.”

Scorp was satisfied with that answer.

He relocated to the living room to watch telly, leaving the adults to enjoy their wine and the
tiramisu that Kate had brought from a local bakery.

“He’s quite the curious one,” she remarked, a warm smile on her face.

“He certainly is,” Draco nodded and spoke to Henry. "Apologies for the onslaught of
questions.”

“No need,” he waved his hand. “I don't often get the chance to chat with children these days,
now that I'm retired. And I haven't been blessed with any grandchildren, so…”

Hermione nodded. “Smooth, dad.”

“So he’ll be starting school next year?” her mother inquired, drawing attention to herself.

“Yes.”
“Is there a difference in preparing for it? I mean, they informed us just one day in summer
that she had to go to a completely different school in the other part of the country, and that…
Well, she’s a witch. It was rather shocking.”

“In that aspect, it's indeed very different,” he replied. “He will also receive a letter in July, but
we don’t have to process it like you did.”

Draco took a sip of his wine. It wasn’t one of theirs, but a nice sherry he hadn't tried before.

“Did you ever have any… suspicions? Before the letter?” he asked, directing his question to
her parents.

They paused, allowing memories to resurface. “There were… a few instances,” Henry
recalled.

“She had an aversion to fish when she was young, and it would disappear without a trace
when we weren't looking. I thought she might have hidden it somewhere, and the smell
would become unbearable after a while, but it never happened,” Kate shared with a smile.

“It was unintentional, but I do remember that,” Hermione added.

“How old were you at the time?"

“Around four or five.”

Of course she was always a step ahead.

“Magical abilities are typically manifested around the age of seven. However, he
demonstrated it after his sixth birthday,” Draco gestured toward Scorpius, who was in the
living room.

“What happened?"

“He was at Daphne’s one afternoon, and they were playing a board game. Someone
accidentally dropped a piece on the floor and it rolled under the sofa, so she asked him to
pick it up. And he simply… summoned it. She said she blinked, and it was in his hands,
glowing. This was in June 2009.”

The memory stirred both pride and poignant emotions in Draco. He remembered almost
crying when she told him.

“A significant milestone, I presume? Comparable to the first word or step?” her mother
inquired gently.

He nodded. “Perhaps even more significant. There are instances when…” He cleared his
throat. “Wizarding children don't exhibit any magical abilities. There's a fear that it might not
manifest, so…”

Her father furrowed his brow slightly. “What happens if it doesn't?"

Draco shrugged. “They would attend a muggle school and pursue a non-magical career,
either in the wizarding or the muggle world.”

“And parents would find that… acceptable?"

It was a complex matter, dependent on the family. He could have easily delved into his own
thoughts, but he chose the diplomatic answer. “Families would need to find a way to embrace
it and enable their children to lead fulfilling lives."

Henry nodded and contemplated something before he spoke. “Do you think it could be a
consequence of all the consanguinity?”

Draco was taken aback by the direct question.

“Henry,” his wife scolded him, covering her eyes and resting her elbows on the table, a
behaviour she had meticulously avoided during most of the dinner.

He found it amusing. She reminded him of his mother, with her trifling table manners and her
attempts to prevent her husband from uttering something inappropriate in front of the
company.

“What? I'm merely asking,” he shrugged, taking another sip of his wine. “I've read about it in
your books, you know,” he spoke to Hermione.

Of course he had. Like father, like daughter.

“Wizards are generally immune to most genetic disorders that might arise from
inbreeding…”

“Henry, please,” Kate interjected with exasperation.

“…so this could be a side effect of it. Like with aristocratic families, right?” He looked to
Hermione for validation, but she merely frowned at him. “They were often short with limb
deformities or congenital heart issues, barely making it to forty. But look at him,” he gestured
toward Draco, who suddenly felt an uncomfortable warmth creeping up his neck.

“Dad,” Hermione warned.

“What? I meant to say he doesn't look like those frail, ugly, incestuous…”

“Henry, let's stop this conversation, please.”

“Um, well… My parents weren't closely related, so…” Draco began, trying not to smile,
because Hermione was clearly uncomfortable with her father’s questions.

She abruptly stood up. “Oh my God, Draco, you don't need to answer this. Dad, I think
you've had enough wine,” she declared as she reached for the glass in front of him.

He blinked in confusion, casting glances between his daughter and his wife.
Their conversation continued, albeit avoiding the topic of hereditary illnesses. Draco found
himself thoroughly amused by Henry for the remainder of the evening.

This was perhaps the first time he had displayed his authentic self - unapologetically candid,
slightly oblivious to the context of their surroundings.

He came across as the type of person who would roll his eyes at admonitions like, "You can't
say that anymore, it's offensive." It was a trait Hermione exhibited sometimes when they
spent extended time together. They were indeed quite alike.

“It's been delightful meeting you, Scorpius,” her mother said, shaking his hand politely.

The evening was winding down, and they were preparing to floo back home, leaving her
parents to pack for the upcoming flight.

“Perhaps you can come over before starting school, just to enjoy some relaxing time at the
beach before the real work begins.”

Scorpius's eyes lit up. “Can we, dad?"

Draco offered a measured nod. “We'll consider it.”

While Scorp engaged Hermione and her mother, Henry took a discreet moment to apologise
for his earlier brashness. It was a gesture Draco found unnecessary; in fact, the evening had
been refreshingly entertaining for him. For the first time in their presence, he felt entirely at
ease. It didn't hurt that Henry's blunt demeanour contributed to the comfort level.

“No need to apologise, Mr. Granger.”

“Henry,” he insisted.

Draco's smile was gracious, and he nodded with a touch of old-world charm. “Indeed, it's
perfectly natural to inquire about such things. After all, one must always exercise caution
when considering who becomes a part of the family, don’t you agree?"

He nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, that’s precisely what… Wait, what?"

With a firmer handshake than usual and a nod towards Kate, Draco replied, “Wishing you a
safe flight tomorrow, Henry. You too, Mrs. Granger.”
 Hermione
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

January and February 2014

Hermione carefully placed the tea mugs on the coffee table before her and Draco, and the
small clink of the cups punctuated the quiet room.

“Thanks, love,” he mumbled, his gaze steadfastly fixed to the pages of his book.

The word from his lips sent a gentle warmth through her, and a smile played at the corners of
her mouth. It was curious how he had the power to make her embrace things she once found
cringy, like pet names.

Seated back on her chosen spot on the floor, she located the page she had marked earlier. “Oh
wow. Listen to this,” Hermione started after a few minutes. "A marriage bond, often sealed
with an Unbreakable Vow,” she emphasised the last words and glanced at Draco, “serves as a
tangible manifestation of the unswerving commitment each partner undertakes. Should one
falter in their duties, the magical repercussions reverberate not only through their personal
lives but through the very essence of their being, binding them to the consequences of their
choices. Thus, the interplay of legal traditions and arcane magic stands as a testament to the
enduring strength of pureblood alliances, ensuring their longevity and echoing the solemn
words, ‘Till death do us part.’”

“Yeah, I know about that,” Draco responded with a casual shrug. “Seems a bit extreme.”

“I agree. I imagine it’s not practised much these days.”

“Probably not. What’s that book again?"

She turned it to read the title from a deep burgundy cover decorated with green ancient runes.
“Bloodlines and Alliances: The Strategic Art of Pureblood Marriages,” she said.

He hummed in response, his focus returning to the words in front of him. He was engrossed
in The Malfoy Legacy: A Study of Noble Lineage and Pureblood Marriage Traditions.

It was sad to watch him read, huffing and arguing with himself, but she let him navigate the
information. Hermione was a silent presence, stopped adding her own opinions, as it was,
after all, his family's history. She didn't like any of this but didn't need to add to his troubles,
so she returned to her book.

After a while, her own book led her to an intriguing viewpoint a few chapters later. She read
quietly.
In the context of pureblood marriages, the act of a woman changing her family name is a
nuanced practice that reflects both tradition and evolving perspectives. Historically, a
woman assuming her husband's family name has been seen as a symbol of unity, a merging of
two lineages to forge a stronger alliance. However, the winds of change have brought forth a
growing recognition of individual identity and the importance of preserving one's heritage.

Very progressive for wizards.

The idea of adopting Draco's last name felt like a significant step, one that held layers of
meaning. It wasn't as straightforward as it appeared on the surface. Her name had been hers
since birth, it was a constant in a world of change.

She lowered her glasses and she cleared her throat, capturing Draco's attention. “What is your
stance on women changing their names when they get married?” she inquired.

He furrowed his brows with a contemplative expression. “Are we discussing a particular

woman here, or…?”

She rolled her eyes.

“I don’t know, Granger. What are your thoughts?” he parried, and his lips curled into a half-
smile.

"I think... that if I were to get married," she began, "I would prefer not to change my name."

His nod of acknowledgment encouraged her to continue.

"No offence to you, but... it's mine. The only thing that no one can ever take away from me.
My name. I know it's normal among muggles as well, but... I’d like to remain... just me. Is
that acceptable to you?"

He shrugged. “It's your name, Hermione. Your decision.”

"Don't you have any... thoughts on the matter?"

A sigh escaped him as he closed his book with a purposeful thud. “What would you like me
to say, Hermione? That I'm thrilled we even need to discuss this? No, I'm not." A hand ran
through his hair in a display of mild frustration. "I would prefer it if you took my last name,
alright? But you know what I'd wish for even more? For me to have a name that's fucking
worth sharing. A name I would be proud to have linked with you and our…” He trailed off,
leaving the thought unfinished.

Future children?

He quickly composed himself. "But if you choose not to take it, I understand. I genuinely do,
and no offence will be taken," he added quickly.

Hermione observed him for a moment, considering his words. "It's more about retaining my
identity than rejecting your name," she clarified.
His understanding gaze met hers. "I get that, too. You've achieved so much. Everyone knows
you as Hermione Granger.”

"Should I hyphenate it, then? Granger-Malfoy, perhaps?"

They went from not talking about marriage and children to this in a very short period and it
felt so strange but also natural.

Draco shook his head. "As I said, it's entirely up to you.”

Hermione stood and moved towards him. Seated at the edge of the sofa, he left enough space
for her to settle on the back behind him. The gentle pressure of her fingers began to work on
his tense shoulders, and he immediately relaxed into her touch, as a soft sigh escaped his
lips.

“Don't be angry,” she said, trying to sound calm and reassuring.

“I'm not ang…” he sighed, his voice trailing off. “I am. Not with you.”

“I know. Why would you be mad at me? I didn't write any of this shit,” Hermione joked and
he chuckled. “I can consider hyphenating my name. It's about finding compromises,
remember?"

He reached for her hand, pulling it gently from his shoulder to his lips, where he placed a
tender kiss.

“Your name is yours to do with it as you wish. No need to make concessions just to appease
me, okay?”

He sighed again, tilting his head to alleviate some tension. The audible release of joints made
her shiver.

“It seems so insignificant, doesn't it?"

Her fingers paused in their ministrations. “What does?"

“Keep going, please. It feels wonderful, even if you have bony fingers,” he commented with
a grin. “I was referring to the name issue. In the grand scheme of things we're dealing with,
it's a small matter.”

Hermione nearly huffed, silently adding, "For you.”

“What?” he inquired, turning his head to meet her gaze.

“I meant, perhaps it's insignificant for you. For me, it's an important matter, regardless of
your last name,” she responded earnestly.

Draco nodded slowly. “You’re right. I'm sorry. I'm making this all about me.”
She squeezed his shoulders. “It is more about you. Not only you and me, but also Scorp's
future and, well, someone else who… might come along the way,” she added softly, causing
him to shift slightly. “Need a break?” she asked and he nodded. “Good. I'm a bit hungry. I can
reheat lasagna from last night.”

Draco nodded again absently and Hermione observed him closely. “You know, it's alright to
feel this way and express your emotions openly.”

“You sound like one of those self-help books.” Draco gestured towards her collection of
popular psychology texts.

Leaning in, Hermione looped her arms around his neck. He leaned back into her embrace,
and a mingling of scents filling the air around them. Her shampoo on both of them from this
morning, his aftershave, and the unique blend of their clothes.

“Would you prefer me to sound more like those philosophers?” She gestured toward a section
featuring thinkers such as Seneca and Marcus Aurelius.

She could practically see his eyes rolling. “No, I'd rather you sound like the ones down
there,” Draco quipped, motioning toward a lower shelf.

“Later,” Hermione playfully promised, easing away from him and rising from the sofa. “Let's
eat something, shall we?"

She reheated the leftover lasagna, and he tidied the coffee table to create space for glasses
and a salad bowl. He turned on the telly, settling on a history channel that has now become a
part of his usual programming.

“Have you spoken to your mother yet?” she inquired.

“No.”

“Draco,” she cautioned. “It's been two weeks since New Year's.”

“So? I did say I would talk to her after the holidays, but I didn't specify when.”

Hermione felt empathy and frustration for him. She understood his conflicting emotions
about reconnecting with Narcissa, but she also wanted him to fix the relationship. She knew
how much his mother meant to him and believed it wasn't worth sacrificing that bond.

Though she had been quite angered by the situation when he explained everything to her, she
had kept her thoughts to herself. It wasn't the time to add to his worries.

She didn't lie when she said she expected this. It was a complex situation. In some ways, it
was almost like a fairytale - a prince choosing his love, just as in the stories. But reality was
different, messier, and the obstacles were not like in the stories.
There was no evil witch (except for his mother), no poisonous apple, no spindle to prick a
finger, but something worse. Tradition. And it wasn't easy to fight against it.

Narcissa’s reaction had stunned her, though. Her only son, a pureblood heir of an ancient
family, getting married and potentially having children with a muggleborn? Hermione had
expected outright opposition, not… a concealed reluctance.

However, every conversation with Narcissa had been subtly tinged with reservation.
Attributing it to her stoicism and upper-class manners, Hermione hadn't immediately realised
the true reason - she hadn't expected her to stick around.

To her, Hermione was just a temporary stopgap until Draco found a more suitable partner.
Why would she get more familiar with a woman who was just there for her son until he meets
someone more appropriate? That was a revelation that made her the angriest.

Draco's distress over Scorpius's future deeply affected her too. She wasn’t a parent but she
understood his anxiety. The entire situation pulled her into a whirlpool of thoughts about
her… their children.

It weighed heavily on her mind. It wasn't an easy decision. Hermione often thought about the
ease with which Ginny and Pansy had approached it, or at least said they did, but she hadn't
felt that same certainty. Seeing her cousins and friends start families had never triggered the
same feeling in her. She couldn't understand how.

How did they decide they were ready?

How did they know they could do it?

How are they not anxious if they’re doing something wrong all the fucking time?

Her parents didn't help much.

Especially not now.

Draco had his fun when he not so subtly hinted to her father they were talking about getting
married and she had to endure a rather long conversation about her future. She was in her
mid-thirties, so it was a bit too late for the speech now, but she let them say what they felt
they needed to.

Her father said to be sure to keep her bank account her own and not merge it, not even for tax
purposes. She tried her best to convey to him how rich the Malfoys actually are but she didn't
want to compare him to some muggle oligarchs or entrepreneurs because it would build the
wrong image and that was the last thing she needed. They only now started to like Draco to
start imagining him as a tycoon.

After dinner, they continued reading. Next on her list was The Noble Union: Exploring the
Rituals of Pureblood Matrimony.
As the title suggested, this tome delved into marriage rituals, some familiar to Hermione, like
the handfasting ceremony and the enchanted ring exchange. Yet, the text also introduced
intriguing practices, such as...

“Magical fire dance. Well, that sounds… curious,” Hermione said.

Draco responded with his typical smirk. “If you have a penchant for public nudity, then
you're in for a treat.”

“They perform it in the nude?!” Hermione skimmed through the passage.

He chuckled. “Only if you happen to be a virgin. So, you don’t need to worry.”

Later that evening, Ginny emerged from the emerald flames, dressed for a party. Susan's hen
do was that night, at the same time Ron's stag do. She had devised a brilliant plan to enhance
the entertainment using veritaserum.

“Thanks, I won't use the whole vial, just for a couple of rounds,” Ginny reassured Hermione
as she accepted it.

She couldn't help but tease. “Haven't you had your fill of brutal honesty for a lifetime?"

Ginny shrugged. “None of the attendees have slept with any of my brothers, in the past or
present, and I'm not familiar with most of them. So, I think I'll survive.”

“Either Weasel has embraced a vow of chastity or you conveniently forgot about the bride,”
Draco quipped, his eyes still glued to the book.

Her frown deepened. “Oh, right. Looks like I'll be drinking tonight after all,” she sighed,
scanning the piles of books and papers. “So, what's the intellectual duo up to?"

Hermione had told them about their current problem which forced them to discuss marriage
and children almost all the time but she wasn’t in the mood to discuss it with Ginny now.

“We're knee-deep in research for Draco's upcoming Wizengamot session. It’s about the new
regulations on cauldron usage and…”

“Merlin, I should have started drinking yesterday,” she interjected, earning an amused smirk
from Draco. “You two scholars have your fun, and I'll go spill embarrassing truths to a
different crowd.”

She departed in a blaze of flames, leaving them to their pursuit.

Draco went home some times afterwards and she was left alone to relax in the bath. She had a
plan to hit the gym the next morning, the first time this year since she took a break from it
around Christmas.
As she stood before the locker room mirror the next day, Hermione was pleasantly surprised
by the sight of a finally noticeable six-pack. Her stomach was mostly flat before but the
muscles were never pronounced like this.

A hint of pride surged within her. I should enjoy this while I can because when I get
pregnant, it’s all gone, probably for good.

Wait, what?

When I get pregnant? Not if ?

Hermione shook her head, attributing her introspection to the days of relentless research into
marriages, bonds, and heirs. And, of course, Pansy's burgeoning belly served as a constant
reminder, effectively keeping her thoughts firmly anchored to the subject.

She let out a spirited exclamation, collapsing onto the sofa with a dramatic flourish. "I
seriously can't wait for this ordeal to be over!" Pansy declared, settling onto the cushions in
one of the Potters’ sitting rooms. "My ankles have decided they want to be the size of my
knees, my bladder's in competition with my head, and my belly... well, it's rivalling the
proportions of an industrial cauldron! I'm basically a walking magical experiment at this
point."

Daphne indulged in an eye roll, while Ginny amusedly arranged tea cups on the table.

"But enough about my ever-expanding predicament, how was your day?" she inquired
cheerfully.

Ginny animatedly recounted the previous night's party. Her voice was slightly husky, which
was evidence of hours of singing and dancing.

"Do you think you'll manage to comfortably get through the entire wedding?" Hermione
asked.

Pansy snapped her head in her direction, her eyes narrowing. "What’s that supposed to
mean?"

"Um," she started quickly, trying to diffuse any misunderstandings, and her gaze shifted
between Ginny, and Daphne, who seemed oddly subdued.

Pansy's expression remained dubious. "Have you spoken to Charlie recently?"

She furrowed her brow. "No, not since the dinner at the Burrow back in November.”

Her sceptical glare persisted, but Hermione couldn't quite grasp what was happening. Perhaps
they were arguing. However, with Pansy’s recent volatile temperament, that hardly seemed
surprising.

She had a good couple of years when she started doing yoga, reading books about
channelling positive energy in her life, eating easier food, not indulging in too much alcohol
and stopped indulging in recreational drugs.
Hermione noticed even a change in her behaviour in the last two years. She was less… well,
less Pansy, but Daphne said she was changing herself hoping that, with potions and
treatments for fertility they were taking for years, the change in the environment would
improve their chances too.

"He suggested I attend the ceremony and then bail if I start feeling too uncomfortable," Pansy
explained, with the mockery in her tone.

"He actually said that? The nerve,” Daphne pretended to be outraged.

She continued her tirade against Charlie, and Hermione's gaze remained fixed on her. She
seemed to be unconsciously cradling her belly as she vented her frustrations. The slim deep
purple knitted dress she wore clung tighter around her stomach, allowing Hermione a glimpse
of the baby's occasional movement.

"Pansy, can I ask you something?"

"Depends," she replied, taking a sip of her tea.

Hermione hesitated only slightly before continuing. "When did you know you wanted a
baby? I mean, how did you decide that it was something you wanted?"

Her reaction was immediate, and her tone tinged with incredulity. "Have you forgotten the
struggle we had with infertility for a decade?"

"No, of course not," she responded quickly, sympathetically. "I just meant, when did you
reach that point where you were certain you wanted a child?"

The room grew silent, punctuated only by the sound of sipping tea. Pansy's eyes bore into
Hermione.

“Are you pregnant?” Ginny asked, frowning and Daphne just blinked.

“What? No.”

“Are you… planning to be?”

Hermione's cheeks tinged pink, and she felt a sudden rush of warmth colouring her face. "No,
no, absolutely not. That's not what I meant.”

"Are you... considering it?" Ginny's scepticism remained evident.

As if the idea of Hermione even talking about children is somehow unusual. It left her
slightly irritated.

"No, it's not like that. I was just pondering, you know, in general. I mean, I'm not getting any
younger, right?" She tried to brush off the notion, attempting to make light of it.

Shifting her attention to Daphne, she inquired, "What about you?"

“No,” her response came swift and firm, almost defensive. She blushed slightly and looked
around the room. “I mean, not… I’m not going to get pregnant.”

Ginny's gaze held a subtle shade of sympathy, while Pansy's expression revealed nothing.
Hermione felt this was a topic that had been debated among the two of them before.

There was no need for justification.

Hermione had considered this for her as well.

With the ancestral blood curse lurking in their family, a curse that, according to Draco's
hypothesis, had been reawakened in Astoria by her pregnancy, and might still impact
Daphne, the decision to forgo pregnancy was undoubtedly a logical one.

In her research of the texts Draco had provided, Hermione delved into the subject of
generational curses, finding them disturbingly prevalent among pureblood families.

The tome she had been immersed in all week, Secrecy and Sacrifice: The Hidden Aspects of
Pureblood Marriage Agreements, revealed the ominous spectre of hidden threats that loomed
over these dynasties. An intriguing thought had begun to crystallise in her mind. Perhaps
many of these curses could be mitigated if purebloods… diversified their marital pool.

Daphne talked about it years ago. It appeared that an ancestor of hers, a powerful witch, had
rejected the marriage proposal of a wizard from a now non-existing family, and years later,
when she was married and had her daughters, she refused the wizard’s offer to marry their
children.

As retribution, he had cursed her female descendants with a debilitating blood ailment that
manifested in adolescence, leading to a slow decline toward death.

Curiously, the curse had lain dormant for a few generations, sparing both Daphne’s
grandmother and mother, who had lived their lives without its shadow. Hermione assumed
that the weakening of the curse might be attributed to the passage of time and the dissolution
of the originating family. The Greengrass lineage bore only faint traces of this ancestral hex,
it seemed.

It was Hermione's theory that by diluting their blood through marriages with individuals
beyond their pureblood circles, whether half-bloods or, heaven forbid, muggleborns, the
curse's potency could diminish more rapidly. Although not pureblood traditionalists as other
families, the Greengrasses were still entwined with certain customs.

Hermione realised a lot of pureblood families were like this, especially when Ron had shared
the wedding ceremony plan with them.

Susan's family, notably her father's side, had a rich heritage as influential pureblood wizards
and witches, particularly within the ministry. In an effort to bridge the magical and muggle
realms due to her half-blood status, they had chosen a blended ceremony that incorporated
elements from both worlds.

They opted for a handfasting ceremony as Ron said it was the fastest one to perform and it
wasn’t anything ridiculous like ancient song invocation, or family crest affirmation.

“That sounds like something you could do with Malfoy,” he joked when they were eating
Ginny’s chocolate cake after dinner at Grimmauld place one evening after the New Year.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Yes, because my family has a crest to affirm.”

“We can make you one. Let’s see…” George interrupted. “Perhaps a red background to
honour Gryffindor, with golden letters.”

Ron nodded. “Definitely a cherry tree in the centre to represent your land. Because you have
a lot of those in your neighbourhood and…” He scratched his beard thoughtfully. “And let's
not forget a tiny mirror and… a dentist's drill to pay homage to your parents."

Hermione laughed at the idea.

“There you go, you should trademark it now,” George nodded, amused.

Her relationship with the older Weasleys faltered over the years, but they remained her
cherished wizarding family.

After her official return from Spain, they extended regular monthly invitations for family
dinners once again. Hermione attended a few times, but more often than not, she politely
declined, much to Pansy's chagrin. The last time she had joined them was in November,
feeling a sense of obligation after her prolonged absence since summer.

Molly's face lit up as she spotted Hermione entering through the backdoor into the bustling
kitchen. However, her expression wavered slightly.

"You came alone... again.”

She offered a warm smile. "Yes, Molly.”

She enveloped her in a tight hug before stepping back to study her. "It would be wonderful if
you could bring the boy along. So we could meet him. Properly.”

"The boy?" Hermione chuckled.

Molly waved her hand dismissively. "You know what I mean, dear. No matter how old you
all grow, you'll always be children to me.”

Truthfully, she had extended invitations to Draco during her initial visits. Hermione had
explained that Pansy would be there, ensuring he wouldn't feel out of place, and that there
would be other “non-Weasleys” present - Fleur, Padma, Audrey, Percy's wife, and of course,
Harry. However, Draco had either declined, cited other engagements, or simply expressed
disinterest.

Hermione had come to know him well enough to recognize that his reasons went beyond
mere schedule conflicts. Draco had always found it difficult to open up, and while she pushed
for communication when she sensed something was amiss, she also knew when to back off.
She respected this boundary.

She didn't need to be a genius to understand his resistance. Knowing how he had once spoken
to Ron about his wealth, family, and home, Hermione realised why he was apprehensive
about attending the Weasleys' gatherings.

She had even contemplated using guilt to coax him into accompanying her by mentioning
that she would be the only outsider present and alone, but she quickly discarded the idea.

Hermine had witnessed his visible discomfort when she shared that Molly and Arthur had
inquired about him on several occasions. While Draco maintained polite communication
when they met, like at Albus or Harry’s birthday, it was apparent that he wished to keep his
interactions minimal. Hermione understood the unease he felt. She had held out hope that a
wedding, given the larger number of attendees, might offer a more inviting atmosphere.
However, she was wrong.

He had been under even more stress than her during this whole research, and Hermione could
see the tinge of envy in his eyes as the idea of watching two people profess their love without
any obstacles.

Throughout the following week, every mention of the wedding seemed to trigger subtle
comments from him. Phrases like, “yeah, Weasley didn’t have to bother with this, lucky
bastard,” or “Bones is going to have her dream wedding, good for her,” slipped from his lips.

It was a bitter pill for him, a poignant realisation that his own culture prevented him from
living his life the way he wanted. Hermione empathised deeply, but from a different angle. If
the wizarding world were ever to shun her, she’d still have a life to fall back on in the muggle
world. But for Draco, there was no alternative.

She wanted to ease his burden somehow, for both of them, really. Yet, the reality was
different. If he, with all his resources and influence, couldn't unravel this conundrum, her
ability to assist was limited.

But she wouldn't let the matter rest and now that the holidays were over, Draco rallied his
legal team so they could together tackle the issue.

There were four lawyers. The oldest was an elderly woman, while the youngest appeared not
much older than Hermione. One man stayed quiet most of the time, but a middle-aged man
was quick to scoff and dismiss Draco's request.
“It's a lost cause. Impossible,” he asserted bluntly. “No offence, Mr. Malfoy, but these are
century-old, binding traditions. Blood pacts. Legally speaking, there's nothing within our
grasp.”

“Legally,” an older woman clarified.

“And if we ventured into… less lawful territory?” Draco inquired, surprising Hermione, but
the lawyers seemed unfazed.

“Illegally…” a quiet man with glasses in a sharp blue suit began. “There are certain blood
rituals that could potentially free you from the ancestral ties. However,” he glanced at
Hermione, “given the blood status of the other party involved, there may be considerable
risks.”

Draco nodded thoughtfully. “So, that's off the table.”

Hermione couldn't help but ask, “Is that delving into dark magic?"

“It's a possibility,” the man acknowledged. “Unfortunately, the scarcity of recorded cases
makes it hard to offer concrete predictions.”

“Alright. Then, what repercussions might I face?” Draco asked.

“The specifics are hazy, especially in your family's unique circumstances,” the older woman
explained. “We lack precedent.”

“Any other family then?"

The middle-aged man answered. “Potential consequences range from stripping you of titles
to expulsion from the Wizengamot, forfeiture of assets from the vault, and removal of access
to blood wards across family properties. Restraining orders could be automatically issued
against family members and properties.”

“No access to funds inherited prior to dissolution. Meaning, you can't simply shift everything
from the family vault to a new account,” the young woman added.

“What about vaults in foreign banks? Or offshore accounts?” Draco inquired.

Did he have those too? What the fuck?

The young woman scribbled a note with a pen, not a quill, on her notepad. “We'd need to
investigate, but my initial impression is that it wouldn't circumvent the issue. Magical
safeguards are anchored to your name and lineage, not to Gringotts or Great Britain.”

His jaw tightened, frustration palpable. “And my son?"

“In our limited experience…” The older woman began cautiously. “He might face similar
ramifications. But, as we said, there is the paucity of…”
“Cases to derive predictions from. Yes, I understand,” Draco interjected tersely, his foot
tapping impatiently under the desk. “What if I transfer my titles to him? Designate him as my
heir and…”

Hermione knew he didn’t want that for Scorpius. And now she half-hoped it would not be
possible to do that.

“It's not feasible, especially while he's a minor. A guardian would be necessary, and you can't
simply replace yourself with someone else, particularly while you’re alive, physically and
mentally in good health,” the middle-aged man explained with a hint of exasperation. “He
could potentially seek emancipation when he turns sixteen, but…”

“No, that won't be necessary,” Hermione interjected firmly, and the man acknowledged her
input before scribbling something on his legal documents.

Draco turned his gaze to her. “What if I were to transfer everything to Hermione?"

The room seemed to stir, eyes shifting and fixating on him, while Hermione felt an
unexpected shock at his suggestion. “Um… Draco…”

“Mr. Malfoy…”

“Mr. Malfoy, it's essential that you carefully weigh…”

“I would highly advise against that course of action.”

“Muggles do that, don't they?” he said. “When… criminals want to avoid their properties,
money or companies being taken away from them, they sign them up on their spouses.”

“Yes, muggles may resort to such strategies, but it's crucial to remember that they are able to
execute such transfers since they are already married at the time of acquisition of the assets,”
the young woman clarified. “And it's usually property acquired during the course of their
marriage.”

“And there's the matter of the substantial transfer fee when moving such a vast sum from one
account to another…” the older woman added.

“What if we list it as a gift?” he asked.

Hermione felt he was getting desperate.

“There is a limit to what could be considered a gift.”

Draco's fingers raked through his hair in evident frustration. “Fucking hell,” he muttered
under his breath, earning a disapproving glare from the old lady. “Apologies, Agatha.”

“I’m sorry, but does this issue require an immediate solution?” the young woman inquired. “I
can delve deeper into this matter over the next few weeks. I can consult colleagues in muggle
law firms and even conduct research at the Oxford library.”
“You have access to the Oxford library?” Hermione asked, surprised.

All the university libraries had their magical department. Hermione hadn't been aware of this
before her job at the ministry. There were even wizarding courses taught alongside muggle
subjects, operating just below the radar of muggle awareness. Such institutions harboured
well-hidden libraries like the one in Oxford, arguably the most extensive public wizarding
library in the country.

“As a former student, yes,” she said.

“That’s… brilliant. Would it be possible for me to accompany you?” Hermione inquired, a

glimmer of hope kindling within her. “I might be of assistance.”

The woman's excitement was palpable. It was a reaction Hermione had encountered before,
though it always made her feel somewhat self-conscious.

“Oh absolutely. Two heads are better than one, aren't they?"

Hermione nodded. “In that case, how about we involve a third head? I have a friend who
could be of great help.”

She nodded.

“Padma is brilliant at this stuff, and I know she’d be excited about the library,” she told
Draco.

A sly smile curved his lips. “Oh, she'd be excited?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Alright, fine, she'd be excited, too.”

On Saturday morning, Hermione got up a touch earlier than usual, determined to wrap up her
preparations before noon.

A scheduled appointment with a hairdresser in the city was first on her agenda. After some
discussion, they settled on an updo that blended simplicity with elegance, allowing loose
curls to cascade gently around her face. An assortment of bobby pins ensured her hair held
firm, and just to be safe, she cast a charm upon returning home.

She did her makeup in her usual fashion, though with a touch more highlighter, and false
eyelashes. For years, Pansy had offered to tutor her in makeup spells, but Hermione found a
sense of tranquillity in the hands-on process, much like painting. When it came to activities
she enjoyed, shortcuts weren't her style.

Spells were her allies for the dress however, banishing any creases with precision. Draco had
suggested they leave it to Dissy, and her mother had recommended a steam iron instead. The
dress fell perfectly when Hermione surveyed herself in the mirror.
She had had doubts about whether the deep navy blue would flatter her, yet those reservations
vanished as she took in her reflection.

