Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In a just world, the downfall of Lord Voldemort at the Battle of Hogwarts would have ushered in an era of enlightenment and equality within the wizarding world, an era in which Muggleborns, Purebloods and Halfbloods learned to coexist in harmony, and worked toward a better future for all. And for a while, after the extraordinary events of May 2, 1998, there was a period of perhaps six months wherein the British magical community did make an effort to right wrongs and honor those who’d sacrificed their lives in both the First and Second of Voldemort’s Wizarding Wars. 

Death Eaters were rounded up and put on trial before the Wizengamot, and the hammer of justice fell hard on many of them. Lucius Malfoy, who had managed to finesse his way out of justice after the First War, now found himself with a forty-five year sentence in Azkaban, loss of title and rights as head of House Malfoy, and a fine of ten million galleons from the Malfoy vaults. Many other Death Eaters, like Corban Yaxley, Antonin Dolohov, and Theodore Nott, Sr, found themselves with equitably long sentences and sundry other punishments. Others, like Walden McNair, Rabastan LeStrange, and Augustus Rookwood managed to finagle lighter sentences or to escape justice all together. 

Two notable cases garnered an outsized share of attention in the wizarding world: the trials of Narcissa Malfoy and her son Draco. In both cases, the famed Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter, and the Golden Girl, Hermione Granger testified on behalf of the accused, and both defendants were given lighter sentences than the Ministry prosecutors had aimed for. Narcissa was sentenced to one year of wandless probation and house arrest in Malfoy Manor, and Draco was given the sentence of one year of probation with the stipulation that the year must be spent completing his N.E.W.T. studies at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and that he must complete a minimum of five N.E.W.T. subjects with grades of Exceeds Expectations or better, one of them being a mandatory Muggle Studies class. 

As for the golden trio of Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, all three were given the Order of Merlin First class, and War Reparations in the amount of twenty thousand galleons each. They were also given their choice of returning to Hogwarts or the offer of entry level or trainee position at any post the Ministry of Magic had to offer. Harry and Ron decided to undergo Auror training, while Hermione opted to finish her studies as an eighth year student at Hogwarts.

Within the Ministry of Magic itself, former Order of the Phoenix member Kingsley Shacklebolt was elected the new Minister of Magic and, with many of his fellow Order members now heading departments within the Ministry, Shacklebolt attempted to usher in sweeping reforms: more protections for Muggleborns, mandated Muggle Studies for all students at Hogwarts, even a reduction in hereditary Wizengamot seats, thereby cutting hereditary seats from three quarters of the chamber down to two thirds, with the aim of lowering the percentages even further in the future. Dementors were removed from Azkaban, and a new task force was formed in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to capture escaped Death Eaters and Death Eater sympathizers. 

For a while, it seemed that more reforms would be forthcoming, but hidebound institutions like the Ministry of Magic were highly resistant to any real changes, and, by Christmas, the newer initiatives that were coming out of the Ministry, like greater protections for Magical Creatures and better Muggle Liaison measures were slowly being sidelined by the bureaucratic machine. Within two years, it was business as usual in the Ministry of Magic, and slowly, inexorably, those who had always been on top were mostly back on top again, with the only notable change being an enduring societal taboo against flaunting the Pureblood ideology that had fueled Voldemort’s previous rise to power.

Six years after the end of the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione Granger had become thoroughly disillusioned from her earlier dreams of reform and progress. She was also single, almost bankrupt and ready to quit her nearly dead end job in the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. 

And so, one Saturday morning in early March, Hermione sat at her kitchen table reviewing the application she had just filled out for a new job as Crookshanks milled about her ankles. Six years ago, perhaps even two years ago, she would never have deigned to consider applying for this position, but now she was desperate. She signed her name to the bottom of the application form, added her resume, tied the scrolls with a ribbon and headed to the nearest public Owlery to send off her application. 

On her way back through Diagon Alley, Hermione decided to stop by Florian Fortescue’s and treat herself to an ice cream. Deciding to take a chance on something different from her usual balsamic strawberry, she opted to try a flavor she’d never had before. “One scoop of saffron cardamom please,” Hermione said to the girl behind the counter.

“Hermione!”

Hermione turned to the sound of the voice behind her and smiled, “Ginny!” She reached over toward Ginny Potter to give her friend a hug. Ginny’s auburn hair was tied up in a jaunty pony tail and her brown eyes twinkled in delight upon seeing Hermione. She was noticeably pregnant and she was carrying a half dozen shopping bags, which she gratefully dropped to the ground to return Hermione’s embrace.

“I’m so glad to see you! Let me treat you to an ice cream!” Hermione offered.

“You’re a lifesaver, Hermione,” Ginny said, turning to the girl behind the counter, “One scoop of mint double chocolate chip with pickles on top, please.”

“That is an odd combination,” Hermione laughed as she pulled a galleon from her purse to pay.

Ginny shrugged. “Baby wants what baby wants. What am I but an overblown Quaffle here?”

“How many more weeks to go?” Hermione asked, taking her ice cream and her change.

“Nine,” Ginny said, taking her ice cream from the girl at the counter. “This last trimester is starting to get annoying. When I lie down I feel like the baby is squashing my lungs to half their size and it's hard to fall asleep when I feel like I can barely breathe. Last night I lay there for hours trying to find a comfortable position and Harry was snoring and it took every ounce of grace I had not to hex him in his sleep.”

Hermione laughed as they found a table to sit down. “You’re more than three quarters of the way done,” she said, by way of encouragement. “And how is Harry, by the way? I haven’t seen him around much these last couple of weeks.”

“He’s been out to investigate a string of cases that he says have something to do with Muggles…I’m not sure of the details but they believe magic is involved. He was out in Wales and then the Cotswolds and then up in the Hebrides. Basically, a different site every few days. So, that’s probably why you haven’t seen him around.”

“That makes sense,” Hermione agreed. “Hope they find whoever is responsible soon. And anyway—“ She pointed to Ginny’s bags. “Were you out baby shopping? I’m surprised your mum didn’t come with you.”

Ginny shrugged a little uneasily. “Mum was supposed to come shopping with me, but ended up getting called to babysit the twins.”

“Ah.” Hermione knew better than to ask. That was a Nundu she really didn’t want to poke. 

Three years ago, Hermione had achieved her one and only legislative success during her tenure at the Magical Creatures department. She had gotten a modified version of a House Elves Rights and Protective Enchantments Sponsorship (HERPES) passed through the Wizengamot, which gave house elves the right to freedom and the right to be paid wages for their employment (Hermione had wanted house elves to be paid wages commensurate with humans, but the legislative body had balked at that provision and had put in much lower requirements, and Hermione consoled herself that the bill was at least a start). She had gone home full of excitement and with a bottle of champagne to celebrate, but had instead found Ron and Lavender Brown together on the sofa in their apartment doing some unrelated celebrating of their own. 

Hermione had moved out, and six months later, Ron and Lavender were married. The twins were born a year after that. 

Harry and Ginny were supportive of Hermione; in fact, Harry had even refused to attend Ron’s wedding. Ginny had only gone because Molly Weasley had guilted her into attending her brother’s wedding, but Ginny made it clear she in no way supported the relationship. Hermione hated to be the cause of a rift in the Weasley family, and while she appreciated the support, she tried to make things as easy as possible for Harry and Ginny. For the last three Christmases, she had told them she was celebrating with Muggle cousins, a lie which fooled no one, but was accepted to save face. 

“Anyway, what brings you out here for ice cream today?” Ginny asked, licking her spoon.

Hermione had been hesitant to tell Ginny that she wanted to quit her job, but ultimately decided this was something that wouldn’t remain secret anyway if she ended up getting a new job, so she came clean. “I’m thinking of leaving the Ministry. I sent out an application for a new job.”

Ginny put her spoon down. “Really? But I thought you had all these plans!”

Hermione sighed, taking another lick of her ice cream. “I did have all these plans. But these plans don’t seem to go anywhere. I keep drafting proposals and they keep getting binned. The bureaucracy is just too slow to do anything.”

“But you got the house elves bill passed!” Ginny protested.

“Yes. Three years ago. And basically nothing since then. I only got that bill passed because the political winds were in my favor. The right people on the Wizengamot were on my side for that one thing and it wasn’t even because they cared about house elves. It was because they wanted to get back at other people on the council. This kind of backstabbing politics is just—“ Hermione shuddered. “I just don’t want to be doing this, for the rest of my life.”

Ginny knew Hermione very well, though. She gave her friend a thoughtful look. “There’s more to it than that,” she said.

Hermione didn’t answer, although Ginny was right. It was more than frustration with her job. She needed the money. Just before she’d gone on the Horcrux hunt with Harry and Ron, Hermione had Obliviated her parents to forget about her and their life together, and had sent them to Australia for their safety. The summer after the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione had gone with Ginny to Australia to find her parents. She found them running a very successful dental clinic in Melbourne, and with all the hubris of youth and the confidence of having won a war, Hermione had tried to reverse the Obliviation spell she’d cast on her parents only to have it backfire terribly. Her parents’ memories were scrambled further, which caused them to be confused and volatile. They couldn’t quite remember their lives in Britain but they were now too confused and unstable to continue their lives in Australia. None of the healers Hermione had found in Australia were able to help her, and finally, Hermione brought her parents back to England where they were now in a private treatment facility. 

Private medical treatment was not cheap. The twenty thousand galleons Hermione had gotten as War Reparations had seemed like riches at first. Converted to Muggle money, it was the equivalent of a half million pounds. But the cost of her parents’ care was so exorbitantly high that the money would soon run out. Hermione’s own salary at the Ministry of Magic was three thousand galleons a year (about 75,000 pounds*), and was considered a good salary for a single person with no children, but it would not cover her parents’ care in the future. The new job she was applying for came with a salary of five thousand galleons a year, and Hermione thought that if she stretched her living expenses she would just be able to cover her parents’ care with the higher salary.

But Hermione didn’t want to tell Ginny she was having financial problems. She knew that Ginny and Harry, who were very well off thanks to Harry’s inheritance from the Potters, would likely offer her financial support, but Hermione didn’t want to be beholden to her friends. So, instead, she said: “I just felt I needed a change of career. You know that I finished that Potions mastery after I left Hogwarts. This job is working in a Potions lab and I think I might like experimenting with new things.”

“Well, where would you be working?” Ginny asked.

Hermione bit her lip. This was actually the hardest part of coming clean to Ginny. “Malfoy Holdings has a Potions lab, and they just advertised a new position.”

“Malfoy Holdings!” Ginny exclaimed. Several conversations around them stopped. 

Hermione turned beet red. “Thanks, Ginny,” she muttered, wondering if she was going to see herself on the front page of The Daily Prophet again soon with the attention Ginny had just gotten them.

“I’m sorry,” Ginny said, dialing her volume down twenty decibels. “But really? Malfoy? Could you bear to work for him considering—all your history with him?”

Hermione was ready for this part. “Well, I wouldn’t actually be working with him directly. I doubt I’d even see him. His company is the second largest magical employer in Britain after the Ministry of Magic, and it has so many divisions. Potions is only one of them. I’d just be another lab employee, and completely under the radar.”

“What’s a radar?”

Hermione’s lip twitched. “It’s a Muggle acronym. It’s like I’d be working under an invisibility cloak as far as Malfoy goes. He’d never see me.”

“I guess that’s true. And actually, Harry says Malfoy’s turned out to be less of a prat than he was as a kid.”

“Why would Harry say that? When do they ever see each other?”

“When Narcissa Malfoy was under house arrest she reconnected with her sister Andromeda. Malfoy is Teddy Lupin’s…let me think…he’s his first cousin once removed. And Harry is Teddy’s godfather. The two of them sometimes meet at Andromeda’s house and spend time with Teddy. Sounds like they actually get along. Oh! And Malfoy petitioned the Wizengamot to allow Andromeda to be reinstated into the Black family tree so that Teddy would get his share of the Black inheritance. The tapestry at Grimmauld Place updated itself after that.”

“When did this happen and how did I not know?”

Ginny thought for a moment, and then reddened. “I think it happened around the time you and Ron split up…with all that was going on with you I think it slipped Harry’s mind to mention it to you.”

“Well, it’s nice to hear something good about Malfoy even if I never see him. And believe me, that company is so big, I doubt we’d ever see each other.”

“But it’s such a big change to go from working at the Ministry to doing this.”

“It’s really time for a change,” Hermione insisted.

Ginny shook her head. “I think there’s more to this that you’re not telling me.”

“Ginny, trust me. I know what I’m doing,” Hermione said. “And I think this change could be good for me. Now can we please move on to another topic of discussion?”

Ginny finished the last of her ice cream. “All right, I’ll stop interrogating you. Just let me know if something’s wrong and I can help, all right?”

Hermione gave her friend a fond smile. “I will. Now, tell me, have you got a registry set up for your baby shower?”

___

Draco Malfoy, CEO of Malfoy Holdings leaned back in his chair and plucked the next folder off the top of his desk to review. His executive assistant had just gone home for the day, but Draco was used to working late nights. He found he actually liked the hour or two he spent alone in the office after everyone had left for the day. It was quiet, it was peaceful. He could go over problems from the day, or review new ideas he had for the business without the bustle of meetings and interruptions from owls and Floo calls and constant daytime memos to answer interfering with his train of thought.

He picked up the glass of Firewhiskey he had just poured himself and settled the folder on his lap. It was an employment application and a background check. Generally, Draco did not review all the employment applications that came through to Malfoy Holdings, which was a conglomerate of multiple business entities making and selling all manner of potions, charms, and magical items for household and industrial use. There were just too many employees and too many applications for him to personally review every one the company received. However, the Potions division was important to him; Draco had gotten a Potions Mastery after leaving Hogwarts, and he took special care in the product development lines his Potions division created. One of the senior potions masters was retiring, and now there was a vacancy to fill. Draco was considering whether to promote a junior potions specialist to the senior level or to hire from outside. They had just advertised the position in The Daily Prophet a week ago and so far five applications had come in. Draco had not been impressed with the first four, and he didn’t have high hopes on this fifth one.

And then he opened the folder and blinked.

Hermione fucking Granger’s photograph was right there clipped to the cover page. He hadn’t seen her since their eighth year at Hogwarts, a year Draco preferred to forget. He had kept his head down, speaking and interacting as little as possible with people around him outside of Slytherin House and had spent his time doggedly working at his N.E.W.T courses (he’d taken seven, but of course, that swot Granger had to one-up him by taking eight). He barely interacted with her that year, although he had sent her a letter of apology for his treatment of her all the years before and for the events at Malfoy Manor earlier that spring wherein his crazy aunt had attacked her and carved “Mudblood” on her arm. Hermione had never answered that letter, so he assumed she wanted nothing to do with him, and he tried his best to stay out of her way.

He peered more closely at her photograph now, which was a generic publicity photo. Granger hadn’t sent in the photo herself; the only thing she had sent in was her application and a resume, but Draco had a very sophisticated vetting team who thoroughly investigated the backgrounds of all potential employees who applied for jobs that were considered high sensitivity or dealt with proprietary information. The Granger in the photo was wearing formal periwinkle blue robes, and her once bushy brown hair was tamed into appealing ringlets. Draco was surprised to realize that she looked pretty with her heart shaped face and her dark amber eyes. There was a light dusting of freckles on her nose and her lips were a pretty bow shape. Even as Draco was thinking this, photograph Granger blinked once, rolled her eyes, crossed her arms and scowled at Draco, as though he had offended her. 