The opulent velvet was a perfect choice for a winter wedding. Sleeveless and strapless with a
straight neckline, the top showcased her shoulders while the snug waist gracefully flowed
into a hemline that gently reached below her knees. The attire had an almost timeless appeal,
reminiscent of the elegant hourglass cocktail dresses from the 1950s.

In a nod to Anastasia's gown from a cartoon, Hermione had crafted a delicate scarf from
sheer and sparkly tulle, tied in a tasteful bow behind her back.

The silver jewellery she unearthed from her collection paired well with the strappy sandals
she'd selected. She was going through her jewellery box at the vanity when she heard Draco
strolling in.

A smirk graced his features as his arms crossed over his chest, leaning casually against the
doorframe. "You look… stunning," he declared, his eyes tracing her form appreciatively.

"Thank you," Hermione replied, her gaze travelling over his attire in the mirror. "And you
look… not quite ready.”

"In ten minutes, I will be," Draco retorted. “Dissy's instructed me to select the appropriate
handkerchief to match your dress.”

“Well, come here and match it,” she said and smiled.

He sauntered over, hugging her around her waist. His breath feathered across her skin as he
inhaled deeply, his lips leaving a swift, tender kiss at the juncture of her neck and shoulder.
He placed a pair of handkerchiefs in front of her, observing his options.

"This one?" he asked in hushed tones, his fingers lifting a cooler, deeper shade of blue.

Her answer was a soft exhale and a nod. "Yes, that's it.”

Draco's gaze met hers in the mirror. "I have something for you. I imagined that since your
dress lacks sleeves or straps, a statement necklace would be appropriate."

Hermione chuckled at his comment. Of course he would know about women’s jewellery and
dresses for elegant events.

“What?” he asked and she shook her head. “And look,” a playful gleam danced in his eyes as
he produced a box. "It's long and slender, so I trust there will be no confusion this time," he
quipped with a smirk.

"Thank you for your due diligence," Hermione replied wryly.

“Did I assume correctly that you don't have many silver pieces?” he inquired, his fingers
deftly clasping the necklace behind her neck.
It was a simple round necklace, but it was adorned with diamonds. A shiver of delight
coursed through her as his touch lingered on her skin.

"You did, but Draco, this is…”

"Exquisite?" he interjected, adjusting it with care. "Indeed, it is.”

Hermione met her gaze in the mirror, her fingers grazing the delicate lines of the necklace. "It
truly is, but I can't…”

"Believe that silver compliments you this splendidly? I can," Draco mused, a smug smile
gracing his features as he raked his fingers through his silver-blond hair. His scent, clean and
expensive, enveloped her. "Just for today then," he continued, his voice carrying a gentle
plea. "Let me do nice things for you, Hermione. Books aside," he added quickly, anticipating
her potential protest. "This is the least I can do. You deserve the world.”

"I already have it," she whispered, and it was a truth that resonated far beyond the necklace.
"I love you.”

"Love you too," Draco replied, stepping back reluctantly but keeping a lingering touch at her
waist. "I should prepare myself and I'll return shortly. Are we flooing?"

“The invitation is the portkey. I can activate it after noon.”

Draco smirked. "Impressive efficiency from Weasley, wouldn't you say?"

She chuckled. "One of many surprises, I'm sure.”

While waiting for him, Hermione ensured Crooks had enough food for the day and
strategically avoided sitting in her living room to prevent her dress from being decorated with
orange fur.

Draco appeared right on time, exuding handsomeness in his black suit, and crisp oxford shirt
with elegant silver cufflinks. With a charming flourish, he placed a handkerchief in his pocket
and winked at her. It was embarrassing how weak her knees felt suddenly. Taking his arm,
she activated the portkey with her wand, whisking them away.

They landed in front of the hotel, and Hermione could appreciate the cold January air that
helped dispel her dizziness from the journey. They were soon joined by other guests, nodding
cordially before entering the venue. Guided to the reception room, they found their
designated seats.

The decor was enchanting, bathed in the wedding colours of deep forest green and light
beige. The room was graced with towering windows that framed a winter wonderland in the
garden outside. Rain had persisted throughout the morning, but here the weather charms
created the atmosphere of a perfect winter postcard. She could see chairs outdoors,
presumably for the ceremony, and Hermione eagerly anticipated it.
Seated with Blaise, Luna, Daphne, and Theo, among other friends at nearby tables, they
settled in. The atmosphere was imbued with a magical aura, and it was strange for Hermione
to feel it. She hadn't attended many wizarding weddings. Besides Harry and Ginny’s nuptials,
she had also attended Pansy’s. But at other weddings, she had attended only the reception.

Champagne trays glided through the air, while children dashed about. Lilly, in her mint green
dress, bounded over to Hermione's lap, enthusiastically recounting how Ginny had styled her
hair. Draco looked at her in bemusement, appearing slightly overwhelmed by her enthusiasm.
I know I am.

Teddy and James, who came back home for the weekend from Hogwarts, also made an
appearance. Teddy's hair retained its natural shade, and he talked with Draco in a friendly
manner. It was a development that pleased him endlessly, she could tell. James regaled them
with tales of school escapades, including nocturnal trips to the kitchens with his friends.

When the boys moved on, Draco couldn't resist a remark, “Like father, like son.”

“Not… entirely true,” Hermione countered, playfully acknowledging Albus who was
approaching. “Hello there, you look quite dashing.”

He inclined his head modestly, checking his meticulously styled hair. “Scorp didn't come?”
he queried Draco.

“No, he chose to stay home.”

Hermione noticed Al's fleeting disappointment. The lively and crowded wedding atmosphere
could prove overwhelming, particularly with James back in the picture. He was a natural at
commanding attention, diverting it away from others.

Noticing his dejected look, Draco suggested, “Why don't you ask your parents if you can
leave a bit earlier? Perhaps after the cake. You could spend some time with Scorp; I'm certain
you'd have more fun.”

He hesitated, glancing back at his parents' table. “I doubt they’d agree. Mum insists that it's
not every day my uncle gets married, and leaving early would be impolite.”

“Well, considering how many brothers she has, it might as well be,” Draco muttered to
Hermione, evoking an amused nudge.

“Do you want me to check later?” she offered, and his eyes widened momentarily before he
composed himself.

“Sure, if you want to.”

Draco leaned in to Hermione once Albus had left them. “You know, I'm not saying this
lightly, but that boy is a Slytherin.”

Hermione rolled her eyes in mock exasperation.

“What? He’s nothing like his parents. He’s clever…”

“Draco.”

“No, I don't mean intellectually. I mean, he's cunning, resourceful. I watched him and Scorp
when they're angling for more snacks after Dissy said no. And he’s a middle child?” he
huffed. “He's probably accustomed to vying for attention. Add to that his famous family.
There's an ambitious streak in him, perhaps not visible now, but it will surface. He’s not
getting into Gryffindor,” he stated confidently.

Hermione nodded, her gaze fixed on Albus mingling with the other children. “Definitely not
a Hufflepuff either.”

Suddenly, she harboured a secret desire for Ravenclaw, if only to prove Draco wrong.

Ron and Susan made their entrance a little while later. She was a vision of loveliness in an
elegant ivory dress, while he cut a dashing figure in a beige suit adorned with subtle green
details. Their attire harmonised perfectly with the overall aesthetic of the event. The moment
for the ceremony approached, and the attendees moved outside.

The mastery of magic never ceased to amaze her. They found themselves sitting amidst what
appeared to be a meadow within the confines of the hotel grounds. Soft grass and trees
emerged beneath the blanket of snow, and while flowers were sparse, delicate blue and purple
blooms here and there dotted the landscape.

The snowflakes that floated around them seemed astonishingly real. They melted upon
contact, but they were not cold and weren’t leaving wet spots on their clothes. There was no
need for coats, and even her summer sandals proved to be surprisingly comfortable.

Draco's voice carried a tone of suppressed awe as he observed, "Potter really outdid himself,
didn't he?"

Hermione just nodded. He was really good with his weather charms.

The officiating wizard resembled a blend of a muggle's interpretation of Merlin and a touch
of Dumbledore. Dressed in an ancient linen robe decorated with mystical runes, his timeworn
attire added to his aura of ancient wisdom. He stood before Ron and Susan, and his voice
resonated as he began to speak.

"We stand witness to a moment of enchantment, a convergence of two souls, two families,
and two legacies. As the sacred bonds of matrimony are forged, let us remember that love,
guided by tradition and illuminated by magic, is a force that transcends time and space. To
our beloved couple, Susan Bones and Ronald Wesley,” he said and smiled at them. “Your
journey to this moment has been led by the hand of destiny. You have ventured through your
lives, traversing the paths of ancestry and forging connections that reverberate in the realms
of the heart. Today, you stand united not only by the thread of your affection but also by the
echoes of generations past and the promises of those yet to come.”

His gaze fell on the guests. "And to those who have come here today, you are more than mere
observers; you are guardians of this moment, lending your energy, magic and support to the
weaving of these families into a tapestry of love and tradition. Your presence here today
infuses this union with the power of community and shared joy. May it inspire us to kindle
the sparks of love and understanding in our own lives, for within every heart, the magic of
connection awaits its awakening.”

Hermione felt an almost magnetic pull toward the arch where the ceremony was unfolding,
and she noticed others in attendance also sat up straighter, captivated by the words. Draco's
comforting hand on her knee reassured her.

The old wizard talked more about the importance of the magical community uniting. Then,
with a wave of his hand, he summoned what appeared to be a simple, ancient piece of fabric.
It resembled his robes, and was also embroidered with runes. Hermione recognized a few of
them from her seat.

Love. Fruitfulness. Loyalty. Devotion. Fortune.

Ron extended his palm, and Susan placed hers on top. With wandless magic, the wizard
elegantly looped the fabric strap several times around their joined hands, allowing the
remaining length to sway gently in the breeze.

"As the ancient stars have witnessed countless unions before, let us invoke their celestial
harmony to guide your steps forward.”

A subtle glowing dust emerged from the fabric and it was orbiting around their hands.

“May your hearts beat as one, resonating with the rhythm of the universe itself. Through the
trials and triumphs that lie ahead, may your love remain as unwavering as the North Star,
guiding each other through the darkest nights and the brightest days.”

He then recited an incantation that elicited a subtle reaction from Ron and Susan, causing
them to exchange smiles as a wave of different energy rippled through the air. Hermione
could feel it, not just in the atmosphere, but emanating from the people around her,
particularly from Draco at her side.

She whispered to him, "What is this?"

"It's an ancient magic, designed to connect us all in this moment. To let us experience the
collective unity of a shared cause, like love, in this case," Draco replied, his voice barely
above a whisper.

"By the power vested in me,” the wizard spoke a tad louder, “by the traditions upheld by our
forefathers and foremothers, and by the boundless magic that courses through our world, I
hereby declare you united in heart and spirit.”

The edge of the fabric shone with a bright light and a wave of applause surged through the
crowd as the ceremony culminated in this breathtaking moment.

Draco leaned over to Hermione, his voice a hushed undertone amid the applause. “Every time
the strap is used in a wedding ceremony, it gets another line of threads.”
Hermione's eyes widened in recognition. “Oh, I've read about this in your books! Isn't it
called… the Aurora Veil or Lumina Veil?"

Draco nodded. “Correct. The name depends on translations, I guess.”

She glanced at the ancient fabric. “How old do you think it is?"

“Who knows?"

Lunch approached, and the attendees returned to their tables, with the festive air still
lingering. Draco and Hermione settled in, observing the scene before them.

Theo and Daphne sat on his side, engaged in a playful feeding exchange that earned his
disapproving gaze. On the opposite end, Luna animatedly recounted moonlit Niffler dances
performed at weddings to an amused Blaise, who nodded along with a smile. Hermione
couldn't help but wonder, not for the first time, if Luna had a touch of veela blood in her
lineage.

With the ceremony wrapped up, Ron and Susan glided through the gathered guests as they
exchanged toasts and friendly words. Susan approached Hermione with a radiant smile, and
the two women embraced warmly.

“Congratulations,” Hermione beamed.

“Thank you. And thank you for being here,” Susan replied, genuine appreciation in her
voice.

“I wouldn't miss it for the world. You look beautiful,” Hermione told her honestly and she
smiled but before she could answer, Draco interjected with his usual flair.

“Congratulations, Bones. Or should I say, Weasley now?” His trademark smirk accompanied
his words, earning a laugh from Susan as she embraced him in return.

“Thank you, and no. There are more than enough Weasleys already,” Susan playfully
retorted, moving on to greet others. Ron, now at Hermione's side, embraced her in a heartfelt
hug.

“You're a married man now, Ronald. Congratulations,” Hermione teased.

“Thank you.”

“How are you feeling?"

His slightly flushed cheeks spoke of the whirlwind attention he'd received. “Yeah, it's been a
bit nerve-wracking, I won't lie. Especially not fucking up in front of that druid. Susan told me
not to drink anything before the ceremony. But now, I'm ready to make up for lost time,” he
quipped, lifting his glass in jest. “Is everything going well here?” He surveyed the table.

“Absolutely perfect. I'm happy for you.”

“I'm happy for you too.” His gaze briefly shifted behind Hermione before he spoke again. “I
can’t believe you’re at my wedding,” Ron said to Draco with a chuckle.

“The feeling's mutual,” Draco replied with a smirk. “Green suits you, Weasley.”

Ron gestured toward his hair. “Well, it's all about that contrast, isn't it?"

“Indeed. It’s far more… elegant,” Draco observed, his gaze sweeping across the festive
room.

Ron rolled his eyes good-naturedly, waved to a passing guest, and then returned to the
conversation with their tablemates.

The evening unfolded with laughter, dancing, and loud conversations. The celebration
continued until the cake was cut, a signal for a brief respite to indulge in more drinks and
allow tired feet a moment of reprieve.

While Draco and Hermione shared a few slow dances, he spent the majority of the evening in
the company of Blaise, sitting at their table, observing their group.

Under the soft glow of dim lighting, an abundance of fairy wine added an extra layer of
magic to the party.

Daphne and Theo dominated the dance floor with their contagious energy. Close on their
heels were Padma and George. Even Pansy managed to join in the dancing, albeit briefly,
before her joy was cut short by her frequent bathroom visits.

At one point, Draco excused himself from the celebration, and as promised, took Al back to
his flat under the pretext of assisting Scorpius with his English lessons.

Upon his return, Hermione joined him and Blaise at the table, enjoying the opportunity to
give her feet a break. Sipping her wine, she engaged in conversation with them, until
someone poke her in her shoulder to draw her attention.

"Are you the muggleborn friend of Ronald’s? Granger girl?” It was Ron's grand-aunt Muriel.
“Yes, you are. I recognised your… hair.“

Hermione let it down when she started to dance, and felt a wave of liberation from the bobby
pins that had held it in place.

Aunt Muriel's gaze swept over her, accompanied by a distinct commentary. “You've filled out
quite a bit. Not so awfully skinny anymore, are you?” Her eyes shifted to Hermione's left
hand, raising an eyebrow. "I can see you’re still unmarried.”

“I can see you’re still alive.”

A discreet pinch from Draco found its mark on Hermione's leg, signalling that her response
bordered on impolite.
However, Muriel's eyes rolled skyward. "Barely," she quipped in return with the voice rough
from cigarettes before seamlessly sliding into the vacant seat that Luna had previously
occupied. “Everytime I cough or my hip hurts, I'm just hoping that’s it.” Her curiosity shifted
to Blaise, prompting her to peer at him through narrowed eyes. "Who are you?"

Taken aback by the unexpected attention, he cleared his throat. “Um, Zabini, madam. Blaise
Zabini,” he replied, somewhat startled by the old witch.

Her memory seemed to stir as she offered a condescending nod. “Oh, yes. I know your
mother,” she said and looked at Draco. "And you? You’re… awfully blonde. Is he Swedish?"
Muriel's queries were relentless, and her inquisition sparing no one.

“No, French,” Hermione replied, and Draco snorted barely noticeable.

“Ah, French. Is he a cousin of…?” she gestured somewhere behind her, but Hermione knew
she was referring to Fleur. “French and part veela too. A dangerous combination,” Aunt
Muriel declared, her disapproval evident in her headshake.

“Is it?"

“Yes. You should be cautious with that one,” she warned, her gaze turning towards Draco.

Turning to him, Hermione playfully inquired, “Are you a veela too, Draco?"

“Not to the best of my knowledge,” he replied with a touch of humour, rolling up his sleeves
in a way that never failed to catch her eye, a knowing smirk dancing on his lips.

“You should check that. Wait…” Muriel's surprise was palpable. “Wait… Draco? Are you…
Malfoy? And you… Together here…” she exclaimed, her astonishment apparent.

Fumbling with her dragon skin purse, she rifled through its contents, presumably searching
for her glasses to observe them and facilitate a more prolonged conversation.

Hermione shifted her gaze to Draco with a playful glint in her eyes. “Weren't you about to
invite me to dance?"

“Absolutely,” he replied with a grin, clearly amused by the exchange. “And it seems your
girlfriend is over there too,” he added, nodding toward the dance floor as he and Hermione
rose from their seats.

Blaise nodded in understanding, and they left Aunt Muriel to her own musings.

They danced for a bit and mingled around the people just to avoid her. Pansy and Charlie left
because she felt too tired. For Charlie's sake, I hope he didn’t say “I told you so”.

At the bar, Parvati and Lavender engaged in animated conversation with Dean and Seamus,
their presence drawing occasional stares from the elder guests. Hermione hoped that these
gazes were more curious than uncomfortable.
A brief bathroom break turned into an unexpected auditory encounter for Hermione. As she
walked past one of the cabins, she overheard passionate kisses and whispers.

She almost thought “good for you” when a man loudly whispered to a woman to lift her leg
on his shoulder and complemented her lack of knickers, but then Daphne started moaning
Theo’s name, and Hermione quickly casted a silencing charm on the cabin's door, before
running outside, feeling embarrassed to her core.

Draco had his own bathroom escapade earlier, though less scandalous. He said he had entered
the men's restroom earlier only to find Ginny reapplying her lipstick and Harry attempting to
tame his unruly shirt.

"It’s the fairy wine. And the magic of the ceremony before," Draco said once they had met at
their seats again.

He was sitting with one ankle crossed over his knee and an arm draped casually around
Hermione's chair, and he wore an air of relaxed elegance. It was the kind of confidence that
both frustrated and fascinated her. She found herself observing how he unbuttoned his collar,
rolled up his sleeves, and claimed his space with an unconsciously dominant stance that was
oddly appealing.

"Should we do something crazy too?"

Draco sniffled, momentarily taken aback by her unexpected proposition. "Like what?"

With a casual shrug, Hermione continued, "I don’t know, we already… indulged in bathroom
activities, both public and private. So that’s off the list.”

He nodded, amused by her audacity. "Yeah. Why don’t you let me bend you over the table a
little? I think the old lady from before would enjoy the show. She's been staring since we sat
back here. Don’t look behind you," he added quickly, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Maybe you can kiss me to start. Be a little…” Hermione wiggled slightly in her chair. “You
know, touchy.”

Draco leaned in, lips brushing against hers in a deliberate, slow-paced kiss. His hand traced a
path from her knee up her thigh, teasingly awakening her senses. The kiss deepened, and his
tongue danced with hers, prompting a growing heat within her.

"Like this?" he inquired, his voice tinged with desire and she tried not to think about the
immediate reaction her body had on his touch.

Pathetic. I'm pathetic.

“Yeah," she managed to breathe, struggling to maintain her composure. "It would be nice if
you could put your hand under my dress, but it’s too tight.”

He responded with a gentle squeeze. “And no slit. So modest. What are you wearing
underneath?"
Hermione held his face in her hands, and fixed his hair a bit. He licked his lips at her touch
and the air thick with playful tension.

"No bra and just knickers.”

“Ah, the details matter,” Draco purred, his grip tightening as his fingers explored the curve of
her hip. “What colour are they?"

“Blue.”

“Blue like this?” Draco squeezed her again.

The audacious display they were putting on was sure to catch attention, particularly from
certain older guests.

“No, a shade lighter,” Hermione teased, her eyes locking with his.

“Do you think we stayed here long enough?" Draco's voice, husky with desire, suggested he
had reached his limit. "Weasley’s not going to be mad if you leave now, isn’t he?"

She nodded, her eyes dancing with the same excitement that coursed through her veins. “I
think you’re right.”

Draco had mentioned that he wanted to change into something more comfortable and check
on the boys before returning, giving Hermione the opportunity to floo back to her home.

She wasted no time in shedding her shoes and making a beeline for the bathroom. A sense of
anticipation filled her as she removed her makeup and took a shower. But before she could
welcome Draco in a different blue lingerie set, something else popped into her mind.
Something she was considering since a few days ago, ever since they started talking about
family names.

She quickly put on moisturiser, wrapped herself in a towel and sat on the edge of the bathtub.
I wonder if this would work.

“Um… Dissy? Can you hear me here? It’s Hermione,” she called out tentatively.

In a split second, the elf materialised with a characteristic pop that echoed through the
bathroom. Startled, Hermione nearly lost her balance and teetered on the edge of the bath.

Dissy took in her appearance with her large eyes, her cheeks turning a shade rosier. “Is…
Miss Hermione… Alright? Miss Hermione never calls Dissy.”

A small, awkward smile tugged at her lips. “Honestly, I wasn't sure if you would even
respond.”

With an air of pride, she stated, “Dissy is a free elf and she could respond to anyone she
pleases. But master Draco said that if Miss Hermione ever asks for help, Dissy should
respond as if he was calling.”

Oh.

“Well, that's good to know. Thank you for that. I was wondering if I could ask you for a
favour. And if you could perhaps keep it from Draco. Just until…”

She looked reluctant.

“Oh, it's nothing inappropriate or wrong, I promise.”

Dissy's ears perked up, and she nodded eagerly. “Then of course, Miss Hermione! Dissy will
help if she can. What can Dissy do?"

“I was wondering if you could bring me something from his wardrobe.”

The following week, Hermione found herself at the Oxford library every day. Thanks to
Draco's lawyer, she had access and could spend the entire day engrossed in her research, until
after working hours when Padma and Jo would meet with her.

Josephine Fingerling, or Jo as she preferred to be called, was their third musketeer in this
task. She had preferred a name that wouldn't immediately reveal her gender, as she believed it
made navigating the male-dominated field easier.

Jo grew up in the muggle London, only discovering her magical abilities the summer before
starting school, same as Hermione.

“My dad insisted on keeping my magical heritage a secret until I displayed signs of magic.
But the funny thing was, I didn't show any until they bought me a wand that summer before
school,” she shared one evening when they went out for a drink after work.

Her mother was a witch and her father is a muggle. Not even a muggleborn, just muggle, like
Hermione's parents. She had a younger brother who was the same age as Hermione, though
he wasn’t a wizard and worked as a civil engineer in London.

After completing her studies at Hogwarts, Jo pursued a Mastery in History of Magic. Despite
the expectation for her to teach at the school, she opted for a degree from a muggle university
in law, a path that mirrored her father's, who he was a solicitor. Her association with Draco's
firm had only started a few years ago.

“There’s a fair share of eccentricities among these purebloods. No offence,” she quipped,
addressing Padma while she diligently jotted notes in her pad. “I can’t disclose specifics, but
let's just say I've encountered a few peculiar cases. One elderly lady, for instance, wanted us
to find a loophole that would enable her to transfer ownership of her husband’s mansion to
her twenty-something-year-old boyfriend.”

Hermione couldn't help but chuckle. “Perhaps it was true love?"

Jo raised an eyebrow. “While she was still very much married to said husband.”

“Oh, that changes things.”

The library proved to be a treasure of knowledge, especially in comparison to the books

Draco had brought from the manor. The texts here were more diverse, representing
international perspectives.

“Hey, listen to this,” Padma exclaimed one day, breaking Hermione's concentration. “A group
of progressive pureblood witches and wizards in 17th century Norway advocated for change
by lobbying the… Well, I can't pronounce this, but their Wizengamont, to amend marriage
laws. The resulting "Heritage Harmony Act" allowed purebloods to marry non-purebloods
without the risk of losing their magical inheritance rights. So it is possible to tackle this issue
in a legal way?"

Jo pondered the information. “It should imply that from that point on, families were
prohibited from employing those curses or bans against their own future heirs. Such a law
can't operate retroactively. Check if it mentions that.”

Padma continued to scan the text. “Yeah, you're right.”

“Yeah. Governments can't fully control families like that. Especially when some families are
older than some governments, countries, and laws.”

They immersed themselves in the library, with Hermione visiting even on weekends,
sometimes with Draco too, while Padma and Jo took breaks. Despite his advice to take a
breather, her determination to find a solution gnawed at her. The mere thought that the
greatest library in the country had no answer for her problem was driving her insane.

Each volume she found seemed to tell a similar story - pureblood heirs yearning for freedom,
with outcomes varying from failed attempts to eventual societal change, often with effects
that only materialised years later.

“A high-profile pureblood wizard made headlines when he married a muggle with a rare
ancestral connection to an ancient magical lineage. The legal dispute that followed prompted
the creation of the Heritage Reconciliation Act, allowing for the formal recognition of
muggle relatives with magical heritage, thereby providing a path for intermarriage between
purebloods and muggles who could demonstrate their magical ancestry,” Padma read
aloud. “Hermione, have you ever traced your lineage? Do you know where your magical
gene originated?"

“To be honest, I'm not sure,” she replied, her eyes still locked on her book. “However, I do
have a distant uncle who managed to make his entire fortune and house vanish overnight.”

Jo chuckled, but Padma's brow furrowed in confusion. “How did he do that?"

“Horse races.”

“Oh.”
Taking a break around Luna's birthday and Valentine's Day, Hermione found herself
celebrating both occasions and her and Draco’s anniversary. The irony of it coinciding with
the romantic holiday wasn't lost on her.

"How cheesy is that?" she chuckled, her eyes dancing with amusement. "So predictable.”

Draco defended himself. "I swear, I had no clue back then. I don't know how I missed the
decorations and all that stuff around that time.”

He had secured a last-minute reservation in an elegant restaurant. There is little his name
couldn't do, no matter how many problems it was causing them at the same time.

"Yeah, but this place is lovely. Subtle," Hermione mused, her gaze drifting around the cosy
ambiance illuminated by soft, dim lights. "Remember Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop?"

A dramatic roll of Draco's eyes followed. "Salazar, yes. I had to suffer through it with Pansy
once. I think it was our third year.”

"Really? She… didn’t seem like a type for it back then.”

His expression was laced with annoyance and amusement. "She enjoyed parading me
around.”

"Oh, poor you. A pretty girl wanted to hold your hand and plant kisses in front of everyone.
Truly tragic," she replied, her tone dripping with mock sympathy. "Speaking of, how late is
she now? Almost a week?"

"Yes. They mentioned they might induce her if the baby doesn't arrive by Saturday."

Hermione nodded in understanding.

"Have you been there before? Madam Puddifoot's, I mean.”

“No. I wasn't particularly popular with the opposite sex while in school, you know,” she
admitted with a smile, but the memory made her cringe on the inside.

Draco observed her for a moment. “I think you were, but you were either oblivious or
intentionally daft.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Boys talk. In a… vulgar way, yes, but they talk.”

A glass of wine seemed to be Hermione's catalyst for openness, and she decided to share
something.

“The first time a man approached me at a club, genuinely interested in me and not any of my
friends, was when I was twenty-five. He didn't know anything about me, and he was just
attracted to me. Before him, everyone I was involved with were people I had some
connection with beforehand. They knew me as a person before finding me attractive.”

“Is that a bad thing?"

She swallowed. “It affects your self-esteem knowing they only like you once they get to
know you and that you’re not the obvious first choice. Especially when you’ve been told for
a good part of your life how plain and not pretty enough you are.”

It felt embarrassing admitting it. To view herself through the lens of male attraction towards
her. Silva said not to shy away from those feelings and allow them to be expressed, especially
because it was so common, among women specifically.

Draco's subtle nod was accompanied by a hint of pink tinging his cheeks. "I've never had that
problem," he remarked.

“No?"

"No. I've always been their first choice. I can spot the moment they start scanning the room,
and when their eyes land on me, they do a double take just to confirm. Then they come over,
which is unusually direct for wizards, mind you. We chat, I respond, but I can tell they're not
paying attention to anything I say. In their minds, we're already in a bedroom, where they're
hoping for a night of fun.” He took a sip of wine and continued. “Once it's over, they'll have
an interesting story to share with their friends. Or, they'll entertain the thought of a potential
future, should I invite them back to my place. It's not about me on the inside, I think it was
never about me on the outside either, it's all about the name and all that accompanies it.”

She let him speak without interrupting and as he was finishing his glass. “Yeah, um… that’s
what I planned for when I invited you to my home the first time.”

He smirked. “Did you?"

“Yeah,” she smiled.

“Well, your devious plan worked perfectly in the end,” he smiled. “You have me.”

Hermione looked at him and thought about everything that happened in the last year since
she kissed him for the very first time.

“Mischief managed,” she said, more to herself.

They spent the night in her house, but not before they had a bath together and Draco suddenly
remembered that the faucet had special features she used when she was alone. He was
strongly interested in the demonstration, but Hermione managed to distract him when she
said she found her old school uniform.

The memories of their weekend echoed in Hermione's mind as she found herself back in the
library on a Monday.
“A prominent pureblood aristocrat defied social norms by entering a marriage contract with
a werewolf, a non-pureblood with a unique magical status. The family sought to nullify the
contract, highlighting the potential risks posed by the werewolf's condition. This case ignited
debates about discrimination, prejudice, and the need for changing societal perceptions of
magical beings,” she read and sighed. “Nothing, again just ‘it sparked controversy and
conversation’ and nothing about what to do about it!”

Her head collided with the book in exasperation, and disapproving murmurs resonated from
nearby tables.

Intrigued by the narrative, Padma inquired, "And what happened with the aristocrat and the
werewolf?"

Hermione raised her head from the book, her eyes scanning the text. "The aristocrat died in
the war against the Ottomans, while the werewolf met a grim fate because this is 16th
century Romania.”

Padma let out a contemplative sigh. "Perhaps we've been approaching this from the wrong
angle. Maybe our focus shouldn't solely rest on these aged precedents, but on more recent
changes.”

"Padma, the British wizarding world seems to have been in the same stagnation since... well,
for quite some time," Jo huffed, gesturing toward the array of papers and books they had
amassed. "Many of these historical instances from… Sweden, Hungary, Greece, France are
yet to find their echoes here. We're talking about centuries. This one dates back to 1387, for
example.”

"True, but..."

"Wait. France…” Hermione interrupted because something just clicked. “That book from the
manor's library about the Malfoys and their time in France? It mentioned an old ban on
marrying non-French wizards and witches. However, along the way, the rule clearly changed.
How?” she asked.

“I… I don't know," Jo flipped through her notes. “It doesn’t say, but there could be so many
different ways to lift them.”

“Such old bans? Presumably a few centuries since they have been imposed? How?”
Hermione asked, and Jo shrugged.

“Surely they wouldn’t explain something like that in a book anyone could just pick up from
his manor and read,” Padma commented.

“No, not direct instructions, but can we at least find out in what way? Like if it’s a spell, a
ritual. Potion?” she asked again, and stood up immediately. “I'll be right back.”

Hermione flooed back home and brought the book to them. She placed it on their table,
skimmed through the index until she found the chapter about Armand Malfoy’s departure
from France and arrival to England.
“It must be him who did it, right? Why would anyone before him alter it? Let's see,"
Hermione mused, swiftly scanning through the text until she found what she was looking for.

“Hailing from the noble line of the Malfoys, Armand traversed the boundaries of tradition
and territorial confines when he embarked on a transformative journey from France to
England. It was there, amidst the hallowed halls of the local magical community, that
Armand boldly authored a seismic shift in his dynasty’s pureblood doctrine. With unwavering
resolve, he cast aside the archaic restrictions that had long confined pureblood unions to the
borders of his native France. In a feat of remarkable daring, Armand embraced unity and
inclusivity… Okay, that’s it. He did it. And if he could do it for this ban that was apparently
archaic even in his time…”

“Perhaps Malfoy can do it for the one banning marriage to muggleborns,” Padma said and
leaned in, studying the text closely.

Jo bit the end of her pen which annoyed Hermione endlessly. “Okay, so the good thing is, we
found out that those ancient restrictions can be changed by the heir at the time, but the bad
thing is, we don’t know how.”

"It can't be a potion; it's likely a spell or ritual," Hermione declared. "How exactly are these
bans established?"

"They typically involve writing the restriction on parchment, followed by the casting of some
binding spells," Jo explained. "That's the basic process. More complex and archaic ways
might include some typical binding rituals or specific magical rites, but sometimes even some
dangerous blood rituals. But as for the exact formation of such bans, I've never been privy to
their creation, it's not part of my job.”

"And are you involved when they're lifted?" Hermione inquired.

"Not me, but some form of oversight is required," Jo confirmed. "This ensures that the lifting
of these constraints won't jeopardise the safety of future generations.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Padma's voice chimed in after a contemplative silence. "Listen to this.
Leveraging his deep understanding of magical law and ancient rituals, Armand meticulously
examined the foundation of the ban. He unearthed archaic clauses and rituals that had
perpetuated the restriction, and with the assistance of skilled magical scholars, he performed
a counter-ritual that nullified the effects of the ban.”