Typical.

But it was curious. Why would Granger, of all people, apply for a position in his company? Wasn’t she a Ministry Wunderkind with her crusade to free house elves and champion other magical creatures? What would make her decide to work for him of all people? 

Draco had just begun to review the information in the file when an owl tapped at his window. It was Hermes, the Malfoy family’s eagle owl, which meant his mother was sending him a message. Cursing, Draco got up to open the window. He took the scroll from Hermes and then petted the owl’s head with a fond smile. He gave Hermes a handful of treats and then sat down to read his mother’s message. Hermes finished his treats and took off, so Draco knew his mother didn’t require a reply.

Draco, 

 

I’m having Madame Beaulieu and her daughter Veronique for tea at the Manor on Friday, and I would very much like for you to attend. You did promise to spend an afternoon with me this month for tea. Don’t disappoint me, my son.

 

All my love,

Mother

Draco grimaced. Another tea with another high society Pureblood hopeful. He knew his mother was anxious for him to settle down and marry a suitable woman and have babies, but Draco really did not have the time or the energy to deal with formal courtships. He was fine with the occasional dalliances, but too often, they came with strings. Women who sought him out wanted to be Lady Malfoy and to have access to the vaults and the jewelry. They wanted to be wooed with flowers and fancy restaurants and expensive gifts. They expected exotic vacations and trips on the yacht. They were exhausting. He absolutely did not want to deal with this nonsense when he had so many other things he needed to handle at work. 

Draco shoved his mother’s note in his drawer just as his Floo roared to life and three people entered his office: Theo Nott, Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson.

Draco glowered at them, but his fierce expression fooled no one. These three were his closest friends and had known him since early childhood. Theo, in particular, bounded up to his desk with his usual exuberance.

“Drakey! What gives? I thought you were supposed to meet us for drinks an hour ago!”

Draco nailed his friend with a stern look. “Unlike you, layabout, I actually work.”

“All work and no play makes Draco a dull boy,” Theo countered. “Come on, let's get something delectable to eat, some good liquor in our system and we should each pledge to not go home alone tonight.”

Draco groaned. “Not you too, Nott.”

“What do you mean?”

Draco pulled his mother’s message out of the drawer and showed it to his friends. 

“Well, what did you expect?” Pansy asked, having read the missive. “You’re almost twenty-four and according to her calculations, you should have been married years ago.”

“And it’s Veronique Beaulieu. I remember seeing her a couple summers ago when I was in Monte Carlo. She’s gorgeous,” Blaise chimed in. “Your mother could have picked worse, even if Veronique is a bit—“

“She’s an absolute nightmare,” Pansy said flatly. “Catty little wench. She’s so demanding she’ll give your house elves nightmares. And she’s already taken courtship gifts from at least six other wizards and left them with nothing to show for it.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Draco bit out, rolling his eyes. “I’ve got so much on my plate running the company right now. And to make things more fun, I’m getting rumors that one or more of my father’s delightful cousins may be trying to make a bid to take over the company from me.”

“What cousins? Your grandfather Abraxas and your father were both only children,” Blaise said.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Malfoy cousins from France.”

“Merlin and Morgana, those cousins are so far removed from you—you’re probably more closely related to the Weasleys than you are to them,” Pansy exclaimed.

“Exactly.” Draco said. “But there are still some provisions in the company charter that give them some sort of slim claim. I’ve got those idiots to fend off, and there are company supply chain issues that have cropped up—“ here Draco stopped himself from revealing more. These three were his best friends but Draco knew that even with the best of intentions, sometimes too much information in the wrong hands could slip. 

Besides the annoyance of the rumored takeover bid from his distant relations, Draco had also been having issues with several suppliers, and he was concerned. The raw materials he was having trouble procuring were too specific to ignore, and Draco was investigating whether or not his supply chain issues were related to legitimate competition or black market activity. All this on top of his usual full plate of CEO problems dealing with one of the largest wizarding corporations in Europe; Draco did not need distractions even if they were pretty.

“Anyway, I don’t have time to deal with courting and wooing and worrying about the sensitivities of high strung debutantes,” Draco complained. ”I just need some uncomplicated arm candy to take to galas and business dinners, but even casual dates with these women tend to end up with me dodging them for weeks afterward.”

“You need a fake girlfriend, mate,” Theo said, laughing.

“A what?”

“A fake girlfriend. Hire someone to be your girlfriend for a while until your workload lightens up somewhat and then you can give the fake girl the boot and do your real courting.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Draco asked.

Blaise chuckled. “It would be funny to see you pay to have someone go out with you.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Pansy mused. “You find someone to pretend for a few months. Just make sure you get your photo on the society pages of the Prophet and you might even get Narcissa to back down for a little while. Just get her to sign an NDA, and pay her generously, buy her a few nice baubles. It’s not like you couldn’t afford it.”

Draco paused. That sounded very tempting. Hire a girl to be at his beck and call, not unlike a secretary. He certainly didn’t worry about the sensibilities of his secretarial staff. They just did what they were told and he made sure they had generous holiday bonuses each year to put up with his demands. The problem, of course, was finding the girl to fit the bill. She would have to be attractive, as no one would believe Draco would be serious about a plain girl. She would also need to be intelligent, someone who could be discreet and keep to the script. Also, someone who was cultured and wouldn’t embarrass him in front of business associates or at society functions. And yet, she would also need to be someone who wouldn’t entertain dreams of being the next Lady Malfoy and start measuring the drapes in the Manor. Where in Salazar’s name was he going to find a girl like that?

As though he had read Draco’s thoughts, Blaise said, “The problem with this plan is finding the girl.”

Theo urged everyone out of Draco’s office to the Emerald Orb—an exclusive club that catered to the richest old guard of wizarding society—where they ordered dinner. Theo spent the rest of the evening gleefully pulling out names of suitable unattached pureblood and half blood girls, which were all shot down in turn by Draco, Pansy or Blaise. Too needy, too plain, too annoying, too demanding, too boring, or too unlikely to agree to the plan. 

“Sorry, mate,” Theo said at last, slurring his words a bit by now. “Thought it was a good plan. I guess you’ll just have to keep dodging the matchmaking mamas.”

Draco gave his friend a two fingered salute and then shook his head with a smile that was half amused and half annoyed. Even with the dearth of eligible candidates for this fake girlfriend scheme, the idea had taken root in his mind and he felt it was worth pursuing. He had a feeling that a solution was at hand, but right now with a few too many Firewhiskies under his belt, it was not the best time to try to come up with an answer to the dilemma. He sat back and listened to his friends’ banter, feeling thankful that he had mates like these who always had his back, and wishing everything in life could be as uncomplicated as his feelings for them.

Chapter Text

An owl arrived five days after Hermione had sent out her application for the new job.

Dear Ms Granger,

We have reviewed your application for the position of Senior Potions Specialist with great interest and would like to invite you to Malfoy Holdings Headquarters on 45-2/3 Upper Bank Street for an interview on Monday, March 15 at 10AM. Please owl us with your reply.

Sincerely,

Thaddeus Picklebrick

Senior Vice President of Employment Resources

Accordingly, that next Monday morning, having taken a personal day off from work, Hermione arrived at Malfoy Holdings at a quarter to ten and presented herself to the reception witch in the front lobby. The building, in the middle of London’s Muggle financial district in Canary Wharf, looked like a warehouse on the outside, but inside was clearly a multistory, very modern-looking, very imposing corporate building that seemed to be composed of glass, steel and marble. The front lobby was sepulchral, and Hermione’s good heels clacked with an obscenely loud sound on the sleekly polished floors as she crossed the lobby from the entrance to the reception witch’s desk.

“Granger,” the witch repeated, checking her parchment. “Ah, yes. You’re expected. Forty-fifth floor. Take a right when you come out of the lift and someone will be waiting to take you in for your interview.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said, her heels echoing like gunshots as she made her way to the lifts. She vowed if she ever got the job to only wear trainers in this building. The noise her shoes were making was nerve wracking.

However, once Hermione came out of the lift on the forty-fifth floor, she stepped onto thick, plush carpeting and found herself staring at banks of large cubicles with sleek blond wood and glass, where very well dressed witches and wizards sat working industriously at their desks. 

A handsome middle aged witch wearing dark red dress robes that Hermione guessed would cost more than her entire wardrobe combined greeted her.

“Miss Granger?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes. Hello.”

“I’m Mr. Malfoy’s executive assistant, Desiree Avery. I’m here to take you in for your interview with Mr. Malfoy.”

“My interview with Mr. Malfoy?” Hermione repeated, with a sudden sensation of dread. “But—I was applying for a Potions position. Surely Mal—Mr. Malfoy doesn’t interview everyone who applies for a job here?”

“If everything goes well, Mr. Malfoy will have you meet with Head Potions Master Bergen for lunch, but Mr. Malfoy specifically requested to meet with you first,” Desiree said as she led Hermione through the glass outer doors to the CEO’s office suite with the words “Draco L. Malfoy, CEO, Malfoy Holdings” printed onto the glass, then paused outside the imposing mahogany double doors of the CEO’s actual office. She knocked twice and then opened the door. “Mr. Malfoy, your ten AM is here for you.”

Draco was seated at his desk reviewing some parchments. He glanced up briefly, grey eyes flashing as they met hers. “Have a seat. I’ll be with you in a moment. Ms. Avery, tea, please.”

“Of course, Mr. Malfoy,” Desiree said. She pointed to a chair in front of Draco’s desk for Hermione to sit and then left the office. 

Her throat dry, Hermione crossed the room and took the chair, slowly sinking down into the seat. The black leather of the seat was buttery soft, which surprised her. Irritation over Draco’s rudeness warred with the anxiety she was feeling in his presence. Was he like this with everyone who came for job interviews or was it because she was a Muggleborn? She reminded herself she needed this job and schooled herself to patience. While Draco was preoccupied with his papers, she took a quick look around the room. 

Draco’s office was cavernous, with huge floor to ceiling windows with a sweeping view of London and the Thames. The office itself was decorated in surprisingly modern decor. Draco’s desk was enormous, sleek and polished, lined with neat stacks of parchment, a beautiful quill holder and many pots of ink, but very little by way of knick knacks. Charmed lights hovered over the desk illuminating the parchment Draco was reading and making his white blond hair glow. Along one wall were rows of bookshelves, some filled with books and others adorned with beautiful sculptures and objets d’art. The walls were hung with—Hermione did a double take—modern Muggle art. She could have sworn one was a Jackson Pollack, and she didn’t think it was a replica. The section closest to the windows was set up with comfortable couches, arm chairs and coffee tables, clearly meant for entertaining guests in a more relaxed setting. Two other doors led out of the office. Hermione guessed one was to a private loo and the other, perhaps to a private Floo parlor.

Desiree returned with the tea service and finally, Draco looked up from his paperwork. Desiree poured out tea for each of them, adding two sugars and a little bit of cream into Hermione’s tea, which was just the way she took it. She narrowed her eyes wondering how Desiree had known. Once the tea was served, Draco said, “Thank you, Ms Avery. That will be all.”

“Of course, Mr. Malfoy,” Desiree said, and she left the office, closing the door behind her. 

Draco now turned the full weight of his attention on Hermione, and she could only stare back, not sure what to do. 

“You look good, Granger,” he said at last. 

Observing him, Hermoine was forced to conclude that Draco himself was looking very good. More than good, in fact. The last time she’d seen him, he was still a boy, but there was nothing boyish about the man in front of her. Even though he was sitting, she felt he had grown taller since he’d left school and had filled into his frame. He had the figure of an athlete, slim with broad shoulders, and she could see the taut muscles move under the fabric of his dress shirt when he sat back to take his tea. His face had matured from pointy to angular, and the planes of his face were patrician with high cheekbones, and a straight nose, that was just a little too long, but accentuated his face perfectly. His eyes were a striking silver and that white blond hair, his most distinctive feature, was now cut shorter than when he was in school, but fell in artfully sleek waves that framed his face. Even at Hogwarts, Hermione remembered how the girls would admire his looks, but now he was even more breathtaking, and she felt a wave of both attraction and anger. It was so unfair that he had grown even more beautiful, and worse, it was clear he knew it.

“Thank you, Mal—Mr. Malfoy,” she forced herself to add the title. 

Draco smirked. He had clearly caught her slip of tongue. He picked up a file that Hermione presumed was hers and flipped through it. “So, what brings you here to Malfoy Holdings?”

“I’m sure you know I applied for the Senior Potions Specialist position,” Hermione said, forcing her words to come out calmly. 

“Yes, which, from your application and resume seems to be a complete change of profession. Your current position is Senior Aide to the Head of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures Department. Which, as far as I can tell, has nothing to do with potions. Why the change?”

Hermione gritted her teeth. She had been prepared to speak to someone in the potions department, to answer questions about potion making. She had always done well with potions and had even completed a mastery while holding down a full time job at the Ministry. She had kept up with her potion making skills in her small home laboratory and she was always up to date with the latest research articles on potion making. She had made sure to brush up on all the regulations for cauldron safety, ingredient storage, and the handling of timed formulae. She had spent the last several days preparing to answer these types of questions. She had not expected to be asked why she wanted to leave her current job. She didn’t want to tell Draco Malfoy about the despair she felt when she realized that her work in the Magical Creatures Department was a stifling dead end and that she would be chasing regulations and minutiae forever if she stayed at the Ministry. She didn’t want to tell Draco about her financial troubles or about her parents. She didn’t want to tell him anything. She forced herself to answer lightly: “I just thought now would be a good time for a change of pace.”

“That’s bullshit,” Draco said, looking straight into her eyes.

“I beg your pardon?” Hermione’s eyes flashed. She sat up straighter and set her teacup down on the edge of Draco’s desk. 

“People almost never change jobs on a whim, and you, Granger, never do anything without a good reason. Try again.”

Hermione seethed inwardly. Of course Malfoy wouldn’t make this easy on her. She wondered if he was having fun at her expense. Another power play like when he refused to acknowledge her when she first came into the office. She reminded herself of the five thousand galleon salary and forced herself to stay calm. She took a deep breath. “I wanted to change the world but almost no one at the Ministry cares. It was always regulations and paperwork and fighting with the Wizengamot and playing political games to get even the smallest thing done. I—it was just so draining. I didn’t want to be doing that for the next fifty years.”

Draco narrowed his eyes at her answer, seeming to take in what she said and to synthesize it in his mind. Finally he said, “But you could see yourself making potions for the next fifty years?”

“I have a mastery in it. And I’m good at potion making. You know—we were in class together. You know I could do a good job of it—“

“I have no doubt you could do an amazing job of it,” Draco said, cutting her off. “I know your credentials. I know you’re brilliant. That’s not what I asked. I asked if you could see yourself doing this for the next fifty years.”

Stung, Hermione gestured toward Draco’s desk and his paperwork, “Can you see yourself doing this for the next fifty years?”