Hermione nodded slowly, thinking about the progress they made at the last half an hour or so.
“So… a counter-ritual. Good. That's good. Now all we need to do is… to check every
seemingly related book in the Malfoy library to find something about it.”

“It’s a start,” Padma said, trying to console her, but she yawned. “Sorry.”

"Yeah, you’re right. We did great today; let's head back home," Hermione decided, her own
fatigue beginning to set in.
She sent a text to Draco when she returned home, asking if he could sleep over. He replied
that he would come after finishing a potion with Scorpius. Later, as she settled in bed to
proofread a graduate student's thesis, she must have dozed off, for the next thing she knew,
Draco was gently taking the laptop from her hands.

"Sorry," he whispered. "You can go back to sleep now.”

"When did you arrive?"

"Just a moment ago. It's eleven.”

"Come to bed.”

He acknowledged her with a soft hum and took off his clothes, draping them over an
armchair. The scent of rosemary and salt enveloped her as he hugged her from behind.

"What potion were you making?" she inquired.

Draco chuckled. "Something for seasickness.”

"Planning an overseas adventure?" Hermione turned, kissing him.

Her fatigue had evaporated with his arrival and as soon as he neatly placed his clothes on the
armchair.

She was stupidly turned on by the most non-sexual thing about him.

The way he was writing, with a pen specifically, not quill. The subtle adjustments he made to
his trousers when sitting. The way a muscle in his jaw tightened when he clenched it for a
variety of reasons. The fact that he was so neat and tidy.

With a slow move, Hermione straddled him. Amusement danced in his eyes as they landed
on her mismatched Christmas pyjamas.

"Sexy," he commented, gesturing toward the reindeer on her t-shirt. His hands traced the
contours of her hips through the fabric.

"I've got something better underneath," she teased.

“Then what are you waiting for?” Draco stretched his arms behind his head, a gesture that
oozed casual confidence. "You're overdressed anyway. Take it off.”

She complied, slowly and deliberately. She couldn't see his reaction, but the exhale she heard
indicated his appreciation.

"This is my favourite part," Draco drawled as her hair momentarily tangled with her t-shirt.
"There it is." His smile bloomed as her hair fell over her shoulders. "Beautiful. You’re
absolutely stunning.”
 He sat up, pulling her closer by her neck until their lips collided in a fiery kiss. His hands
roamed her body with possessive urgency, his fingers tugging at her bottoms.

"Taking them off like this isn't going to be particularly sexy," Hermione quipped.

"Are they important to you?"

"Not especially. Why?"

With a swift movement, Draco grabbed his wand from the nightstand and vanished them.
"They were getting in the way."

A glint danced in his eyes as he rolled them over. His erection pressed tantalisingly against
her, and she was instantly filled with desire when he moved his hips against hers.

She craved this, the raw and immediate sex. No elaborate foreplay, no pretense, just a quick
fuck, a means to exhaust themselves before falling asleep and then wake up for a long session
in the morning.

Draco was inside her before she could even register that he removed their knickers. A fierce
bite on her shoulder sent shivers everywhere, and her nails digging into his back in response.
He hissed and flexed his back and she thought she hurt him and apologised quickly.

“No, do it again,” he muttered at the crook of her neck.

A few short minutes later, she was getting close and so was he. Hermione loved what he
sounded like when he was approaching his...

Suddenly, the room was flooded in brilliant blue light, causing them both to tense and gasp. A
dragon-shaped patronus materialised before them, speaking in Charlie's voice.

"Um, just a quick note to let you all know… Pansy's in labour. We're at St. Mungo's.
Everything's fine; no need to worry. Visits aren't allowed until the baby arrives. So, hold off
on coming until I announce we're officially parents. Merlin, I'm going to be a father. This
is… bloody hell," Charlie's voice trailed off, and so did the dragon patronus.

The room returned to silence, save for their ragged breaths. Uncertain glances were
exchanged between them.

"Um, should we...?" Hermione began tentatively.

"I can certainly keep going if you can," Draco replied hastily.

Her tension eased instantly. "Oh, yes. Absolutely. What better way to celebrate a new life?"
she joked and tightened her legs around him.

Chapter End Notes

Ron and Susan's wedding https://www.pinterest.com/tpzzz1105/in-the-mood-for-
truth/ron-and-susans-wedding/
 Draco

February and March 2014

"Wow, can you believe there were actually two of them all this time? No wonder she was so
big.”

"Better make sure you tell her that while she's still hormonal, Theo.”

"How did they miss an entire child? And not just any child, but a rather… big baby at that.”

"Hermione, we don’t have a little telly to peer inside our own bodies, okay?"

"Ultrasound, Gin.”

"Wait, wait, wait. Are you saying muggles can see babies in… inside the belly?"

"Yes, Scorp. Let me show you... I’ll google it.”

"Can I see the baby in the belly too, Aunt Mione?"

Draco listened as they exchanged their thoughts, all the while observing the babies in their
bassinets through the glass window. A nurse was tending to a different baby, so they had an
uninterrupted view.

Babies Linden and Sage Weasley were born on February 18th, much to everyone's surprise.
There had been some delivery complications, requiring Pansy to stay in the hospital for a few
extra days.

Hermione was right. Both babies had jet-black hair, though the girl's possessed a coppery
glint. While Sage was already holding onto the nurse's finger with a surprisingly strong grip
during an earlier check, her brother was lost in slumber.

Behind them, Charlie cleared his throat. "You can head to her room now. Daphne and I will
hold down the fort here.”

She was the only one, other than Charlie of course, who was present at the delivery. She went
almost every day to see her and was beaming at the babies through the window now.

Even under the softening effects of glamours, Pansy appeared rather pale in her less-than-
flattering hospital gown. She must hate it.

Nonetheless, a smile graced her lips as she spotted the familiar faces approaching. Lily
bounded toward her, halted mid-stride by Ginevra's reminder to be cautious.
"Aunty Pansy, I saw them! I saw baby Linden and baby Sage!" she exclaimed as she perched
on the edge of the bed.

"Did you? And what do you think?"

"They're super-duper cute babies, Aunty Pansy!" Lily replied, brimming with enthusiasm.

Scorpius cast a sideways glance at Draco, his nose wrinkling in thought. Draco smiled and
winked at him.

"So, Scorp, are they undeniably cute babies?" Pansy asked.

A blush tinted his cheeks as he shuffled on his feet. "Yeah, they definitely are," he said in a
hushed tone.

"Really?" she raised an eyebrow at him playfully. "I expected more from you, Malfoy. They
were more like a pair of mandrakes."

A chuckle escaped Scorpius.

"And they sound like a pair of mandrakes too,” she added.

"Were you able to get any sleep last night?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, absolutely. Molly was here with Charlie, and I had the aid of silencing charms.”

"And... have you informed...?"

Pansy's head shook with a sharp motion.

In their families, there was an old-fashioned tradition of announcing births in the Daily
Prophet. A small notice would appear, introducing the new members of the society. Charlie
had intended to send an owl to her parents before they saw it in print, but Pansy had
adamantly dissuaded any such efforts.

Her relationship with her mother had faded into oblivion years ago, and with her father since
before the wedding. Pansy did mention seeing some cousins in the Alley while heavily
pregnant, so word must have reached them. Yet, no owl had arrived. She waved it off,
claiming she didn't care, but Draco could read between the lines.

He could understand. While their situations weren't parallel, he hadn't spoken to his mother
either. Hermione gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, sharing her understanding silently.

"Are you still on blood-replenishing potions?" he inquired as Theo studied the diagnoses
hanging at the end of Pansy's bed.

She nodded. "Yes, just two more days, and they even lowered the dosage yesterday. I'm
feeling much better.”
"You don't look your best, though," Ginevra chimed in, her words somewhat awkward and
Potter elbowed her gently. "But… maybe it's because of… the lack of sunlight and fresh air,"
she stammered.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Daphne's glamour spells aren't up to par, it seems. I'm not allowed to
use magic during my recovery," she added.

Hermione's annoyance was palpable in her voice as she interjected, "Pans, you don't need it.
Seriously, you've just pushed two rather big babies through your...” She paused, glancing at
Scorpius and Lily who looked curiously at her. “I mean, you've gone through an incredibly
demanding physical experience. You're allowed to appear... less than perfect.”

Pansy shot her a pointed glare. "Are you even remotely aware with who I am?"

She sighed in response. "Do you want me to fetch you some muggle makeup?" Her tone was
hushed, marked by a sense of defeat.

Draco offered his silent support with a gentle squeeze of her hand.

"That would be wonderful, thanks," Pansy replied with a grin.

She delved into the recovery process in a level of detail that made him slightly uneasy,
especially in front of Scorp, who now understood enough to start blushing a little. But before
he could make an excuse to go out with him, Potter stepped in and offered to take him and
Lily to see the babies again.

"You know, muggles have a way of administering medicine to numb the lower part of your
body, so you can be awake the whole time without feeling a thing," Theo mused
absentmindedly.

Ginevra turned to Hermione, awaiting confirmation.

She nodded. "Yes, it's true. It's an injection. I still can't believe they didn't realise you were
carrying twins.”

"They did mention it was a possibility," Pansy shrugged. "I was on fertility treatments for
years, and... twins do have a genetic link. Same with the muggles, right?"

"Yes, but... forget it. Next time you're pregnant, we'll make sure to schedule a proper
ultrasound appointment," Hermione quipped.

"I'm sorry, next time?" Pansy frowned, then scoffed. "No way, Granger. I've got one of each,
and I'm calling it quits. Save that idea for yourself," she added in a hushed tone, to which
Hermione simply smiled and shook her head.

When he returned home, the rest of the day lay free of meetings. Scorpius attended his piano
lesson, Draco tackled the reports he typically reserved for weekends.

Among them were the ones detailing his mother's charitable donations, which, though not
numerous at this point because of the smaller number of galas at this time of year, extended
to orphanages, museums, and theatres across the country.

Another request for sponsorship had come in. It was a plea for funding to establish a new
primary school. While not compulsory, this institution could prove incredibly beneficial,
especially for muggleborns and half-blood children raised in the muggle world. Draco
thought that Hermione would appreciate the idea.

Following the first such school's establishment post-war, there had been no dire need for
further expansion due to the steady numbers of children. However, circumstances had
evolved. Nursery schools and preschools remained popular, but primary schools, not so
much, as parents frequently hired tutors or chose homeschooling.

There was a letter from his mother amongst the documents on his table. It was written with
the formality reserved for assistants or accountants, and it stated her intention to send a
family heirloom to Pansy for the children.

Due to the heirloom's value beyond mere jewellery and its historical significance, it required
special handling. As the head of the Malfoy house, Draco needed to submit a formal request
to Gringotts and await approval before retrieving it from the vault. Another small price to pay
after his release from Azkaban. He wrote the necessary letter to the bank promptly.

Taking a break for lunch, Draco returned to the books he had brought from the manor. While
Hermione worked with Patil and Fingerling, they eventually had hit a deadend. The key
points they were certain of were however that it was feasible to lift a ban and had been
accomplished before. Yet, many obstacles still loomed.

During their research at Oxford's library, Draco had delved into the manor's collection. He
tasked the house-elves with gathering books pertaining to family laws, wards, and bans, yet
these volumes had no leads. After Hermione shared that the process was achievable through
rituals, he shifted his focus.

Avoiding the manor, fearing a run-in with his mother, he and Hermione didn’t go there, but
Patil did a few times. She returned with two sets of books.

The first one delved into the historical and legal aspects specifically related to the Malfoy
family, rather than pure-blood marriages in general. The second set centred on works
regarding spells, rituals, and curses crafted by his ancestors, particularly those concerned with
preserving blood purity.

"Think they'll ever allow same-sex marriages here?" Padma mused one snowy afternoon at
the end of February, as winter's first snow covered the grass in Hermione's neighbourhood.

Draco's gaze remained affixed to his book. "Where did that thought come from?"

"Well, I don't know... We're still grappling with the possibility of purebloods and
muggleborns marrying. Other common things for muggles seem so... distant. In some crucial
respects, we're always following them, but with a big delay.”
Hermione let out a sigh. "Muggles took their own time reaching many of the milestones
we've hit, but…”

Draco casually shrugged. "To play devil's advocate…”

"I like it when you use muggle expressions," she interjected, earning a smirk from him.

"...we're not outright banned from marrying, it's just that... I'd lose everything if we did.
Everything material, that is." A sigh escaped him. "And now, after wading through all this
information, I've decided, it's a matter of principle. I won't let them strip away what I'm
inherently entitled to. Far worse than me did as they pleased throughout their lives, escaping
consequences. I won't allow them to control my life from beyond the veil."

He sensed their quiet gaze upon him but remained engrossed in his book.

Patil cleared her throat, breaking the silence. "I believe these might be worth a shot next."
She indicated three moderately sized tomes. "This one's in Latin, though.”

"I'll take that one," he volunteered, accepting the book from her.

Patil handed the small blue tome to Hermione. "French for you?"

"Oui, bien sûr," Hermione responded.

Draco smirked.

Her French pronunciation while reading was nearly flawless, but speaking it posed a
challenge. However, when she spoke in Spanish, rolling R's, robust H's, and gentle S's, it sent
a pleasing shiver through him.

Padma joined them on only a couple of occasions, but for the most part, they spent their time
alone in Hermione's living room or on the patio.

She had charmed it to remain warm, enjoying the sensation of frosty grass and the bluish tint
of the outdoors. She claimed to prefer winter, and it was a sentiment Draco couldn't quite
grasp. In his eyes, she radiated warmth and gold that seemed more suited to forever summer.

They combed through so many books that the information started to blur in Draco's mind.
But then, an unexpected breakthrough occurred in March when Potter burst into her living
room.

"It's done," he declared dramatically.

"What's done?"

"The last room. It's finished. No more... dark matter or whatever. Do you want to witness the
end?"
They returned to Grimmauld Place and ascended the stairs. Ginevra leaned against the
doorframe, announcing, "We're almost there. Look.”

Her gesture directed their attention to a yellow barrel in the clean room's centre. The barrel
stood perhaps half-empty with the black, oily liquid on its walls. It appeared to be slowly
receding into the container. It seemed the process would be done within minutes.

"So, it took almost a year," Draco remarked, surveying the room. "How much did this
endeavour cost?"

"Enough to buy a nice suburban home," Potter replied.

He smirked. "Well, look on the bright side. You employed our unpaid labour, but if you'd
paid us, all of this effort might have equated to a suburban house... with a pool."

Potter rolled his eyes at the jest.

"Are the kids here?" Hermione inquired.

"Downstairs.”

She frowned. "I think it might be wise to take them away. We're uncertain what type of
energy could be unleashed when we remove the barrel from the room.”

"You think so? Nothing occurred during the year," Ginevra said.

"Yes, but now there will be no trace of it left inside. I think... it might react," she explained.
As their attention fixated on her, she clarified, "I mean, it took an entire year to extract it.
You've said that the ministry tested it without fully comprehending its nature, so…”

"I'll take them to the Burrow. I'll be right back," Potter declared before heading downstairs.

"Could you lift the apparition ward for us?" Draco requested from Ginevra, and she waved
her wand to dissolve it. "Do you think we'll require additional protective measures?" he
inquired of Hermione. She often had a keen intuition for such situations.

"Definitely. Let's apply sticking charms to the lid when we cover it. If it attacks us with
something, we don't want it to spill from this floor all the way to the ground.”

Ginevra interjected playfully, "Yes, otherwise, we'd need to hire him again," gesturing toward
Draco, "and he complains. A lot.”

He rolled his eyes. "For the last time, Ginevra, you did not hire me.”

She waved her hand dismissively. "Anything else?"

Hermione directed a question at him. "What did you experience when lifting the wards?"

He shrugged. "Burns, a slew of shockwaves, suffocation, occasional electrical shocks. I

mean, I presume; I've never experienced them before. A few hallucinations. You know, just
the usual.”

"Lovely.”

"Kreacher!" Ginevra summoned the elf, and he materialised with a soft pop. "We may require
healing assistance when we remove the final barrel. Remain downstairs until we call you.
And… If you must leave the premises, please do so.”

Kreacher offered a slight bow. "Yes, Mistress.”

Potter returned a few minutes later. "Are we all set?"

As on previous occasions, they designated Draco and Ginevra to levitate the barrel, while
Hermione and Potter positioned multiple shields between them and the barrel, as well as
surrounding the floor. The intention was to contain whatever happened to that specific level.

"Ready?" Potter inquired, and they nodded. "Remember, most of the potential backlash could
be mitigated if we exit the property,“ he spoke with his auror demeanour. “If possible, find a
single person to apparate with to the well beneath the oak tree in the garden. Just walk past
the tree afterward. Attempting apparition with more than one person increases the risk of
splinching, especially if we lose focus."

They nodded in understanding.

"Okay, on three. One, two, three.”

Draco and Ginevra cast the spell, their magic guiding the barrel through the air until it
reached the doorway.

She audibly exhaled. “Gentlemen, it has been a privilege playing with you tonight,” she
quipped.

Recognition dawned, and he furrowed his brow. “Did you just quote…? That’s morbid,
Ginevra, even for you. Focus.”

She chuckled and nodded.

The barrel began to cross the invisible threshold on the floor, separating the room from the
hallway, and nothing initially occurred. Yet, the moment the entire barrel had passed that line,
a force struck Draco with such intensity that his lungs were completely stripped of air.

An explosion rattled the entire house. Before the loud buzzing in his ears, he registered
sounds of shattering glass, splintering wood, and heavy objects crashing to the ground but he
didn’t know what it was. The sudden lack of oxygen left his brain reeling, rendering him
unable to form coherent thoughts.

Despite the shock, Draco managed to apparate to the ground floor just as the wave of energy
surged through them. A sharp pain radiated from his legs when he landed on the floor, but in
his oxygen-starved state, he couldn't focus on it. He struggled to see anyone amidst the haze
of dust and debris. He couldn’t see Hermione.
Barely seconds later, before he could fully process the situation, a grip seized his arm, and he
was whisked away in another apparition. It was a matter of moments before he was released,
stumbling by the stone well.

Ginevra leaned heavily against him, her breath coming in laboured gasps. Summoning his
last reserves of strength, Draco managed to steady her and guided her behind a massive tree.
The moment they crossed the property boundary, he felt the sensation similar to breaking the
surface of water after a deep dive.

It all transpired within a span of less than half a minute, yet the experience stretched
endlessly. They were both panting on the ground, desperately gulping down air.

Before he had a chance to fully satisfy his own air-starved lungs, Draco lifted his head,
scanning the surroundings.

"Where... are... they?"

"Kreacher..." Ginevra managed to rasp out, her breaths heavy and desperate.

The elf showed up instantly, bearing visible signs of distress.

"Find… Harry and Her…”

Another sharp pop cut her off, and Draco's eyes landed on Potter and Hermione. He rushed
towards them, and Potter urged Hermione forward. Draco reached for her, pulling her close.

Gasping for air, she managed to mutter, "Draco... too close... can't breathe…”

"Sorry," he blurted out, quickly releasing her and stepping back.

She clutched at her burnt hands, bent over and panting. Potter was on the ground nearby,
scratched and battered.

Kreacher began to mend his injuries, a task that would ordinarily be easy for an elf, yet he
seemed to be struggling.

"Kreacher... can't..." The elf's hands trembled. He was old and injured as well.

"Draco," he heard Hermione panting as she gestured towards his legs. "You're bleeding…”

Adrenaline must have numbed the sensation, because his trousers were stained with blood,
and he hadn't even noticed. But now the pain decided to hit him full force.

Ginevra's gaze shifted to him from where she knelt beside her husband. "I don't have any
potions on me... and the house…”

“Dissy!” Draco called out urgently.

She apparated to the scene a moment later. "Yes, mas... Master?!" she stammered, her eyes
wide with panic.
"Dissy, please bring anything for surface-level wounds," Hermione took charge immediately.
"Essence of dittany... blood-replenishing potions. Also, something for nerve damage and
tinnitus, anything related to ears, really."

She nodded and vanished.

"Harry can't hear," Hermione explained to Draco, looking at his legs. "It's probably
temporary, but still. Did you splinch?"

Draco's hands shook as he used his wand to slice his trousers open. His legs were indeed
splinched. Strips of skin were missing, forming spirals around his legs with clean edges.

Ginny looked at him apologetically. "I'm so sorry.”

He shook his head weakly. "I think this might have happened when I apparated from the
floor. I felt something off when I landed.”

Dissy appeared moments later, providing instructions to Kreacher. The two elves worked,
Kreacher slower but equally effective. Their combined efforts managed to heal them to a
point where a trip to St. Mungo's could be avoided.

Potter spoke loudly as he vented about the buzzing noise reverberating within his head,
which brought on a headache. Other than that, he seemed to suffer no additional issues.
Ginevra had scratches across her skin, though they were superficial and easily treated. His
legs itch intensely, as new skin slowly formed to replace the damaged tissue. It was
simultaneously repulsive and captivating.

Hermione had burns, but they had healed effectively, except around the scar on her arm. The
potion brought by Dissy failed to penetrate the skin surrounding it, so she decided to allow it
to heal naturally. She adamantly refused to consider a hospital visit.

"Kreacher, could you check the condition of the house?" Ginevra inquired once a sense of
calm had returned.

They all sat on the cold, damp grass. Kreacher nodded and prepared to leave.

"Oh, and Kreacher, please don’t forget to check the barrel," Hermione added, prompting
another nod.

Potter spoke a few minutes later. "You were right. Taking the children away was… a good
call," he commended Hermione. "In all this chaos, I don't know… I don’t know if we could
have even located them and..." His voice trailed off, his head shaking.

"Don't think about it now. We're all safe," she reassured, squeezing his shoulder. "I just hope
the explosion didn't scatter the contents of the barrel throughout your house. Is it safe for
Kreacher to enter?" she asked, visibly worried, rubbing her arm that didn't have glamour on it
now.

She pulled the sleeve when she noticed Draco’s glance.

"Kreacher is a free elf, Miss Hermione. Elves are no longer bound to endanger themselves at
their masters' command," Dissy declared with pride. "Kreacher may leave if Kreacher so
chooses."

"She's aware, Dissy," Draco interjected with a smirk. "After all, she made the law,
remember?"

Dissy blushed, offering a smile in response.

"Not just me, but..." Hermione began, but Kreacher's sudden reappearance interrupted her.

He appeared a bit disoriented, catching the concerned looks of both Potter and Ginevra.

His gaze settled on Hermione first. "The barrel remains… intact. It did roll down the stairs.
Kreacher attempted to lift it, but... it was too heavy, and Kreacher's magic is still..." He
glanced at his hand.

"That's alright. Thank you," Ginevra said gently. "And… the rest of the house?"

He exhaled. “Everything around the room… a disarray. Books in the library… all ruined.
Papers… everywhere. Old Master Sirius’s favourite room… splinters and mess. Restroom…
glass and tiles broken. Walls, stairs, and the entire hallway from the ground floor to the top…
utterly devastated. Doors and windows everywhere broken, but… the inside of the rooms is
unscathed,” he reported slowly, shaking his head in pain.

"The doors likely acted as barriers against the shockwave. That's... one good thing," Draco
added.

"Everything in the kitchen... shattered," his voice quavered with aching sorrow. He must have
loved working there.

"It's more exposed on multiple sides," Potter noted, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Kreacher.
We'll replace everything. I promise.”

Tears welled in his eyes. "There was a cookbook, the one left by the old mistress's mother..."
He turned away, wiping his nose on a handkerchief he produced from his pocket.

Dissy regarded him with sympathy, prompting Draco to nudge her to offer comfort. "Um...
Dissy could find something in the Malfoy manor's kitchen," she suggested.

Kreacher nodded faintly. "The Blackest Book of the Blacks... Gone as well…”

Hermione queried, "Did you feel safe in the house?"

"Krecher didn't feel endangered. But Kreacher isn't a wizard. Danger isn’t the same for
wizards and elves.”

She nodded and rose to her feet. "We should go and assess the situation.”

"We should," Draco concurred and followed her. "However, you'll stay here, and I'll go.”
"No. Why?" she frowned, arms crossed in defiance.

His eyes rolled dramatically. "Because you're injured and a muggleborn, Hermione. Need I
say more?"

"You can't go alone.”

"Of course he can’t," Potter chimed in. "Let’s go.”

They strolled slowly across the backyard, the crunch of broken glass beneath their feet
accompanying their approach to the house. The door leading from the backyard into the
kitchen was slightly ajar, its hinges holding it in place despite the shattered windowpane. It
seemed that the explosion's impact hadn't reached this far.

Potter cast a series of spells, some unfamiliar to Draco, likely learned during his work, while
others were regrettably all too familiar. The ones used to detect lingering dark magic after the
war, prior to the arrival of the aurors for their raids.

"Nothing here, but it's distant from the room," Potter concluded.

"Yeah.”

They walked through the kitchen where everything was broken. Every glass, mug, plate, and
cabinet door lay in shattered pieces. Even the excessively large dining table displayed a
significant crack down its centre. Potter's expression was a mixture of anger and frustration.

Passing through the arch connecting the kitchen to the main hallway, it was as though a
furious duel had occurred, leaving a trail of wreckage in its wake.

Debris was strewn everywhere - wood splinters from stairs, concrete fragments and paper
shreds from walls and wallpaper. The scene was disheartening, yet Draco sensed no dark
magic.

His gaze travelled upwards to the damaged staircase with its gaping holes. "I'm not sure
whether it's safe to apparate there to inspect the rest," he voiced his concern.

“Yeah, me neither,” Potter agreed and narrowed his eyes. “However… acio brooms.”

Draco heard the approaching sound of something sharp cutting through the air. Old, visibly
worn brooms flew into their waiting hands. His legs hurt when he mounted it.

"Let's take a look, then.”

Ascending the stairs on broomback, they surveyed the destruction on their way to the third
floor. Everything appeared to be coated in black.

"Is this...?" Draco began, about to ask if it was the same black substance from the room.
However, Potter extended his hand to touch the darkened wall. "No, Potter, don't…”
"Relax. It's nothing but ash and char," Potter dismissed casually as he rubbed the dark residue
between his fingers. "Don't give me that look. The thing in the room was liquid and in
motion, while this is dry and static. And it smells like charcoal."

Draco roll his eyes at the nonchalant response.

Pooling their efforts, they levitated the barrel through a window and out into the open. As
they glided through the window into the sitting room, the other four approached from the
backyard.

"Does this mean it's safe now?" Ginny inquired.

"It is. The inside is a mess, Gin. It'll likely take us weeks to clean up," Potter informed her.

"You know, I'm beginning to suspect this house might be afflicted by some perpetual damage
and cleaning curses," she mused, sighing as she took hold of her husband's hand. "But that's
alright. At least now it's non-magical debris. We can manage.”

"Maybe I can speed up the process," Hermione interjected. "When the curse breakers tidied
my house after the war, they employed spells that practically restored the rooms to order
instantaneously. It was almost like... well, I want to say magic, but it was more like in
cartoons. Everything simply returned to its proper place in a matter of seconds.”

Draco arched an eyebrow. "You still recall the spells after all these years?"

Hermione chuckled. "Oh, I most certainly do not. But I made notes as they worked.”

"Of course," the three of them chimed in unison.

When he got back home, Draco took a long bath to unwind from the day. He took particular
care with his legs. The new skin was tender and tight, so he delicately applied a balm that
Dissy had recommended for speeding up the healing and regeneration. The balm's pungent
odour of aged ground herbs was unpleasant, but its efficacy was worth enduring it.

Later that evening, Draco proposed to Scorpius that they create a larger batch of the balm in
their lab. He recounted the events of the day while Scorp checked the list of the ingredients.

“Should we make extra for Hermione too?” Scorp inquired.

“Yes, let’s do that. Adjust the quantities for a double batch,” Draco instructed, receiving a
nod of agreement.

He arranged the ingredients on the desk, and Scorp handled the practical task. “It’s a shame
we can't add some fragrant flowers to improve the smell,” Draco remarked.

Scorp chuckled. “Indeed, it smells quite bad.”

“Why can't I add the oils, though?"

He contemplated for a moment. “Because essential oils can be... irritating to the skin?"

“Five points for Slytherin,” Draco quipped.

“You can’t know if I'll end up in Slytherin, dad,” he retorted, rolling his eyes.

“Where would you least want to end up?"

“Okay, don’t tell Hermione, but…”

Oh I most certainly will.

Scorp launched into a rant about how Gryffindors were not as cool as they used to be, and
Draco found satisfaction in this reshuffling of dynamics.

After tidying up the room, mostly without magic to conserve his energy after the day, he
proceeded to his office. Though drained, he wasn't as tired as he initially felt. He went
through some reports, and then settled by the fireplace with a glass of firewhiskey.

He immersed himself in a few books his mother's house elf had delivered. Among the
volumes at his disposal were several diaries, including his father's and Armand Malfoy's.
Better to start with the biggest problem first.

Armand’s diary was a printed version with commentaries, not the original, like his father’s.
The original can’t leave the library in the manor. While Draco harboured doubts that he
would find any valuable information within, Hermione's insistence prompted him to give it a
try.

Sometime after William I was made King of England in 1066, Armand provided various
services to the king. Though the exact details of these services are unknown, they were
believed to be magical in nature.

The irony of the purity-obsessed Malfoy lineage engaging in collaboration with muggle
royalty wasn't lost on Draco. He pondered how his forebears might have justified these
actions, and he supposed they would have cited survival, ambition, and determination as their
guiding principles.

In exchange for these services, King William granted Armand a prime piece of land in
Wiltshire, seizing the property from the former landholders. This piece of property would go
on to become Malfoy Manor, and would be the home of the Malfoy family for the next ten
centuries. Later members of the family would expand the estate even further by annexing
more property from the surrounding muggles.

Annexation. Such a nice euphemism for taking what’s not yours.

An alarm from his watch disrupted his reverie, signalling that it was time to reapply the balm
to his healing skin. The scent of grass and herbs permeated the room, and Draco diligently
followed Dissy's instructions to use the balm every three to four hours.
He recalled that she hadn't provided him with this particular balm during his previous injury
in Grimmauld Place. The memory of the day he and Potter had dismantled the wards flashed
through his mind. The scent of his charred skin, combined with the fire ward's impact, made
for a disturbing recollection.

Draco considered how the suffocation attempt from the ward had felt comparatively less dire
than the recent incident. Perhaps the severity was worsened by the fact that the entire
household had been affected, magnifying the impact on him.

Hermione had compared the event to a muggle bomb detonation, referring to the shockwaves,
noise, and residual effects. Same as when he and Potter lifted the wards. Bombs and
electricity. What was the other thing? Radiation? Yes. There was a ward for that too.

His musings led him to acknowledge the value of having someone like Potter at that moment,
who had grown up in the muggle world. With his knowledge of when certain muggle
technologies had been discovered, he had assisted Draco in sequencing the wards in
chronological order.

The process mirrored the progression of modern muggle technology, beginning with the most
recent advancements and culminating with the older, more rudimentary methods such as
burning and suffocation and so on. From the newest to oldest.

They upgraded their protection as they collected more information about the world and about
muggles specifically, it seemed. Draco remembered Potter concluded the one with radiation
was the newest one and he was right. He suddenly grew curious about it. He conducted a
quick search on the internet for information.

Draco found that muggles had been aware of the hazards associated with radiation since the
late 19th century, but the definitive evidence emerged after catastrophic incidents involving
nuclear power plants. Notably, the Chernobyl disaster in Ukraine in 1986 and subsequent
incidents in the US, Russia, and even Japan in 2011. Muggles are not really good at this
technology, aren’t they?

Regardless, it was in the relatively recent past. It made sense for the electricity ward to
follow. The widespread integration of electricity into muggle lives began in the late 19th
century, only decades prior to nuclear energy, at least according to the internet.

Draco couldn't help but spiral further. He pondered if his Black ancestors had erected these
wards in response to the unfolding development of muggle technology.

Did news of the darker aspects of these advancements reach their ears? Did they proactively
safeguard their world in response to muggle progress? And if so… if they followed
muggles… Did they update not only magical protections but perhaps even… legal ones? Did
they pose new bans following the advancement of the muggle legislature?

What did Patil say when she complained about how wizards are always behind muggles
when it comes to progress? It was obvious in practice, but was it always on the paper too?
She mentioned same-sex marriages. It wasn’t always allowed for muggles, was it? Just
recently.
Reaching for his phone once more, Draco embarked on a journey through the historical
changes in marriage laws in England.

He was driven by pure boredom and disinterest in reading more about his family. Instead of
dealing with the books he brought from the manor, he was procrastinating and googling about
muggle history, hoping he could find some connections between their legislatures over time,
just to confirm his theory.

Starting from the most recent, he went back through the evolution of regulations in
relationships. Some of the latest adjustments affected muggle same-sex couples. He doubted
that any wizarding family had imposed new bans on such unions since these obviously
weren't recognized as legally binding in the wizarding world.

As a matter of fact, he himself hadn't introduced any new bans after taking the helm of the
Malfoy house after his father’s death.

But his investigation took him back to 1987, the year of the muggle Family Law Reform Act.
This act obliterated the lingering distinctions between children born to wedded and unwedded
parents.

Draco took the list of all the bans and requirements his lawyers made for him and there it
was. In June 1987, Lucius A. Malfoy etched into the family’s rules a requirement that future
heirs must spring from pureblood, wedded unions, which was somewhat flexible before, he
noticed. Moreover, he ensured that no child born outside wedlock could lay claim to
succession, but that ban that existed long ago.

Intrigued, Draco reached for his father's diary. Unlike Armand's diary, which was a mix of
genuine experiences and constructed tales to perpetuate the founder's legacy, Lucius's diary
was more of a pragmatic log, a record of daily activities.

As he flipped the pages from January 1987, Draco's eyes fixed on his father's handwriting. It
was an innocent reminder of his presence. Memories of the letters they exchanged during his
school years resurfaced, tinged with an undercurrent of complex emotions.

He continued through the diary, arriving at a pivotal entry in June. There it was, succinctly
stated: "New ban - children born out of wedlock. Owl Hamilton." Hamilton was a lawyer,
Draco remembered the man.

The timing was remarkably synchronous. Just one month after the muggle world
implemented the Family Law Reform Act, Lucius had reacted with a legal amendment of his
own.

Draco wanted to make sure he was right about this and it wasn’t just a mere coincidence. His
suspicions gained more substance when he came across the Adoption Act of 1976, a piece of
muggle legislation that extended access to original birth certificates for adopted children.

The resonance was unmistakable when he realised that just two months after this muggle Act,
his father had introduced a new ban prohibiting adopted pureblood children from accessing
their birth certificates.
Not that there had ever been any instances of pureblood orphans being adopted; the notion
seemed implausible. Only after wars, perhaps.

He couldn't help but acknowledge the rabbit hole he had willingly descended into, as
Hermione would often say. How did he find himself now reading about marriage reform in
England and comparing it to his ancestors’ action… just for fun? She had a bad influence on
me.

He was almost intrigued now, wanting to see how much they allowed muggles to dictate their
lives.

Draco also encountered muggle amendments to laws on "homosexual activity and

prostitution" in the 1950s. Astonishingly, his grandfather, during the same period, didn't
adopt the contrary path that his father often did. Instead, he exhibited a measure of…
progressiveness by permitting these changes, however, with a caveat: as long as these shifts
didn't impinge on family life.

He found it ironic that his grandfather, often seen as a staunch traditionalist, displayed an
easier approach compared to his own father's.

The parallels continued as Draco retraced the footsteps of muggle legal reformations. His
exploration reached a particularly intriguing milestone with the Marriage Act of 1836, which
granted the right for "religious nonconformists and Catholics to marry in their own places of
worship.”

Draco was acutely aware of the significance of muggle religious ceremonies in the wizarding
world. Despite what Hermione said about modern scepticism and evolving worldviews, the
sanctity of religious rituals persisted, rooted in ancient traditions and connections to the
spiritual realm. Although he lacked intricate knowledge of the ceremonies, he understood the
nature of chanting, prayer, sacred objects, and priests guiding the rituals.

When muggleborns began to integrate into the wizarding community centuries ago, their
religious ceremonies inevitably gained legitimacy. The wizards recognized the potency of
these ancient rituals as a form of forgotten magic in their own right.

Additionally, it was a matter of rare equity; it wouldn't be just to classify all muggleborns as
"born out of wedlock" solely due to a lack of wizarding recognition of their marriage rituals.

He googled the act because he was suddenly interested in who “religious nonconformists”
are, when another article caught his eye. It was about the same Marriage act from 1836 but it
talked about civil marriage. He froze when he started reading more about it.

Marrying without religious rites, it said.

This act was contemptuously referred to as the "Broomstick Marriage Act" (a phrase which
referred to a custom in supposed "sham marriages'') by those who felt that a marriage
outside the Anglican church did not deserve legal recognition. Broomstick? How fitting.

He grabbed the list of requirements and tried to find anything about civil marriage.
Nothing.

No updates around 1836 either. Not even afterwards.

He double-checked it.

And then again.

Was that it?

Had he truly found the solution?

Could their answer be as simple as having a muggle civil ceremony and embracing the titles
of husband and wife?

No, it couldn't be that easy. If it were, surely more people would have already taken
advantage of this loophole.

But he stopped to, yet again, remind himself that he and Hermione were navigating uncharted
territory. Their unique situation is the exception.

How many pureblood heirs from major families Draco knew got married to muggleborns in
the last fifteen years? From families so influential they would have an extensive list of bans
regarding marriage? No one.

Was it truly possible? His heart raced for two distinct reasons. Firstly, the possibility of
officially marrying the love of his life, creating a bond that could protect them and perhaps a
future family. Secondly, the idea that he might have stumbled upon the solution before
Hermione.

He had to tell her immediately. He leaped to his feet with some difficulty, reaching for floo
powder, only to be momentarily blinded by the sudden eruption of green flames. Stepping
back, he blinked rapidly until the flames receded, revealing Hermione standing in his office,
clad in a plush bathrobe. She was mid-sentence, her words tumbling out in a hurry.

"Oops, sorry. I didn’t know you were here. Last time, when I arrived at night, I went to your
living room, and I thought it might've been noisy, and it’s late, so it seemed better to floo here
and…”

"Everything alright?" he inquired.

Her response was a nod, the unruly curls atop her head mirroring the movement. "I think… I
might have another clue.”

"You do? Well, I have something as well, but please, go ahead.”

She gently urged him back onto the sofa and stood before him, clearly excited. "We've been
scouring through countless books, combing your library for any hint. But it's like searching
for a needle in a haystack.”
Draco's gaze remained locked on her, listening intently as she continued.

"But today, when Kreacher mentioned The Blackest Book of the Blacks, it only struck me
hours later that we have your self-writing book too and perhaps we can see…”

“Who put the ban against marrying muggleborns and how to lift it.” The realisation hit him
like a bolt of lightning. "Of course! Why didn't I think of that? It's so… glaringly obvious.”

A soft chuckle escaped Hermione's lips. "Perhaps it's because it was right under your nose all
along. You couldn't see the forest for the trees.”

"I do enjoy it when you sound like a Cambridge dictionary," he teased.

She blinked in surprise at his comment, clearly not expecting that response.

"Well, that probably explains why you didn't think of my... potential solution."

Her eyes widened in anticipation.

"Civil marriage," he stated simply.

Blinking a few times, Hermione responded with a puzzled expression. "Civil marriage? What
about it?"

"It might be a loophole.”

"How so?"

"Almost every change in muggle marriage laws has been incorporated into our existing web
of requirements and bans. But civil marriage, curiously, has not been mentioned. It was
recognized as legal in England and Wales in 1836. I did a quick google search to confirm it.”

Hermione adopted a slightly amused tone. "Okay, but why would that make it a loophole?"

“Because…”

She gasped. "Because wizarding law acknowledges muggle religious ceremonies, but they
overlook civil ceremonies!” she blurted and he nodded. “I've been suggesting to Parvati for
months to look into same-sex marriage laws, thinking it could interest her and Lavender. Yet,
I never considered this possibility. It's as if it slipped my mind entirely. But…” She frowned.
“It is a loophole for them to get married, because otherwise, they wouldn't be able to. I'm still
trying to figure out how this could be our loophole. If we get married, you… you will lose
everything.”

He stood up with some difficulty and made his way towards her. “Because... if we were to
undergo a muggle civil ceremony, you would become my wife, and I your husband. Our
future children would be legally ours, citizens of the country, bearing our names. However,"
he paused, feeling a touch of embarrassment colouring his cheeks, "I doubt you'd gain full
privileges as my wife.”
"What privileges?" Hermione questioned.

“Free access to the manor, per example.”

She almost snorted. “I honestly could care less about it.”

"Or access to any properties without my presence.”

Her response was firm. "It's not important.”

"Or perhaps no free access to the vault, just as my parents shared it.”

Hermione waved her hand, brushing away the concern. "I've managed perfectly well without
it so far." A fleeting smile graced her lips, replaced by a contemplative expression. "But wait,
does this mean that you could still keep everything? Even if you're married to... a
muggleborn?"

Draco had to measure his words with care. "I don't think... the enchantments and magic
they've created would recognize a muggle civil ceremony as a true marriage."

A faint crease formed between Hermione's brows, which only deepened his embarrassment.
This was an unwelcome reminder that they were forced to navigate these complexities due to
his own family's history.

"However," he continued, his voice a touch more confident, "we would know it is. Our
friends, our family, everyone who witnesses the day you finally let me slip that fucking ring
onto your finger," he tried to joke.

A gentle smile formed on her lips and with a slow, deliberate movement, she pulled him into
a kiss.

"They should have thought this through more thoroughly,” he murmured between stolen
kisses. “They should have tried to find a way to make me stop loving you. That's far more
dangerous for them than any marriage ceremony they tried to prevent.”

His fingers fumbled with the belt around her waist, his desire growing, but she halted their
kiss and stepped back.

"You'll need to consult your legal team again," Hermione stated firmly.

"We will," he agreed with determination.

She shook her head in disbelief. "I still can't believe this was overlooked.”

Draco offered a nonchalant shrug. "At the time, even muggles regarded civil marriages as
little more than sham union, and my ancestors, in turn, didn't give them much consideration. I
found the information on Wikipedia," he added and shrugged, sensing her confusion.

Hermione swallowed audibly. “Draco. I came here to share a small but nice piece of
information after the challenging day we've had. In fact, I was entertaining the thought of
coming in here and sucking you off at your desk because I think it’s kind of hot, and you
were the one who suffered the most today. Because you lost quite a bit of blood and all that,”
she said calmly, though the quickening of her breath betrayed her excitement.

Draco tried to suppress his own rising enthusiasm. “You can still do that, you know.”

She brushed aside his suggestion. “However... not only did you nearly find a solution to our
problem, but you did it using the internet and you’re even saying… a lot of muggle
references. And, right now, I truly wish your legs were not injured because I would very
much like to be thoroughly fucked on that green sofa. Right where you were sitting,” she
pointed towards it.

He seized her face, capturing her lips in a fierce kiss, grabbing her everywhere he could reach
over the fucking bathrobe she wore. The ache in his legs was throbbing, but he couldn't let
that deter him.

“We can head over to the desk, and I can…”

“No,” she cut in with determination and pushed him down slowly. “I prefer the sofa. Sit
down.”

“What’s with the sofa?"

Hermione began to undo the belt of her bathrobe, her gaze locked onto his. “Because I think
this would look better here.”

Draco thought she had some new lingerie he could rip off from her body, respectfully, but
this?

This was… His mind whirred as he took in the sight before him. Salazar.

Hermione Granger, the Gryffindor pride, fucking lioness, wearing a Slytherin quidditch
jersey, his shirt, emblazoned with his name.

“Hermione…” he started, struggling to engrave every detail of her appearance into his
memory. “This is the second time today I've felt like I might die. But I must say, I'd prefer
this way.”

Her smile was enchanting as she straddled him. “Are you sure you're alright? I’m not hurting
you?"

He shook his head, his anticipation mounting. “Never. Fuck, Hermione, you're not wearing
anything underneath,” his realization came as his hand rested on her hips, pulling her closer.
In a frenzy, he began to unzip his trousers. “I'm warning you now, I won't last very long. It’s
going to be quite embarrassing.”

She chuckled. “Don't worry about that. Tonight, it's all about you.”

Not a chance.
She was deliciously wet as his fingers slid inside her. The rhythm of their kisses quickened,
and she moved against his hand with increasing urgency. However, as soon as she found her
rhythm, her pace gradually slowed, and she frowned slightly.

“What’s that?” she asked, stopping the kiss to look at him.

“What?"

“I'm feeling… something…” She shifted slightly. “Between us… on your hand?"

“Oh, it’s my ring.”

Hermione blinked in surprise.

“It’s a signet ring,” he explained, and she still looked at him, her expression questioning. “I
was working on some paperwork earlier.”

“Oh, of course you have a signet ring,” she remarked before resuming kissing him.

“Do I need to take it off?” Draco managed to say, but his words were interrupted as she began
to suck on his neck.

“No, it’s a bit uncomfortable, but feels good,” she mumbled against his skin. “And absolutely
inappropriate.”

He felt blood rushing through him. “Does it?” he asked with amusement.

Leaning slightly forward with her still attached to his neck, he reached for his wand. Swiftly,
he locked the doors and cast the silencing charm.

“I can make it more comfortable,” he whispered seductively in her ear before casting a spell
on the ring.

She practically jumped on his lap when the vibrations started. “Oh, sorry, was that too
much?"

“Slightly intense,” she gasped, “I'm not made of rubber, you know?"

“Sorry,” he said with a half-smile, his gaze fixed on her face.

He deftly adjusted the spell, seeking the signs of perfect speed and intensity.

“Oh, yes, just like that,” she moaned, resuming her movements against his hand, though with
more fervour.

Taking advantage of the moment, Draco swapped his fingers for his cock. The entire time, he
kept his palm pressed against her, the ring sending pulses of pleasure through her clit. He
revelled in the sensation of her weight atop him, her form wrapped in a shirt of green and
silver. With my name.
Hermione grabbed onto his shoulders and her moans grew louder.

“It’s goblin-made, you know?” he whispered softly.

She almost moaned with amusement and arousal. “Yes?”

“You know what that means, don’t you?” he asked and she just nodded. Draco reached
behind her back to pull her hair a bit. “Say it.”

“It’s very rare?”

“Yes, but something else. More important.”

“It only takes in that which makes it stronger,” she said quietly.

Her flushed face and neck, combined with her bitten lip, made her even more captivating.

“Correct, Miss Granger, five points for Gryffindor. You’re making your house so proud right
now,” he said and smirked, enjoying the green and silver view in front of him.

She decided to ignore this jest and just shake her head and bite her lip in response.

“I wonder…” He increased the vibration intensity of the ring and she grabbed his shoulders
tighter. “I wonder how powerful you can make it when you come on it.”

Hermione's gaze met his.

“Do you think you can do that for me?”

She nodded.

“Yeah? You can come on a centuries-old heirloom?”

She nodded again.

“Yeah, I can feel it. However, I'll need you to do something for me first.”

“What?"

“I want you to turn around and let me see my name on you when you…”

She didn't wait for him to finish his sentence.

Swiftly, she stood and positioned herself back on his lap, her back to his chest. Hermione
held onto his knees as she sat on his cock again, with her movements deliberate and slower
this time. He could feel her even deeper in this position.

“Oh, my God,” he heard her murmur under her breath. He turned the ring and quickly placed
his hand between her legs to help her relax further. Draco lessened the vibration intensity
once more, allowing her to request an increase. It didn't take her long to settle back into the
rhythm she had established.
His free hand found her neck when he felt she was about to come, gripping her firmer.

“Let go,” he urged her with a shaky voice. “Let go, Hermione. Be a good girl and come for
me.”

And then she did. Her nails dug into his knees, causing a pain, yet he couldn't bring himself
to tell her to stop.

”That’s it. Fuck. The way you feel… it's…”

Hermione moved his hand and began to ride him with increasing fervour. Draco tightened his
grip on her hips, pulling her closer to him. With her body moulded to his, grabbing her harder
when his orgasm crashed over him.

He leaned onto her, and she back against him. For a while, they simply stayed intertwined
like this, their breathing gradually returning to normal.

“Draco?” she spoke eventually.

“Hm?"

“If you tell anyone I wore this, I swear…”

“Tell anyone?” he snorted. “Are you mental? I'm not sharing this with anyone. This memory
is mine alone,” Draco said, his fingers squeezing her thighs.

The next morning, as Dissy unexpectedly entered his room and began drawing back the
curtains while discussing breakfast plans, Draco handed her a generous bonus.

“What's this for, Master?” she asked, her eyes widening as she accepted the bag of gold.

“For assisting Hermione when she needed it,” he replied, though she seemed perplexed.

“With healing, Master?"

“Yes, Dissy, with healing.” Healing my childhood wet dream I didn't even know I had.

Her expression turned slightly disappointed. “Perhaps Master would consider keeping this
before rewarding Dissy,” she suggested, offering the bag back. “Master might not be happy
with Dissy now.”

“Why?"

She shifted, toying with the beg. “Dissy went to the manor yesterday, Master, to find a
cookbook for Kreacher. And then, Dissy ran into Mistress Malfoy and…”

“And?” he drawled.

“And Dissy had to explain her presence there.”

Draco narrowed his eyes on her. “Dissy didn't have to explain anything, but Dissy chose to do
so.”

She stomped her foot and crossed her arms. “That is true, Master Draco! Dissy did! Dissy is
tired of Master Draco not speaking to his mother! Master Draco is younger, and he should be
the one to start talking if he wishes to…”

He rolled his eyes. “What did she say?"

“Mistress mentioned that she would visit this morning to see you,” she answered in a
subdued voice.

Draco frowned.

“And she asked Dissy not to inform Master Draco. But Dissy chose to do so.”

He let out a deep exhale, running his fingers through his hair. “When is she expected?”

She was quiet and kept looking at the floor and he sighed.

“Is she there already?” he asked quietly.

“Dissy assumed that the Mistress would arrive after breakfast, as it would be more
convenient for the Master. But the Mistress must be concerned about her son,” she mumbled,
the words coming out in a rush.

“Fine.” Let’s just get this over with.

Surprisingly, Scorpius was still in bed, leaving Draco's mother alone on the sofa with a
remote control in her hands. She placed it on the sofa as he approached, a heavy sense of
guilt churning in his stomach when he saw the worry in her eyes.

“Good morning,” he greeted first.

“Good morning.”

“Would you like some coffee or tea?"

“Tea would be better, thank you.”

He nodded and went to the kitchen, preparing an espresso for himself and tea for his mother.

She moved to sit at the island and while he worked, Draco sensed her careful observation,
particularly since he had to move slower than usual due to the tightness of his new skin.

He set her cup with milk and sugar for her to add as she liked. “I'm not sure what Dissy told
you, but I'm fine. It wasn’t a major incident.”

“She mentioned you splinched.”

“Yes, I did. It wasn’t too severe. I took two blood-replenishing potions yesterday, and I
believe one more today should suffice.” He settled into a chair opposite her, cradling his cup.
“The new skin is quite sensitive and itchy, though. That's the only issue at the moment.”

She nodded. “And the others?"

“Just a few cuts and burns. Everyone is okay.”

“The children?"

“They were not there. Hermione thought that once we eliminated the last traces of the dark
matter, it might attempt a final strike. So, it was safer to keep the children away.”

“Thank Gods.”

“Yes, indeed. Her instincts rarely lead us astray,” he said, frowning.

Much like her instincts that encouraged him to reach out to his mother earlier. He now
wished he had done so.

She appeared sad and aged, significantly older than the last time he saw her. He assumed she
hadn't employed any glamour spells. If that were true, this was a rare occasion where she had
approached him without any façade.

She nodded, glancing down at her cup. “Draco, the last time we spoke... both of us said
things we didn't mean and... we meant a lot of things we said, but the tone left no room for
anything other than argument.”

He was taken aback by her directness, but he nodded.

“I haven't come here to offer an apology,” she stated firmly. “Nor have I come to demand one
from you. I don't intend to apologise for desiring what I think is the best, easiest, and most
secure life for you and my grandson. On the same note, you needn't apologise for seeking an
escape from the expectations imposed upon you.” She leaned back in the chair and added
milk and sugar to her tea. “So did you? Find your way out?"

“Soon,” Draco replied, still uncertain of his thoughts and emotions. “I need to consult the
lawyers about a few matters and...” He looked at her. This was bound to hurt. “I think I need
to read from the Malfoy book. In the portrait room.”

Her expression shifted in an instant. She appeared so weak and vulnerable, a stark contrast to
her usual demeanour.

“If... if there are answers you're seeking, they must be in it,” she said, her voice carrying a
note of fragility.

Draco nodded, studying her. “When was the last time you went there?"

She tried to recall. “Years ago.”

He nodded again. “I've never been.”

“I know.”

“You said he commissioned the portrait a few years before the war.”

She affirmed this with a nod.

“I couldn't talk with the man he was when I knew the person he later became.”

A heavy silence enveloped them for what felt like a few minutes until she spoke again, but
her voice was weighed down.

“I couldn't even look at him,” she said bitterly. “He was so handsome, so proud before...
before everything. He left me alone here... left us here to...” She rubbed her temples, exhaling
a sigh. “I hear his voice at times when I pass by the room. It's as if he was never gone. As if
he's sitting in his study, and I'm walking by. Like before. Before he…”

“I don't believe it's good for us to have all of them there,” Draco intervened.

The portrait room was a collection of his ancestors who sought a form of eternal life, even if
it existed as this half-impression of it captured on canvas.

When he was younger, Draco had dreamt of the day his portrait would hang among the other
illustrious figures. He imagined himself offering sage advice to the next generation, a legacy
to be proud of after a lifetime dedicated to the pureblood cause.

But those dreams are shattered now.

He felt gratitude that Astoria had chosen against having her portrait done. Her death had
already been hard to move past, and he doubted he could ever leave the manor if he were
confronted with her painted image.

“I think so too,” she sighed. “I... I don't know how much he's aware of,” she said carefully.

“What do you mean?"

His mother shifted, glancing around the room. “I had the house-elves move the book away
from the portraits. So he wouldn't read... about himself.”

“Why?"

“At the time... I thought... I wanted to converse with him. He was so much of his former self,
and I believed... I hoped it would aid my healing after his... passing. But I was wrong. And a
coward.” Tears welled up in her eyes. Witnessing her like this was painful. “I didn't want to
discuss the last few years he knew nothing about. However, he persisted in asking... I said
some things, but eventually, I stopped visiting. I told the elves never to answer those
questions. However, after all these years... I'm uncertain how much he knows.”

Draco nodded. “How much do you wish me to share with him?"

“Whatever you deem appropriate. I'm sorry,” she said, clasping his hand across the island.

Her hands were always gentle and slightly cool, bringing comfort. They didn’t this time.

“I'm sorry that you're now entangled in this as well.”

He shook his head and returned her hand's squeeze.

Later in the day, he met with Hermione and they floo to his legal firm. Her face lit up when
he shared that he had reconciled with his mother and proposed getting coffee after the
meeting to tell her about it. But first, they had to pose the most significant question to their
lawyers.

The legal team seemed incredulous when they presented the idea of a civil marriage.

“I'm not entirely certain if... well, we will need to check this,” Agatha responded, jotting
down notes.

Stivens furrowed his brow, adjusting his glasses. “You didn't think of this before?” he
directed the question at Fingerling.

She shook her head, looking at Hermione. “Honestly, I can't understand how we overlooked
this,” she said.

“I suppose it was right under our noses,” Hermione commented.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Oakwood interjected with a frown, “you must realise that if this turns out to be
a solution, our laws would not consider this marriage legally valid?"

“Yes, I am aware,” he replied, and Hermione shifted in her seat.

“And any prospective children might not be recognized as born within the marriage, but
rather as born out-of-wedlock?”

Oakwood's bluntness was often appreciated, but Draco found his negative tone irksome.

He still nodded. “Yes, I wanted you to verify that for me. My father established certain
restrictions in the 1980s concerning children born out-of-wedlock and their entitlements.
Please ensure you thoroughly review those details over the weekend.”

As they headed to the nearby café afterward, Hermione remained quiet. He ordered their
usual and took a seat across from her by the window.

“What's troubling you?” he inquired, although he had a good idea.

“I hate this,” Hermione said. “I don't like having conversations about our future with
strangers.”
“I know.”

She took hold of his hand. “And I don't blame you, so please, don't... engage in your usual
behaviour.”

“What's my 'usual behaviour'?” he asked, amused and yet again, aware of the answer.

“Wallowing in self-deprecation.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Like what you're doing now?"

“Yes, but you're more adept at sulking. You have a propensity for brooding. And then, you
withhold discussing what's troubling you.”

She was correct, as always, so he took a deep breath. “I will talk to my father.”

Hermione regarded him without blinking.

“Well, his portrait, specifically. In the manor.”

“Why?"

“The book is in the portrait room. It allows them to stay connected to the developments of
their descendants.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Alright. Have you spoken to him since… he passed?” she inquired
carefully.

“No.”

“How are you feeling about it?"

Draco sighed, a heavy sound laden with emotion. “Sick. Anxious. Angry.”

She squeezed his hand in reassurance. “Do you want me to go with you?” she asked unsure
and Draco gave her an amused look. “I know, I know, but still, I have to ask.”

He shook his head slowly. “No, but thank you.”

“Come over as soon as you’re done, okay?"

“Okay.”

“Okay. Tell me about Narcissa now.”

When Draco flooed to the manor later that evening, he was greeted by a chill that he hadn't
felt upon arriving there in a very long time. He made an effort not to let that sensation hold
too much sway over him.
He walked through corridors that had been unfamiliar to him for years. Along the way, a few
figures within portraits whispered, appearing and disappearing, yet he paid them no mind.
There were far more haunting paintings awaiting him.

He saw a big wooden door at the end of a hallway and deliberately slowed his pace. As
though moving more slowly could somehow make it less agonising when he finally
confronted him.

Faint whispers and muted voices drifted from the other side, and he took a deep breath,
mentally preparing himself.

The dusty silver handles, fashioned in the shape of serpents, felt cool to the touch, oddly
providing a sense of grounding. The soft creak of hinges and wood screamed through the still
corridors as he opened the door. The voices on the other side hushed to silence.

When he walked inside, and turned his back to close it, the whispers rekindled.

“...Is that...?"

“...It must be. Who else could it be…?"

“...At this hour…?"

“...What could he possibly want? He doesn't even reside here…”

“...Blood traitor…”

Turning away, Draco dismissed the mutterings from the portraits lining the walls on his left
and right. A single skylight allowed a beam of faint moonlight to filter onto a pedestal
positioned in the room's centre. The book wasn’t there however.

Armand Malfoy's portrait hung on the main wall, larger and more imposing than the others.
Seated on a sort of throne, he appeared thoroughly disinterested and unimpressed by the
belated visitor.

Beneath his portrait was an area reserved for the latest deceased Malfoy. In Draco's
childhood, his grandfather had occupied that space. Now, he found himself standing on the
right side of the room, regarding Draco with a gaze that was entirely unfamiliar, marked by
disgust.

Draco could care less about his grandfather's opinion now. He chose to ignore him and
instead focus on the figure who regarded him with an inscrutable expression.

“Ah, the prodigal son returns,” Lucius Malfoy drawled.

 Draco
Chapter Notes

TW:
- a brief mention of rape (in context of the war)
- a description/discussion of suicide

See the end of the chapter for more notes

March 2014

“Ah, the prodigal son returns,” his father drawled.

Draco's steps faltered at the sound of that voice. He hasn't heard it in almost a decade. If he
was completely honest, he hasn't heard this voice in more than a decade.

Lucius Malfoy's voice, dripping with confidence, pride, and arrogance, hung in the air like an
unpleasant reminder of his youth.

“Muggle reference, father?” Draco managed to retort, his voice surprisingly steady despite
the whirlwind of emotions. “How curious.”

“Why are you here, boy?” his grandfather sneered. His portrait's gaze was cutting through
Draco like a blade. “Has he ever set foot here before, Lucius?"

“Not that I remember.”

Draco could feel his father's assessing eyes on him, examining his figure as if trying to
decipher the changes time had brought. The last time this version of his father had seen him,
he was but a boy, still in school. Still unmarked.

He frowned at the memory. He almost felt sorry for him. Again.

“I came to find something in the book. Where is it?"

"What did you wish to read, Draco?" his father inquired calmly.

Suppressing frustration, he clenched his jaw. There was no point in pretence here. It’s not like
he could try and stop him.

“I want to see who enacted certain bans on marriages and how to reverse them.”
Muffled whispers and outraged exclamations swept through the portraits, demanding to know
how dare he.

“Any particular ban in mind?"

“The one regarding marriages with muggleborns.”

A collective gasp rippled through the portraits and it almost made Draco flinch. He held his
ground with a semblance of determination in his eyes. His father, still as composed as a
marble statue, maintained his steady scrutiny.

“I told you! I told you it was true! I told you he even brought the mudblood here and…”

He silenced the portrait of his grandfather with a wave of his wand. He looked furious when
he realised he opened his mouth but nothing came out.

Draco waited for the voices to subside and so did his father whose face finally betrayed an
emotion.

Disappointment.

His chest was moving slightly faster now.

"Where is the book?" Draco inquired once more.

“You know, when the rumours first reached us, I dismissed them as mere slander. It was
inconceivable, I thought, that my own son…” He paused dramatically, his gaze fixed on
Draco. “My perfect son? My perfect heir? No, he could never.” Lucius scrutinised him once
more, his eyes narrowing. “Is that why you changed the vault's security?”

Draco nodded.

“What did he do? Lucius, you didn’t mention…”

Draco silenced another portrait, this time the one on his right.

Portraits in the vault.

He had a sneaking suspicion they might be migrating to frames within the manor. Hermione
was right, it was as if he was constantly watched.

“Where is the book?” he repeated, his patience waning.

“What do you expect to find within its pages?"

“I've told you. I want to remove the ban on muggleborn marriages.”

"Why?" his father probed.

"Because I intend to marry." The whispers reignited, a medley of curses and insults echoing
through the room.
"Which one?" Lucius sneered, and his tone was laced with disdain. "Which mudblood are
you planning to...?"

“Don’t call her that,” Draco snapped. "Why does it matter?"

"It matters with this one," his father hissed, his expression twisted in disgust. "Do you think
no one took notice of your… display of obscenities in the library?"

Draco smirked as a bitter satisfaction bubbling within him. "No, actually, I was rather hoping
they hadn't gone unnoticed." He wasn't, but the chance to wound his father was too tempting
to ignore. "Remember Hermione Granger?"

Whispers erupted anew, and his father's face contorted with anger and loathing.

"I guess you do.”

“...That sounds familiar…”

“...Yes, I think I heard about her…”

“...The elves talked about her…”

“...Was she the one who stole them away from the noble families?..."

His father glared at him. The room was brimming with an unsettling curiosity and
condemnation.

“How many years has it been? Since your wife died.”

Draco was taken aback by the sudden change of topic. He had been ready for confrontation,
not this unexpected question. His throat felt dry as he swallowed. “Eleven soon.”

“...She would have made a fitting Malfoy wife, the Greengrass girl. Too bad she…” a
woman's voice from his left spoke up, and Draco swiftly silenced that portrait too.

“She detested your archaic ways almost as much as I did. She even entertained the notion of
sending all of you to the ministry's chamber of cursed portraits and transforming this room
into a muggle library.”

Gasps and insults erupted from all around, but Draco couldn't help a self-satisfied smirk. This
should have been difficult for him, but the pleasure of riling them up was unexpectedly
gratifying.

His father's voice cut through the tumult. “Scorpius is eleven. Has he been sorted yet?"

“It’s March.”

“...He could very well end up in Hufflepuff with a father like this, he could only be…”
Draco silenced the offending portrait. His patience was wearing thin. “I have a photograph, if
you'd care to see,” he offered, unsure of the reaction he would receive.

His father blinked a few times, and there was a subtle nod, granting permission to proceed.

Stepping forward, Draco made his way to his portrait. “Where's the book?” he inquired,
hopefully the last time.

Lucius clenched his jaw and shot him a frustrated glare. He didn't appreciate being toyed
with.

“You missed it upon your entrance,” he drawled lazily from his seat. “Narcissa took care to
keep it well out of our reach,” he added.

Walking back, Draco brushed aside comments and insults as he located the hefty tome resting
on a small desk by the door. He took the book and placed it back on its pedestal.

It must be more than a thousand years old, its pages holding the secrets and history of his
lineage. It had elegance despite its age, with the title Glimpses of Malfoy Majesty: Past,
Present, Paragon embossed in gold letters on the leather cover.

He flipped through pages quickly. The beginning was in French, and somewhere along the
way, it switched to English, when Armand moved to England.

Draco left the book there and took out his phone from his pocket. Scrolling through his recent
photos, he found an image of himself and Scorpius at a quidditch match they had attended
with Blaise and Potter, along with his son.

He raised the phone so his father could see the photo. Lucius regarded the muggle device
with disdain, making an effort to adjust his position for a clearer view. Meanwhile, the other
portraits buzzed with curiosity.

“...What is that? Some form of modern portraiture?...”

“...Fantastic. What spell is he using?...”

His father shifted his attention from the phone to Draco, as he leaned back in his frame with
an air of detached interest. Draco, ignoring the murmurs, returned back to the book, and
started thinking of ways to get the right information from this exceptionally large tome.

“He looks strikingly similar to you at his age,” Lucius commented.

“...Of course he does. Malfoy blood is…”

An attempt to contribute was silenced by his wand. Even his father seemed unimpressed by
the comment.

“He does,” Draco said, not looking at his father but instead at the index of the book. “He has
Astoria’s eyes. And luckily, her character.”
“How come?”

He was surprised by the questions his father was posing, so he decided to indulge him.
Meeting his gaze now, Draco readied himself for the exchange.