Draco smirked again. “As a matter of fact, Granger, I can. I admit I didn’t want to do this when I was younger—I was groomed to follow my father and spend my time peddling influence and manipulating politicians. This job—Malfoy Holdings—was supposed to be relegated to underlings and accountants to handle. But then with the war, the Dark Lord drained close to a hundred million galleons from our coffers—“ Hermione gasped at the sum, but Draco went on as though she hadn’t interrupted, “—plus the war reparations my father was forced to pay, I had to step in to rebuild the family fortunes. I find I do like this. I like doing business. I like the fact that the company creates things that people find useful. I like when we develop new products. And I like pitting myself against competitors. So, yes, Granger, I can see myself doing this for the next fifty years. So, now, instead of beating about the bush, tell me: is potion making what you want to do for the next fifty years?”

If Hermione was honest with herself, she could barely see past the next year. She was so worried about her parents and keeping her head above the water, financially speaking. She was just so tired. Tired of fighting Sisyphean battles in the Ministry. Tired of hearing yet another medical expert tell her that nothing could be done for her parents. Tired of watching her bank account dwindling despite all the austerity measures she’d taken to save money to pay for her parents’ treatment. She just wanted breathing room. She could figure out her fifty year plan later. But again, this was not something she wanted to discuss with Draco Malfoy. “Yes,” she said, willing the word to not be a lie. At least now she could move the discussion back to Potions. “I can see myself doing this for the next fifty years. I would love to have the luxury and the lab and the materials to be able to develop new potions or improve on existing ones. I have a small portfolio of potions I’ve worked with if you’re interested in seeing them.”

“If things go to plan this morning I’ll have you meet with Potions Master Bergen for lunch today. You can show us your portfolio then.”

“If things go to plan?” Hermione parroted the words. What on Earth was left to discuss if he didn’t want to discuss her potions qualifications?

But Draco had stood up and now looked somewhat uneasy. He carried Hermione’s folder and paced his office a bit, glanced out the window, then strolled back toward Hermione. He moved directly in front of her, so that he stood between her and the desk. His sudden physical proximity was a bit overwhelming and Hermione fought the urge to back away from him in her seat. 

Draco opened the folder. He looked through it again and then looked away from Hermione. He seemed to be coming to a decision about something. Finally, after several long, and awkward beats, he said. “I have some potions in developmental stages where I think your input would be invaluable. I would like to offer you the position of Senior Potions Specialist, but only if you are also willing to undertake another job I have for you.”

“Another job?” Hermione repeated his words again. She couldn’t imagine what he wanted her to do, but from his behavior she was very sure she wouldn’t want to do it. “What other job?”

Draco gave a mirthless laugh. “My…uh…position is somewhat unique. I took over this company, and became head of the family far earlier than I ever thought I would. Under normal circumstances I’d probably still be working for my father for another thirty years at least. So, I had to do things a little differently from what was expected of me.”

Hermione said nothing, still eyeing him warily. She had no idea where this conversation was going.

“So…frequently, for work related reasons, I have to attend various functions: dinners, conferences, galas. It’s all for networking. But because of who I am, I can’t easily attend alone. It—it complicates things when I go alone. And unfortunately for me, it complicates things when I attend with a date.”

Still, Hermione said nothing, although she had an alarming suspicion form in her mind. Just what was he going to ask her to do?

“In short, I don’t have time for courtships, but I need to have a date for these social business events. I’m proposing for you to be my date for these occasions.”

“You—you want to date me?” Hermione asked, pinching herself to be sure this wasn’t a fever dream.

“Actually, no. I need you to pretend to date me.”

“What? What does that even mean?” Hermione felt she was trying to swim out of a fog of confusion.

“Granger, I just said I don’t have time for courtship. I’m too busy for champagne and flowers and coddling a needy witch. I just need someone to accompany me on business dinners and when I go to galas and cocktail parties without the complications or expectations that a girlfriend would bring.”

“And you want me to be your fake girlfriend and pretend to go with you to these functions?” Hermione was starting to understand, and with the clarity, she was starting to feel anger. “You want to hire me as a whore?”

“Well, not when you put it like that!” Draco said, affronted. “I don’t expect you to have sex with me. I just need you to act. Act like my date.”

“I don’t see how this is different from—“

“Look, Granger, I hire women to work for me as accountants, as my executive assistant, as potions workers, salesgirls, even factory workers. I pay them to do a job and they do the job. It’s no different from that.  You’d be hired to do a job.”

“And what makes you think I’d lower myself to do something like this?” Hermione rose from her chair. She still stood several inches shorter than Draco, but it made herself feel less vulnerable to be on her feet.

“You need the money,” Draco said.

Hermione’s mouth dropped open. He couldn’t know. It wasn’t possible. No one knew of her problems. “What are you talking about?”

Draco held up her folder. “I have a very good vetting team,” he said. He opened the folder. “They’re very thorough. They even included this in your file—“ Draco held out Hermione’s Chocolate Frog card in a feeble attempt at levity, “—although if I must be honest, the Agrippa people were grossly unfair to you.”

Hermione groaned. Not long after the Battle of Hogwarts, the Agrippa Confectioners, makers of Chocolate Frogs and Chocolate Frog cards approached Harry, Ron and Hermione to sit for a series of photographs for their new series of Golden Chocolate Frog cards. Hermione had been reluctant to participate, but Ron wanted to be on a card so badly and the Agrippa representatives made it clear that it would have to be either all three of them or else they just wanted Harry. For Ron’s sake, Hermione agreed to sit for her photographs, and it wasn’t until the cards came into production that Hermione learned that the boys had each been paid fifteen hundred galleons for their photographs while she only received one thousand galleons. It had been a sore spot for her ever since. And now even Draco Malfoy knew she had been cheated by them.

But Draco wasn’t finished. He looked through the folder. “You have, as of this morning, two thousand seven hundred and twenty two galleons, four sickles and six knuts in your Gringotts account. You have approximately one thousand forty seven pounds and twelve pence in your account with the Bank of England. Your current salary is three thousand and twelve galleons per year. Your last long term relationship was with Ronald Weasley, which ended three years and two months ago, and since then you’ve dated only sporadically, it seems. Nothing past two dates. You live alone with your geriatric half-Kneazle familiar at 27 Cauldron Court. Rent on your flat is one hundred and seven galleons per month with utilities rounding out to approximately one hundred and twenty galleons. But you are paying two hundred sixty six galleons per month to the Parkwood Institute for Rehabilitation for the treatment of your parents, who have never recovered from a backfired memory charm. By my math, your funds will run out by the end of the year.”

Hermione had listened to Draco’s recitation with mounting horror, dread and fury. How did he know about her parents? Only her closest friends and Kingsley Shacklebolt knew anything about her parents. And as for the rest of her information…how dare he? How dare he dig this information out about her? Even her Muggle banking information? And how dare he throw her problems in her face like this? “You had no right—“ she began.

“On the contrary, considering the nature of my business, I have every right to vet potential new employees. The Potions line is the most lucrative and has the most proprietary formulae in the industry. All of my employees in the Potions division are asked to sign non-disclosure agreements, but I also vet them thoroughly before I hire them because I need to be sure they are not working for my competitors, and I also need to be sure they won’t be tempted to work for my competitors. The salary I’m offering for the position you want is certainly more than you make now, but just barely covers your expenses. You need this job badly. So bollocks to your lies about needing a change of pace, Granger.”

Hermione was near tears. “You had no right,” she repeated, her lower lip trembling. She didn’t think it was possible for her to sink any lower than she had when she had filled out the application to work for Malfoy Holdings, but now she felt as though she was worth less than the dirt under her shoes.

Draco seemed to realize that perhaps he had gone too far, or at least, taken the wrong tack in his pitch to her. “Granger,” he said, his voice far gentler than she’d ever heard from him. “I’m not mocking you. I don’t know what happened to your parents but I certainly don’t think any less of you because you’re trying to shoulder burdens that are not your fault—”

Now a tear slid down Hermione’s cheek. Of course it was her fault. That her parents’ minds were so badly damaged, it was completely her fault. She took a step back from him. “I don’t think this will work, Malfoy,” she said. “Thank—thank you for your time.” 

She turned away from him when his hand darted out to grasp her upper arm. 

“Wait,” Draco said. “I hadn’t finished what I was going to propose.”

“I think you’ve said enough,” Hermione countered, trying to gather the last shreds of her dignity and pull out of his grasp.

“I’d pay you a thousand galleons a month on top of your current salary if you do this.”

Hermione’s mind short circuited for a moment. A thousand galleons a month?

But she remembered again. He would pay her to be a fake girlfriend. Even if he wasn’t paying her to be a whore, it was no different from paying for an escort. 

But a thousand galleons a month on top of her salary. For a brief moment, Hermione allowed herself to imagine the absolute freedom from worry about finances. The breathing room that this extravagant sum would give her. She might even be able to afford to take her parents to the Continent to see experts on memory Obliviation. Might even be able to buy a bloody cup of coffee without tasting the flavor of guilt with every sip.

“A thousand galleons a month,” Hermione repeated. “You can’t be this desperate for someone to be your arm candy.”

Draco cocked his head to the side. “What do you say, Granger?”

“How—how long would you need me in this role of—“ Hermione choked over the words, “—your fake girlfriend?”

There was a gleam in Draco’s eyes, as though he knew he’d won. “Six months at the minimum. Possibly up to a year.”

Hermione’s breath caught. It was so very tempting. “Could I—could I have some time to think this over?” she asked, finally.

“Of course,” Draco said. He managed to smile at her without smirking. “Take a few days—owl me by the end of next week, but no later than that.”

Hermione looked at Draco once more. She tried to picture herself going to parties and dinners with him, pretending to be in love with him. She realized there was actually a limit to her imagination. “Why me?” she asked finally.

Draco gave her an ironic look. “Because you’re the last witch who would ever want to marry me.”

Chapter Text

Hermione took three days to think over Draco’s proposition. In reality, she had already made up her mind to accept before she had left Draco’s office. The three days was for her to come to terms with what she was about to do. To tamp down the panic that she felt when she tried to picture the ramifications of being Draco Malfoy’s fake girlfriend. He said no sex, but what did he expect her to do? How often would she have to be seen with him? She cringed imagining the headlines in The Daily Prophet. She quavered thinking of what her friends would say. What would Ginny or Harry think? And what would it be like having to be in close proximity to Draco Malfoy for long stretches of time? Would he expect her to go with him to Malfoy Manor? The thought made the “Mudblood” scar on her arm itch and burn. 

Several times a day, she decided to say no and refuse the offer. Several times a day she looked at her Gringott’s bank statement, and the bills from the Parkwood Institute reminding herself just how much she needed this opportunity. 

Finally, she sent Draco an owl asking to meet with him to ask him some questions.

An hour later, his reply came, offering to meet her for dinner that night at a place called the Emerald Orb. The scroll came with a small key inset with an emerald. “Since you are not a member of the club, you will need this key to be allowed inside,” the note read.

Hermione went through her closet and tried to find something she thought would be appropriate. Most of her work dress robes were too formal or too staid. Her Muggle clothes were mostly too casual, but there were a few nice dresses that had once belonged to her mother. She eventually chose a grey silk A-line dress with a boat neck that hugged her curves nicely, but was demure enough not to raise too many wizarding eyebrows. She rarely accentuated her wardrobe, but for this occasion, Hermione added the one treasure she owned, a diamond and pink sapphire brooch in the shape of an iris that had once belonged to her grandmother. 

Grasping the little key that Draco had owled to her, she took her wand and Apparated to the entrance of the Emerald Orb. She presented the little key to the wizard at the door and was escorted inside, where a pretty hostess took her to a booth in the back. Dark green silk curtains surrounded the booth, and the hostess drew the curtains back to let Hermione inside. 

Draco was already inside waiting for her. He stood up when she entered. Once Hermione sat down, the hostess handed them their menus. “Just tap the menu with your wand to order,” the hostess instructed, before she closed the curtains and left. Hermione felt a little pang of claustrophobia realizing that she was sitting in a very intimate setting with the one wizard in all of Britain who unsettled her the most. He was dressed as though he had just come from work, although he had shed his outer suit jacket and wore a dark blue vest with a herringbone pattern over his white dress shirt. A grey tie was knotted at his throat. Despite the hour, he looked as fresh and pressed as though he had just started the day. And handsome. Too handsome. Hermione felt a flutter of nerves as she took in his proximity.

“Hello, Granger,” Draco said, sitting back down. “You look very nice.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said, trying to sit in a way that would keep her from accidentally brushing up against him without looking like she was trying her best to avoid touching him. 

Draco was not fooled and she saw his mouth twist, whether in amusement or chagrin, she didn’t know.

“Is it really that distasteful sitting with a former Death Eater?” he asked.

“I’m surprised you’re willing to sit this close to a Mudblood,” Hermione blurted out before she realized what she’d said. She reddened. She had to remember she was not on equal footing with this man.

Draco, for his part, paled at her words. “Granger…I—I’m not like that any more. I don’t care about those kinds of things and I haven’t for a long time. I’m sorry I ever called you—called you that. And I’m sorry for how horribly I treated you when we were kids. And—for what happened to you when you were at the Manor.”

Hermione was nonplussed by the apology. She had never blamed him for what had happened at the Manor, and she also wanted to believe she’d forgiven him for calling her a Mudblood long ago, to say that he had been a child who parroted bigotry he’d learned from his parents. Besides, she had received a letter from him years ago apologizing for the very things he mentioned today. Yet, it wasn’t until he spoke the words out loud that Hermione realized just how much she had wanted—needed, really—to hear those words from him. She felt a little of her stiffness toward him thaw and she gave him a small smile. “Thank you for saying that,” she murmured, finally.

“I meant what I said about you looking very nice, though,” Draco repeated, seemingly glad to move away from a sticky topic.  “And that’s a very striking brooch. Is it goblin made?”

“No, the provenance of this brooch is very Muggle. It was my grandmother’s,” Hermione said. “She received it as a gift for services to the Crown from the Queen Mum when she was young.”

“Queen Mum?” Draco repeated, still eyeing the brooch

“You know, the current Queen of England’s mother? She died not long ago, but after she was widowed in the 1950s, she remained a queen, and her name was also Queen Elizabeth, so to distinguish her from her daughter, they nicknamed her the Queen Mum. It sounds so silly when you parse it out like that, but we British are nothing if not quaint.”

Draco’s lip twitched. “Did you know that one of my ancestors tried to propose to the first Queen Elizabeth back in the sixteenth century?”

“Well, since she never married, I’ll assume she said no. What was his name?”

“He was the first Lucius Malfoy,” Draco said.

“So, no good ever came of that name, did it?” Hermione said, again, without thinking. She covered her mouth with her hand as she realized what she had said, but Draco was amused. 

“You’re not wrong, Granger,” he said. Then, because she still looked mortified, he pointed to the menu. “Why don’t you take a look and see what you want to order for dinner? The veal is good, but I would recommend the duck. Chef has a very good raspberry and port wine reduction he uses for the sauce. But, pick whatever you like.”