“He’s curious and intelligent. He's… insatiably inquisitive, questioning everything that
captures his interest, and refusing to accept things at face value. He likes to study. We've set
up a potion lab in our flat, and we brew together a few times a week. He's quite adept at it. He
is intrigued by the history of magic and potions and he excels at flying too.”

His father's demeanour seemed to relax slightly, displaying a hint of paternal pride, so Draco
decided to hit him in his non-existing guts.

“Scorpius also takes an interest in biology. He enjoys watching muggle science

documentaries on the television in our home and playing games on this little device," Draco
said, shaking his phone playfully.

“...He's been infecting the future heir with mudblood tendencies. We should consider…”

The attempt at continuing the comment was again swiftly silenced, but the other portraits
carried on murmuring amongst themselves.

Draco's father, however, remained attentive. “What happened to you?” he asked with honest
curiosity a few moments later.

It took Draco by surprise.

“What happened to you so you lost your way?"

He was suddenly furious. Irrationally so. He knew very well this version of his father wasn't
in the war yet.

“What happened to me?! You did!” Draco shouted as his voice quivered with anger and pain.
“You thrust me onto the front lines of a madman’s war!”

“...What madman?...”

“...I believe he’s referring to Voldemort, that’s what they called him. Remember?...”

“...Oh, yes. My apologies, I've been here for too long, witnessed many madmen…”

Lucius frowned, disregarding the comments. “Whatever I did, I did for the family. For you
and your mother. For the blood and duty we were bound to…”

“You handed me over to a halfblood lunatic obsessed with blood purity! You let him use me
as a child soldier! I was assigned to kill Dumbledore when I was merely sixteen, or he would
have killed you both!”

His father appeared genuinely shocked. “I would never have allowed you to…”
“You allowed a lot of things,” Draco's bitterness was palpable.

He rolled up his sleeve, dispelling the glamour of his ugly tattoo. It has faded a bit over the
years, but it was obvious what it was. Lucius' eyes widened for a brief moment before he
shook his head. The other portraits opted to remain silent, sensing the gravity of the
situation.

Only his father’s subdued voice resonated through the room. “No, that’s not… I would never
have put you in…”

“You did,” Draco interrupted, the weight of his past grievances fueling his words. “You
allowed countless other atrocities. The manor served as Voldemort’s headquarters. Bellatrix
taught me cruciatus and imperius using prisoners in the dungeons. And then, when I failed to
cast avada on deer and foxes from the woods, she used crucio on me. They killed, raped and
tortured under this roof with your permission.”

The portraits were still.

Lucius was frowning, looking angry and shaking his head. It seemed he couldn't quite grasp
the severity of what Draco was recounting. Mother must have not talked in detail about the
war.

“We were humiliated, used and degraded, during the war and its aftermath. We both ended up
in Azkaban.”

His father's lack of surprise indicated that he might already know this. Perhaps she told him
about this or the gossip informed him.

“You were placed under house arrest until you… died.”

Raising his gaze, Lucius met Draco's unwavering stare. “What… What happened to me?” he
inquired, as if seeking confirmation for what he already suspected.

Draco paused, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. He hadn't discussed this with anyone
in years. He surveyed the portraits around him; their sudden interest prompted him to cast
muffliato and silence them all. Their agitated and disappointed gestures were unmistakable,
though unheard.

Taking a deep breath, Draco began. His voice was steady despite the weight of his words.

“You killed yourself, father.”

Lucius appeared taken aback, his eyes blinking rapidly as his chest rose and fell.

“Your time after prison... It wasn't easy. Despite the absence of Dementors, it wasn't a
pleasant place. Eventually, after battling what I believe was a severe case of depression,
you... you chose to end your own life.”

His gaze remained distant, focused somewhere beyond Draco, processing the revelation.
“You weren't yourself. You didn’t look the same, you didn’t sound the same. You confined
yourself to your study, only sometimes leaving to eat and sleep. You struggled to accept the
changing world around you, leading to arguments between us... After Scorpius was born, I
moved out, and for about a year or so, it was just you and mother.” Draco sighed, shaking his
head. “Those were… trying times for her. Mother aged a decade during that period. Her
burden finally lifted when you passed,” he added, just out of spite.

Lucius still averted his gaze, seemingly unable to face him directly. “What did I...?"

“You took a potion. It was designed to be swift and painless. At least, that's what we were
assured by St. Mungo's. The elves found you the next morning.”

Silence hung between them for a time, Lucius grappling with the revelation. He shook his
head slowly. “I would never… I would never leave her… At least, I would…”

“But you did,” Draco affirmed. “You left her. Mother was… shattered for months. Scorpius
saved us both from descending into madness.”

Embarrassment flushed Lucius's features, a colour Draco hadn't seen in a long time. The
latter years of his father's life had seen him withering away, his skin ashen, his face gaunt.
His once-pristine hair grew unruly, and he had all but abandoned his grooming habits. Draco
found himself uncomfortably relieved that this was the last memory of his father he would
have now.

“I left her…” Lucius repeated slowly and nodded, his voice tinged with bitterness. “And so
did you. You chose to forsake everything we had built for you.”

Draco felt fury simmering within him but fought to contain it. “Just to clarify something:
there's a considerable distinction between me moving away and you doing what you did,” he
retorted, his gaze unwavering on his father.

Lucius was likely flooded with questions, struggling not to let them spill forth, trying not to
reveal his need for answers from Draco.

He left him to think about these revelations and returned to the book. His frustration was
growing as he realised he had no clear starting point, so he allowed Armand to speak with a
swish of his wand.

“You managed to lift the ban that restricted marriage to only French purebloods. How did you
do that?"

“It was a distant memory, long forgotten,” he mused almost indifferently.

“Who instituted the ban against marrying muggleborns?”

“Who knows? Someone from before my time,” he waved dismissively.

“Try to remember,” Draco ground out, with annoyance bubbling beneath his words.
It seemed that Armand's patience had worn out too. “Young man, you don’t honestly believe I
would assist you in pursuing a relationship with a mudblood, do you?"

“If you call her that again, I’ll spend the entire vault attempting to burn your portrait,” Draco
retorted, taking note of the other portraits around him that were now gesturing wildly.

Armand shrugged with nonchalance. “Go ahead and try. Burn it, bury it in the dirt, toss it into
the river. Why should I care? I'm already dead.”

Draco decided to attempt the first spell that came to mind. Tapping his wand on the book, he
spoke, “Show me the origin of the ban against marrying muggleborns.”

To his disappointment, nothing happened. He tried again, this time uttering the command in
French.

“Perhaps,” Armand drawled, “instead of saying muggleborns, you should try mudbloods.”

“Shut up.”

Draco attempted various spells he had used in his research, but none of them yielded results.
If the civil marriage avenue proved futile, he'd have to start from scratch, which means he
would have to come here again and.

After a few minutes, Armand sighed. “It was Gabriel. Gabriel Malfoy,” he revealed.

Lucius shot him a sharp glare.

“Do not be angered, Lucius. He would have discovered the truth sooner or later. Besides, I
am quite eager to witness his reaction,” he smirked.

Draco frowned in concern at the threat. He located the name in the index - Gabriel, a French
nobleman from the 8th century. Turning to the pages, he realised they were written in Old
French.

Hoping his translation spell would function here, he cast the incantation with his wand, and
fortunately, it worked. The pages unveiled the early life and ascent of Gabriel.

It was during Gabriel's reign that the Malfoy family took a fateful turn, forever shaping their
connection to tradition and purity. In an unprecedented decree that stirred whispers across
wizarding society, Gabriel instituted a prohibition that would leave the mark on the next
generations: descendants of the Malfoy lineage were forbidden to marry muggleborn witches
and wizards…

Draco meticulously read the text, until he found the piece of information he needed.

…Gabriel's wisdom extended to the recognition of exceptional circumstances, instances

wherein no eligible pureblood match could be found. In such moments, the veil of the
Malfoy's exclusivity could be momentarily lifted, allowing for the union of muggleborns
under a conditional agreement.
The resulting offspring bore what some might consider a burden: they must, for three
generations hence, bind their fate to that of pureblood heritage. A pledge to marry only those
who shared their ancient lineage, a promise etched into destiny itself. This, Gabriel believed,
was the path to preserving the integrity of the family's magical legacy, to wash away any
perceived taint.

In a twist both compelling and chilling, Gabriel underlined the seriousness of his clause with
a solemn threat, a curse, as dire as it was unsettling. If the pledge to pureblood marriage was
neglected, the curse whispered that a shadow would fall upon the descendants, darkening the
eve of their adulthood. A doom set to strike when the age of majority was reached, death that
could only be avoided by adhering to the covenant…

Draco's anger flared as he absorbed the implications. Not only was he barred from marrying
Hermione by their laws, but if he did, he'd also have to perpetuate this restriction for his
children and their children and their children? He clenched the fucking book so tightly that
his knuckles turned white.

“You see, young Draco, we're not entirely unreasonable,” Armand commented, a smirk
playing on his lips.

His father appeared almost amused now.

“If there truly were no other suitable option in the world, you could marry your mu… witch.
But given the array of alternatives, there's no need to resort to such an unfortunate precedent
and therefore, you needn’t worry about it.”

Draco's jaw tightened. “How did you manage to revoke the ban on marrying non-French
purebloods?"

Armand's smile slowly broadened. “By replicating the original circumstances under which
the restriction was enacted, of course.”

“Which is?"

“A ritual. Blood sacrifice.”

“Blood sac…”

He cut him off. “Yes, yes, I understand, it's quite primitive. Threatening our noble
descendants with death, blood sacrifices. But you see, our early mediaeval ancestors weren't
as…” he paused, searching for the right word, “delicate as you are. That non-French ban was
old, though not as old as the one you're inquiring about,” he said and smirked. “They would
draft the decree and then conduct a sacrificial ritual using the blood of, in this case, a French
pureblood witch and wizard. They repeated this with various beings. Veelas, werewolves,
vampires… When I wished to lift it, I had to replicate the ritual with two of my own,” he
explained nonchalantly, as if human sacrifice was the most normal thing.

“So you just killed two people?"

Armand frowned. “No, of course not. It didn’t say anywhere I needed to kill them.” He
almost sounded offended. “I merely needed their blood, which someone else acquired on my
behalf. And just to clarify, you can't simply ask for the blood politely,” he retorted before
Draco could even consider it. “The intent matters and I had it. It must be taken from them and
they must die. After all, what's a proper sacrifice if no one meets their end?” he quipped. “So
if you're serious about ridding yourself of this mudblood ‘curse,’ you know what you need to
do,” he concluded, his fingers mimicking a slashing motion across his throat.

Draco shifted his gaze to his father. “This is not how you put up new bans.”

His father's jaw clenched. “Modern methods are considerably less… nefarious.”

Draco nodded slowly, considering something. “Through legally binding contracts, I assume?”
he asked but his father remained quiet, narrowing his eyes slightly. “So if I aimed to
eliminate the bans you enacted, I'd navigate that just through legal channels?” he asked again
and Lucius was, again, quiet. Not that he needed to speak now. “Good to know,” Draco
muttered under his breath, finally excited about something.

“You wouldn't dare…”

“I already have,” he interjected. “The process is well underway. If things proceed as I expect,
I will marry the woman I love, I will not lose anything that rightfully belongs to me and our
children won't be deprived of their inheritance,” he stated with a calm determination.

The other portraits erupted into frenzied commotion. He lifted the silencing charm, and their
voices clamoured around him.

“What have you done?” his father demanded, his anger palpable between all the noise.

Draco shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Nothing concrete yet. But it's more about what you
all failed to do. A few of you overlooked it,” he remarked, addressing the other portraits. “It's
rather straightforward, really. A muggle civil marriage.”

He had both his doubts and hopes before, but the look on his father’s face was enough to
make his heart jump in joy.

Lucius was betrayed by the wide eyes and incredible disbelief on his face.

“...What is civil marriage?...”

“...I don’t know, it doesn’t sound familiar…”

“...Civil? There’s nothing civil about them…”

“What's that, Lucius?” Armand inquired, a tinge of concern in his voice.

His gaze remained locked on Draco. “It's… a legal contract, a marriage recognized by
muggles. They simply sign papers at their government office and are legally wed.”

“...What? No… ceremony? No sacred rituals?...”

“...Of course not. It seems wild animals don't require the sanctity of…”

“...He’s not a muggle, he can’t…”

“Oh, but I can,” Draco interrupted the portrait, finally satisfied with their reactions. “There
are occasions when we need to go into the muggle parts of the country and sometimes,
official documents may be requested. Naturally, we lack them. However, a brief visit to the
ministry's Muggle Liaison Office provides me with all the muggle documentation I require.”

Draco went through the process of obtaining a personal identification card, or the
CitizenCard as muggles referred to it. Hermione had insisted he enrol in driving school,
which required it. He received the card promptly after submitting the necessary information
at the ministry.

“I'm even getting a driver’s licence,” he added with a smirk.

Lucius shook his head slowly, with evident disappointment. It was funny how Draco had
once feared his father's disapproval so profoundly, yet now he revelled in it.

“...Why do we even care about it? He can marry the mudblood. Let him sully his name
and…”

“...Soon he'll be producing halfbreed bastards with that whore and…”

Draco turned abruptly, casting a bombarda maxima at the offending portraits without a
second thought.

The wall around them crumbled and his ancestors in nearby frames ran away, but the portraits
remained pristine. The figures within managed to evade the spell just in time, darting behind
the frames’ edges with incredulity in their eyes. Draco knew it wouldn’t work, but it was
enough to make them quiet.

His father's laughter reverberated through the room. “Potter’s pet?” Lucius questioned with a
hint of mocking amusement.

Draco's fingers twitched around his wand, but he forced himself to stay composed.

“The honourable Gryffindor girl? Honestly, Draco? She aspires to be your… What, a half-
wife? A glorified mistress by legal standards? To bear your illegitimate offspring and gain
nothing in return? No, she's too proud for such a fate, and you are sinking lower than I would
have ever imagined you could.”

“You're wrong,” Draco retorted, though he struggled to contain the rage simmering beneath
his composed exterior.

Lucius rolled his eyes, clearly unmoved by his son's words. “Your bastards won't be your
heirs, they won't inherit anything,” he sighed. “You're free to marry the mudblood…”

“This is your final warning,” Draco interjected sternly.

His father merely shook his head. “Yes, you can marry her in your feeble muggle ceremony,
and your offspring won't be burdened by the privilege of pureblood lineage, but they won't
receive a single knut from the vault. And don't even think about setting up another account
and shifting funds there. You know that won't work.”

“Once I do away with every last ban that you and the rest of our ancestors concocted in the
recent past, bans without human sacrifice or other insane rituals, our children won't be
deprived of a thing.” Salazar, please let me be right about this.

“What are you prattling about?” Lucius retorted with an eye roll.

“You're correct,” Draco acknowledged. “After the muggle ceremony, the marriage may have
no bearing here, rendering our children out-of-wedlock in the eyes of our law, thus ineligible
for inheritance because of the ban you put. However, once I lift it…”

He paused, allowing his words to sink in, watching as realisation dawned on his father's face.

“You can't do that,” Lucius whispered.

“I can, and I will. I've already consulted Hamilton.”

A sudden shift occurred in Lucius's expression as the colour drained from his face. “The
confidentiality agreement...” he started.

“Expired on the day of your death,” Draco interrupted. “Hamilton's role was in service to a
Malfoy heir. We have a different heir now,” he proclaimed proudly, probably for the very first
time.

When his brilliant and beautiful future wife paid him a visit at his flat and presented him with
a memory wrapped in his old jersey that would remain etched in his mind forever, she stayed
afterwards to discuss their discoveries.

Hermione suggested a strategic approach, advising Draco to reach out to Hamilton. If he

wasn't willing to divulge information about the ban-lifting spells and processes, she
cunningly proposed that they remind him of the ban's discriminatory nature and how such a
stance would be frowned upon in today's not perfect, but more inclusive era. It was only fair,
she argued, to apply a bit of pressure where needed.

Hamilton's response to Draco's inquiry was notably reluctant. He seemed to prefer that the
discussion take place between him and Draco's legal team and that was perfectly acceptable.

He was rubbing off on her too, Draco saw that now. Hermione made him dive into research
that went beyond necessity, and surprisingly, he found enjoyment and the solution for their
problem in it. In return, he influenced her to consider less honourable means when needed,
like threats and blackmail, to achieve their common goal. He found it amusing.

The portraits were still, trying to find something that would dissuade him or tell him he was
wrong in his predictions, but nothing else was said. Draco marvelled at the unexpected lack
of objections and counter-arguments. Does this mean he won?
He approached his father's portrait. “My children with Hermione will never be heirs,” he
said.

His father's realisation dawned slowly. “Scorpius will be. Well, at least one piece of good
news today.”

Draco nodded and looked him in the eye. "I'm doing everything in my power not to be like
you. And Scorpius is living proof of that. Before his turn comes to replace me, I'll ensure he
becomes everything you would despise and more. My perfect son will become... my perfect
heir."

Lucius appeared as if he wished he could physically retaliate.

"I'm breaking the fucking wheel.”

His father shook his head. “There’s no breaking it. You can’t run away from who you are.”

With determination in his voice, Draco countered, "I'm not going to run away. I'm going to
change it so much that you won't recognise it once I'm done." He surveyed the room, his eyes
gleaming with resolve. "I have two plans for the manor after mother passes."

Lucius visibly winced at the thought, and Draco fought back his own pang of sorrow.

"First I was thinking of dismantling the entire place, top to bottom. Selling everything
valuable and using the proceeds for charities. Then I'd burn everything to the ground and
plant trees so that this place’s history is buried forever under the woods. We need more trees
in the world anyway, or at least, that’s what muggles say." The portraits erupted in protest,
but Draco was undeterred. "But that plan takes time, and I'm an impatient man. So I'm
considering opening a school for muggleborn children before they attend Hogwarts.”

Chaos ensued among the portraits, their fury palpable. Draco, however, felt triumphant, and
he silenced the room again. The portraits fell silent, their furious gestures stilled. He gazed at
their indignant faces, experiencing an exhilarating sense of satisfaction.

"I'll hang you all in the corridors, silencing your voices permanently. You'll witness children
running around, studying not only charms and potions, but… physics and chemistry too.
You'll watch as your disgraceful legacy crumbles under the footsteps of innocent children.”

They were all waving and gesturing frantically. Draco didn't silence his father but there was
no need to. He just stared at him like he didn't know him.

And in a way, he didn’t.

"Do you have anything to say to me before I leave and share the good news with my future
wife?" Draco inquired.

Lucius's response was curt and dismissive. "Get. Out.”

Draco nodded slowly. He walked back to the book, opening it to the last page. The text was
chronicling the events of this very evening, capturing a blend of truth and theatrics.
The letters appeared on pages and were erased and rewritten again until the book decided the
paragraphs were perfect. He was tempted to burn it and destroy its ink-stained memories
altogether.

…The room seemed to hold its breath as Armand's silence stretched, his gaze unrelenting.
"You seek to wed a muggleborn and I simply can not approve," he finally stated.

Draco met his gaze, with madness in his eyes, driven by pure lust, but his voice was steady.
"But, my lord, I do! The muggleborn witch is not defined by her bloodline but by her
character!”

A murmur of disapproval travelled through the portrait room as other noble and ancestral
figures joined the conversation. Harland Malfoy, a stern patriarch, and Isadora Malfoy, a
paragon of traditional values, cast sceptical glances upon clearly bewitched and naive
Draco. The atmosphere grew fraught with tension, the weight of generations of beliefs…

With a final look at his father's portrait, which remained indifferent to his departure, Draco
turned away and headed toward the door.

He stepped outside the room, and lifted the silencing charm, allowing the cacophony of
voices to wash over him once more. As the door closed behind him, he experienced a sudden
sense of relief, feeling as though he could finally breathe again.

He reached the fireplace once again, but instead of heading back to Hermione's place as
promised, he uttered a different destination.

“Gringotts bank.”

In an instant, he found himself in a dimly lit hallway lined with offices. It was well past
working hours, so he hadn't expected to encounter anyone here. However, he knew that there
must be someone here since he was granted access.

An unsuspecting goblin passed by, clutching papers in its bony hands. It cast a double-take at
Draco before addressing him.

“Sir, how did you gain entry? Our services are not available until…”

“I need to visit my vault,” Draco interrupted.

The goblin let out a sigh. “We will be open tomorrow at eight. You may return then.”

Stepping closer, Draco met the goblin's gaze squarely. “The Malfoy vault, now,” he asserted,
imbuing the name with renewed authority.

The goblin's eyes widened as it realised the identity of the individual before him. But still, he
let out an exasperated breath, he turned away and gestured for Draco to follow.
“I won't be long. Thank you,” he assured the goblin as they descended deep into the ground,
arriving at the imposing doors of the vault chamber.

The goblin said nothing, but his glare told enough.

Stepping inside the chamber filled with gleaming jewellery, Draco felt a surge of excitement
and anticipation. All he needed now was to find the perfect ring and the right time. I'm going
to do this right.

After a longer deliberation than he'd anticipated, he finally settled on a ring. It was a delicate
golden band with a marquise-cut teal green tourmaline, flanked by two small diamonds on
either side. The ring would need to be examined for curses, but he decided to do that another
day.

Apologising to the goblin once more, Draco swiftly made his way back to Hermione's home.
As he appeared in the green flames, she was already on her feet, her eyes wide with
anticipation. She muted the telly and faced him.

“And?” she inquired softly.

Without hesitation, Draco closed the distance and pulled her into a kiss, holding her as if he
hadn't seen her this same evening, just a couple of hours before.

She responded without question. He found a home in Hermione that he didn't even know he
lacked until he… reconnected with her. The scent of vanilla and soft caramel seemed to
envelop him, threatening to drown his senses. Her words, however, brought him back to
reality.

“I suppose... good news?” she asked cautiously.

“Good news,” Draco replied.

Gently setting her back onto the sofa, he began pacing before her as his words tumbled out in
a chaotic stream. Hermione listened attentively, her wide eyes fixed on him and Crookshanks
nestled in her lap.

She let him share his thoughts without interruption. Once he was done, she naturally had a
barrage of questions, and he did his best to provide answers, adding that they'd need
confirmation from lawyers to be completely certain.

When they met with the lawyers on Monday, Draco found himself only partially tuned in
once Oakwood confirmed their suspicions - civil marriage would grant them legal
recognition under muggle laws while circumventing the risk of losing his inheritance.
Hermione's grip on his hand was nearly bone-crushing, but he welcomed the sensation. This
is it.

“What about children?” he inquired.

“If we successfully manage to nullify the bans that Lucius Malfoy established to prevent non-
pureblood offspring born out-of-wedlock from inheriting, then we can assure you that your
children won't face any obstacles in that regard,” Oakwood affirmed.

“In that regard?” Hermione probed cautiously.

Stivens interjected. “Unfortunately, the ban on succession remains steadfast. If your

assessment is accurate and the prohibition against muggleborn marriages dates back to the
8th century, we must assume that the restriction on the recognized heir holding any status
other than pureblood was enacted around the same era. Therefore…”

“They employed rather primitive methods to seal the deal, so to speak,” Draco concluded.

“Precisely.”

“That's not important,” Hermione said. “Scorpius is your firstborn, and by birthright, he holds
the rightful claim, I suppose. Besides, we live in an entirely different era now. No one's
scheming to usurp their siblings to seize the family throne or whatever it's called,” she
quipped, attempting to lighten the atmosphere.

The lawyers, however, maintained their impassive expressions.

“Right?” she inquired, a hint of concern in her tone.

Agatha cleared her throat. “We cannot provide commentary on other clients' cases.”

Hermione nodded. “Of course.”

“So, what's the plan moving forward?"

The discussion delved into the details of obtaining the necessary muggle documentation for
him and preparing for the wedding, including the legal protocol for notifying the local
register office.

While Hermione absorbed the information keenly, Draco merely nodded, still grappling with
the reality of the outcome. This is really happening.

His thoughts snapped back to the present as Hermione rose from her seat to shake hands with
the legal team, and he did the same.

“This ordeal has demanded significant overtime efforts, Mr. Malfoy,” Oakwood, noted with a
gesture towards the paperwork on his desk.

“Expect a bonus,” Draco replied with a faint smile.

“I'll be awaiting my wedding invitation,” Agatha quipped, arching an eyebrow. “I've never
attended a muggle wedding before.”

Draco smiled and nodded. He appreciated her. She was there with him from the beginning,
stern and exacting yet brilliant and utterly professional.
Meanwhile, Hermione engaged in a conversation with Fingerling. As the discussion wrapped
up, Draco exited the office with the others.

Stevens caught up with him. “Thanks to the documents provided by Hamilton, we'll be able
to locate the decrees pertaining to the bans enacted by your father and his predecessors. We'll
then devise a strategy for lifting them safely, with the goal of addressing all instances that
were established through basic contractual bindings. Is that correct?"

“Yes, precisely. We'll be in touch. Thank you.”

After Hermione expressed her desire to visit Luna's store and have coffee with her to share
the good news, Draco decided to head home. He had another important conversation awaiting
him.

He found Scorpius on the sofa in front of the telly. A smile lit up his face when he spotted
Draco, and he beckoned him over with a wave of his hand.

“Come sit here, dad. Did you know muggles are making cars that can drive themselves? So
maybe if you fail your test…”

Draco raised an amused eyebrow.

“You won’t, of course, but I'm just saying, you can buy that one.”

“You still need a licence to drive any car,” Draco clarified.

“Oh. Where will you keep it?” he inquired.

Draco shrugged. “Probably in front of the building.”

“Hermione has a garage.”

“True. Maybe I can keep it there and we can use it during the colder months. Her car isn't the
best in rainy and cold weather.”

“Yeah, but it's so cool, much cooler than the other cars in her street,” Scorpius commented
with wide-eyed enthusiasm.

Draco smirked. “Indeed. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you,” he said, his tone taking a more
serious note.

“Yes?"

“I need your opinion,” he said and swallowed. “I got something for Hermione.”

Draco produced the small ring box he had been carrying since retrieving it from the vault. He
handed it to Scorpius, who frowned slightly while opening it. When the box was finally
revealed, his son blinked at the contents.
“It's a ring,” Scorp said.

Draco nodded and looked at his reaction.

He just slowly nodded back. “It’s nice,” he said simply, his gaze fixed on the piece of
jewellery.

Draco cleared his throat. “It's not just any ring. This one has… significant importance.”

Scorpius continued to nod. “I understand. I heard you talking to Uncle Blaise about… how
the old rules were stopping you from asking Hermione to… you know, get married to you,”
he said with innocent and genuine words.

Draco recalled the heated conversation he had shared with Blaise after an exhausting day of
deciphering archaic pureblood laws.

“I doubt that's exactly how I put it, so I apologise for what you have heard.”

Scorpius chuckled. “It's fine. So, did you manage to fix it? The old rules, I mean.”

Draco's lips quirked into a half-smile. “Not entirely, but I can make certain changes. We can
not have a traditional wizarding wedding, but rather something a bit different, something
that's common among muggles.”

Scorpius nodded again, taking in the information. “Will there be a big party?"

Draco shrugged. “It's possible. I haven't asked Hermione yet. So, when you see her, don't say
anything.”

He rolled his eyes playfully. “Dad, you studied together to find a way to change things. I
think she already knows.”

“I know, my little know-it-all, I meant the ring,” Draco teased, but he then grew more serious.
“So, what do you think about this?"

Draco was unsure how to broach the subject with Scorpius again. It wasn't an easy
conversation to have, especially since he wasn't entirely certain if they could even get
married in the first place. Although he was fully prepared to spend his life with Hermione
regardless of contracts or formalities, he believed she deserved more, a proper wedding and
marriage, if that's what she desired. But still, he didn’t want to not inform his son about
anything.

Scorpius returned the box. “I think it’s quite a bit of effort for maybe just a party,” he joked,
then furrowed his brow slightly. “Where will you two live? Husbands and wives live
together. Not like boyfriends and girlfriends.”

“Where are we going to live, you mean? That's something we haven't quite worked out yet.
We've been preoccupied with other matters first.”

Scorpius looked up at Draco. “You're going to have babies.”

He paused and swallowed hard. “Maybe. Hermione isn’t sure if she wants to have babies, but
yes, it's something we've discussed. We could… perhaps… have children together in the
future.”

“And I won't be here,” he said softly. “I mean, I'll be at Hogwarts, and you'll be here with
Hermione and your… your new children.”

Draco's heart ached at the sadness in Scorpius's voice. “Yes, that's likely. There might be an
annoying little sibling waiting for you when you return home during the holidays,” he said,
attempting to inject some humour, but he just looked down at his hands. "I understand,
Scorp,” he started again. “Change can be tough, especially when it feels like everything is
shifting. You will go to school, and we will live with Hermione. But you'll always be the
most important part of my life, no matter what. Yes, things will be different, but different
doesn't always mean bad."

He just nodded again. “I know.”

Draco took his hand. “Scorp, listen, son. I love you. I don’t want you to think that I'm…
Replacing you. No one could. Never, okay?” he asked and his son just nodded. “You've
grown on me in the past eleven years more than you'll ever know,” he joked again and
Scorpius finally smiled.

However, he sighed and looked down again. “Dad, I know you… you love Hermione. And
I… I like her too. I'm not... I'm not against you… you know, getting married and all that. It's
just… it's going to be different. That’s all.”

It was Draco's turn to just nod and agree. They sat there for a moment, father and son, the
unspoken bond between them strengthening in the quietude of the room.

Finally, Scorpius spoke again, this time with a smirk on his face. “So, annoying little sibling,
huh?”

“Perhaps. You'll have to teach them all your best tricks for handling me,” Draco chuckled, but
then he sighed and took a deep breath. “There's something else I wanted to discuss with you.
This conversation might be happening a bit sooner than I would want it to, but I want to
ensure you're prepared for the future, even if it's many years away.”

Scorp straightened his back and listened more attentively.

“When the time comes, far in the future, so don't think about it too much now, you will
become the head of our family.”

Scorpius blinked.

“You are my oldest child, my oldest son. That means all the responsibilities I'm currently
handling, our businesses, our charities, our estates, all of that will fall to you.”

He blushed, his eyes widening. “I… I don't even know how to do any of that.”
“Of course not,” Draco reassured him quickly, squeezing his hand. “Did you think I knew it
when I was your age? I was more than double your age when I had to take over, and I didn't
know a thing,” he chuckled. “But I had older, much wiser people guiding me along the way,
and…” Draco sighed again. “My own father never taught me any of it. But I'll be there to
teach you. I will always be there for you.”

He looked uncertain. “But… What if I want to do something different? What if I want to play
quidditch or become a… a… a potions master? What if I want to be... a dentist or... a pilot?”
he added nervously.

Draco felt relief and nodded understandingly. “Then that's exactly what you'll do,” he said
simply and he meant it. He’s nothing like me. Thank Gods. “We'll cross that bridge when we
get to it. For now, I'll carry on as long as I can, but I want you to know that you have a
choice. You will always have a choice.”

Scorpius nodded slowly, taking in the gravity of his father's words. They stayed quiet for a
while until he spoke up again.

“I think Hermione will love the ring,” he said after a while. “You couldn't find a red diamond
for her, though?” He added a playful smile to his comment.

“You mean a ruby?” Draco corrected with a chuckle. “No, I couldn't. But trust me, green suits
her better.”

Several days later, Hermione stumbled upon her old notes detailing the time when ministry
workers and curse breakers had come to her house to reverse her spells and clean the place
more efficiently than she could have managed alone.

Because they were all responsible adults, they agreed upon properly resting before attempting
to clean the Grimmauld Place with demanding spells.

Hermione and Draco had taken a bit longer to recover their energy, largely due to the
distracting interludes that involved her wearing his Slytherin jersey. Ever since he saw how
wonderful she looked in it in his office, he wanted to see what she looked like in it in
different rooms in his flat and her house.

“Hermione, I really hope this is going to work,” Ginny exclaimed impatiently. “I can't bear
spending any more time with my parents. Oh, speaking of which, we have a March dinner
next weekend. Charlie and Pansy are bringing the babies.”

“Great. Okay,” Hermione responded, only half-listening as she pored over an old notebook.
“Let's start with this one. It’s for fixing broken objects. The incantation is Reparo Integritas,
and you swish your wand like this.” Hermione demonstrated the movement and they all
practised it successfully. “Let's each focus on different things we intend to fix, since God
knows none of us is an expert in cleaning spells. Alright, Harry, concentrate on the walls. I'll
take care of the stairs, floors, and any wooden surfaces. Draco, focus on the tiles and stone.
Ginny, handle the glass. Windows and doors, not cups and dishes. Got it?” she instructed.
“Yes, ma'am. Let’s get started,” Harry chimed in, earning a smirk from Draco.

He appreciated seeing her in her element - quick-thinking, authoritative, and taking charge.
She thrived under pressure. When the house had exploded, she had given Dissy precise
instructions on what potions to bring for their recovery. Draco would likely have requested
the entire potion lab.

They brandished their wands and chanted incantations as they moved through the ground
floor. When Hermione fixed the first set of stairs they moved up until they reached the third
floor. It wasn't too difficult especially since he could see cracks on floors in the kitchen and
bathrooms concealing and disappearing before his eyes. A small puff of dust every time he
closed a hole or a crack was great motivation for what he would normally consider a tedious
task.

Hermione attempted to use the same spell to mend the books in the library, but it only worked
on the muggle books and Potter's music corner. Meanwhile, Draco and Ginevra were hard at
work restoring the broken wizarding books they had placed in their “restricted section.”

“Do you think this spell would work on the Black book?” she asked, gesturing towards the
large tome on the floor.

“Give it a try,” Draco suggested nonchalantly.

She cast the spell, but nothing happened. “Maybe it'll work for you.”

Draco waved his wand and chanted the incantation, feeling an unusual sense of satisfaction as
pieces of paper and torn pages reassembled themselves before his eyes. When the book was
once again whole, he experienced a fleeting sense of completeness when he lifted it from the
floor. He stared at it for a few long moments.

“Need a moment alone with it, or…?” she teased.

“No. Where was its place again?"

Kreacher was elated and even shed a tear when Draco mended his cookbook too. As they
descended back to the kitchen to tackle that area, the task was completed much more swiftly
than he would have anticipated, given the sheer number of plates, mugs, dishes, and glasses
that required fixing.

In less than two hours, they had completed the initial repairs and were ready to move on to a
spell that would return all the items to their proper places.

“I believe one person per room should be enough for this spell. Let’s give it a try,” Hermione
suggested.

As she spoke the incantation and waved her wand in the kitchen, the objects they had
previously fixed and others that had survived the explosion began to vibrate gently.

The sound of porcelain and glass meeting wooden surfaces created an oddly soothing
ambiance. Everything started to float around them as if they were in a slow-motion video.
Mugs were back at their place in cupboards, plates inside cabinets and as the last little plastic
spoon for children found its way to a drawer, which closed softly, Hermione released her grip
on her wand and took a deep breath.

“That was surprisingly strenuous. It felt like I was holding something heavy. Keep that in
mind as you go on. I just need a minute.”

Potter and Ginny nodded and moved to different rooms, but Draco remained by her side.

“Are you alright?"

“Yes. I didn't sleep well, so I'm paying for it now,” she replied, playfully scolding him with
her gaze.

He smirked. “My apologies. But you do look exquisite in green in your bedroom.”

“You've said the same about my garden.”

“Well, we had to put those privacy and warming charms to the test too,” he smirked again.
“I'll head upstairs. Stay here for a bit.”

Her assessment was spot-on; it did feel physically demanding. They tackled the smaller
rooms first and then combined their efforts to restore order to the hallway. Working as a team
of four made the process significantly easier.

“I think I once saw Dumbledore perform this spell,” Potter commented absentmindedly. “He
did it without speaking, though.”

Hermione huffed. “Well, none of us are wizarding prodigies, so…”

“Are you sure you're not one?” Ginny interjected.

She rolled her eyes. “Please.”

The final spell was for cleaning and tidying up the area. It turned out to be the least exciting
one, as it simply caused dust and small splinters to vanish.

In just a few hours, they accomplished a task that they had initially thought might take weeks.
Those were undeniably useful spells.

“Thank you once again for your help. For the whole last year really,” Harry said, giving
Hermione's shoulder a reassuring rub.

“You're welcome.”

“You should come over for dinner,” Ginevra suggested. “How about next week? Now that
you're not consumed with your research, you'll have some free time.”

Draco nodded. “Certainly. Since I won't receive any other form of payment from you, I'll
gladly accept the food… your house-elf has prepared,” he added with a smirk.
“Hey, we both cook,” she pointed out, gesturing between herself and Potter. “We just let him
do the cooking most of the time because the other chores are… more demanding.”

“Ever heard of retirement, Red?"

“Ever heard of a stubborn elderly elf, Ferret?"

The following week flowed so smoothly for Draco that he couldn't shake off the feeling that
an unexpected obstacle was lurking around the corner, ready to slap him in the face.

The lawyers managed to unearth all the contracts and regulations enacted in the past few
centuries that pertained to bans and restrictions, not only concerning marriage but also
various aspects of Malfoy life.

Many of his father's and grandfather's enactments were relatively easy to reverse, as the
spells they had used were documented. The older decrees however required more time and
overtime work from his team, but gold and time were resources he had in abundance.

Almost every evening, Draco found himself in the lab with Scorpius, brewing potions of
gradually increasing complexity. They brewed a number of slightly more challenging potions,
managing multiple cauldrons simultaneously. Draco wanted to teach him the art of
maintaining equal focus on all tasks and preventing confusion, something they have been
trying since the beginning of the year.

As they worked, Scorpius posed questions and jotted down answers in a notebook featuring
an illustration of a peculiar bald creature with large, round eyes and a ring. He said Hermione
got it for him and Albus after they watched a movie in the cinema.

He even asked a few questions about Draco's job, like what he does at meetings or how he
chooses who’s going to be his accountant. He tried to answer simply without sounding
condescending.

On the evenings when he was free, he met with Theo and Blaise. He had obtained a ring for
Luna. The band was a delicate gold, adorned with a uniquely shaped Australian opal.

"I stumbled upon it online and knew immediately that it was perfect for her," he remarked,
looking at it with pride.

The beautiful mix of blue shades in the opal gave it an otherworldly aura.

"I have one as well." Draco retrieved the box containing the ring he had just received back
from the curse-breaker and showed it to his friends.

"Wow, they're lovely," Theo commented and sighed with nostalgia of a hundred-year-old
man. "Look at us. I can recall the days when we would compare other things we pulled out of
our trousers.”

“What the fuck?"

"We literally never did that."

He rolled his eyes. "I was referring to O.W.L. report cards. What's wrong with you two?" He
poured them more firewhiskey. "Should I propose to Daphne as well? Since we're all doing it
apparently."

"Yes, propose due to peer pressure. Very romantic.”

"Have either of you given it any thought?" Blaise inquired.

"Of course," Theo responded with a shrug. "I thought about it ever since the first time she
properly kissed me. The first kiss was decent, but that was when she was probably slightly
tipsy and not at her best game. But I thought, if that's what it felt like under those conditions,
I could only imagine what it would be like when we were both fully engaged. And when we
did, it was... extraordinary. So I thought… I don't want to have a first kiss with anyone ever
again.”

Draco nodded contemplatively. "You should jot that down. You could use it in a speech or as
vows.”

“Fuck off.”

"No, I'm serious. She'll love it.”

"She'll love it?" Blaise chimed in dramatically. "I'm nearly in tears here, mate."

Draco chuckled.

“Shut up.”

"Oh, regarding those old contracts, what did you do?" Blaise inquired.

"We're gradually repealing them, one by one," Draco explained. "The most recent one
concerned the prohibition of using our gold for muggle charities, under the threat of a
financial curse of said charity.”

"How charming.”

"Yeah. There are many more to address, but the ones concerning children are resolved, and
that's all that matters to me right now," Draco said, gazing at his ring. It felt almost surreal to
have obtained everything he had desired.

"Have you considered it? Having children?" he asked his friends.

"In a general sense?" Blaise inquired. "Certainly, why not? I think I'd relocate back to the
manor though. Country life takes on a different meaning when you have children. I think I’d
prefer that.”

Theo let out a sigh. "We simply won't take the risk. It's not worth it," he mumbled. He
frowned as Draco and Blaise looked at him. "Shit. I don't mean it like that. Of course,
children are fucking worth it, it's just... Why? To continue the noble Nott lineage?" He
scoffed. "Fuck it. Let it die with me.”

He shrugged dismissively, and though he probably meant what he said, Draco and Blaise
knew him well enough to see beyond the façade.

"We can always adopt and let them bear her name. Greengrass. It has a nicer ring to it. And if
anything, I'll spare my nonexistent children the barrage of 'Nott-Not' jokes," Theo raised his
glass and took a sip. "I don't think I'd be a good father; I'm more of the 'cool uncle' type," he
added after a while.

"Nobody thinks they'll be good enough, and then…”

Theo rolled his eyes. "Draco, seriously, can you picture me setting boundaries? Clean your
room! Study harder, your grades are appalling! Don't argue with me, I'm your father!
Please.”

Blaise nodded a few moments later. "I'd make a good dad."

Theo attempted to say something several times, but gave up eventually.

"Go on, say it," he drawled.

"Nothing.”

"I can tell you're struggling. Come on.”

"I was about to say, 'how can you know what constitutes a good father? None of yours stuck
around long enough for you to form an opinion.' But I realised that would be insensitive,"
Theo shrugged and tried to contain the smile at his pathetic joke.

"No, insensitive would be if I said, 'I observed your fathers and learned exactly what not to
do.' But I won't say that," Blaise said and Draco chuckled.

"That is indeed insensitive; you're right," Theo nodded. "It's a good thing you refrained from
saying it.”

When the weekend finally arrived, the anticipated slap in the form of Hermione's pleading
eyes and Draco found himself unable to resist her request.

"We don't have to stay the entire night. Just dinner, and then we can…”

"Okay.”

"Okay? Really?"

He gave her a quick kiss. "Yeah, it's just dinner, right? With people who suffered
tremendously because of me and my family, and…”
"Stop it," she said firmly. "They didn't invite you to blame you for anything. They insisted on
meeting you, so... bring them something nice like you did for my parents, and they'll love
you."

Draco rolled his eyes.

"Okay, like you. Let's not set our expectations too high.”

"Thanks.”

"Since they're all bringing their kids, we should take Scorpius along too.”

"We should.”

Scorp was excited he heard where they were going. Apparently, Albus had shared that his
grandfather had a garage dedicated to old muggle devices, toys, and tools. Draco left him to
get ready and headed back to the manor to retrieve a fine bottle of alcohol.

They first flooed to Hermione's house and then proceeded to the Burrow. His heart pounded
heavily all day, and he found himself on the brink of occluding several times. He suspected
he might need to employ it during dinner as well.

Arriving through the outdoor fireplace, he saw a long table set up in the cluttered overgrown
garden. Only George, Ron, Padma, and Susan were seated there so far. Hermione waved and
led them to a door beside the fireplace.

"I use this floo. One time, when I used this one," she gestured towards the fireplace when
they walked in the kitchen, "I accidentally ran into Molly, and she spilled cold fish stew all
over me.”

"Ew, you must've stinked awful," Scorpius laughed.

"It was beyond belief," she responded with a smile. "But I certainly learned my lesson.”

Draco took a look around. The kitchen bore a resemblance to Potter's kitchen but had a cosier
feel. It was almost as if it came out of the pages of a fairy tale book - warm, colourful, and
inviting. His heart clenched at the thoughts he had about this house as a child.

There were some pots on a stove with spoons mixing them. A rather sharp night was peeling
potatoes and flying the peels to the fireplace. A collection of framed pictures adorned the
mantle and a curious looking clock with many needles, not just two, with faces of all the
Weasleys, he assumed, but he couldn’t see it from a far.

It was probably one of those that he had heard about before, telling the state of family
members at the time. He noticed one broken needle hanging beside the clock. Fuck. He
suddenly felt warm with guilt.

"Is that you, Ginny?!" a woman's voice echoed from what appeared to be a living room.

"No, it's Hermione!”

"Oh, it's you, dear. I didn't hear... Oh," the woman's voice trailed off as she entered the room.
Her gaze shifted between him and Scorpius.

Draco managed a polite smile.

"Well, hello," Mrs Weasley greeted them softly, then spoke louder. "Arthur! I'm sorry, I forgot
that you're always punctual." She hugged Hermione.

“We’re not first.”

“Oh no, but they're staying for the weekend. They arrived this morning," she explained, her
eyes warm as they rested on his son. "Hello, Scorpius.”

"Good evening, Mrs. Weasley," he responded politely, extending his hand for a handshake.

"Oh, look at him! No wonder you and Al are friends. So polite, both of you," she said with a
warm smile.

Draco focused on maintaining control over his thoughts and emotions. "Good evening, Mrs.
Weasley. Thank you for having us.”

"Good evening," she replied simply, shaking his hand. "We would have loved to have you
here sooner, but Hermione mentioned that you were quite busy.”

"Yes, well, my schedule is often unpredictable." He was hoping he wasn’t blushing like a
guilty child.

Loud footsteps approached from the living room. "Have Charlie and Pansy arrived? Who's..."
Mr. Weasley entered, putting on his glasses and regarding them. "Hermione, my dear, how
are you?" he inquired as he embraced her.

"Great, Arthur. Thank you. And you?"

"Doing well, thank you. And who do we have here? The Malfoys," he said without a hint of
disdain.

His tone was perplexingly polite and it made Draco feel even worse.

Mr. Weasley extended his hand to both him and Scorpius. "Welcome to our home.”

"Thank you for the invitation," he replied. "I apologise for not having been able to join you
sooner.”

"Of course. Hermione is like a second daughter to us," he commented, hugging his wife with
one arm. "A daughter who occasionally skips family dinners, but a daughter nonetheless." He
smiled, and Hermione blushed faintly. "And now that we've heard the good news about your
situation, it's only appropriate that we get to know each other. Properly.”

“Indeed.”
"Well, I suppose we have a few good reasons to celebrate tonight," he said, rubbing his hands
together.

"We do?" Hermione inquired.

"We certainly do, my dear," Mrs. Weasley chimed in, gesturing toward the garden. "Head
outside and make yourselves comfortable.”

Hermione had offered to help, but they were politely shooed out of the kitchen and into the
garden. Despite the cloudy and rainy March evening, it grew pleasantly warm when the
Potters arrived, and Harry casted one of his impressive weather charms.

One by one, the rest of the Weasley family joined them, and the children were seated at a
smaller table. He glanced a few times to check on Scorp but he had no problem fitting in.
Unlike his father.

As the initial surprise of Draco's presence subsided, conversations flowed easily. He found it
surprisingly effortless to engage with everyone around him once the attention shifted away
from him and moved towards sleeping Sage and Linden in their bassinets. They drew the
collective admiration of the guests.

“Sure, now they’re sleeping, last night around three in the morning, however…” Pansy
commented.

Both she and Charlie appeared a bit tired. He barely spoke, while Pansy leaned against his
shoulder, staring at her plate, blinking slowly, almost asleep. Draco had offered Dissy's
assistance multiple times, but she was determined not to "lose the first battle," as she put it.

"Did you manage to repair the house?" Bill inquired of Ginny.

"Yes. Harry and I took care of the smaller things over the last few days," she said with a
casual shrug, then noticed his glance. "Well, most of the credit goes to Hermione and...
Draco. They did the bulk of the work," she added, raising her glass theatrically. Draco
mirrored the gesture.

Bill shifted the conversation to him. "I read about it in Hermione's book. That was some
impressive blood magic.”

Draco explained that finding a solution to dark blood magic in a family obsessed with blood
wasn't particularly challenging. With the topic exhausted, the conversation shifted to lighter
matters. Bill and Fleur planned to spend the summer in France when the children returned
from Hogwarts.

He struggled to recall the name of the other brother, but Hermione subtly reminded him that
it was Percy. Well, Percy and his wife were expecting their second child, yet they weren't the
only ones. As it turned out, Weasley and Bones were expecting too.

Hermione couldn't contain her excitement, hugging both of them tightly, probably a bit
tighter than it would be recommended.
"We found out just after the holidays, but we didn't want to announce it until well after the
first trimester," Bones explained.

"After Charlie and Pansy's double surprise, we went to muggle doctors to see the baby on the
telly," Weasley chimed in. "And just so you know, there's only one in there," he clarified.

They all nodded, and Hermione playfully teased, "Is that what you asked for when you made
the appointment? May I get an appointment for a telly scan?" Her laughter filled the air.

"Merlin, no. A friend of mine is a healer and sometimes collaborates with muggle doctors.
She arranged it," Bones laughed. "Ron was not allowed to speak. His questions would likely
violate the Statute within minutes.”

"Yeah," he agreed. "Fascinating stuff, really."

He proudly displayed a black and white picture of the baby. Hermione subtly directed Draco's
gaze to it. It was indeed fascinating. Muggle science was undeniably remarkable.

"I could see the baby moving. And the heartbeat, it's so fast.”

"They also did a blood test to check everything, and..." Bones paused, exchanging a glance
with her husband. With his supportive nod, she continued, "It's a girl.”

The rest of the evening unfolded smoothly, and Draco found himself surprised when
Hermione nudged him, asking if he wanted to leave.

"Only if you want. I’m fine," he replied with a casual shrug, and she smiled in response.

Their interaction was… beautiful. The parents appeared delighted that all their children were
present. He caught a glimpse of Mrs. Weasley wiping away tears, which Ginny hid by
hugging her mother. Mr. Weasley kept the kids entertained with his assortment of muggle
gadgets.

The atmosphere was filled with closeness and happiness. Charlie and Bill seemed particularly
close, a bond Draco knew about from before. Fleur held Linden in her arms, while Pansy fed
Sage, the two women engaged in lively conversation with animated gestures.

Percy held his daughter on his lap, occasionally pointing to his wife's belly and explaining
something to her.

George and Weasley seem to be the closest of the younger siblings. Draco recalled Hermione
mentioning how difficult it had been for him to cope with the loss of his twin brother. He
tried to keep his mind from dwelling on painful thoughts, like the brother and son of this
family who would still be alive if Draco hadn't allowed Death Eaters into Hogwarts in the
first place. No, don't go there. Don’t think about it.

Draco shifted his gaze back to the house. It was much smaller than his manor, of course.
Perhaps even smaller than Hermione's house, but the latter had a clear design without any
seemingly unauthorised floors.
It was obvious they struggled until kids started growing up, working and moving away one
by one, but they also seemed they didn’t lack anything important, and in that way, they were
far wealthier than his family was.

The table was cluttered with overflowing bowls and amazing homemade dishes. They had a
nice wine and muggle beer Mr Weasley recommended. When he placed the cold bottle and
beer mug in front of Draco and said so casually, without a second thought, “Here you go,
son,” he felt the instant need to occlude otherwise he might explode from humiliation, and
regret.

He retreated into the tranquillity of his own mind, and found solace in the emptiness.

The noise of the conversations around him faded, leaving him in a serene mental sanctuary. It
was so quiet and peaceful here, a space where his past mistakes and anxieties couldn't reach
him.

A place of nothingness, where he could simply… breathe.

Just empty… and nothing… and air. So much air to breathe now.

Sometimes he wished it could feel like this forever.

Hermione's hand on his knee and her gentle squeeze roused him from his artificial peace.
Realising he couldn't keep his walls up around her, he lowered his occlumency defences and
turned his head toward her.

"I think we've spent enough time here, don't you?" she whispered softly.

He nodded in agreement.

Scorpius didn't seem thrilled about leaving, but he didn't protest either. Pansy and Charlie
wanted to depart as well, saying it was bath time for their children. With their goodbyes
exchanged, they left the gathering and made their way back to Hermione's house.

Scorp found his spot on the sofa, turning on the television, while Hermione was making tea
but before she was even done, they noticed he dozed off with Crookshanks nestled in his lap.

"You don't need to wake him up," she whispered. "Just carry him upstairs to my old room.”

He was probably tired after running around and flying with the kids. Draco gently lifted him
and carried him to the bedroom. He left the door slightly ajar and returned to the living
room.

Hermione had settled on the sofa with her tea. She placed a small cushion on her lap and
patted it invitingly. Draco sat beside her and rested his head on the cushion with a sigh.

No questions were asked; Hermione sipped her tea while running her fingers through his hair,
occasionally giving a light scratch with her nails.
In the background, the television played historical documentaries, currently showing a black
and white video of a European emperor's assassination, presumably from the First World War
era.

"It was a lovely night," he finally spoke, taking advantage of a commercial break.

"It was," Hermione agreed.

Draco nodded. "We should go again if they invite us," he suggested honestly.

"We should?" She sounded surprised.

"Yes. Scorpius seemed to enjoy it too. I'm not entirely sure what that gadget Mr Weasley gave
him is, but he was quite taken by it.”

Hermione chuckled softly. "It's an old gaming console from the 1980s. Completely
harmless," she explained. “And… how did you feel?”

Draco now knew she noticed his occluding. It made no sense to treat her like she didn’t. He
sighed. “Lovely and awful. I felt both welcomed and anxious. Like I belonged and yet felt
out of place.”

She nodded. “That’s how Pansy describes these dinners sometimes too. You Slytherins are
really something,” she chuckled.

Draco smiled too. “They seem like a perfect family. So loving, so close,” he said quietly.

“It wasn't always like that.”

He scoffed. "It was never like that for me," he spoke with a sudden urgency, and he could feel
her gaze resting on him.

The intimacy of their proximity, coupled with not looking directly at her, gave him a slight
boost of courage.

"I envied him," Draco admitted, his voice carrying the weight of his past emotions. "Weasley.
I was taught that his family was... beneath us. Less privileged. Considered the lowest of our
kind. And they embraced their status willingly, which somehow made it even worse. And yet,
despite everything..." he sighed, a mixture of emotions bubbling to the surface. "Harry Potter
chose him as his friend," he added with an unexpected bitterness. "It made no sense to reject
my friendship when I was superior. Wealthier. More successful. But instead of me, he
collected The Boy Who Lived, and then even the girl who excelled at everything. He got all
of that when he didn't deserve it. Or at least that's what I was led to believe.”

Draco remembered she saw his memories and felt he was envious. He always has been.
Maybe that’s why it was so easy to admit it now.

“Mother would send me the finest Belgian and Swiss chocolates for Christmas, along with
the newest books from America. My father would provide me with quidditch equipment that
hadn't even hit the market yet. Aunts and uncles would send me gold, and distant relatives
would invite me to their castles in the Alps or Norway for the holidays. I had all of that,
while he had so little, and yet he was... happier than I was. I observed you all opening
presents a few times," Draco said, his thoughts transporting him back to the Great Hall during
holiday festivities.

He could almost smell the cinnamon and cloves in the air.

"You were all wearing the jumpers Mrs. Weasley made. They were just jumpers, something
knitted. I understand that muggles have to do it by hand, but it's not a difficult task for
wizards. Yet it held more warmth and meaning than any extravagant gift. And you all were
so… genuinely happy and appreciative... and loved."

He could sense her emotions, the soft sniffling as she listened.

"I didn't realise back then how much a loving family truly means. And how everything else
pales in comparison without it," he continued, his voice reflecting the revelations of
hindsight. "Yes, I was loved and cared for, but... not in that way. It wasn't as warm or
nurturing. Fuck, even tonight," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "It was just dinner,
wasn't it? Not a grand celebration. Yet, I've never witnessed and felt as much genuine
affection and respect within a family as I did tonight.”

Draco sat up and turned to face her, seeing that tears had welled up in her eyes. He reached
out gently and wiped them from her cheeks with his fingertips.

"I want that for us. A safe haven that's filled with warmth and love," Draco's voice quivered
slightly as he clasped her trembling hand in his own. "I want a home where children can
enjoy hand-knitted jumpers, homemade desserts, and old muggle toys. A place where our
friends and family can come and feel truly welcomed and cared for."

His words hung in the air, carrying with them the weight of his desires. She just nodded, and
didn't say a word.

This is it.

Draco squeezed her hand before he walked to the armchair and retrieved the small ring box
tucked safely inside his jacket from the armchair. She stole a glance at his hand, wiping away
lingering tears.

With a faint chuckle, he continued, "This shouldn't be much of a surprise, really.”

Hermione shook her head, "It isn't. I'm not surprised. And I'm not scared.”

Draco sat next to her. “Good, because… I don't know how to do this. I don't have a grand
romantic speech prepared," he admitted with a self-deprecating smile. "I'm just asking you to
marry me after being inspired by your ex-boyfriend's family.”

Her laughter was a mix of mirth and sniffles. "If you want, I can wait a few days before
telling them. We can come up with a backup story. Maybe something cliché, like a public
proposal at a fancy restaurant."
 There she was with her quick thinking.

“Deal.”

He settled beside her and opened the ring box, feeling her gaze locked on his face. As he
removed the ring from its cushioned nest, Hermione’s voice cut through the silence.

"I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Draco’s heart swelled with an indescribable emotion, so much more than love, something he
was sure he never felt before, leaving him momentarily speechless. With a nod, he found his
voice again.

"I will love you longer than that," he said before he kissed her.

When he carefully slipped the ring onto her finger, it fitted perfectly.

Chapter End Notes

Draco's life in London https://www.pinterest.com/tpzzz1105/in-the-mood-for-

truth/dracos-life-in-london/
 Hermione
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

August 2014

Six months later

“Oh no.”

“What?”

“How did she find out about it already?"

“Who?"

Draco frowned and handed Hermione the Daily Prophet. There, in a glaring photograph from
a few months ago, was the image of Draco embracing and spinning her playfully at the
apparition point in the Alley, followed by a kiss that led to them disappearing. I like this
photo.

He sighed and shook his head. "However I have to admit, I quite like this photo," he mused
and Hermione smiled.

The dramatic title and snippet suggested the text was on page five, so she flipped through it.

Scandalous Matrimony: Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger's Muggle-Infused Wedding

Extravaganza.

By Rita Skeeter

Ladies and gentlemen, witches and wizards, gather 'round for the most jaw-dropping news to
grace your wizarding ears this summer! Brace yourselves for the sensational details of the
unexpected union that took place under our very noses. Yes, you heard it right - the brainy
Gryffindor know-it-all Hermione Granger and the brooding Slytherin heartthrob Draco
Malfoy have tied the knot in a hush-hush muggle ceremony.

I can already hear gasps of disbelief through the halls of wizarding high society.
Could it be that the former Slytherin prince has fallen so far from grace that he's willing to
forsake his magical heritage for love? And love is indeed the term du jour, as sources close to
the couple whisper tales of secret trysts and stolen glances from the days of their Hogwarts
youth.

Was there a clandestine romance during their time at school? What kind of bond could these
two possibly share?

The nuptials, veiled in secrecy, were allegedly orchestrated to prevent the loss of the Malfoy
family's inheritance. The Malfoy millions and the Granger brilliance joined hands, quite
literally, at an utterly unmagical muggle venue. As if that weren't enough, the couple then
proceeded to host a discreet reception for their inner circle. It's clear that our golden (or
silver) couple has skeletons they're not yet ready to share.

Sources close to the couple suggest that the Malfoy patriarch was none too pleased with the
prospect of his fortune dissipating into thin air due to the choice of his bride.

But was it also an act of rebellion?

A bid for attention?

Or, dare I say it, just an effort to keep their offspring from being disowned as well?

Rumours of Malfoy's dark past, including a marriage to the late Astoria Greengrass, are
being bandied about, along with whispers that Granger herself has been involved in
relationships better suited for the pages of trashy romance novels than respectable society. If
you ask me, dear readers, her convoluted romantic history has surely played its part in this
captivating charade.

And let us not forget Malfoy's transformation from the Hogwarts bad boy into a supposed
reformed wizard. Did our dear Golden Girl play a role in his apparent change of heart?
What manipulative webs were woven during those post-war years? Skeeter senses a tale of
twists and turns that would leave even the most avid romance novel reader clutching their
hearts in melodramatic disbelief.

So, dear readers, as we toast to this bewildering union of opposites, let us ponder the secrets
and lies that surely lie beneath their seemingly innocuous smiles. Is this really a marriage of
convenience? A calculated plot for power and inheritance? Or perhaps, just perhaps, there is
an amorous spark we've all been blind to? One can only imagine the fireworks that must
surely fly behind closed doors.

Stay tuned, enchanted ones, as Rita Skeeter delves deep into the heart of this spellbinding
saga, unearthing secrets, revealing truths, and exposing the most astonishing revelations that
are bound to shake the wizarding world to its very core.

Less than a week.

That’s how long it took her to find out and the rest of the wizarding Britain, it seems.

Less than a week and their secret wedding had been exposed. The title was sensational, as
expected, and Rita Skeeter's words were already casting doubts on their motives and
intentions. Gold digger? Image rehabilitation?

Hermione let out a resigned sigh. At this point, she cared more about the day they had shared,
than the aftermath of the media frenzy.

They had opted for an intimate wedding ceremony at the registry office, with only Padma and
Theo as witnesses. Of course, Hermione's parents, and Narcissa and Scorpius were there too.

Following the official ceremony, they celebrated at a wizarding hotel with a breathtaking sea-
view garden with all of their guests. The beauty of the location almost made up for the
sweltering heat, but a cooling charm ensured that they could have the outdoor wedding
Hermione had always dreamed of.

Draco glanced at her. "You're not upset about this?"

She shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Not really. It was to be expected. And
honestly, we've all given them enough material to write about for months.”

Their close-knit group of friends had been keeping the Prophet busy.

The first shock had been Parvati and Lavender's April wedding, which sent ripples through
the wizarding world and sparked discussions about same-sex couples within the
Wizengamot.

Despite Draco's prediction that progress would be slow due to the presence of conservative
members, the mere fact that the topic was being debated was a step forward.

The engagement of Blaise and Luna drew positive reactions, as a young couple from semi-
respectable families prepared to tie the knot.

Of course, it also meant that an eligible bachelor had been claimed, which prompted a few
angry howlers sent to Luna, something she found amusing, considering the strangers'
investment in her love life.

And yet before anyone could fully mourn the loss of one bachelor, two more were snatched
up coincidentally on the same day, just a few months later.

The summer solstice approached, and Theo proposed to visit Stonehenge for the celebrations,
intrigued to see what muggles did for their holiday. Despite Hermione's insistence that it was
a rather subdued affair involving sunset watching in eccentric clothing, he decided to go.
Word spread amongst their group and a lot of them went for it.

After witnessing the sunset, the group made their way to Theo's manor, where intoxication
levels skyrocketed.
George spontaneously proposed to Padma during one of their private bathroom party
activities, and she excitedly announced their engagement to everyone by screaming it to the
drunken crowd.

Theo was disappointed because he intended to propose to Daphne that evening so he

suggested “winning the night” by actually getting married right there and then.

Blinded by alcohol-induced enthusiasm, they all found themselves agreeing and supporting
them. Luna, however, was the surprising voice of reason, noting that finding a wizard to
officiate at that hour might be challenging, especially due to the ongoing ceremonies. Theo
countered that his wealth could surely secure a last-minute officiant, and he was right.

The hasty ceremony ensued, witnessed by their equally intoxicated friends, only for most to
have little recollection of the event. Thankfully, Theo's house elves kindly shared their
memories of the evening.

Ginny and Pansy, with their families, weren’t present because they are, unlike the rest of their
friends, apparently, responsible adults.

Pansy was furious and didn't speak to either of them for a week, because they had excluded
her from their wedding. Draco's attempts to explain that literally no one remembered the
ceremony didn't alleviate her frustration.

"So, about those…" Hermione checked the text she had just read, "secret trysts and stolen
glances from the days of our Hogwarts youth. Is that when your pining started?" She blinked
at him with feigned innocence.

"No, it was a bit later," Draco said, fixing the collar of her shirt absentmindedly. "It was when
you cornered me in front of that café."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, trying to recall the moment.

"You were very vocal about my lack of scarf-tying skills," he continued with a smirk.

She laughed, remembering the day well. "That was the moment for you?"

"I believe so. I felt utterly pathetic," he admitted, a smile tugging at his lips. "You barely
touched me, I thought… I needed to have you.”

Her smile matched his. "For me, I think it was Pansy's birthday," she mused.

Draco looked intrigued, prompting her to explain further.

"You looked positively... delectable. Not that I wasn't aware of how attractive you were
before…”

"Of course," he interjected playfully.

"But that night, I really saw you. Really looked at you," she clarified. "It was eye-opening.”

"What was eye-opening? Good morning." Scorpius wandered downstairs from his bedroom,
his hair tousled and wearing pyjamas.

“Nothing.” Draco glanced at his watch. "What happened to you? It's past nine.”

Hermione summoned an extra plate and utensils for him.

"Thank you," Scorpius said as he took his seat at the table. "I stayed up a bit later last night.”

"Why?"

Shrugging nonchalantly, he replied, "I was watching something on YouTube.”

Draco shot Hermione a pointed look. "I knew that was a bad idea.”

Clearing her throat, she addressed him. "Scorp, um, I think we set a time limit for a reason.”

He almost rolled his eyes, a trait he had apparently inherited from his father. "It was just one
time," he drawled, sounding remarkably similar to Draco.

"Okay, just once," she conceded. "But you do realise I can set up a password that you'll need
to have typed in every time you turn the laptop on?"

Scorpius frowned slightly. "That won't be necessary," he replied quietly.

"Alright, we'll see.”

Navigating this new role as a parent figure without stepping on each other's toes was an
ongoing learning process. She had established early on with Scorp that she wouldn't try to be
a mother or a stepmother, but rather a caring adult presence in his life. Hermione talked to
Silva about it. She was very vague, as per usual, but the advice to try and find a balanced
relationship that will not interfere with anyone’s boundaries was good.

Once the initial flurry of excitement around their engagement had settled, Hermione had gone
to the flat to talk to him. He wasn't entirely indifferent, but he was reticent to share his
thoughts. Like father, like son.

He had shown interest in where they would all live together, a topic that Hermione hadn't
fully worked out yet.