Hermione tore her gaze away from Draco to look at her menu, feeling somewhat off kilter. She had never had an interaction with Draco before where he was actively trying to be nice, and she realized that when he wanted to be, Draco Malfoy could be very charming. For the briefest moment, she had felt like she was actually on a real date with him, not a business meeting where they would discuss how she could be a fake date for him. 

A few moments of silence ensued as they studied their menus. Hermione decided to choose the duck that Draco recommended. She liked duck, and she also felt it might soften him up a bit if she took his suggestion. She chose a light salad for an appetizer and then tapped on the menu for her meal.

“Are you also having duck?” she asked, as she saw Draco tap his menu.

“I’m getting the lamb,” he said.

“But I thought you said the duck was best!”

“It is, Granger, but I’ve had the duck here many times. I just wanted a change. I hope you don’t mind but I ordered a Bordeaux for us to share.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said. 

Silence descended on them, and Hermione cast about desperately for something to say. She realized that they had mainly talked about her the last time they met, and so she decided to shift to asking about him. After all, if she was going to be his pretend girlfriend, it might not be a bad idea to know more about him.

“So, what have you been doing since we left Hogwarts? Other than running your company?”

“Before I started at the family company I went to Germany and spent a year there doing my potions mastery with Master Hans Bergen.”

“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed. “I didn’t know you’d done a mastery! What did you brew for your final project?” 

“Felix Felicis.”

“Wow!” Hermione was impressed. That was a particularly tricky potion to brew. She had never tried it, but she had read many accounts of disasters that occurred from badly brewed Felix Felicis. “That’s so—well done to you, Malfoy. Congratulations!”

Draco smiled. A genuine smile. “That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Granger.”

“Come now, I called you a foul git once. What could be nicer than that?”

“Of course, what every thirteen year old boy wants to hear a girl say,” Draco grinned. 

Hermione looked away quickly. Draco Malfoy with a smile was wreaking havoc on her nerves. ”What made you choose Felix Felicis? Just because of the complexity?”

Draco shrugged. “I was in a pretty dark place back then. I had just gotten off probation, and I couldn’t walk in the street in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade without being heckled. I wasn’t in any shape to take over the family businesses. My betrothal to Astoria Greengrass was dissolved because her family didn’t want anything to do with me. I went to Germany because Master Bergen was the only Potions Master in Europe who would accept me as an apprentice. He was very demanding but very fair. Still, at the end of all that, I just felt like I needed a little luck, you know what I mean?”

Hermione felt some stirring of sympathy for him. Yes, he had been a bully and a prat and she had disliked him terribly during her school years, but she also felt that he had been let down by his family and wizarding society and had suffered for sins that were not his own. “Have you ever used the Felix Felicis you brewed?”

“Master Bergen allowed me two small vials of it. One, I used right away, and I did have a very lovely day. My friends, who I hadn’t seen all year, came all the way out to Berlin to surprise me that day and we had perfect weather and just spent the day having fun and laughing. We had good food and good wine, and I think that was the first day since before I took the Dark Mark that I felt happy.”

Hermione smiled in spite of herself. It was nice to hear that just simple pleasures were enough to give Draco happiness. “What did you do with the other vial?”

“Oh, I’m saving it. Maybe one day it’ll come in handy,” he said.

“That’s smart,” Hermione said.

“What did you brew for your mastery?” Draco asked.

“Don’t you have that information in your detailed files on me?” Hermione asked.

“Cheeky, Granger. As a matter of fact, I do not. I will clearly have to sack my vetting team for this oversight.”

Hermione grinned. She had never heard him make a lighthearted joke before. 

“I brewed Wolfsbane,” Hermione said, in answer to his question. “Luna Lovegood was doing her training at St. Mungo’s back then and she told me that they were always low on stocks of Wolfsbane, so I thought I’d try to make something that would be useful.”

Draco’s lip quirked. “Always a do-gooder, aren’t you, Granger?”

Hermione flushed. “That’s not—”

“Calm down, Granger,” Draco said. “It’s not an insult. It’s actually nice to know you never changed.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, mollified. This nice Draco was confusing her terribly.

Just then, their appetizers arrived and the waitress settled their plates in front of them. A sommelier accompanied her and went through the formality of presenting the wine bottle to Draco, uncorking it and giving him a ritual taste for approval before he poured out their wine for them, and left them. For a few moments, they ate quietly.

After she finished her salad, Hermione asked: “So, Senior Potions Master Bergen, the one you said I could meet—is he the same as your Potions Master you trained under?”

Draco smiled. “Yes. He had a lab in Berlin, and taught at Berlin University, but I had the resources to give him an even more state-of-the-art Potions lab and also any ingredients he might need, no matter how rare. There were several potions he had wanted to make but was never able to get beyond the theoretical stage because he lacked the funding, so he jumped at the chance to work in my lab.”

“Did you like working under him when you were in training?”

”Yes. He runs a very disciplined lab and you do not want to be on the receiving end of one of his tongue lashings, but the staff love him. I may be his boss on paper, but in that lab he runs things. I would never dare interfere with him. But I think he’ll like you.”

Hermione took a sip of her wine, as happy visions of working under a world renowned Potions Master and learning from him danced in her head. For a moment, she wished she could start right away, but then she remembered why she was here. It wasn’t to make pleasant small talk with Draco Malfoy. It was to discuss working as his pretend girlfriend. And just thinking about it, Hermione felt as though a host of Cornish Pixies had taken residence in her stomach.

The waitress returned to take their appetizers away and brought out their main entrees. The sommelier poured out more wine for them and then the waitress said, “Pull the cord if you need anything,” before the staff left, closing the curtains behind them.

Draco raised his wine glass to Hermione. “Cheers, Granger,” he said.

“Cheers,” Hermione repeated, clinking her glass with his. 

They drank their wine and started on their meal. Hermione was still somewhat nervous about the discussion to come, but she took one bite of the duck and closed her eyes in bliss, savoring the flavor. “This is so good!” she exclaimed.

Draco smiled broadly. “I’m glad you like it. Would you like to try some of my lamb?”

Hermione loved lamb, but she was a little alarmed by the prospect of sharing food with Draco. There was an implied intimacy in this that she wasn’t willing to engage in, not yet, at least. “No thank you,” she murmured, but out of politeness, offered, “Would you like some of my duck?

“I’ve had the duck before. You enjoy it, Granger,” Draco said.

Hermione had meant to enjoy the rest of her duck, but after a couple more bites, she started to become more nervous about the discussion they had yet to have. Finally, she put her fork down. “Malfoy, about your—your proposal to—“

Draco stopped her. “Let’s have this discussion after we’ve eaten, Granger.”

Hermione bit her lip. “Okay,” she said, although she was far from okay. Her mind was starting to go down uncomfortable paths and to forestall the panic attack that was threatening to overwhelm her, she cast about for another topic of discussion. “So…you said you didn’t have time to court witches? Was there never anyone you wanted to—to court?”

Draco chuckled mirthlessly. “I’ve dated a lot of witches. Mostly short relationships. But other than Astoria—and she was never my choice—there was never anyone I seriously considered marrying.”

“Would you have married Astoria if she didn’t break off the betrothal?”

“Probably. I mean, I never expected to have a choice in this. My whole life I was told that I would have an arranged marriage. Astoria seemed like a nice enough girl. And I’d known her sister Daphne for years. I should probably have been more upset when her father broke the betrothal, but honestly, I felt relieved.”

“Why?”

“Because most of my life, I was told what to do. I had to uphold the Malfoy family honor. I had to espouse the Malfoy family beliefs. I was told I had to marry the girl my parents chose. And then I was made to take the Dark Mark and I had to be a foot soldier for the greatest wizard psychopath to walk the Earth. After the war ended, I was put on probation and I had to go back to school. I was just so sick of being made to do things. Since then, doing my mastery, having control of who I want to marry and running the company, it’s been—for the first time, I feel like I have some control over—over me.”

Hermione considered the implications of his speech, but her mind was still on the broken betrothal. ”So, if you were given the chance, would you choose Astoria now?”

“No.” Draco was blunt.

“Oh?” Hermione heard the dismissal in his tone. “Why not?”

“Old Horatio broke off the betrothal because he didn’t want the Malfoys to drag his family down in the mud. Then, once Malfoy Holdings became profitable again, and I was considered respectable again, he saw the galleons and wanted back in. He tried to claim that the betrothal was never really broken and to force me to take Astoria back. And she’s a nice enough girl. But I wasn’t interested enough to want to marry her.”

“Are your parents pressuring you to marry her?”

Draco laughed. “They don’t care if it’s Astoria. They just think I should have been married years ago. I don’t really give a damn what Lucius thinks, but my mother won’t stop hinting and trying to set me up.”

“But they’d want you to marry a Pureblood?”

“Ideally, yes.”

“Is choosing me to be a pretend girlfriend some act of rebellion?”

“I thought we weren’t going to discuss this arrangement until after we ate.”

“We’re not. This isn’t—it’s an adjacent discussion. I was just curious—“

“Let me handle my mother, Granger.” Draco’s tone was flat and final and Hermione let the subject drop.

“Since we’re talking about relationships,” Draco added, “What exactly happened with you and Weasley? I know he’s married to that Brown girl, which doesn’t make sense, since he really traded down from you. But what happened?”

“I found them together on our couch,” Hermione said, her humiliation at having to admit this somewhat ameliorated by the satisfaction of knowing that Draco thought Lavender was a step down from her.

“What a wanker,” Draco said.

“Yes,” Hermione agreed. “They ruined my good couch.”

Draco chuckled at Hermione’s deadpan delivery.

Hermione gave him a wry smile and then sighed. “I guess, in a way, it was a good thing. Better that I didn’t stay with him and get hurt when it was too late, like after we were married or had kids. It just hurt me so much that a friendship going back over a decade was destroyed. Not just me and Ron, but me and Ron and Harry.”

“Who got Potter in the split?”

“No one,” Hermione said. “Harry refused to go to Ron’s wedding, but he’s in a tough position because he’s married to Ginny. I didn’t want to cause trouble in their family, so I told Harry I would understand if he still hung out with Ron and went to family gatherings so as not to make things too difficult.”

“You’re a lot nicer about it than I would be,” Draco said, his mouth in a hard line.

They finished their entrees and the waitress returned with the dessert menus. Draco ordered a lemon tart and a glass of Riesling. Hermione ordered a cup of tea. When the dessert came, Draco used his fork to break off a bite sized portion.

“You have to try this, Granger,” he said.

“I’m too full,” Hermione protested.

“No one is ever too full for dessert,” he said, coaxing. “Come on, Granger, try this and tell me if it isn’t the best lemon tart you ever had.”

Hermione took a nibble to be polite, but then discovered it really was very good and before Draco was able to pull his fork back, she finished the bite he offered her. He smirked. “Good, right?”

“Mmmph,” Hermione agreed, still chewing.

“Would you like some more?”

“You have it,” Hermione said. “But thank you.” She took a sip of her tea, and watched as Draco finished his dessert. When the waitress came to take the dessert plate away, Draco told her, “I’ll signal when I want the check.”

“Very good, sir,” the waitress said, withdrawing.

Draco cast a Muffliato on their booth. He nodded his head at Hermione. “All right, Granger, have at it. You must have a lot of questions to ask.”

Hermione did have a lot of questions to ask but she was reluctant to dive into the thorniest ones, so she started with an easy question: “You said you would need me for six to twelve months. How do we—you— decide if it’s six or twelve months?”

“Let’s aim for twelve months,” Draco said, “but we can end it before then if it's not working out.”

“We can both just stop at any time? What if it's in the middle of the month? Is my payment prorated or—”

Draco chuckled. “Salazar, this is going to be a long night with you. How about this? We can either of us walk away at any time. I’ll pay you on the first of the month, and if you leave any time after that, you get to keep what I paid you for the month. And if I end things early, I’ll pay you for the month, and no matter what, you will receive at least a minimum of three months pay. How does that sound?”

“Well, that’s grossly skewed in my favor,” Hermione said, her innate sense of fairness protesting, even as she was tempted to say yes.

“I know that,” Draco said patiently. “I know you need the money far more than I do, so, I’m willing to not make that part too hard for you.”

“Oh, ok,” Hermione said, relieved. “But then, for the time we’re in this arrangement, how often would I have to see you?”

“Maybe three to four times a week the first month. After that, you’d need to move in with me.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Move in—wait a minute! You said no sex!”

“Relax, Granger, you get your own room. It even has its own ensuite, so we wouldn’t be bumping into each other to brush our teeth in the mornings. Besides, I only want willing witches in my bed. But if you’re there, it would send a strong statement that I’m completely off limits.”

“Where would this room be? In the Manor?”

“No, I don’t live there. My mother is there and I visit from time to time, but I keep a flat in London. I’ll take you there if you’d like to see it. It’s quite big enough for both of us. And it would just make it more convenient for me to arrange things if we’re living in the same place. If you want, I’ll cover the rent on your flat until the arrangement is over.”

“I—I don’t…” Hermione started to protest.

“Are you so in love with your current flat that you can’t bear to leave it for a few months?”

Hermione couldn’t honestly say she liked the flat so much. It had originally been a stop-gap measure that she had rented after she and Ron broke up, but she couldn’t afford much better. It was small, with crumbling paint and a mustiness she could never quite remove despite freshening spells and keeping her windows open to allow in as much fresh air as possible. Still, the idea of living day to day with Draco Malfoy was unsettling despite his reassurances.

“I have my cat,” Hermione said, as a feeble protest. “He’d have to come with me.”

“Merlin,” Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, I remember him. Orange, right? He used to sneak into the Slytherin dungeons sometimes. He liked to sit on my chest at night.”

“Really?” Hermione completely forgot her unease with this whole situation upon learning about Crookshanks’ secret life. “And you didn’t mind?”

“Why would I mind? He was very friendly. The only thing I didn’t like was the orange fur everywhere.”

“He was friendly to you? He hated Ron.”

“Clearly an animal with superior intellect.”

Hermione laughed. “ Are you sure we’re talking about the same cat?”

“Orange. Half Kneazle. Squashed face. And big. Had to be close to twenty pounds.”

“Yes!” Hermione said. “That’s Crookshanks.”

“The cat can stay but have a talk with him about keeping his fur off my suits.”

Hermione’s lip twitched. “That’s fair.” Somehow, the idea that Draco and Crookshanks got along made living with him seem a lot less daunting. 

“So, moving on? Next question?”

“You said for the first month we’d see each other three to four times a week. What days of the week?”

“Granger, I can’t predict that. Whenever there’s a function I need to attend.”

“I need Sunday afternoons off,” Hermione said. 

“Why?”

“I visit my parents then,” Hermione said. “I—I could move it to another day if I have enough notice, but I don’t want to miss a week.”

“That’s reasonable, Granger.”

“So then, on those days I need to be doing something with you, what would we be doing?”

“Dinners. Dinner parties. Galas. Cocktail parties. Nights at the theater. Sometimes I take business trips abroad. You’d accompany me—but I’d make sure we had separate adjoining rooms. If I host a party at my flat you would play hostess.”