Between Draco's flat and her house, it made logical sense for two of them to move to her
place. It was larger, had ample parking, a backyard, and a well-equipped kitchen, quite the
contrast to Draco's rather compact one.

However, she hadn't broached the topic back then, as she didn't want to overwhelm Scorpius
with more changes on top of all that was already happening in his life.
Back then, Hermione thought it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to live in a nice
expensive luxurious almost-penthouse. However, she and Draco would discuss their living
arrangement in the coming weeks, taking into account everyone's needs and preferences.

"Did you pack your bag?" Draco inquired.

Scorpius chewed on his piece of toast and cast his father a slightly confused glance, as if he
had just proposed something utterly bizarre. "Why would I do that? We're leaving
tomorrow.”

"Yes, but if you have any specific clothing you'd like to take, you'll need to hand it over to
Dissy now so she can wash it," he explained, but his patience was barely concealing his
underlying annoyance.

With an exasperated sigh, Scorp retorted, "Fine, I'll do it after I'm done eating.”

Hermione couldn't help but chuckle at the back-and-forth. She knew how particular Draco
was about ensuring everything was done on time.

"Do you even want to go on this trip?" Draco asked.

"Of course I do. Why? Do you want to go alone?” he responded with a touch of urgency in
his voice. “Is it because it's your honeymoon? Do you not want me to go?" His cheeks
reddened slightly as he stumbled over his words.

Hermione rolled her eyes, a fond smile playing on her lips. "For the last time, no, this is not
our honeymoon. We're simply going on vacation. I've never driven to Spain before, and
neither have you two travelled internationally on land like this. It's an adventure," she
explained with a nonchalant shrug. "But if you'd prefer to stay with your grandmother, I'm
sure my parents would…”

"Nope, we're going together," Scorpius interjected with relief as he chuckled softly. However,
his expression turned wistful. "I just wish Crooks could be here with us. He would've loved
it.”

“I know.” Hermione reached across the table to gently squeeze his hand. "I feel the same way.
I wanted him to be a part of this trip too.”

Crooks passed away peacefully one morning after he had woken up Hermione by licking her
face. He never did that before. Usually he would just stare at her until she’d wake up or he
would purr loudly while making her blanket more comfortable for him. She hugged his
thinning body and tried not to scratch him too much because his hair was falling off too much
those last few weeks.

She went downstairs to pour food in his little bowl and scrunched the plastic packaging a few
times so he could hear it. Usually after that, she’d hear his little bell, signalling he’s wobbling
downstairs.

He didn’t this time.

Hermione was utterly heartbroken. She was crying for days. His absence had left a painful
void. Crooks had been her companion throughout most of her life, the first small piece of
magical world she brought home and could share with her family and kids from the
neighbourhood.

Luna was there to console her, but she was crying too so she wasn’t of much help.

What was even less helpful was when, a few days later, Draco and Scorpius had arrived at
Hermione's house, carrying an orange plush cat that he placed on the armchair Crooks had
spent most of the time.

“There,” Scorp had said gently, as he settled down on the sofa next to her. "We'll keep this
chair for him."

The gesture had moved her to tears once more, embarrassed for him to see her like this, but
Scorpius just hugged her tightly, like he never did before.

They also told her they have talked and decided that her house would be more comfortable
for the three of them and in the next few days, they slowly started moving in.

"But are you sure about that?" Scorp queried, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. "You've been
saying you'll decide after the wedding, but you still haven't made up your mind.”

"There are so many options, and we have plenty of time to make a decision," Draco
responded, with a steady tone. "Personally, I think it would be better for us to go after you've
settled into Hogwarts. That way, you can quickly reach out to me if you need anything."

He tightened his grip on his coffee cup. His anxiety simmered just beneath the surface.

As September drew near, Draco's unease grew.

Scorpius had been ecstatic when he received his Hogwarts letter in July, and his enthusiasm
had radiated throughout the room as he read the contents aloud.

In fact, he was so happy he was allowed to jump on the sofa and in a burst of uncontrolled
magic, he accidentally sent decorative cushions soaring through the air.

A wide grin had spread across Draco's face as he observed his son's antics. However, his
elation had been short-lived, as he abruptly excused himself and retreated to the bathroom.
He had spent too much time in there, so Hermione followed him, and he pulled her inside
with an urgent expression.
Hyperventilating, Draco struggled to regain control over himself. Hermione was familiar
with moments like these, and patiently waited until he calmed down, offering the reassurance
he needed.

"He's going away, and I... I won't be able to protect him when... when the other kids start...
they will harass him, because of me," Draco had confessed, his words tumbling out in a rush
as he struggled to catch his breath.

Hermione met his distress with a soothing voice. "Draco, breathe. You can't think like that."

She wished she could express the extent to which Hogwarts had changed, with counsellors
available and a less pronounced rivalry among houses. They even re-sort them after the
fourth year, kids are allowed to go back home every other weekend if they want to. She
wanted to assure him that things would be different for Scorpius.

Yet, the incidents with Teddy's bullying was a stark reminder of the school's failures in
protecting students from harm. It cast a shadow of doubt on her attempts to offer
reassurance.

"We can talk to him, prepare him a little. Would that be okay?" she asked carefully.

He nodded, the vulnerability in his eyes touching her heart. "Yes, but not today. Let him
enjoy this time… after we've bought everything in the Alley.”

They went on a shopping spree, buying everything he needed and more. The excitement of
preparing for Hogwarts filled the air, and they refrained from broaching the topic that
weighed heavily on their minds.

Finally, two days afterwards, they gathered in the living room, ready for the crucial
conversation. Scorpius sat down with a seriousness that went beyond his age. His eyes were
filled with curiosity and determination. Hermione admired his maturity, attributing it to his
exposure to adults in his life.

The night was marked by a difficult discussion while he posed insightful questions.
Hermione and Draco did their best to offer answers, but also tried to switch to lighter topics
and prepare him for the adventures that lay ahead.

“I made a plan for our road trip. Would you like to see it?” Hermione asked as they finished
their breakfast.

Scorpius eagerly nodded. “Yes, please.”

She opened the Google Maps app on her phone and displayed the carefully planned route.
His eyes widened as he took in the projected journey.

"Sixteen hours?! Wow. Too bad you can’t drive yet, dad. Hermione is going to get really
tired.”
She chuckled. "Don't worry, we'll be making stops every two or three hours for restroom
breaks and snacks. And we've even planned sleepovers, depending on how we feel. I've
included all the details in the itinerary I made. Let me show you.”

"A detailed itinerary? Was that really necessary?" Draco quirked an eyebrow, amusement
dancing in his eyes.

Hermione and Scorpius shared a glance before responding in unison, "Yes.”

Draco shook his head in mock exasperation, using his wand to neatly place their empty plates
in the sink.

Hermione turned her attention back to Scorp, discussing the plan further. Between father and
son, he was the one who appreciated meticulous organisation, lists and details. He was
positively excited as she showed him spreadsheets and a calendar, outlining their roadtrip.

Draco settled onto the sofa and began looking through a folder containing passports and
international health insurance documents, and he questioned, "Are all these papers really
necessary, Hermione? You do realise you're a witch, right? Why do we need health
insurance?"

Her response was laden with patient reasoning. "Because, Draco, I've told you countless
times that we don't know any wizards in the area and neither of us is particularly adept at
healing magic. What if he accidentally slips on a rock and breaks his leg?" She nodded
towards Scorpius.

"Why me?" He raised an eyebrow. "I won't slip.”

“Again, why the insurance?”

“Do you know how expensive it is to…?"

“Do you know how much…?” Gold we have, is what he wanted to add but stopped himself
because of Scorp. It was a topic that had surfaced frequently in recent conversations.

The planning of their wedding had been relatively swift due to a combination of factors that
Hermione was now becoming increasingly personally aware of - Draco's name and
considerable wealth had a way of opening doors.

The enchanting wizarding hotel in the south of England that she had learned about from
Daphne? Beautiful. Perfect. But, it was originally booked for the same weekend they desired
due to an international quidditch conference centred on broom extension regulations.

However, after a letter from Draco arrived on monogrammed parchment, the hotel was more
than accommodating in rescheduling the conference for the following weekend to host the
prestigious Granger-Malfoy wedding. And with a sizable additional payment he offered, they
agreed to keep the date and guest list confidential.
The band he had his heart set on? They were busy performing at a festival in Italy. Yet, after
Draco made an offer that matched their festival payment, then doubled it, they happily agreed
to perform at their wedding. And include muggle songs too.

When Hermione found her perfect dress just four days before the wedding in an American
muggle store she had discovered online, which did ship internationally, but of course,
wouldn't arrive in time, Draco swiftly arranged an international portkey. He took advantage
of the opportunity to acquire a suit that went better with her dress.

It wasn't a traditional wedding gown, merely a silk slip dress with a body-hugging silhouette,
cowl neckline, and invisible straps that appeared tailored perfectly to her figure. Yet, there
was a catch - a non-negotiable four-month waiting list for wedding pre-orders.

In a moment of audacious rebellion, Draco whispered to Hermione to make a copy of it while

he discreetly left a tip worth the value of the original dress to the woman who had assisted
them.

As they found themselves back in a suite of a New York hotel that Draco apparently owned,
Hermione whispered in both awe and apprehension, "We just committed a crime in a foreign
country!”

“I paid.”

“Yes, but we used magic in front of muggles!”

Draco's eyes glinted as he closed the distance between them. "I know, but you look so
fucking irresistible in it that I was ready to get caught."

His arms encircled her, his words an intimate caress against her ear. "I can't wait to take it off
you… when I become your husband and you… become my wife.”

Her husband. His wife.

Those words sent an electrifying surge through her, igniting a desire for a level of ownership
and intimacy she had never before experienced. A desire to be owned and possessed and own
and possess.

They couldn't take their hands off each other for months. It was as if all the weight that was
holding her down was lifted when she learned they could get married and neither he nor
Scorp would suffer any consequences. All she wanted to do was to fly with him with this
newly discovered lightness.

The media's speculation about their engagement and public discussions about the
ramifications of their marriage, ranging from unplanned pregnancy to debates about the
implications of Draco's inheritance, barely registered on Hermione's radar. She brushed aside
the sensationalism and focused on more substantive matters.

Opinions were written in the Prophet of the importance of their marriage for all the pureblood
and muggleborn wizards and witches. While some articles in the Prophet seemed impartial
enough to capture her attention, she disregarded those laden with more fiction than the books
she was proofreading.

Draco had suggested that she could stop working and instead take charge of the charitable
foundation within his… their shared business.

While the prospect was tempting, Hermione felt the need to be better informed about it.
Consequently, she enrolled in courses at a university to learn about business and
management, intending to begin in October.

“I understand absolutely nothing about it. You shouldn't entrust just anyone with…”

“I'm not asking just anyone. I'm asking my wife.”

“Stop teasing. I know your tactics.”

“What? Referring to you as my wife? That's what you are, aren't you? My. Wife.”

The transition was remarkably smooth, far less intimidating than Hermione had anticipated.
The permanence of change had initially daunted her, but as the days turned into weeks, she
marvelled at how seamlessly their lives had merged. However, the process was not without
its complications, of course.

Lawyers had informed them that, even though she didn’t plan to, she couldn't simply take the
name Malfoy alone due to an archaic rule prohibiting muggleborns from carrying that name.
Granger-Malfoy was deemed acceptable as it was a new, unique name that didn't fall under
the regulation.

A few stipulations accompanied her new name, but they were largely inconsequential, and
Hermione wasn't overly concerned.

Access to the Malfoy vault was subject to limitations. Lawyers said she couldn't walk in
alone even if the goblins let her. While she could freely explore the portion of the vault
containing books and artefacts, she could still only do so in the company of a Malfoy, as she
did before. Not that she wanted to go there alone anyway.

Draco expressed his frustration at the situation. "It's a family vault," he remarked with a
frown. "You should be able to enter freely.”

Hermione offered a reassuring smile. "Honestly, it's not a big deal. I rarely visit Gringotts,
and most of my assets are converted to pounds and deposited into my muggle bank account.
The exchange rate isn't ideal, but…” she attempted to joke.

Oakwood interjected, sliding a parchment between them. "This is the maximum allowable
amount for a tax-free gift.”

Draco, distracted by their conversation, scanned the paper briefly. “Fine,” he said without
much consideration. “Can you transfer it today?"
Hermione took the paper from him and her eyes widened. "Wait a moment. Stop. Is this... are
these figures in pounds?!”

"No, galleons," Draco replied.

She blinked in shock. "No. Absolutely not. No.”

He rolled his eyes. “I can't accompany you every time you need to…” Hermione was poised
to respond, but Draco turned to the lawyers, his smile forced. “I apologise, we'll need to
discuss this matter further.”

After some negotiation and reassurances, she eventually conceded, but only after the sum was
halved.

"I understand you might not have the full picture, I really do, but do you even have a rough
estimation of how much we have?" Draco inquired irritably.

“I've caught wind of a thing or two,” Hermione replied, raising an eyebrow. “I won’t spend
the amount I cut in half in years! In a lifetime, perhaps. What's the matter with you? Give it
to charity or something!”

“Get your bloody degree in business and then do whatever you want with it,” Draco retorted,
still agitated.

Apparating to any Malfoy property was off-limits too without the company of a Malfoy due
to the wards not recognizing her as one. Draco, in an effort to alleviate this inconvenience,
extended her access to specific fireplaces around the manor, like the library, kitchens, one
near wine cellar, the outdoor patio Narcissa had constructed, and a few other areas far
removed from sections Hermione wished to avoid, sections with painful memories she had no
intention of revisiting.

After their engagement, Narcissa extended an invitation to Hermione for lunch. Despite her
initial reluctance, she eventually accepted the offer.

The conversation between them was candid and honest, each woman expressing their
sentiments about the other. Narcissa's sense of duty and service differed markedly from
Hermione's, leading to an unbridgeable divide in their beliefs. Their perspectives and values
diverged significantly, and the only common ground was their shared love for both Draco and
Scorpius. Yet, Hermione didn't expect or need her to alter her views.

It was clear that the woman had lived her life adhering to certain principles, and Hermione
understood that. The only thing she did need from her was to stay out of her and Draco's
marriage. They mutually decided to allow time to shape their relationship naturally.

While customs might have dictated Narcissa's involvement in the wedding plans, as Pansy
explained, Hermione primarily sought help from her and Daphne, particularly for the more
traditional aspects of the wedding, like symbolic flowers in her bouquet or cake decorations.
The rest of the arrangements were managed just between her and Draco.
Pansy and Charlie were still navigating the challenges of parenthood with their twins. While
the sleep situation was improving, taking care of crawling babies was an entirely new
challenge. The twins' curiosity led them to put anything they found into their mouths.

Daphne got a role of nanny she never asked for and even though she loved them to infinity,
they solidified their choice not to have children.

"If we ever decide to adopt," Daphne remarked, "we'll consider only grown-up children.”

"Grown-up children?" Hermione asked with a laugh.

Daphne clarified, "You know what I mean. Kids who can walk, talk, and take care of
themselves. These are the fourth diapers today, Hermione. The fourth.”

Dissy appeared in the living room, a warm expression in her eyes. "Dissy is ready for laundry
day.”

Hermione shook her head. "He's not quite ready yet, Dissy. And my clothes are already in the
washing machine, so you don't need to worry about those.”

Dissy seemed slightly annoyed by that response. "Dissy can help Master Scorpius if he needs
assistance.”

"No need, Dissy, thank you. I'll handle it later," Scorpius mumbled, his attention still on his
phone.

"When?" Draco inquired, his tone growing almost exasperated.

He sighed and returned Hermione's phone to her. "I suppose now," he replied quietly, rolling
his eyes as he stood and made his way upstairs to his room.

Draco’s gaze followed him, as Scorp closed his door with a bit more force than usual.

"Is this how it's going to be from now on until he's... fucking twenty? Apologies for the
language, Dissy," he said.

She shook her head and made her way to the kitchen to tackle the dishes. Despite Hermione's
suggestion to use the dishwasher, she insisted on hand-washing. She did, however, admit that
she found this kitchen more inviting than the one in the flat.

"Perhaps he's just excited about the upcoming trip and feeling a bit nervous about starting
school. He's dealing with a lot of changes, Draco. Give him some space," she suggested
gently.

He narrowed his gaze at her. "You know, it's your fault too.”

"What?" Hermione furrowed her brow in confusion.

"I've been telling him to pack for days, and every time I bring it up, you come up with a
reason for him to do it later.”

"Have you finished packing?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm not an eleven-year-old. I'll sort it out in an hour or so. He'll handle
it all afternoon. Dissy has other tasks to attend to besides catering to his whims.”

"Dissy is fine, Master and Miss Hermione. Dissy's vacation begins when the family departs,
so Dissy doesn't have any other responsibilities until then," she explained while continuing to
wash dishes, her yellow gloves reaching up to her shoulders.

The family.

That's what they had become. Her small, loving family.

"I'll go talk to him," Hermione said, deciding to head upstairs.

There were some adjustments she needed to make around the house to better accommodate
their needs.

First on her list was the bathroom. The upstairs one that she rarely used had been upgraded
with a mixture of muggle plumbing and magic. Scorp used that one, while the ground floor
bathroom was still reserved for Hermione and Draco.

Secondly, her old bedroom, painted in shades of pink, needed a more suitable colour scheme
for an almost-teenage boy. Prior to their move, Hermione had it repainted in a soft, light
green tone.

The project not only catered to Scorp's preferences but also served as a welcome distraction
for her from grieving over Crooks. Opting to paint manually instead of resorting to spells,
Hermione found the process relaxing. She did use magic however for altering the furniture
colours, with some items set aside for donation because Scorp had his own desk and chair he
liked. He wanted to keep her wardrobe as it was more spacious than the one he had in the
flat.

Hermione knocked on the door of Scorpius's room, hearing some rustling inside before he
replied, "Yes?"

"Hey," she greeted, stepping into the room.

She observed that he had already pulled about half of his closet onto the bed. Draco's going
to be so pissed if he sees this.

Scorpius noticed her glance and spoke defensively, "I'm not taking everything, I just wanted
to see what I have. I'll follow the list you made." He held up the travel checklist she had
printed for him. "He didn't have to send you to check on me.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "He didn't send me. I came on my own accord. And I'm going
to tell you the same thing I told him. Cut him some slack."
Scorpius scowled at her response.

"You're both getting worked up over nothing.”

“He orders me around like I'm a small child…”

“You are a child, Scorp.”

He huffed in frustration. "Of course you're taking his side.”

"In this particular disagreement? Yes. Yes, I am," Hermione confirmed. "You are his child,
and he's not treating you unfairly." She let out a sigh. "Okay, from an objective standpoint, do
you honestly believe you can decide what you want to bring in just an hour or two?"

Rolling his eyes, Scorpius responded, "No, but I have the whole day.”

"No, you don't," she countered. "You are having lunch with your grandmother. Afterward,
you mentioned you're meeting up with Albus to watch a movie. In the evening, you have
those potions to finish before the trip. By the time you're done, you'll be too tired and…”

"I won't be," Scorpius interrupted. He glanced around at his clothes, various devices with
their chargers, and a stack of books on his bed. "Ugh, do muggles go through this every time
they travel?"

"Yes, they do. Just pick what you want to bring, and we can use magic to pack it into the
suitcases."

He nodded and began sorting through his collection of t-shirts. Hermione observed him for a
moment. He looked so much like Draco now.

She remembered seeing him on the train for the first time, as she wandered around helping
Neville search for his missing toad. While Draco hadn't been exactly rude when she asked
about it, he had been dismissive and unimpressed. She reflected on how different Scorpius
was. He had his father's looks but was an entirely different personality.

"Scorp?" she said gently, capturing his attention. "He is going to miss you more than you
know."

He just looked at her.

"And I know you're going to miss him too. The arguments are happening because both of you
are excited about the next chapter but also nervous and sad about being apart."

He blinked and averted his gaze.

"It's okay to feel that way. Just try not to fill these last two weeks with bad memories."

He continued to fold the same t-shirt a few times, and Hermione gave his hair a gentle ruffle
before leaving the room.
Draco was on the same floor, but in a different room, packing. The bedroom she turned into
study and never used for the purpose had now become their wardrobe to accommodate his
impressive collection of suits and shirts, a fact that didn't surprise her at all.

He glanced in her direction briefly before returning his attention to his task. "Is the young
lord actually managing to pack his belongings, or is he in need of servants to assist him?" he
asked.

"He's genuinely packing, and you should consider adjusting your attitude," Hermione
retorted.

Draco simply rolled his eyes. Honestly, it's like dealing with the same man, just at different
stages of life.

"Draco, I mean it," she said, moving closer to him. "Let's make the most of this month. Don't
let your stubbornness get in the way. Remember how you were at his age?"

She watched as his eyes slowly lifted to meet her gaze. A seemingly innocent question, but
for him, it held a world of significance.

"Sorry," Hermione quickly apologised, wrapping her arms around his waist.

He stood in front of an open wardrobe, the warm white lights from within casting a beautiful
glow on his hair. She hugged him, and felt his fingers run through the curls that had fallen
around her face. They held each other for a few quiet moments.

"I don't know how to talk with him when he's like this," Draco admitted softly against her
hair. "He's never been difficult before. I'm worried... I'll see him during holidays and
summers, and I… He'll become a completely different person once he leaves.”

"I know," Hermione reassured him. "But everyone figures it out. And he can come over on
weekends, you know.”

Draco let out a snort and pulled away to continue his packing. "Sure. Teddy comes over twice
a year.”

"Well, he lives with his grandmother," Hermione reasoned. "I imagine your relationship with
Scorpius is quite different. Plus, he'll miss Dissy, and me, I hope."

He just kept quiet and focused on his task.

Hermione left the room and went downstairs to finish an essay or two that she was
proofreading. She decided she'll work when she has free time until October and focus on her
studies afterwards. She would pack once they leave to have lunch with Narcissa in the
manor.

She came over to their house only two times so far, but Draco assured her she didn't come too
often to their apartment either.
During Narcissa's first visit, Hermione could sense her curiosity about many aspects of their
house and life, but she maintained her reserved demeanour and engaged with Scorpius
whenever he showed her something. That day, Hermione had been in a rather sour mood, so
she made a spectacle of using every electronic kitchen gadget she could find for a simple
lunch.

Narcissa wasn't as intrusive as she had anticipated. She seemed to accept, albeit with some
disappointment, that Draco's second marriage was not going to mirror his first.

Parvati had remarked that she was surprised Narcissa hadn't insisted on a prenuptial
agreement. Hermione didn't quite understand the necessity of such agreements among
purebloods, as divorce wasn't a prevalent concept in their society.

However, Daphne mentioned that Astoria had signed one before marrying him, not so much
for financial reasons, but for the sake of outlining future arrangements concerning children,
their education and upbringing, estate management, charities and other family matters. Draco
hadn't mentioned anything of the sort to Hermione.

After an hour or two of reading, she heard footsteps upstairs and recognized Scorpius
entering the room where Draco was.

"I think I'm done packing. I'll just finish up the rest tomorrow morning," she heard him say.

"Good. Come in and close the door," Draco responded.

Hermione smirked.

Despite everything, he was good with his son. He exhibited a remarkable patience with
Scorpius that she hadn't observed in him with others. She hadn't known him to raise his voice
or lose his temper with him. Of course, Scorpius's maturity and reasonable nature played a
role as well.

Draco’s parenting style wouldn’t work with someone different, she thought. She often
wondered what kind of parent he would be to their children.

Now that she was married, it was time to seriously consider children. Hermione had been on
birth control pills for several years before switching to potions, which were more effective
with minimal side effects and only required monthly administration.

During an appointment with a gynaecologist, she had inquired about the possibility of
pregnancy and undergone tests to ensure her reproductive health was in order. Although
everything appeared normal, she had planned to see a healer as well, especially since she had
never experienced a pregnancy scare in her life, and that didn’t seem right to her.

She intended to do so once they reached Spain, where there was a sizable wizarding
community in Barcelona. This way, she could consult a healer without the concern of
confidentiality breaches that could happen at St. Mungo's due to the inevitable spread of
gossip.
Draco and Scorpius talked behind closed doors for a while before emerging downstairs,
resuming their regular conversations. Hermione tried not to read too much into it. Lately, they
have seen their share of ups and downs.

When they left to the manor for lunch, Hermione packed a bag with only the essentials. She
figured she wouldn't need an excessive amount of clothing since she had left behind
numerous lightweight outfits that were more suitable for the warmer climate in Spain.

Just as she was finishing up her packing, Draco sent her a text asking her to return to the flat
to check on the Verdura Vitalis potion they had been brewing for her father's plants. He
specified that it should be taken off the fire and covered with a large fig leaf they had left on
the table in exactly five minutes, so she went right away.

They had decided to leave most of the furniture and decorations, as well as the potion lab, in
the flat. Draco wanted to keep the apartment and needed a reason to come back occasionally,
so the lab remained where it was. He also had strong wards around it with the help from
some professionals so there was no need to do it again in their muggle house.

Following his instructions, Hermione placed the large fig leaf over the small cauldron and
secured it with a stone lid to prevent any evaporation from escaping. She took a moment to
walk around the flat afterward.

Draco’s office was open so she glanced inside. It was almost empty, with only a few
bookshelves and boxes scattered around. Originally, he had contemplated keeping his office
in the flat, but after they had tidied up the attic to function as a reading room, he found the
new location more appealing.

The space now held his imposing mahogany desk, which had been transferred from the flat,
and the chair from his father's study as well as shelves and rugs from Ikea, giving it a
balanced blend of his and her preferences.

His boring books about business and law she will now have to learn to love stayed here.
Some of them might come in handy once she embarked on her university studies, at least to
draw comparisons. The books they had stored in the attic, however, were more fascinating.

Draco had brought some from the manor, many of which Scorpius would likely find
interesting, particularly those related to potions. The collection also encompassed various
volumes on history and wizarding literature with which Hermione was less acquainted. He
had introduced her to some of his favourite authors, both familiar and unfamiliar, fostering an
enjoyable sharing of literary interests.

When she floo back home, her eyes were immediately drawn to the overflowing bookshelf.
Draco's contribution of muggle books had substantially expanded her reading choices.
Initially, he had suggested using spells to magically extend the bookshelf, a practice that, as
she pointed out, was actually illegal. However, he reminded her about her beaded bag.

A compromise was reached. They purchased another bookshelf, and Draco employed his
magic to stabilise it without having to drill it into the wall.
Later in the day, Draco and Scorpius returned home and he made a swift change into more
casual attire before flooing to the Potters' residence to spend time with Albus prior to their
upcoming trip.

As soon as he floo away, Draco used his wand to close the fireplace for visitors and jumped
on Hermione immediately.

He did that a lot recently. They had to confine their bedroom activities to… well, bedroom, so
he liked to use any opportunity in the last few months when they were alone to go down
memory lane when they could enjoy each other in other rooms uninterrupted.

He removed her knickers in a surprisingly rapid action considering his usual preference for
taking things slowly in the beginning.

She quirked an eyebrow in mock confusion. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” he asked. “Trying to fuck my wife. I like these little dresses you’re
wearing, by the way.” He punctuated his words with fervent kisses.

Smirking, Hermione teased, “You’re in for a treat. My parents say it’s very hot there.” Her
deft hands worked to free his shirt from his trousers. “This is all I'm going to wear and more.
I mean, less.”

His brow furrowed momentarily. “That’s perfect,” Draco replied. “Between your parents and
my son, we’re going to have a lot of private time.”

Hermione pulled him closer, whispering close to her lips, “I guess we’ll have to try and be
quiet.”

With a wicked smile, Draco trailed his kisses across her skin, working his way down her
body. His urgency and eagerness only fueled her arousal when he swiftly buried his head
under her skirt.

There was nothing she enjoyed more than feeling his hair on the skin of her inner thighs.
Hermione gasped as his fingers found the perfect spot inside her. The sensation was
electrifying, and she unsurprisingly came quickly.

Before she could fully regain her breath, Draco returned to kiss her with fervour. She could
taste herself on his tongue when their teeth collided in their eagerness. A smile curved her
lips.

“You don’t have to hurry,” she said between heated breaths. “They’re watching a movie. He
won’t be home for a while.”

“It’s adorable that you think that's the reason and not the fact that I can't wait to be inside
you,” he murmured.

Draco’s eyes caressed her form, drinking in the sight of her olive green sundress before he
lifted himself from her and gently manoeuvred her into a different position.
“On all fours, come on.” His voice was tinged with command, a facet of him that always
aroused her.

Hermione positioned herself as he instructed, holding the armrest. The sound of his zipper
being undone and his trousers falling soon followed, and he was inside her without delay.
Pleasure surged through her as their bodies connected, and she surrendered to the sensation.

They quickly found a fervent rhythm and Hermione's pleasure mounted with each thrust, but
then a distinct sound of an apparition echoed through the house. Her heart raced as the
realisation hit. Dissy must have returned.

She froze, fearing they had been caught, but Draco acted swiftly, one hand covering her
mouth while he maintained his relentless pace.

His lips brushed her ear, his voice low and intimate. “I guess you’ll have to try and be quiet
now, Hermione.”

Despite the circumstances, her excitement only heightened. She waved her hand to throw a
notice-me-not spell, just in case. The distinct sounds of their joined bodies continued, and she
was acutely aware that the need to stifle their vocalisations wouldn’t be enough but she
couldn’t care.

She moaned into his palm, the muffled sound serving only to intensify the excitement. His
movements grew more intense, his grabbing of her hip tighter and more painful, but so
delicious, and their rhythm escalated. She came again just moments before him, their
combined orgasms creating a symphony of sensations that left her breathless and speechless.

With a wave of his wand, Draco cast a scourgify charm after they collected themselves,
cleansing them both before finding her knickers and pulling them up her legs. She quickly
finished dressing, while he made himself more presentable. Panting softly, a fine sheen of
sweat coating his forehead, Draco reclined beside her, returning the laptop to her lap.

His demeanour shifted from intense to casual as he inquired, “So, what were you doing
before?”

Hermione laughed at his transition and recounted the essay she had been proofreading.

In the evening, when Scorpius returned home in high spirits, he and Draco headed back to the
flat to finalise potions they had brewed for the trip. Reiterating multiple times that there
seemed to be no wizards in the area they were heading to, except in Barcelona, they took
precautions by creating simple healing potions and preparing sleep aids and stress-relief
concoctions, just in case.

Meanwhile, Hermione spotted Dissy in the garden, diligently tending to the plants. She
approached her and inquired if she had been the one who had appeared a few hours earlier.

"Yes, Miss Hermione. It was Dissy," she replied. "But Dissy didn't see anyone, so she left."
“Oh okay,” Hermione said, relieved by her answer, and turned to head back to her room to
prepare for her outing.

However, as she walked away, she overheard Dissy muttering to herself, "Dissy doesn't see
anything, but she hears a lot."

Making a mental note to thoroughly investigate all the protective spells in the future and
perhaps consider giving her a well-deserved bonus, Hermione practically rushed to her room
to get ready.

She had met with Padma and Luna in her and Blaise's flat. She mentioned his aspiration to
relocate to the manor after their wedding, motivated by his desire to distance his family from
the bustling city life.

Luna enthusiastically embraced the idea, offering her plans for a charming garden with plants
like Cricklebottom bushes that would tinkle softly in the breeze, Glowshroom mushrooms,
and even Starmist Vines and Dreamcatcher Weeping Willows. While Hermione wasn't
entirely certain about the existence of all these plants, the vision certainly sounded
enchanting.

During their tea session, the conversation shifted to Padma and George's thoughts on moving
into a house and selling the flat above George's store. Padma, hailing from more than a well-
off family, expressed that the financial aspect shouldn't be an obstacle. However, she revealed
George's reluctance to seek help from her family.

“I'm going to attempt a logical approach,” she asserted thoughtfully. “It doesn’t make sense
to burden ourselves with debts and loans just because his pride is getting in the way.”

Luna nodded in agreement. “Yeah, living in Blaise's manor wouldn’t bother me at all. I
haven't directly contributed to it, but after all, it's just walls and a roof. Anywhere with him is
where I'd love to be.”

“Absolutely. It's that stubborn male ego of his. I even mentioned that Draco didn't mind
moving into your place. Did he?” Padma asked Hermione.

She shrugged. “Yes, that's true. But… you know, he’ll contribute significantly more
financially to our marriage than I ever could. At least, when it comes to our living
arrangements, I prefer to shoulder that responsibility. It wouldn't feel right to solely depend
on him.”

“Certainly not,” Padma agreed, her expression taking on a slight frown. “But sometimes, he
acts as though I've asked him to quit working and just live off my inheritance alone.” With an
eye roll, she continued, “Honestly, it's just that infuriating Gryffindor pride of his.”

Hermione lightly scolded, “Come on now.”

When she returned home, she managed to pack a few more things, leaving her cosmetics for
the morning. They didn't have to rush, but she didn’t want to leave the house too late, or they
would be late for the train.
Morning light filtered through the windows, casting gentle illumination across the room,
which had taken on a slightly messy appearance due to the presence of suitcases and other
travel-related things. The alarm hadn't roused her, so it was still before six in the morning.