“But I don’t know how to—”

“You would not be expected to cook or serve. I employ a half dozen house elves. And before you fly off the broom handle, Granger. I pay my elves very well. You’d just be expected to greet guests, make small talk, that sort of thing.”

“I still don’t understand why you asked me,” Hermione said. “You said I was the last witch who would ever want to marry you. Is that the only reason?”

Draco regarded her for a few moments, looking as though he was trying to come to a decision about how to answer her. “You meet every criteria for a girlfriend that I would want, except we never liked each other. I figured our chances of falling in love and complicating things would be low enough that you would be a good candidate.”

“Did you say I meet every criteria for a girlfriend you would want? I’m—I’m Muggleborn!”

Draco shook his head. “I’ll admit I wouldn’t deliberately look for a Muggleborn to date, but I don’t really care about that any more. I like the fact that you’re intelligent. You can hold a conversation and you can keep a secret. You obviously come from some good background and breeding even if it's Muggle. Not everyone’s grandmother gets gifts from the Queen of England. And…you’re quite pretty.”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open. “You made fun of my looks for years.”

“I did a lot of stupid things when I was younger.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Hermione asked, blushing.

“Granger, stop digging for compliments.”

Hermione wasn’t immune to a compliment from one of the handsomest men she’d ever seen. She felt a small frisson of pleasure before her thoughts turned and she was silent for a few moments, trying to figure out how to ask her next question.

“What is it?” Draco asked. “I know you have more questions.”

Now she came to the questions that had plagued her the most since Draco had made his proposition. She squared her shoulders and looked at him. Sitting next to him all evening, she had been forcibly struck by his general presence. They had not touched, but she seemed to feel him everywhere. He was much taller than her, and sitting next to her he dominated the space in the booth, with the lazy insouciance of a panther eyeing his prey. His scent, a mixture of something citrusy and something woodsy had been tickling her nose all night. And now, looking directly into his eyes, something Hermione had been subtly trying to avoid all night, she felt mesmerized. The gray of his eyes was sometimes silver when he was amused, darkening to slate with more intense emotion, but now she noticed small flecks of gold in the irises, and how thick his darker blond lashes were. His expression held amusement, but there was something else in there that she couldn’t identify. Wariness? Watchfulness? Desire?

“Would I have to—I mean, I’d have to—to touch you?” Hermione asked, her voice sinking to a whisper.

“Define touch.”

“I was hoping you would,” Hermione said. “What kind of physical contact is required?”

“What do you think?” Draco challenged. “What would you be willing to do?”

“Merlin, you’re not making it easy,” Hermione said, exasperated. “Holding hands?”

“Yes.”

“Hugging?”

“Yes.”

“What about dancing?”

“Do you need lessons, Granger?“

“No. My grandmother made sure I learned. Although I might be a bit rusty.”

“You’ll be fine then. I’m a good lead.”

“You’d also expect k—kissing?” And now Hermione could not tear her gaze away from his lips, beautifully molded and sensual. Lips that could form words that could destroy her. She could see herself kissing those lips and that thought unsettled her in ways she couldn’t articulate.

“Yes, Granger.”

Hermione forced her eyes away from Draco’s lips and struggled a bit to ask her next question: “Would I—would I ever have to sit in your lap?”

“Possibly.”

“Oh,” Hermione glanced at Draco nervously, trying to imagine herself doing these things. 

“Now, here’s the twelve thousand galleon question, Granger,” Draco said, leaning closer toward her. “Are you able to do all these things and look like you like it?”

Hermione’s throat went very dry. She told herself she had done all of those things before with Ron. She had done them with Viktor Krum. She had gone on dates with other men after Ron. She could certainly do this with Malfoy. And yet, she felt like a rabbit caught in a trap, her heartbeat suddenly accelerating and her hands going clammy. “I—of course,” she squeaked out.

“Show me.” Draco made no move toward her, but his gaze was a challenge. He was leaning back against the upholstered cushions of the booth, his left hand casually on his thigh and his right hand still nursing the wine glass with the last of his Riesling. His pose was relaxed, but his eyes were intense.

Hermione started with the easiest thing first. She was sitting on his left, but she reached for his right hand. His hand was large and elegant, the fingers long and tapered. What her father called a surgeon’s hand. His signet ring gleamed on his ring finger. She gently pried his hand away from the wine glass and held it between her own two hands. His fingertips were cold from holding the glass, but his palm was dry, the skin slightly rough with callouses that she thought might have come from broomstick riding. She traced her fingers lightly along his palm and gasped a bit when he suddenly interlaced his fingers with hers, and started running his thumb gently along hers. How was it possible that just that simple touch was enough to make her shiver?

“Come over this way, Granger,” he said, his words soft and husky. Draco shifted his position to pull Hermione closer to him, and lifted his left arm to drape around her shoulders, until she sat with her head resting on his shoulder, still holding onto his right hand. She tried to sit naturally in his embrace, but she was too nervous and held herself rigidly, feeling her breath was too shallow. Her hand, still holding his, trembled.

“Relax,” Draco murmured into her ear.

“I’m trying,” Hermione gritted out.

“Close your eyes and take a deep breath,” Draco said. Hermione complied, but still felt too overwhelmed to relax.

Draco sighed. “Tell me about your favorite book,” he coaxed.

“What?”

“What’s your favorite book, Granger? You must have one.”

“Magical or Muggle?”

Draco chuckled. “Of course you’d have one of each. All right: magical.”

“Hogwarts: A History,” Hermione said, promptly.

“Really? Why that one?”

With her eyes still closed, Hermione thought about this, not realizing as she did so that she had begun to settle against his chest, the stiffness draining out of her limbs, as her nerves began to calm. “I always knew something was different about me, but, of course, I didn’t know why until Professor McGonagall came to my house to give me my letter and to explain to my parents that I was a witch. You don’t—you can’t know the relief of thinking your whole life that something was wrong with you, only to find out that there was a reason for everything, that there were other people out there just like me—” Here, Draco’s fingers tightened on hers, but Hermione wasn’t finished. “Hogwarts: A History was the first magical book I ever bought when McGonagall brought us to Diagon Alley. I think that’s what made it so special. It was the first thing I ever read that made magic really real for me.” She opened her eyes and looked into his. 

Draco’s eyes were fixed intently on her and Hermione’s mouth fell open as she felt herself unable to look away from him.

“Hermione,” he murmured. “Kiss me.”

His lips were just inches from hers, and Hermione suddenly felt like firecrackers were going off under her skin. She steeled her Gryffindor courage and reached toward him. She pressed her lips against his briefly, and then pulled back, unable to meet his eyes.

“That wasn’t a kiss,” Draco chided.

Hermione’s eyes flew up. “That was!” she protested. She was about to launch into a defense of how that absolutely was a kiss, when Draco caught her lips with his own.

Draco’s kiss was gentle at first, light nibbling at her lips, soft, tender, almost teasing. Hermione was still too wound up to reciprocate and her lips followed his passively, tentative in their response. Then his tongue pressed into the seam of her lips and she opened for him, and suddenly, he shifted, taking possession of her, of their kiss. His tongue brushed up against hers, making her moan, and he deepened the kiss, his hand now winding into her hair, pressing her closer to him. Instinctively, Hermione’s free hand also came up along the nape of his neck and she was holding on to him as though he was the only thing keeping her upright as her breath came out shaky, and her lips trembled beneath his. Desire sent liquid heat pooling between her thighs and she kissed him back, with a sense of desperation and yearning she had never felt before. 

She could have been in his arms for minutes or hours. She had lost all track of time, even of thought. The only thing she knew was that she wanted this. She wanted this and more of this. She wanted his kisses that brought out a sweeping sense of aliveness that she had never felt before. Her hands were in his hair, tangled in the silky white blond locks. Every nip and nibble between their lips set off little jolts of electricity in her chest. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it might leap out. She was writhing in his arms, almost vibrating from want. He moved from her lips and was kissing her cheek, tickling the shell of her ear, then moving down to her neck, nuzzling at the junction of her neck and shoulder and she felt her breath come out in sharp, shallow pants. He was biting down deliciously against her skin. One of his hands was now roaming up and down along her back as his other was cupping her breast through the fabric of her dress, his fingers pinching at the hardened nipple underneath. 

“Fuck, Granger,” Draco murmured against her neck, and suddenly the spell was broken and a cold shock of awareness tore through Hermione’s body.

She broke free of his embrace, her breaths coming in great, panting heaves as she pushed away from him in a hasty shove. Her mouth was open, still in shock at what she had done and she could feel herself trembling all over. Draco, too, looked as though he was stunned. His eyes, at first blackened by desire, soon reverted to their usual inscrutable silver, but his face was flushed and his white blond hair tousled. Hermione could only guess how wild her own hair must look now. 

And suddenly, she was too overcome to look at him. She could feel her face heating and she looked down toward the table, holding herself stiffly.

“Granger,” Draco said, his voice coming as a low rumble.

Hermione still couldn’t look at him. She was still shaken up at how she had responded to him, unable to believe that he, of all people, was able to bring out such desire from her. No one had ever kissed her like that before, and she had certainly never kissed anyone back with such abandon. The thought both thrilled and terrified her. 

“Granger,” Draco repeated, and now Hermione forced herself to look up and to meet his eyes. “Are you all right?” he asked.

Hermione nodded, finding her gaze flitting back between his eyes and his lips. “I’m—I’m all right,” she whispered finally. “I—was that kiss enough for you?”

“Enough?,” Draco repeated, with a humorless chuckle. “Yes, Granger. It—yes. It was enough.” He waited a beat and then asked: “Do you still want to do this?”

The answer was yes, but there really was no simple answer to this question. She was only here because she desperately needed the money. She had hated herself for being in this position, knowing that she had to agree to Draco’s terms even as her very dignity revolted at what she was agreeing to. She had expected she would hate every minute of time with him. But he was disarmingly friendly and charming tonight. And that kiss had stirred up feelings in her that she didn’t know she was capable of having. She couldn’t even lie to herself to say that she hated that kiss. When she broke away from his arms, she knew, instinctively, that had he reached for her right away, she would have melted into his embrace, kissed him again, even let him take her right there in that booth. Even now, after that initial heat had evaporated, there was a part of her that still wanted it back. And this terrified her. She had thought the worst Draco Malfoy could do would be to destroy her dignity. Now, she knew that if she let him, he could destroy her completely.

“Yes,” she said in a low voice.  She could have sworn she heard him exhale when she said the word. “When—when do we start?”

“Have you sent in your resignation to the Ministry?”

“Yes,” Hermione sighed. “I sent it in on Tuesday. My last day is in a week and a half.”

Draco’s eyebrows shot up at this. “You made up your mind before you even came?”

“I didn’t really have much of a choice,” Hermione said, ruefully. “I just needed to know exactly what I was getting into before I told you yes. But, I did have one more question to ask: If I start dating you at the same time I start working for you won’t it just look like you’ve hired your girlfriend to work here?”

“Yes, I’ve thought of that, Granger,” Draco said. “So, I was going to suggest we wait a month after you start working before we start our…arrangement.”

“But, there will still be accusations of favoritism,” Hermione protested.

“Master Bergen runs the potions lab and it's known I don’t interfere with how he handles his staff,” Draco said. “Nor will I once you’re there. I can’t shield you completely from accusations of favoritism but that’s the best I can do. So…any other objections?”

Hermione sighed. “No.”

Draco reached for Hermione’s hand, which sent a shiver up along her arm. He held her hand between his, lightly tracing the veins along the back of her hand, and then held it up to his lips for a light kiss. 

“Come to the office tomorrow after five. I’ll have you meet Master Bergen, and we can go over your employment contract.”

Chapter Text

It had been an unseasonably warm day, and the night still held traces of that warmth when Draco stepped out onto the balcony of his flat, his tumbler of Firewhiskey in his hand. It was late, already past midnight, but he was too enervated to sleep just yet. He’d already stripped off the vest and tie from earlier in the night and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing the Dark Mark that he rarely displayed. He leaned his arms on the railing of the balcony and surveyed the world from twenty five stories up.

Below him, London’s lights twinkled, and he could hear the distant sounds of traffic, quieter now in the early hours of the day, but he barely noticed as his thoughts went back to his dinner with Granger earlier that night. 

It had sounded so simple when Theo jokingly proposed that he find a fake girlfriend. Just pick a girl to pretend. Of course, finding that girl wasn’t so simple. After considering scores of other girls, he had thought Granger would be the perfect candidate. He hadn’t lied when he said she would have made an ideal girlfriend, except for their history of mutual dislike. She was the Golden Girl to the rest of the wizarding world, but for years she had been the living embodiment of all his failures and all the lies he’d been told about Pureblood supremacy and his place in the world, and he’d hated her for it. That hatred had vanished the minute he saw her under his Aunt Bellatrix’s knife, when he no longer saw a Mudblood, but a frightened girl who didn’t deserve to be tortured because her parents were Muggles. 

But even if he no longer hated her, he had thought for years that she hated him. True, she had spoken up for him at his trial, but he had been under no illusions that there was anything but her dogged determination to stand up for justice rather than any actual personal interest in him. And she had never answered his letter of thanks and apologies he had sent her. 

He had never been more surprised than he was when he saw that she had sent in an employment application to work at his company. The vetting team made it very clear her financial situation was becoming dire, but a part of him believed that no matter how dire her situation was, she would never have applied to work at his company if she still hated him. She had once taken torture rather than give up her principles, after all. 

So, a girl with all the ideal attributes of a girlfriend, but with no danger of mutual attraction was the perfect candidate for his fake girlfriend. He had thought they could just playact a few times a week—he’d escort her to dinners and galas, pretend some affection for a few minutes, possibly dance once or twice in a night and just get the society mothers, and debutantes and his own mother off his back for a few months. For her part, Granger would have enough money to give her breathing room. A mutual business transaction. Easy.

But it turned out that it wasn’t easy at all. He hadn’t expected to find her so attractive, and it was more than her pretty face. He’d always known she was intelligent, but mostly in a diligent, swotty way. He hadn’t expected conversation to flow so easily between them. He hadn’t expected to find her funny or interesting. But he found it easy to talk to her. He didn’t feel the need to guard himself the way he did with the girls he dated because he wasn’t trying to get her into bed and he wasn’t worried she was trying to get him to the altar. He’d been teasing her a bit in the end when she asked about the physical side of their relationship. She’d gotten so flustered, and he’d thought it was adorable. He had only meant to toy with her a little lightheartedly, but when he kissed her—

He thought about that kiss and he could feel his balls tighten. Merlin, just that morning he would have bet all the money in his vault that Hermione Granger could never affect him the way she did, but once he had her in his arms, he didn’t want to let her go. She’d been so unguarded and responsive, and she’d seemed as surprised by her desire as he was. She’d tasted like honey, had smelled of vanilla and clove and fresh apples and when he’d kissed her, it had felt like all the thoughts in his head had gone up in smoke. 

After she had pushed away from him it had taken him a good minute to gather his thoughts, and even then, he was mesmerized by the red mark he’d made on her neck, that he was fairly sure would bruise by tomorrow, and all he could think of was a surge of satisfaction that he had marked her as his. 

And therein lay his dilemma. He wasn’t supposed to want her. He wasn’t supposed to care. The whole point of getting a pretend girlfriend was to avoid the landmines of a real relationship. He could tell that she had come to the same realization, and the rational, cautious part of his mind had screamed that he should call off the whole thing now, before he got in too deep. He could forget about tonight, push away memories of that kiss. He could walk away, one day marry that Pureblood girl he was supposed to marry and have a kid or a whole litter of kids, and just remember Granger as a pleasant interlude. But then she had confessed that she had already sent in her resignation, and he knew the die had been cast. She needed the money, she would never take anything from him as a gift. He would see this thing through. 

“It’s a professional relationship. We’ll keep it professional,” he told himself, taking a swig of his Firewhiskey.

__

Hermione arrived at Malfoy Holdings at five and this time she was directed to meet Draco on the thirty second floor. She was a mass of nerves upon arrival. That kiss she’d shared with Draco the night before had been on her mind, wearing a groove in her memories and she hadn’t slept much all night. She was afraid to face him, afraid that she wouldn’t be able to keep her thoughts off her face. She was afraid he would be overly familiar with her. How was she supposed to navigate this relationship and keep it on a professional level? She needed to keep it professional for her own sanity, if nothing else.

It seemed that Draco had the same idea. He had his business face on when Hermione exited to the thirty second floor lift lobby where he was waiting for her. 

“All right, Granger?” Draco asked.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Hermione said, trying to maintain her composure. 

“We’ll go over your employment contracts upstairs later, but Master Bergen is waiting to meet you. This way.” He waved toward a door at the end of the hallway, and they started walking. “This floor and the two floors below it are all my Potions labs, but Master Bergen’s labs and offices are on this floor, which is where you’ll also be working.”

“What’s the difference between this floor and the two floors below?”

“Master Bergen handles new products, proprietary ones. I make new potions for both St Mungos and the Ministry. The Ministry contract covers the DMLE, and we make things like Veritaserum and Polyjuice among other things for them as part of our basic contract, but we are also developing some experimental potions the Aurors might use in the field. We work with Healers from St Mungos to develop medical potions based on specific diseases.  Any new experimental potions are designed and tested here. The floor below makes the actual potions for the hospital and the Ministry, and the floor below that makes potions sold for commercial household use like cleaning potions, shampoos, that kind of thing.” 

By now they had reached the door at the end of the hallway. A sign above it read “Potions Level 3”. The door looked like all the other doors in the building, except there was a circular pad above the handle. Draco took out his wand and traced a series of runes on the pad and the door opened.

“So, a simple Alohamora wouldn’t work here?” Hermione joked.

“Absolutely not,” Draco said, ushering her in. They were greeted inside the door by a slim, older man with a balding head and a grey beard and mustache. He had a ruddy complexion and wore old grey work robes that looked like they had seen better times at least a decade ago, but he had kind eyes and a welcome smile on his face.

“Draco my boy! And this is the lovely Fräulein Granger, I presume? It is a pleasure to meet you!” He held his hand out to shake.

“It’s my honor, Master Bergen,” Hermione said, shaking his hand. “I’ve heard so much about you and I can’t wait to have the opportunity to work with you.”

“Come, come, let me show you around my lab!” Master Bergen said with all the enthusiasm of a small child in a candy store.

It wasn’t lost on Hermione that Master Bergen considered the lab his own even with Draco standing right there. Draco mouthed, “His lab,” which made Hermione smother a giggle as they followed Master Bergen into the lab. 

The space was enormous. One end held office cubicles. There was a storage area for potions ingredients that was separated by wet and dry, cold storage, as well as for temperature control, and magical containment requirements. Every potions ingredient she could ever imagine was here.

“…and all our ingredients are ethically sourced, Fräulein,” Master Bergen said. “I insist. I believe how we source our ingredients affects the final product of the potions, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes!” Hermione beamed, pinching herself to be sure this was real. 

Finally, they reached the actual brewing rooms, and there were easily forty or fifty workstations with different types of cauldrons. Dozens of witches and wizards were working at their stations. Everything looked very clean and organized and Hermione was sure this was due to Master Bergen’s influence. Some of the potioneers looked up as they passed and nodded their hellos at Master Bergen and Draco and looked at Hermione with interest.

“This is my floor team,” Master Bergen said, waving his hand. “I will introduce you to them as soon as you start working here.” He continued on to a door at the end of the room and used his wand to trace runes on the pad above the doorknob. He opened the door, “And here is my experimental lab.” Master Bergen ushered Hermione and Draco inside.

This lab was much smaller than the main lab but there were a dozen workstations in here. Three potioneers were working at their cauldrons and they all glanced up briefly when the door opened.

Master Bergen made quick introductions: Nicholas, Alana and Sergei, the other three Senior Potions Specialists who worked with him in the inner sanctum of the Potions lab, and who supervised the other potioneers outside.

“So, here is where you will be working, Fräulein. I will set up a workstation for you and discuss the projects I have in mind for you when you start work here. There is an experimental memory potion that I’ve been working on for some time that I think would benefit from your contributions. We will start with that, first.”

Hermione glanced sharply toward Draco, sure that this could not be a coincidence. He met her stare, and his calm regard confirmed to her that he had deliberately chosen this project for her. 

Master Bergen concluded his tour of the laboratory and said, “It has been lovely to meet with you, Fräulein Granger. Draco here tells me you will start work in about a week and a half, ja?“  

“Yes,” Hermione said. 

Master Bergen handed Hermione a parchment. “Here are some books that I would like you to review before you start here. Draco says he will provide them for you if you do not have them already.”

Hermione took the list eagerly, her lip curling with amusement that Master Bergen still treated Draco as a student rather than his boss. She put the list in her pocket.

“So, please start on the reading materials and we will discuss more of the work when you start, Fraulein,” Master Bergen said, offering his hand to shake.

Hermione shook his hand, “I’m so excited to start working with you,” she said, the enthusiasm making her eyes sparkle. Some of that look must have been on her face, because when she turned to let Draco take her back to his office to go over the employment contract he had a bemused smile on his face.

They went up to Draco’s office on the forty-fifth floor. ”Are you hungry, Granger?,” Draco asked as they entered his office. “I could order some dinner for us to eat while we go over the contracts.”

“Oh,” Hermione’s voice faltered. “I—I hadn't expected to stay to eat with you. I have plans for dinner.”

Draco didn’t respond to that, but Hermione could sense a certain tenseness in his body language as he picked up a sheaf of parchments from his desk that told her that he was displeased with this answer. “It’s just Harry and Ginny and Luna,” she said, although she wondered why she cared enough to try to appease him. He wasn’t her boyfriend. He wasn’t even her fake boyfriend, yet. Still, the appeasement seemed to work, as some of the tension eased out of his shoulders.

“Let’s have some tea at least,” Draco suggested, calling, “Mipsy!”

An elf Apparated into Draco’s office with a crack. Hermione had to do a double take when she saw Mipsy who was dressed in what looked like a miniature pink satin ball gown with a small red baseball cap on her head.

“Master?”

“Tea service, please,” Draco ordered.

“Yes, Master,” Mipsy said, and disappeared with another crack.

“Have a seat, Granger,” Draco said, pointing to the couches near the windows. They settled down on the same couch and Draco handed her several pieces of parchment. “Normally, I let the employment resources department handle employment contracts, but since there’s the second arrangement between us, I told them I’d handle this myself. This is the employment contract for your work in the Potions laboratory. It covers your pay, vacation time, sick leave. There is also a lifetime non disclosure agreement that will be magically binding once you sign it.” He conjured a handsome spotted feather quill and an inkpot and offered it to Hermione while she was looking over the contract.

Mipsy returned in the meantime with a very large serving tray of tea, sandwiches, tiny savory and sweet tarts, and biscuits. She poured out tea for both of them and Draco dismissed her with a nod. 

“Have a sandwich, Granger,” Draco offered.

“It’s okay, I’m not hungry,” Hermione said, absently, as she skimmed over the parchment with her eyes.

“I know you didn’t eat lunch,” Draco said, “Have a sandwich.”

“How would you know that?” Hermione asked, her attention diverted.

“I’ve known you since we were children,” Draco said. “On test days you were always in the library and you never ate lunch. I’ll bet anything that you spent the day up to your eyebrows trying to reorganize everything for your replacement and you skipped lunch today.”

Hermione blinked. Had he been paying attention to her when they were students? Stunned, she took the small cucumber sandwich Draco offered and bit into it. Just then, she realized how truly hungry she was. The sandwich was heavenly. “Thank you,” she said. She nibbled her sandwich as she finished perusing the documents that Draco had handed her, and then absently took a sip of tea. 

“Any questions?” Draco asked, when she put the documents down. 

Hermione shook her head. “This is very straightforward.” She took the quill and signed the contract and the nondisclosure agreement. When she signed the second one she felt a tingle move up her arm, as the magic of the contract bound her. She handed the documents back to Draco. 

“That list that Master Bergen gave you: do you have any of the books on the list?”

Hermione pulled the list that Master Bergen had given her out of her pocket. The titles had surprised her since they were a mix of magical and Muggle books. Books on potion making as well as books on modern Muggle neurological sciences, and Muggle pharmacology texts. “I have two of the books on this list but the other seven are new to me.”

“Which ones?”

Hermione handed the list to Draco. “These two books I have,” she indicated the titles.

Draco studied the list for a moment. “I’ll have the others owled to your flat this weekend so you can get a start on reading if you’d like.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said, tensing. She remembered the question she had meant to ask him earlier: “Mr. Malfoy—“

“Please. Draco,” Draco said. “At least when we’re alone.”

Hermione’s cheeks reddened. “You still call me Granger.”

“Force of habit,” Draco said, grinning. “But it’s weird to hear you call me Mr. Malfoy.”

“Mal—Draco, did you ask Master Bergen to put me to work on the Memory potion?”

“Of course.”

“Does—does he know about my parents?” Hermione asked tightly. A part of her was still angry that Draco had dug out her secret about her parents, and a part of her was alarmed that now more people would know her secret.

“No,” Draco said. “I just said you might have an interest in this project. But I thought you’d want to work on it since it might be something that could potentially help your parents. Master Bergen has been working with some researchers from the DuPont institute in Switzerland and they think if they can get this potion to work it might be able to help patients with memory loss issues from strokes, accidents and magical charms.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, some of the anger she had felt deflating. She hadn’t expected this level of thoughtfulness from him. “You’re right. I’d be very interested to work on this project.”

“Good,” Draco said, offering her a biscuit. “Try the shortbread.”

Hermione took the biscuit.

Draco pulled out a second sheaf of parchments. “This is the…um…other employment contract,” Draco said. “It puts out the terms we discussed. Minimum three engagements per week unless discussed prior. Sunday afternoons off unless discussed prior. Payment to your Gringotts vault the first of every month. Plus a magically binding nondisclosure agreement. And an agreement that you will not date other wizards or Muggle men while this arrangement is in effect.”

Hermione put down the biscuit, and took the parchment from him. As she read it, she was again struck by her proximity to Draco. She could barely look at him without thinking of the kiss they’d shared last night. It would have been so much easier if he was the cold Draco she had known all throughout her school years. She could keep sang froid with that Draco. This one, who kissed her and fed her sandwiches and considered her parents was throwing her off balance. She had to remind herself that this wasn’t a relationship between equals and that once she signed this, she would belong to him in a way that she had never belonged to anyone before. Another thought occurred to her as she went down the provisions of the document: “Wait a minute!” she protested: “There’s nothing in here that says you’re not allowed to see other witches while this is going on between us.”

“The whole point of this arrangement was that I didn’t want to see other witches,” Draco said.

“Malfoy!”

“Draco,” Draco reminded her. “Fine. I’ll amend this,” he said, taking a quill and adjusting the contract. “Now we’re both mutually exclusive. Does that work for you?”

Hermione nodded, wondering why she cared about this. It wasn’t as though he’d be really cheating on her, since they weren’t even really in a relationship. Was it because she didn’t want to be made to look like a fool? Or just because it was unfair for him to enforce fidelity in her contract without reciprocation? Or was it that just a little part of her actually did care if Draco saw other women? 

She finished reading the documents, and sat for several moments with her quill poised atop the line she was supposed to sign. Could she really do this? She thought of her parents, and of the work she could do on the Memory potion. She owed it to her parents to do everything she could to help them recover from what she’d done to them. She looked into Draco’s eyes and steeled herself. I’ll make this work, she told herself.

She signed the contract.

__

“So, it's official,” Hermione told Harry, Ginny and Luna at dinner that night. “I’m going to start working at Malfoy Holdings in the Potions lab a week and a half from now.”

“I still can’t believe you’re going to work for the ferret,” Ginny said, sipping her pumpkin juice.

“I’m going to be working in the Potions lab, not in Malfoy’s office. The Potions Master—Master Bergen was so lovely and I know I’m going to learn so much from him,” Hermione said, trying to showcase her plans in the best light possible. “Anyway, didn’t you say that Harry said Malfoy isn’t so bad anymore?”

“We get along better than we did in school,” Harry said, slowly. “And I admit he’s been great with Teddy. But—‘Mione, is there really nothing else going on? It just seems so unlike you to make such a drastic change.”

You have no idea how drastic things are going to change, Hermione thought. “It’s a great opportunity for me,” Hermione insisted, adding: “I wish you’d stop worrying about me and be happy for me, for once.”

“Hermione is right,” Luna said. “I think this will be a good change for her.”

“Why do you say that?” Ginny asked.

“These last few months her aura had been getting dimmer, but today I sense that it's gotten lighter than it was the last time I saw it. There are also way fewer Wrackspurts about you. You were practically infested with them a couple of months back. Malfoy must be bringing out something good in you.”

“Oh, I’m not working with Malfoy!” Hermione protested, feeling her voice getting a little too high pitched and loud over the lie she had just told. 

“Hmmmm…” Luna said, tilting her head. She looked over Hermione again with a critical eye. “Maybe you should.”

Chapter Text

Saturdays were usually the days that Hermione ran her errands. She woke up later than usual on the Saturday before she was about to begin her new job at Malfoy Holdings, and arrived at Diagon Alley in a muddled state of mind as her regular schedule had been entirely thrown off kilter. She always liked to get her grocery shopping done at the nearest Sainsbury’s because as much as she liked magic, the magical shops just could not compare with Muggle shops for sheer variety of food items, but she needed to stop at Gringott’s first to exchange some of her galleons for pounds. 

The goblins at Gringotts were never very friendly with wizards at baseline. Hermione, they loathed. They had never forgiven her for the stunt of breaking into the LeStrange vault during the wizarding war, and while Harry and Ron were equally culpable in the break-in, it seemed the goblins tended to reserve their ire for her alone. They always made her wait longer than other customers for withdrawals and deposits, and it was for this reason alone, Hermione had gotten an account at a Muggle bank so she could deposit larger sums of Muggle money for use outside the wizarding world and cut down on her appearances at the goblin bank. 

This morning, an especially nasty goblin named Worbluck made her produce her bank book, her wand and even her Ministry employment card before he would begin to process her withdrawal, and then, Hermione was incensed to discover, had given her a criminally bad exchange rate of galleons to pounds. She knew she could argue this, but would potentially end up fighting for hours. She fought back her frustration and anger at the goblins and took the pounds she was offered, depositing the bank bills into her purse with a clenched jaw. 