Hermione stretched herself quietly, stealing a glance at Draco, who was slumbering serenely.
He lay on his back, his face averted from her, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, and the
other resting atop his chest.

She liked cuddling before falling asleep, but they both moved to their sides of the bed during
the night, which she preferred. He was too hot sometimes.

She observed the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed steadily. Watching him was oddly
captivating, yet she realised that it would be creepy if he woke up now. So she devised a
more exciting method of waking him up from his slumber.

She left barely-there kisses upon his exposed neck and chest, and gradually slid under the
covers. She sensed the moment he woke up, as his abdomen tightened, and he repositioned
his legs to accommodate her better. It was her cue.

He was already semi-hard as she released him from his underwear, and she delighted in the
sensation of him growing firmer in her hand and mouth.

“Good mor… fuck,” Draco attempted, and his deep morning voice ignited a response within
her that quickened her pace.

She heard him doing something with the nightstand and muttering something before she felt
an enclosing sense of vacuum around them. The silencing charm.

“Hermione?” he inquired, breathlessly.

She responded with a soft hum.

“Open your mind to me.”

The connection was seamless, effortless after a lot of practice. He slipped into her mind as if
he were just another stream of thoughts. No pain, no need for defences or walls to guard
against him. They were intertwined, a single entity.

Tighter, please, he said wordlessly.

Faster.

Not that much. I'll come in ten seconds if you keep doing that.

She couldn't help but smile. Every instruction he provided was meticulously followed. His
thrusts into her mouth grew increasingly erratic as his orgasm neared. Just before he came, he
tangled his fingers in her hair to keep her down, a gesture that was, in truth, unnecessary. She
had no intention of letting him.
Hermione collapsed onto the pillow afterward, thinking about how unruly her hair must now
appear.

“Now it's your turn,” he murmured, pulling her closer by the hips. “Come and sit on me.”

“Already?” she jested.

“Not quite yet, sorry,” he smirked. “And what I meant was, come and sit on my face.”

Hermione nibbled her lip before complying. “Perhaps you should phrase it the other way
around. ‘Sit on my face and come.’”

“You're absolutely right, as always, Mrs. Malfoy,” he purred, adjusting himself further down
on the bed.

It’s Granger-Malfoy, she thought.

On paper, yes, not in my mind.

Clutching the headboard tightly, she felt his tongue brush her clit. It was her turn now to issue
directives.

Not just the tip, more like the whole surface of… Yes. Like that.

Just a bit faster.

Put your fingers inside me now.

I think you’re close… yes, yes! Just there! She nearly screamed within her mind.

Surrendering to abandon, she rocked her hips over his face while Draco held onto her firmly,
his fingers impressing themselves into her skin. His uncontrolled thoughts flooded her
consciousness, revealing a side of him that he wouldn't typically express aloud. Words that
ordinarily wouldn't turn her on, yet he unlocked it within her.

He didn't allow her to move when she came and held her even tighter until he sensed she was
becoming oversensitive. Only then did he let her go.

“Well… not sure about you, but…” she panted leisurely next to him, " I'm more than ready
for our vacation.

“Likewise.” Draco grinned.

“Alright, our suitcases are in the trunk. What about the bags in the car?” Hermione consulted
her checklist with Scorp.

They were in her driveway, which was ensconced with a protective privacy spell to allow
Dissy to roam freely in the garden. The air held a slight humidity, and the sun was already
casting its warmth. Given the early hour and the weekend, the street was relatively quiet, with
few pedestrians.

“They’re in the backseat,” he replied, glancing at her list.

“Passports and driver's licence, check. Health insurance, check…”

Hermione muttered to herself while Draco talked with Dissy.

“In case you need assistance, remember you can floo-call Hermione's parents. They have
connections there. And do not attempt to apparate; it's too far,” Draco's voice reached her
ears.

“If master Draco deems Dissy's capabilities insufficient because of her age, perhaps the
master should consider recruiting younger staff,” came Dissy's quiet rejoinder, causing
Hermione to stifle a laugh.

With their farewells exchanged and the car's seats comfortably occupied, they officially
started their journey, but as they exited her neighbourhood, a thought struck her.

“Maybe you could have driven us until Dover,” Hermione suggested to Draco.

“No,” he said sharply.

“Goodness, alright, just a suggestion,” she retorted with an eye roll.

Scorp chuckled. “Dad, I think you're a bad influence.”

“Me?” Draco retorted, feigning incredulity. “It was her idea. I would never.”

Hermione arched an eyebrow at him. He had driven them out of the city on several occasions.
Plus, he was the one who proposed the notion, along with other car-related activities.

“I meant, not with him in the car,” he clarified, answering her unspoken accusation.

“Can dad drive in France?” Scorp inquired.

“Oh God, no. A traffic violation here is one thing, it's a completely different thing abroad,”
Hermione stated. “Moreover, they drive on the opposite side of the road in France and
Spain.”

“In most parts of the world, actually,” Draco interjected.

“Really?” Scorp inquired with interest, the conversation segueing into a tangent.

He eventually found something engaging on his phone, put on his headphones, and gazed out
the window.

“So, what are the key stops on our itinerary?” Draco inquired after a while.
“Once we cross the English Channel and reach Calais, we’ll be heading to Paris and then to
Clermont-Ferrand before reaching Barcelona. You can check the map on your phone.”

He grappled with his device for a moment before managing to work it through. “This is
incredibly handy.” He frowned at the screen. “Can I borrow your glasses?"

“They're in the glove compartment.”

“Ah, there it is,” Draco said when he put them on. “It even highlights potential roadwork or...
what's a toll, specifically?"

“It's a… essentially a charge for using a bridge or roadway. We have to pay for access,”
Hermione explained in a distracted tone, focusing on the road.

“Wait, so you pay for every road you drive on?” he asked in disbelief.

“No, of course not. Mainly for the major ones. Highways and such. Occasionally for
bridges.”

“They use taxpayers' money to construct these roads and then levy a fee to utilise them?” he
scoffed. “Sounds like a scam.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, Draco, you have no idea.”

Approaching Dover and the terminal, Hermione instructed Scorp to keep an eye out for the
signs indicating Eurotunnel. His surprise at the ticket machine printing the ticket with her
name amused her, and she clarified that she had purchased them online in advance.

“Right, but how did they know it was you?"

“They must have registered my licence plate. There are cameras everywhere here.”

“Wow.”

“I'll leave the ticket on the dashboard,” she remarked, placing it there.

The passport control process proved to be swift. Draco expressed concern because the officer
didn't even give them a second look.

“We could be anyone,” he mused, “even someone with forged passports. In fact, we are
someone with forged passports.”

They continued driving, encountering overpasses and experiencing brief waits in queues. The
sheer novelty of the surroundings left them in awe, which brought a smile to Hermione's face.
She appreciated that they were sharing these experiences with her for the first time.

“Look over there, the sign says France,” she gestured, pointing outside. “So we just need to
keep following them.
They arrived at the terminal a few minutes later, where other vehicles were already boarding.
“Is this the train?” Scorp inquired. “It doesn't look like the Hogwarts Express.”

“These are more modern trains, much faster,” Draco explained, prompting Scorp to inquire
further about the trains while he observed his surroundings.

Once they were aboard and the train began its departure, Hermione instructed Scorp to time
exactly thirty-five minutes. Her parents had always done this whenever they took this train,
wagering whether it would be punctual or arrive a few seconds early or late.

Draco predicted it would be delayed, while Scorp bet on an early arrival. Hermione, for the
sake of amusement, declared that it would be right on time.

The train halted approximately twenty seconds before the thirty-five-minute mark, prompting
her and Draco to buy Scorp an ice cream.

“This is it, we're in France now,” Hermione proclaimed as they exited their compartment,
taking in their new surroundings.

There was nothing much to see really.

“It doesn't look different,” Scorpius murmured.

She chuckled. “You’re right. But these border areas tend to look quite similar in most
countries. Just lots of roads and little else. You'll notice the change once we reach a town.”

After a breakfast stop in Calais, they decided to forego further breaks until just before they
reached Paris. For the next three hours, they aimed to simply bask in the journey.

Scorpius, who had been too excited the previous night to sleep soundly, was finally overtaken
by his anticipation for the trip. Hermione observed his gradual, drowsy blinking in a rearview
mirror until he drifted off. Draco used his wand to gently settle him onto the small pillow, and
as they entered a countryside area, they found themselves able to appreciate the scenic route.

For a while, Draco chatted, pointing out fields, buildings, and other sights along the road.
Eventually, conversation waned, and they embraced the tranquillity of shared silence.

Hermione immersed herself in music, her fingers lightly tapping the steering wheel. John
Legend's All of Me resonated through the car, and she sang softly to herself.

“I like this song,” he commented, his gaze fixed on her.

“Yeah, me too.”

“He loves someone with a beautiful mind and a smart mouth as well, what a coincidence,”
Draco teased, his voice carrying a playful smirk.

A subtle warmth brushed Hermione's cheeks as she smiled, her focus returning to the road.
The sun climbed higher in the sky, casting a warm glow over the landscape.
She looked at them and felt a profound sense of gratitude. She glanced at Draco again while
his profile was illuminated by the soft light, and felt her heart swell.

The moment felt serene, with an unspoken connection between them. She glanced at her
hands on the steering wheel, admiring the engagement ring and wedding band on her finger.

The ring he chose was beautiful. It was just like something she would choose for herself.
Valuable, but not tacky. Not huge and distracting, but tastefully eye-catching. It reminds her
of them.

His green and her gold. It was perfectly them, together.

The wedding band, both hers and his, was simplicity at its finest, thin bands representing a
new beginning, free from any ancestral weight. They had chosen these bands from a muggle
jewellery store in London, because Draco asserted his desire for something… clean,
undamaged, without history to signify their fresh start together.

His silver and her gold. Them, together.

Hermione couldn’t wait for them to arrive. Scorpius is going to love their house. He already
expressed a wish to see how wine is made. Maybe he can jump in one of those barrels and try
grape-treading.

They’re going to go swimming everyday and when they return, the two of them might catch a
bit of tan too. They would take long walks in the evening around the city, visiting old
churches and museums. They’re going to have a nice time before he leaves for Hogwarts,
she’s going to make sure of that.

She glanced at her phone with a map on and her thoughts wandered to what awaited them.
She knew their drive ahead wouldn't always be a smooth well-marked highway, with signs
telling them exactly where to make the next turn if they wanted to reach their destination, but
she believed in their ability to navigate it. Their lives aren't going to be perfect like in love
songs either, but that was okay. She learned over the months to enjoy imperfections.

She was fine.

“What's on your mind?” he inquired absentmindedly.

“Not much. Just how happy I am that we’re here. Together.”

“Me too,” Draco said and exhaled before he turned his head toward her. “I love you,” he said
softly.

She smiled at him. “I love you too.”

His gaze lingered on her as Hermione focused on the road. The summer morning was
gradually revealing more sunlight. They had a long way to go, and looking at the map, she
didn’t know exactly what to expect, but an unusual sense of calm enveloped her.

Unlike before, uncertainty didn't spark anxiety.

 For the first time in a while, she felt genuinely content and at peace.

Chapter End Notes

Six months later https://www.pinterest.com/tpzzz1105/in-the-mood-for-truth/six-

months-later/
 Epilogue
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

September 2014

It was a warm and pleasant first day of September, and the station was abuzz with activity.
Hermione had expertly navigated the muggle traffic, but barely managed to park the car.
However, now they were here, ready to see Scorpius off to Hogwarts.

Draco fetched a trolley, while they waited by the car, blending into the crowd of muggles. A
few passersby gave him nods of recognition and he nodded back. They slowly strolled
towards the platform. Scorp had been unusually quiet all morning.

"You got your ticket?" Draco asked.

His son responded quickly, "Here.”

"I'll go first, then you, and then Draco, okay?" Hermione laid out the plan.

They both nodded in agreement.

She stepped between the unsuspecting muggles and passed through the solid stone wall of the
platform 9 and ¾, and he could feel Scorpius's gaze locked onto him. There was an unspoken
tension in the air, and Draco sensed his son's anxiety.

"Are you okay?" he asked, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Uh-huh,” he mumbled.

With a reassuring squeeze, Draco encouraged him, "You go next, then.”

Scorpius nodded and pushed the trolley through the barrier. Calm down, it’s not that big of a
deal.

Draco followed, exhaling deeply as he passed from one world to another. He had done this
countless times before, but the feeling of entering the magical world from the muggle one
never quite lost its novelty.

On the other side, the platform appeared even more crowded. He prepared himself for the
inevitable curious stares and critical glances. Hermione and Scorpius waited for him, and
together, they navigated the bustling crowd.

"Where are they?" Scorpius asked, scanning the platform for any sign of the Potters. "Albus
said they would come around half past ten.”
Draco sighed and commented, "The Potters seem to think it's rude to be on time.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. "They have three kids.”

“So do the Weasleys over there,” Draco pointed toward Bill and Fleur, who were present with
their own three children. “But they’re on time.”

The couple waved at them and Hermione and Draco waved back.

“Oh, look, there’s Anabelle and Emilia!” Scorp pointed to the girls.

The younger one was also starting her first year at Hogwarts and appeared equally tense, so
Draco relaxed just a bit. It’s normal. He’s not scared, just excited.

The girls' parents greeted them, and Scorpius engaged in a conversation with Emilia. She
reminded Draco of a younger Pansy with her short black hair, but she seemed much… well,
friendlier.

"I guess it's going to be even more quiet in the building now,” Mrs. Kim remarked. “The
Bitterwoods from the third floor don't complain about the noise anymore since you moved
away since Emilia doesn't run around with Scorpius anymore.”

Draco nearly rolled his eyes. "Why don't they just use silencing charms? I did that when that
potioneer from Morocco moved in above us, and we could hear small explosions daily.”

Her husband chimed in, "They said they didn't know there would be so many children when
they got the place. I mean, it was only us with young kids, the other ones were already
teenagers when they moved in. I don't know what they mean by so many.”

Draco's mother arrived a few minutes later, and Scorpius greeted her with genuine happiness.
She joined Hermione, and they engaged in a polite conversation, prompting curious looks
and hushed whispers from those nearby. Draco couldn't help but be irked by the nosy
onlookers even though he promised himself he’ll not pay any attention to them.

Finally, the Potters arrived, and Scorpius, now completely relaxed, eagerly dashed towards
Albus. They had already agreed to sit together in a compartment and had invited Emilia to
join them, as she didn't know anyone else starting school this year. Her older sister was long
gone with her friends.

The three of them laughed and conversed, and Draco felt a sense of joy and ease at the choice
of companions for Scorpius.

Hermione held Draco's hand, and he leaned in to kiss her. "How are you feeling so far?" she
asked, her eyes filled with concern she tried to hide.

"He's not as tense now," he replied, nodding toward Scorpius, who was deep in conversation
with his friends.

"It was just the nerves," she said, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. She observed the
children as they chatted excitedly. "They're all going to relax tonight... once they all get
sorted into Ravenclaw and realise they won't have to sleep in dungeons or climb millions of
stairs to the tower," she teased.

Draco nearly snorted. "Albus and Emilia, perhaps. Not my son.” He observed them for a
moment. “Actually, I've changed my mind. Emilia perhaps; the other two are Slytherin
through and through.”

"Care to bet?" Hermione challenged, with her competitive spirit peaking through.

"You're playing a losing game, Granger."

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Mrs. Malfoy.”

Hermione didn't mind the title; in fact, she sometimes used it when ordering from wizarding
shops to ensure efficiency. Also she said she could imagine some people being pissed at a
muggleborn using that name, so she just wanted to do it out of spite. Draco didn’t mind at all.
It was her small act of defiance, and he rather liked it when she was a bit mean. Whatever it
was on the paper didn’t matter. Hermione was his wife and that was the only thing he cared
about.

"If the boys get sorted into Slytherin, what do you want?" she inquired.

Draco didn't have to think about it. "You're going to wear nothing but my jersey for a week,
inside the house, of course.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "You're going to have to tell Dissy not to come.”

"She has plenty of holidays," he replied casually.

"But if they're not in Slytherin together..." Hermione pondered for a moment, "you're going to
wear my Gryffindor tie whenever you wear a suit for a week.”

He frowned. “That’s not fair, I'll be outside with it.”

“You don’t seem to be convinced in your…”

“It’s a deal, witch.”

She smiled warmly, and then hugged Teddy and Andromeda, who had just arrived. Teddy
spent a brief moment with them before wandering through the crowd and Draco spotted him
with one of Bill Weasley's children. Oh so it is true then.

He had noticed something brewing even at the Weasley wedding, and Hermione said she saw
them dancing at theirs, but now, seeing them holding hands and conversing freely, it was
confirmed.

"Don't be so obvious," his aunt chastised him, glancing ahead. "I told you, months ago, but
you didn't believe me.”
"I believed him when he told me nothing was going on," Draco admitted.

"You're a fool for believing a teenager," she teased. "Just wait and see.”

Draco watched his son interact with the other children. There was another girl with them
now, with a tangle of dark bushy curls much like Hermione's. She appeared to be the
daughter of the couple talking to Ginny, who looked vaguely familiar to Draco, possibly
someone associated with the Harpies.

Ron Weasley arrived a bit later, looking somewhat dishevelled. Albus ran to hug his uncle.

"Sorry, I'm late," he apologised to everyone. "Rose has been a nightmare lately. Susan
apologises for missing your first day, buddy.”

“Never mind, uncle Ron. What's wrong with Rose?” he asked curiously.

"Absolutely nothing, Al. That's the thing with babies," he replied, smiling.

They were an odd group, Draco thought.

Hermione stood by his side, chatting with his mother and aunt, while the Potters and various
Weasleys clustered nearby. A few other acquaintances and their children mingled among
them.

This was a far cry from Draco's own experiences. In his youth, his parents typically kept to
themselves, and he would join his friends on the train just before departure.

Daphne and Theo rushed over, finally arriving. Daphne was slightly out of breath from her
hurried sprint.

"Sorry we're late!" she exclaimed, hugging Scorpius tightly. "It's so crowded. I couldn't find
you!”

"Never mind, you're here now," Scorpius replied warmly. “Hey, Theo.”

“Hey here, young Malfoy. Good morning, everyone,” he said observing the group. “This is so
weird, right?” he asked Draco quietly.

He smirked. "I was just thinking the same thing.”

Ten minutes before eleven, the children began to make their way onto the train. Scorpius and
Albus managed to secure an empty compartment, and the girls joined them.

Hermione followed Draco to the window where the children were seated. Albus emerged first
to say his goodbyes. He hugged Hermione, and something she said made him burst into a
genuine and heartfelt laughter. Her eyes were glistening, and Draco realised that this moment
was emotional for her too.

"Goodbye, Mr. Draco," Albus said.

"Goodbye, Al. Please, try not to get yourself into too much trouble.”

"We won't," he assured him with a bright smile before moving on to say his farewells to his
family.

Scorpius finished talking to his grandmother and then hugged Hermione. She whispered
something in his ear, eliciting a warm smile from him. She kissed his forehead and moved
away to give them space.

"This is it then," Draco said, his voice wavering slightly.

"Yes," Scorpius replied. "Albus says we're going to arrive at night. That's very slow. Muggle
trains are faster, remember when we went to France?" He rambled because he was nervous,
Draco noticed.

"Yeah, they should work on that in the future," Draco agreed, kneeling, his fingers fumbling
with the buttons on Scorp's jumper. "If you forget anything, just write to me, and I'll send it to
you by owl.”

"Okay, I know," he replied quietly.

"There's a trolley inside if you get hungry.”

"I know. Emilia says Anabelle's favourite are blackberry and apple pasties.”

"I think those were good," Draco nodded, his gaze fixed on his son.

Scorpius blinked a bit faster than usual with Astoria’s eyes.

"Everything is fine, dad," he reassured him.

"I know it is," Draco said, trying to maintain his composure. "You're going to be great. And
I'm just going to miss you so much.”

"I'm going to miss you too, dad," Scorp replied, hugging him tightly.

He felt his heart constrict. It was a sensation he wasn't accustomed to. This anticipation and
fear for his son's future at Hogwarts was overwhelming. He wasn't even worried about his
studies; his son was intelligent and enjoyed learning. It was everything else that weighed
heavily on him. Eight years separated from him, the uncertainties, the changes.

Did his own parents feel this way when he left for Hogwarts? He couldn't remember. But his
family had never displayed emotions so openly on a platform in front of everyone.

So he hugged Scorpius even tighter.

"I think it's time," Hermione said, joining them and gently squeezing Draco's shoulder.

He nodded, finding himself at a loss for words so she stepped in to fill the silence.
"Write as soon as you get to your room. I'd love to hear all about the Ravenclaw common
room," she teased.

"I don't think I'm getting into Ravenclaw, Hermione," Scorpius replied with a smile, his gaze
shifting between them. "I love you, dad," he said quietly as he hugged Draco once more.

"I love you too.”

Albus pulled Scorpius back onto the train, and they waved through the window as the
Hogwarts Express started moving.

Hermione rubbed Draco's back gently, trying to offer comfort. “He’s going to be just fine,”
she said.

He’ll be sure when he hears it from him directly. So for now, he just nodded.

The train departed slowly, and he saw numerous worried and sad faces among the other
parents, which oddly gave him a slight sense of relief, but he still wanted to leave.

"Shall we?" he asked Hermione softly as she continued chatting with his aunt.

"Sure, let's go.”

Leaving the station and entering the car, Draco finally felt like he could breathe. It was ironic,
but sitting in the small closed space, he felt more comfortable than in the open air of the
station.

"I'm sorry, I just wanted to be alone," Draco explained as he fastened his seatbelt.

"Do you... you can apparate home before I arrive if you want," Hermione offered, with an
uncertain tone.

"No, no," he assured her, squeezing her knee. "When I said alone, I didn't mean without you.
I never want to be alone without you." He leaned in, capturing her lips in a tender kiss.

His sour mood lingered throughout the day as he couldn't help but keep thinking about
Scorpius. The train ride had surely been filled with laughter, pastries, and pumpkin juice, but
what lay ahead worried him.

What if Scorpius got separated from Potter's son? He’s good for him. Good boy from a good
family. What if the boy really ends up in Ravenclaw, like Hermione thought, and Scorpius
finds new friends in Slytherin and he becomes like Draco when he was…? No, stop it. He
won’t. He’s nothing like me.

He remembered The Sorting Hat barely touching his head before it exclaimed “Slytherin!”
Will it be the same for him? Will the other kids see him as a target immediately when they
hear his name being summoned and watch him while he sits on a chair?

He had to reel himself in. These thoughts were irrational. Scorpius was intelligent and
capable. He would thrive at Hogwarts, and Draco needed to have just a bit more faith that
things are different.

Later in the evening, the Potters came over for a drink, and talking with them provided some
comfort. After all, they had two children at Hogwarts themselves.

"Harry cried when he went into Al's room today," Ginny revealed, causing Hermione to make
a sympathetic sound and hug Harry when she placed a wine bottle from France on the table,
the one they brought on their way back from Spain.

"So? I'm allowed. He's my son," he retorted with a slight frown.

"Of course, you are, baby," Ginny reassured him with a smile. "I was crying the night before.
We made a deal to split the crying into two days," she joked.

Hermione sat next to Draco and idly traced her fingers along the back of his neck. It always
made him shiver pleasantly, and he didn't ask her to stop. Her presence was always
comforting, even in these subtle touches.

Once they relaxed thanks to the wine they sipped and talked more, their conversation was
interrupted by a knocking sound at the window. Two owls were waiting outside, seeking
entry.

Draco rose to let them in, and they flew in gracefully. One perched itself on the table in front
of the Potters, while the other settled on Draco's shoulder.

"This is a nice shirt, you know," he remarked to the smaller brown owl he recognized from
the Hogwarts owlery.

"Come over here; I have biscuits for you," Hermione called the birds to the kitchen and broke
a few onto a plate by the sink.

The owls hooted in appreciation and began pecking at the treats.

The Potters read the letter together, so Draco patiently waited for Hermione to sit beside him.
It was his son's slightly messy and small handwriting scrawled across the parchment, and
they focused on the words.

Dear dad and Hermione,

This. Is. Great! Let me kick things off by saying that both Albus and I were sorted into
Slytherin! Can you believe it?

“Oh no,” Hermione rolled her eyes and Draco smirked. “Your son really had to be a snake,
didn't he?” she asked the other two but they ignored her, grinning on their letter instead.
“I'm looking forward to next week,” he whispered.

“Shut up.”

Emilia, on the other hand, ended up in Gryffindor. She's bummed she won't be with us or her
sister, but I saw her chatting with some girls, so she might make new friends in her house
soon.

Now, about the journey. It was quite slow, definitely not as fast as that underwater train we
took to France. Nevertheless, it was pleasant. I met some other students on the train. Teddy
came to check in on us with his girlfriend, Victoire. She is also Albus's cousin (I told you she
was his girlfriend, but you didn't believe me). James Potter greeted us too, and it seems he
has a ton of friends. I don't think Albus is too keen on some of them.

When we left the train, we hopped onto a short boat ride to the castle. It was absolutely
amazing! There was a very tall man with us who claimed to know you, Hermione, and Albus's
parents. He lives in a nice house near the forest, though we're not supposed to go there. He
even invited Albus and me for tea and biscuits when we found the time. By the way, he
mentioned that Buckbeak said hello. (I'm not exactly sure who that is)

Hermione laughed and Draco just rolled his eyes.

I must admit, I was a bit nervous during the sorting ceremony. All eyes are on us. Thankfully,
it wasn't too bad. Everyone was quite curious about Albus, probably because his mum is
famous.

The food here is fantastic! You were spot-on, dad. The pumpkin juice at Hogwarts beats the
one from the store. And Hermione, you were right about the potatoes, too. There are sooo
many potato dishes! I couldn't eat much because of all the pastries on the train, but I'm
already looking forward to breakfast.

I'm writing from my bed now, it’s next to the window. I think I might have spotted merpeople,
or maybe it's just my imagination. Everything here is so green, it reminds me a bit of my
room!

By the way, do you remember which bed was yours? I'm in the boys' dormitory, the third door
to the right. My roommates are Albus, Edan Oliver, and Wren Armadill. Edan's dad is a
muggle brain healer (he said what it’s called, but I forgot the name of that), and his mum
works at St. Mungo's as a brain healer too. Wren mentioned knowing you because both his
parents are lawyers, and they've apparently worked with your lawyers in the past.

My timetable is set, and it looks like I have double potions on Tuesday and double herbology
on Friday. I saw the greenhouses when we arrived, and I can't wait to go there!
Feeling a bit sleepy now. I'm also quite full. Everything has been perfect so far, so you don't
need to worry about anything. Albus and I will do our best to stay out of trouble. He's got this
amazing map of Hogwarts that should help us out if we do get into a jam. I think it might
come in handy for late-night snack runs to the kitchens. Tell Dissy that nothing can stop us
now!

Oh, and Hermione, you were absolutely right, writing with a quill is quite challenging, and
parchment is rather wobbly. I know muggle technology doesn't work here, but does that
include pens and notebooks too? Is that something I can find out in the library? I'm thinking
of heading there tomorrow after lessons to see if I can find some answers.

Anyway, I'm not sure how late it'll be when you receive this letter, but good night! I would
really appreciate getting your response by the morning post if that's not too much trouble.

I miss you both loads already,

Scorpius

P.S. I had no idea Albus snores.

“You gave Albus the map?” Hermione exclaimed, her surprise in her tone.

“What map?” Draco chimed in, looking up from the parchment he was holding.

“The map of Hogwarts that shows where literally anyone is at all times. It even reveals
hidden passages and passwords,” Hermione explained.

“That explains a lot,” Draco remarked and raised an eyebrow. “What else did you have to
help you break the rules without punishment?”

“First of all, I got my fair share of punishments, thank you very much,” Potter protested.
“And secondly… an invisibility cloak.”

Draco scoffed. Lucky bastard.

“Did you give him that too?” Ginny questioned, a furrow forming on her brow.

“No, of course not,” Potter responded defensively. “I gave it to James,” he added in a near
whisper.

“What?! You said you left it in the office for work!”

“Did I?” he shifted uncomfortably under her scrutinising gaze.

“What memorabilia are you going to give to Lily?” Hermione asked, trying to inject some
humour into the conversation, but she stopped when she noticed Ginny's disapproving look.
“Both,” Potter shrugged. “James will graduate before that, and God knows she’ll need all the
help she can get.”

Draco let them talk while he reread the letter again. A smile crept onto his lips as he read his
son's words.

“My son says everyone was whispering about Albus Potter when it was his turn to be
sorted… because his mum is a famous quidditch player.” His voice carried a hint of
amusement.

Ginny burst into laughter. “You hear that, Harry? I’m a bloody star, and you’re just a ministry
worker!”

He just waved it off.

“So,” he shifted the conversation, “how do we feel about our Slytherin offspring?”

Ginevra rolled her eyes and waved her hand dismissively.

“I'm not surprised,” Potter shrugged. “He has it in him. I'm glad they’re together. I don’t
know what the other kids are like, though.”

“Yeah, me too,” Draco sighed, glancing at the letter. “I know this Armadill kid’s parents.”

“The lawyers?” Hermione asked.

He nodded. “The mother still works in the firm, but the father works in Scotland or Ireland
now, I forgot. They are… decent people.”

“Armadill… Armadill. Why does that sound familiar?” she asked.

“Armadill was one of the workers who helped us with the house initially,” Potter said. “The
one who had a bit of a crush on you.”

“Ah yes, I remember now.”

Draco huffed. “The Gryffindor bloke? The one who asked whether we’re serious or not?” He
huffed again, glancing at his wedding band. I guess he doesn't have to wonder anymore.

He found an odd satisfaction in the curious glances they received when they strolled through
Diagon Alley, hand in hand. Or when they would sit in a restaurant. Or just shopping for
more books and potion ingredients.

These furtive looks didn't irk him; they merely sought to validate their union. Yes, I have her.
Take a look, he often thought, silently relishing the possessive sense that washed over him.

It might have seemed petty, Hermione wasn't a possession to flaunt, but she was a prize he
worshipped. He was well aware that they believed he didn't deserve her, and perhaps he
didn't. However, he had ceased to care about others' opinions in that regard. She had chosen
him, and he had chosen her. That was all that mattered.
The Potters bid them farewell some times afterwards, and Draco felt a renewed sense of
calm. Scorpius's letter had further soothed his nerves. He reread it several times to ensure he
hadn't missed any details.

He took one of Hermione's notebooks and a pen and started writing the answer while she got
ready for bed.

“When will you send it?” Hermione inquired, engrossed in her nightly skincare routine.

“First thing in the morning. I have a meeting with Owler at eight, so I might be gone before
you wake up.”

“No, wake me up. We can have coffee together.”

“To wake you up or to…” he teased, his voice dipping low, “wake you up?”

Hermione smirked. “Well, now I have expectations.”

“I'll do my best to meet them,” he replied with a playful grin.

When she got ready, he turned the notebook from his lap so she could see what he was
writing. She added a few words too.

When they finished the letter, Hermione nestled her head on his chest, her fingers tracing
gentle patterns across his skin. Her hair carried the scent of vanilla, mixed with the subtle
notes of coconut from her body. Her cherry lips met his, the cool, minty freshness of her
breath jolted him awake. She smelled like a paradise, and every inhale drew him closer to
her.

Her skin bore a sun-kissed glow from their days on the Mediterranean coast. They could
spare a lot of moments together, especially at night.

Her parents were perfectly polite, Scorpius enjoyed every day and they haven't argued once.
It had been a perfect way to spend the last summer of his early childhood years.

Perhaps, before Hermione's university studies began, they could return to Spain, to some
even hotter destination in the south. There, they could relish their honeymoon, spending their
days just swimming, fucking, indulging in food, and sipping fine wine.

Draco had told Dissy to enjoy a few days of rest after the commotion of the first day of
school. The house was now serene, with only the ticking of the clock on his nightstand
breaking the silence.

Initially, it had annoyed him, but over time, he found it oddly calming. It was like a form of
meditation that helped him drift into slumber. Especially when he felt Hermione snuggling
closer, her warm presence comforting him.

“Today went well in the end, didn't it?” she murmured, her warm breath tickling his chest.

“It did. Everything was perfect,” he whispered, planting a gentle kiss on the top of her head.
 Hermione responded by hugging him tighter, and Draco exhaled, serenity finally washing
over him.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you all for reading until the end!

Here's a moodboard for you too. I didn't know making it would be so fun!
https://www.pinterest.com/tpzzz1105/in-the-mood-for-truth/

May 13th 2024 - BINDING POLICY: I would prefer it if the fics, at least the ones
written by me, could stay just in the online/digital sphere, at least until the wave of
illegal activities regarding fanfiction, binding and selling books specifically, loses its
momentum.
Another reason is that I'm pretty sure there are a lot of mistakes I made since, as I
mentioned before, English is not my first language, and I wouldn't want anyone to
correct them while creating their typeset without checking with me first.
Thank you for your consideration!
Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!