To calm her nerves, Hermione headed down the street to Flourish and Blotts, feeling she needed at least a good hour among books to restore some of her equilibrium. She headed into the store and paused for a moment at the entrance deciding which section to browse, then decided to go to Magical Law and see if there were any books about wizard banking laws. Just as she reached for the first book that caught her eye, she heard the familiar drawl.

“Granger.”

She turned around to see Draco standing at the end of the aisle where she was browsing, carrying a wrapped box that, if she wasn’t mistaken, was from Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes. Here, on what should be a casual Saturday afternoon, he was dressed in Muggle attire of light gray button down with a blue jumper vest, perfectly tailored darker gray trousers and dragonhide wing tips. The overhead lights shone over his white blond hair, making it almost glow. He looked impossibly put together and very handsome. Meanwhile, Hermione was acutely aware that she was wearing faded denims and an oversized cardigan with flowers and bunnies done in intarsia that she had knitted years ago, her hair twisted in a messy bun at the base of her neck.

Caught off kilter by running into Draco when she hadn’t been expecting him, Hermione made a startled, “Oh!” sound before she remembered her manners and said,  “Malfoy!”

“Draco.”

“You’re not the boss of me yet,” Hermione protested.

“You seem to need the practice.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one to decide what terms of endearment I use? Maybe ‘Malfoy’ is my way of saying ‘hunnybunny’?”

Draco grimaced. “Please, never, ever call me that, Granger.”

“Sweetums?”

“I’m going to lose my lunch.”

“Cutie pie?” 

“Are you kidding me, Granger? Are you always going to be this difficult?”

“Babycakes,” Hermione suggested.

“Lord and master,” Draco countered.

“Ugh,” Hermione grimaced. “Fine, Draco it is.”

Draco grinned. “I knew you’d come around, Granger.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “What brings you here? Are you finished reading all the books in your library at Malfoy Manor?”

“I saw you coming in here, so I popped in to say hello.”

“Were you just coming out of the joke shop?” Hermione asked, indicating the box in his hand. Her voice registered some disbelief.

“Believe it or not, George and I actually get along. Your Weasel—“

“Not mine,” Hermione interjected, quickly. 

“Ex-Weasel,” Draco amended, and Hermione didn’t think he could get any smirkier than he was at this moment, “Well, he’ll be a wanker until the end of time, but George and I have actually collaborated on a few items for the shop.”

“Really?” Hermione was intrigued in spite of herself.

“Our Charms division partnered with George a couple years back to create a couple of products. Mainly things the little terrors at Hogwarts like to use to make life more difficult for Filch. We manufacture them and they’re sold exclusively through the shop here and up at Hogsmeade.”

“You’re really full of surprises,” Hermione said. She looked down at the box in his hands. “What do you have here?”

“I’m going to my Aunt Andromeda’s tomorrow and I wanted to get something for Teddy.”

“Oh! Harry mentioned that you two spend time with Teddy. I’m so glad he has you two in his life. He’s such a sweet boy. Did you know Tonks at all before she died?”

Draco shook his head. “No, sadly my mother didn’t reconnect with Aunt Andromeda until the year she was under house arrest. I remember Tonks, though, from when she was stationed at Hogwarts as an Auror. I was curious about her, since she was my only first cousin, but back then it would have been unthinkable for me to approach her. It seems so stupid looking back now, and such a waste. Although probably she would not have liked me very much back then.”

“I’m sure she would be happy to know that you’re keeping an eye out for her son, now,” Hermione said. 

Draco shrugged. “Maybe. So what brings you to the Magical Law section?” He grinned. “Are you looking to make changes to the contracts you signed last week?”

“What? Oh, no. I was just here to blow off some steam before I head out to do my weekly grocery shopping.”

“You blow off steam in a bookstore? Why does that sound both mad and completely in character for you?” Draco teased. 

“Don’t be mean,” Hermione said. “I’ve had enough of that today.”

“What do you mean?” Draco’s smile disappeared and he gave her a piercing look. “Has someone been harassing you?”

“It’s nothing,” Hermione said.

“Tell me.”

Hermione was about to say it didn’t matter until she saw the look in Draco’s eye, and could tell he wouldn’t be put off by easy denials. She sighed, and pulled out the book she was interested in, a textbook of wizarding banking law. “I was just at the bank.”

“And? Were the goblins giving you a hard time today?”

“More than usual.”

“What do you mean more than usual? They always give you a hard time? Because you’re Muggleborn?”

“Oh, no,” Hermione said, surprised. It never crossed her mind that goblins would care about wizarding blood status. “That’s not why they don’t like me.”

“Then why?”

“I may have—um—-broken into a Gringott’s vault once,” Hermione said. 

“What?”

“The day before the Battle of Hogwarts,” Hermione said. “We were looking for Horcruxes and we broke into your Aunt Bellatrix’s vault.”

“And you lived to tell the tale? I remember being told that something had happened to the Lestrange vault, but I never got the full story. What happened, Granger?”

Hermione told the story of conspiring to enter the vault with Griphook, how she Polyjuiced herself into Bellatrix (“Salazar, were you insane, Granger?”) and how they later escaped the bank riding on the back of the dragon the goblins kept in the bank (“So, you were not just insane, but certifiable?”). At the end of her story, Draco shook his head with a bemused smile on his face.

“And I just thought you were a swotty girl with her head in books all the time. I seriously misjudged you, Granger.”

“Everyone thinks that,” Hermione said.

“So, that’s why the goblins hate you? Do they do this to Potter or the Weasel, too?”

“No,” Hermione said. “When we were together, Ron used to come to the bank to make withdrawals because the goblins always gave me such a hard time. When we broke up I had to get my own account and it’s been—“

“Come with me,” Draco said, suddenly. His expression was grave.

“Well, I was going to get this book—“

“Come back and get the book another day,” Draco said, firmly.

“You’re not seriously going to take me to the bank to talk to the goblins, are you?” Hermione asked, alarmed.

“I most certainly am.”

“No! Malfoy, don’t!” Hermione’s voice had risen.

“Granger,” Draco said in a low voice, that brooked no argument, “Let’s go before we make a scene here.”

Biting her lip, Hermione put the book down and followed Draco out of the bookstore and back down the street to the bank. She started to walk a pace behind him, but he slowed down for her and she realized that he was expecting her to walk with him. She hoped there were no photographers from The Daily Prophet lurking nearby. She sped up her pace a bit, her face reddening as she thought of the confrontation ahead.

With Draco escorting her, the goblins did not make supercilious faces at her, or mutter nasty insults, or make it hard for her to enter the bank. Draco marched her to the desk of the supervising goblin and demanded to see a goblin named Porblick.

“The bank president is not in on Saturdays, unfortunately, Mr. Malfoy,” the supervising goblin said, in his most unctuous voice.

“It’s Lord Malfoy; I’m the Earl of Pembroke,” Draco said, drawing himself to his full height and putting a sneer on his face that would rival the most condescending look that Lucius Malfoy could ever have achieved, “and he’d better come in right now, or you’ll be explaining yourself to him on Monday morning.”

The supervising goblin gave a polite cough and then turned to a subordinate, speaking rapidly in Gobbedlegook. The subordinate nodded and quickly scuttled toward the back of the bank.

“Please come with me, Lord Malfoy, uh, Miss Granger,” the supervising goblin said, leading them to an antechamber off the main lobby that looked like a small sitting room. He indicated that they should sit. Draco assisted Hermione into a chair but did not sit, himself. He paced like a caged panther. 

“I appreciate your help, but this really isn’t necessary,” Hermione said. “You really don’t need to do this.”

Draco did not respond to this, but continued pacing until the supervising goblin returned with another goblin, an elderly, but very regal looking goblin dressed in a three piece suit whom Hermione supposed must be the bank president, Porblick.

“Lord Malfoy,” Porblick said, bowing. “How may we be of service to you today?”

“It’s come to my attention that Ms. Granger here has been having some difficulties when she comes to access her vault.”

Porblick glared for a moment at Hermione and then coughed. “I am afraid that some security protocols were put in place for Ms. Granger because she violated some serious banking protocols. We had to ensure that it would never happen—“

“As I understand it, first of all, Ms Granger was only able to enter the Lestrange vault because she had the assistance of one of your goblins. Secondly, that she was not alone in entering the vault, yet, she is the only one who is treated like a criminal when she enters the bank. Thirdly, that the object she retrieved was used to defeat the Dark Lord, which, if I may recall, was a good thing for the bank, and for business in wizarding Britain in general. And lastly, that the vault she entered was the Lestrange vault, which, with the passing of my Aunt Bellatrix and her husband, is now my vault, and I have no objection to what she has done. So, I fail to understand why so many obstacles remain in place for Ms. Granger to retrieve her gold from the bank like any other customer.”

“Lord Malfoy, we cannot let such a crime go completely unpunished. It sets such a bad precedent—“

“Then why are Potter and Weasley not subject to the same treatment?”

“There are extenuating circumstances. She impersonated Madame Lestrange, and she—“

“I don’t care what extenuating circumstances there are. I want Ms Granger treated with dignity when she is in the bank.”

“I beg your pardon, Lord Malfoy, but Ms Granger is no relation to you. What right do you have to demand—“

“Ms Granger is my employee. The welfare of my employees is very important to me,” Draco said. “I want this harassment to stop.”

“I”m afraid, Lord Malfoy, that this is not—“

“Let it be known,” Draco said, again overriding Porblick’s arguments, “that if I hear that Ms Granger has been mistreated by banking officials one more time, I will take my banking business elsewhere.”

Porblick blanched. “You can’t possibly mean—”

“I can,” Draco said. “I am the sole owner of the Malfoy vault and the LeStrange vault. I have a half share in the Black vault and I have the controlling interest in the business vault for Malfoy Holdings. If I am not satisfied that Ms Granger is treated with every courtesy, I will be moving my accounts to Terrebonne in Paris, and you can explain to your bank’s Board of Governors and the shareholders why the bank lost four accounts totalling over eight hundred and fifty million galleons.”

Hermione let out an involuntary gasp at the sum. Porblick shot Hermione a look of utter loathing before he turned back to Draco. “Very well, Lord Malfoy,” Porblick said. “We will remove the security measures in place for Ms Granger.”

“Excellent,” Draco said, although his tone of voice suggested he knew he had expected this result all along. “Come, Ms Granger,” he held out his hand to help Hermione out of her seat and she took it in a daze. 

They swept out of the bank in silence, and only after they came to the bottom of the steps did Draco speak. “If they give you any more trouble you come to me immediately,” he said, still looking forbidding and angry.

“It was totally unnecessary for you to do this,” Hermione said, still in some shock over the discussion that had taken place in the bank. The high handedness of Draco’s actions did not shock her; rather, that he had done it on her behalf was what had surprised her. The sum of money he mentioned that he controlled made her head swim. And, unbidden, a little voice in the back of her mind had whispered, This is so sexy. The sensible portion of her brain slammed a lid on that traitorous thought almost as soon as it surfaced. ‘But, thank you.”

“Any time,” Draco said, his face softening. “You saved the wizarding world when you were just a teenager. You should be treated with respect.”

Hermione smiled and squeezed his forearm lightly.

“Now, where are you headed next?” Draco asked.

“I—I was about to go to Sainsbury’s to get my groceries,” Hermione said. 

“Sainsbury’s?”

“It’s a Muggle supermarket. They just have so much more variety than wizarding shops.”

“I’d love to go with you and see this Sainsbury’s,” Draco said.

Hermione blinked. “You must have so many things to do. You don’t need to follow me around the supermarket aisles while I pick out jars of pickles and bottles of milk.”

Draco grinned. “I don’t have so many things to do today, and I think it might be a good idea for me to learn a little bit more about you so that when we’re ‘dating’, I can answer questions about you.”

“But—it’s grocery shopping,” Hermione could not think of a more mundane task. She hated going with her mother to the shops when she was a child and she only did this now because she needed food to live. If she could find the Gamp’s Law exception that would provide her with her favorite digestives and a healthy variety of fruit, she’d never set foot in a supermarket again.

“Which is not something I do on a regular basis, so it’s a novelty for me,” Draco insisted.

Out of objections, Hermione shrugged. “Don’t complain to me when you’re bored out of your mind,” she warned. She held out her arm for him to side-along Apparate with her and took him to an alleyway just behind the supermarket.

—

“I said I don’t do this on a regular basis but this isn’t my first time in a Muggle supermarket,” Draco said, as he walked with Hermione, pushing her grocery cart for her. Hermione wished she could pull out a camera to take a picture of Draco Malfoy, or Lord Malfoy, prince of the wizarding world, and apparent multi-billionaire (by Muggle standards) corporate CEO pushing a shopping cart like a middle class suburban dad on a Saturday afternoon.

Hermione stopped to pick up a jar of mustard. “When were you in a Muggle supermarket before this?” she asked.

“Back when I did my Potions apprenticeship in Germany.”

Hermione leveled an assessing look at Draco. “You speak very fondly of your time in Germany,” she observed.

“I was very fond of my time in Germany,” Draco said. 

“Tell me about it.”

Draco sighed. “You remember me from eighth year in Hogwarts?”

“Of course. But you were so quiet. I don’t think I remember you saying more than a dozen words all year.”

“I think I spent the whole year in shock. The war was over. My world had collapsed. My father was imprisoned, my mother on house arrest, my home uninhabitable. And everywhere I went people heckled me or spat on me. I got Howlers every day. I thought my life was over at eighteen. I tried my best to study, but it was hard to study when I didn’t think I’d have much of a future. If it wasn’t for my Slytherin friends, I don’t think I would have survived that year, but none of them could quite understand even though they tried. It felt like almost everyone else in the world was against me. Professor Slughorn was even reluctant to write recommendation letters for me, even though I was probably the best potions student—yes, Granger, even better than you—that year. It took McGonagall coming down on him like a ton of bricks before he reluctantly wrote me a letter. And talk about damning with faint praise. I applied to every potions master in Europe for an apprenticeship. One hundred and forty seven letters. Only Master Bergen was willing to take a chance on me.”

“Why did Master Bergen agree to take you on?”

“Bergen didn’t initially. He made me do an extra step and write an essay about why I wanted to study potions, and I guess he liked what I wrote, because he agreed to give me a trial period to prove myself. Something he never required of any of his other apprentices. But at least he was open minded enough to give me a chance. So, after my last N.E.W.T.s test, I went to Berlin, and it was a relief to get away from Britain. No one knew me in Berlin. My name didn’t make people hiss. I was just a normal person.”

Hermione paused in the act of picking out her cereal to give him a sympathetic look.

“It sounds like you really enjoyed working with Master Bergen, too.”

“He was strict, and he can be very demanding. He once made me re-brew a potion thirty-two times because he wanted it up to his standards in every way. He—Merlin and Morgana, Granger, what is that you have in your hands?”

Hermione looked down, “This?” She held up the bright yellow cereal box with the cartoon man on the front. “This is my naughty indulgence. I love Cap’n Crunch. It’s an American cereal and it's filled with sugar and artificial colors but I love it.”

“How did you even start eating that?” Draco looked mesmerized by the garishness of the box. 

Hermione grinned. “The year I started at my local primary school, a new family moved in next door. They were from America, and their son was one year older than me and he loved this cereal. I used to go around to his house to play and then after I tried it, I loved it too. My parents were horrified. They’re dentists, which means they were not fans of too many sweets. But a couple times a year, my mother would buy me a box to spoil me a bit because she knew how much I liked this.”

“I think my mother would have been horrified by this, too,” Draco said. “Which means that now I’m curious about what it tastes like. You’ll have to let me try some of your cereal one day.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “That famous sweet tooth of yours, Draco Malfoy! Anyway, going back to your story about Germany? Master Bergen?”

“Oh, well, it was just good to have a year to just concentrate on learning and not worrying about the outside world. Master Bergen introduced me to his friends and treated me well in general. I mostly kept to myself, but one of Master Bergen’s friends had a daughter named Lena, who was a couple years older than me, and she worked in a nearby magical primary school as a teacher. We would sometimes go to the local pub, and we got close.”

“You were dating her?”

“Not really, but we did have a relationship. That summer, after I finished my apprenticeship and got my Mastery, she told me she was going up to Glucksburg. It was a small town not far from the border to Denmark, and it was on the water. Her Muggle grandmother lived there and she was going up to spend the summer there. She invited me to stay with her those two months.”

“And you went with her?”

“Yes, and because her grandmother was a Muggle, we had to do almost everything the Muggle way. It was really hard, at first, to resist whipping out my wand to do the most basic tasks, but a person can get used to anything with the right motivation.”

“Did you love her?”

“No,” Draco shook his head. “I was very fond of her, and she wasn’t looking for anything more than a summer fling. But that summer, it was the first time in a very long time that I was able to spend time with no responsibilities and no disapproving stares or worries. I was very happy there. I think it—it was what helped heal me after all those years dealing with the Dark Lord and all that shite with his Death Eaters and the hatred and the fear and the anger. Just seeing that there was still light, and normalcy and happiness in the world. I think it gave me the strength to come back.”

“So, it was up there in that little village in northern Germany that you learned to shop like a Muggle?”

“Yes. I learned how to pick over fruit, and queue at the deli counter, and decide between a dozen different ice cream brands and how to put my items on the conveyor belt, and how to use the ATM card. Sometimes when I was a very good little boy I was even allowed to go buy eggs and milk on my own.”

Hermione burst out laughing at the image of Draco trotting down the street to buy groceries like an errand boy. Draco smiled without a trace of rancor at her good humor and she wondered how it was possible that his uniquely handsome face could become even more beautiful when he smiled. The thought was unsettling. He was going to be her boss. She was only here to play a role and pretend to be his girlfriend. Feelings were not supposed to be part of the equation. She sobered quickly and directed him to push the cart to the next aisle.

It turned out to be the sweets aisle. Merlin help her, it was like taking a three year old to Honeydukes. Draco was fascinated by almost every item in the aisle. “I’m definitely coming back with you next week to check this out,” he muttered. 

Feeling like a strict mother, Hermione finally said. “Malfoy. We are not buying out the entire sweets aisle in the store, even if you can afford it. You are allowed to pick three items.”

After much grumbling, he finally settled on a Toblerone, a bag of Perugina chocolates and a bag of sour apple gummies. He groused like a spoiled little boy all the way to the checkout line about how bossy Hermione was.

There was a brief scuffle at the checkout counter. Hermione had her pound notes in hand, but to her surprise, Draco pulled out a credit card and paid for all the groceries, muttering, “Let it go, Granger. You’re not going to win this one.”

They went to the alleyway behind the supermarket where Hermione transferred her bags of food into her bag with the hidden Extension charm and gave Draco his three chosen treats to take home. 

“Thank you for your help today with the goblins,” Hermione said, “and for paying for the groceries, although you really should never do that again.”

“Worth it to spend the afternoon with a pretty witch,” Draco said, which set off a tsunami of flutters in Hermione’s stomach. He leaned forward as though to give her a kiss, but Hermione stepped back from him. 

“There’s no one here to see us. You don’t need to pretend,” she said. She saw a look of frustration pass over Draco’s face, which quickly smoothed out into its normal hauteur. She wondered if she’d said it for his benefit—or hers.

“See you at work on Tuesday, Granger,” Draco said, his voice suddenly turning businesslike and much colder. “After you.”

Hermione Apparated back to her flat with a quick pop. 

Crookshanks came to rub against her legs as she pulled her groceries out of her bag. It only occurred to her after she put away the last of the items in her refrigerator, that Draco seemed to be putting a lot of effort into something that was only supposed to be pretend.

—

With apologies to William Herbert, the actual 18th Earl of Pembroke, who lives in Wilton House, Wiltshire. But come on, isn’t this the PERFECT Malfoy Manor?? (Source: Wikipedia) Also, for the sticklers for tradition, if Malfoy holds the title of Earl of Pembroke he should really be Lord Pembroke and not Lord Malfoy, but this is a Dramione, so….🤷🏻‍♀️

Chapter Text

“I am very happy to announce a new Senior Potions Specialist, Fräulein Hermione Granger,” Master Bergen announced to the assembled staff of the potions lab at the beginning of the morning staff meeting on Hermione’s first day. “Fräulein Granger will be assisting me in the experimental design lab, and I’ve assigned her a small portfolio of other potions to work on in the medical potions division. Let us give Fräulein Granger a big welcome!”

The staff clapped enthusiastically, and Hermione smiled, flush with happiness at the welcome she had received. It was a far cry from the let down of her last day of work at the Ministry of Magic Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, which arrived and left with very little fanfare. Her immediate boss there, Madam Donnelly, the head of the department, had not been pleased when Hermione had brought in her resignation letter (“How am I supposed to fill this spot in just under two weeks?”). Madam Donnelly had tried to offer Hermione a pay raise that amounted to an extra 20 galleons per month, but Hermione, as gently as she could, turned it down. Hermione had prepared all her folders and ledgers with clear instructions for her successor and silently wished the incoming witch or wizard well in this position. 

There was no announcement, no farewell party when Hermione left the DRMC. Hermione finished her last day and left with a small cardboard box filled with her personal effects, the same box she had brought in this morning to the Potions lab at Malfoy Holdings. The box that held her parents’ photo, a wizarding photo of Crookshanks, and a wizarding picture of her, Harry and Ron from their sixth year at Hogwarts, which Hermione had been unable to part with for the sentimental value, even if she thought Ron was a gold plated arsehole these days. The Ron in the photograph seemed to sense this, as he was more often than not trying to duck out of the frame of the picture. She also brought in a copy of all the books Master Bergen had asked her to study, which, of course, she had devoured over the past several days. There was a small, charmed otter paperweight that Harry had given her one year for Christmas, and her personal set of safety equipment she used for the lab: goggles, dragonhide gloves and bandages imbued with murtlap essence.

She busied herself setting up her new desk before Master Bergen called her into his office to discuss the Memory potion he had been working on.

“Were you able to read a little bit of the books I assigned for you?” Master Bergen asked.

If there was anything Hermione Granger excelled at, it was completing homework assignments ahead of time. “Yes,” Hermione said, Accio-ing over the stack of the textbooks she had brought with her. Hundreds of little neon colored paper tabs had been stuck to the pages of the books, making the books flap like exotic birds as they flew into Master Bergen’s office.

Master Bergen blinked upon seeing the Post-it tabs and then laughed uproariously. “Draco said you’d not only read the books before you came in but you’d have them memorized. He was right!”

“I do like to be prepared,” Hermione beamed.

“Keep this up and you will do well here, Fräulein,” Master Bergen said. “Now, do you have any questions before I start?”

“I do. I wanted to ask: what made you decide to work on a Memory potion?” Hermione asked. 

“I do not have a main area of concentration in potion making, but I do collaborate with the DuPont Magical Maladies Research Institute in Switzerland on medical potion remedies. We do this with the understanding that any successful potions will be sold exclusively through Malfoy Holdings, and Draco has even given me a percentage share for potions developed through the lab here. Part of the research was driven by interest in Occlumency and Legilimency because the Dark Lord employed so much of it on his followers and victims. We were working on potions to allow people to hide thoughts but in early experimental trials we found that the potions stimulated the hippocampus and amygdala of the human brain where memories are stored and actually enhanced memory retention. The DuPont researchers are still working on Occlusion potions, which have possible military applications, but I wanted to work on the memory aspect. So, the next step was to refine the base potion and to try to improve it to allow memory restoration, especially for people who were Obliviated.”

“That’s amazing,” Hermione murmured.

“Now, Draco has told me you have a special interest in Memory restoration issues, but not why. You don’t have to tell me exactly why, but I’d be interested in the general circumstances—you must have dealt with a memory charm that backfired or know someone with memory issues.”

Hermione hesitated for a moment, but then decided to trust Master Bergen with her secret; if he knew more of her circumstances, perhaps he might know if this memory potion he was working on would benefit her parents. She took a deep breath and told the story of how she had altered her parents memories to protect them during the war and of the disastrous consequences that arose when she tried to lift the memory charm she had placed on her parents.

Master Bergen was an excellent listener, asking very insightful questions about how she had done the charm, especially honing in on Hermione’s own state of mind when she cast the spell as well as when she tried to lift the spell. 

“You understand more than most how tricky the reverse spells, the Commemimi Totalus and the Commemimi Partialis can be since the human brain is so plastic, so moldable. My theory on memory is that despite the best Obliviation spells, no memory is truly lost, since the human brain stores information in so many different places. I believe that our spells just remove memories from the most obvious places we keep them. I am hoping that this memory potion we are working on, in conjunction with memory restoration spells may allow neural pathways to grow in the brain that can pull memories out of the deeper, less used memory storage areas of the brain, and return them for easier access to places like the hippocampus where they will integrate with other memories to create a more seamless history in the brain.”

Hermione felt tears well in her eyes. This could be what her parents needed. And she might be able to help. “How far are you on the formulation of this potion? And what can I do?”

“We have a weak potion that has been shown to retrieve some memories that have been removed for a short time. We are working on strengthening the potion and also finding a stabilizing compound so that the potion can be made and stored. So far, the potions have to be used fresh, which makes it a bit cumbersome and less accessible. A place like St Mungo’s, for instance, might need large quantities and need to be able to store the potion.”

The rest of the morning was spent going over the potion formula as it was, and showing Hermione what steps had been tried, what had worked, what had failed. Even though four hours had passed, Hermione felt as though she had only been there less than half an hour before Draco came to the lab and asked how she was doing.

Master Bergen had nothing but praise for Hermione. “It is always a pleasure to work with someone with intelligence and curiosity!” He said. “The questions she asks give me so much to think about. I was so worried this project would fail, but now with Fräulein Granger here, I believe it will only be a matter of time before we achieve breakthrough.”

Draco smiled. “I told you she was the smartest person in my year.”

Master Bergen grinned. “She might have even made a better apprentice than you, Draco.”

Draco smiled and shook his head. “I’ll give her everything else, but no, I was the best potioneer in our year.”

“I’m right here!” Hermione protested. 

“And you will hopefully stay here for many years to come,” Master Bergen said with a smile, before turning to Draco. “It is actually good that you came. I had meant to speak with you regarding our supplies. Sergei is saying that several potions ingredients: the asphodel powder, the boomslang skin, and crocodile heart are becoming almost impossible to obtain. The price of the boomslang skin alone has skyrocketed in the last four weeks.”

“I know,” Draco said. “I’m looking into it already. For now, I’m going to increase the supply budget so you can still afford what is available. Tell Sergei to let me know of any further changes. I want to get this potion completed.”

__

Time flew by quickly for Hermione over the next few weeks. She was fascinated by the work she was doing, and felt a renewed intellectual interest in her work that made her realize just how utterly stagnant her last position had been. It wasn’t that Regulation of Magical Creatures was a useless job, it was just that the position had lost its actual teeth due to bureaucratic excess that smothered any attempt at creativity or change. Here, Hermione was actually doing something that might revolutionize one area of medicine. She thought of all the people that might be helped by this potion besides her parents. She thought of Neville Longbottom, whose parents had been at St. Mungos for a quarter of a century after being tortured into insanity by Bellatrix Lestrange. Part of their mental illness had also manifested as memory loss, and perhaps if their memories could be restored, Neville might finally have a chance to know his parents. 

She also loved working with Master Bergen and the other specialists in the potions lab. There was surprisingly little inter-office politics in the lab. Master Bergen was very good at balancing work flow throughout his lab and making sure that work was run smoothly. 

The other senior potioneers, Nicholas Babbington, Alana Achen and Sergei Romanov were also brilliant. Nicholas was a Muggleborn like Hermione, and to her surprise, she learned that not only did he have a mastery in Potions, but he also had a doctorate in chemistry from Cambridge University. He was working on finding ways to integrate Muggle and Magical sciences in potion making, and Hermione found even brief discussions with him was riveting. Alana was much older, closer in age to Master Bergen and had come with him from Germany. She knew more about ingredient interactions in potion making than anyone else Hermione had ever met. And Sergei, a Russian expat who had been in Britain for thirty years was the one who kept the entire potions lab organized in terms of scheduling, equipment, supplies and ingredients. “If Sergei cannot find it, it cannot be found,” Master Bergen had told Hermione.

Two nights per month Hermione was assigned to the night shift. There were always potions brewing in the lab and some potions required more than 24 hours of continued brewing. So, two potions lab members were assigned each night to monitor the brews that required night time adjustments, stirring, incantations, or addition of ingredients. 

On Hermione’s first overnight shift, she was assigned to work with a junior potioneer named Joe who was less than a year out of Hogwarts. He was only a second year when Voldemort was defeated, and he looked on Hermione with awe as a heroine of the war. In between the timers that went off on the various potions they were handling, he peppered Hermione with questions about her involvement, but his questions were respectful and insightful. He asked her what were the most useful spells she used when she and Harry and Ron were on the run. He asked what kind of Muggle skill was most useful for when they were on the run. He asked to hear stories about the heroes who died. Hermione rarely ever discussed the war, since too many questions people asked were of a salacious nature, imagining a girl alone with two boys in a tent to be up to all sorts of shenanigans, and besides, most reporters were only interested in interviewing Harry. But Joe’s thoughtful questions made Hermione wonder, for the first time, if there might be value in writing a first hand account of what she and Harry and Ron had gone through during the year of their Horcrux hunt.

__

After that first day when Draco had come down to have lunch with her and Master Bergen, he did not come to the lab again. In fact, several days passed in which Hermione did not see him at all. She found herself thinking about him when she was at work, sometimes when she was in the middle of a more tedious brew. She wondered what he was doing. And she wondered what this absence meant for their fake dating relationship. But as long as Draco did not contact her, she was content to wait and concentrate on the work in front of her.

Three weeks after she started at the lab, she got a message from Harry reminding her that Teddy Lupin’s birthday party was being held over the weekend. In years past, Teddy’s birthday had been a family affair, with maybe ten people including Harry, but now Teddy was turning six and he wanted a big party this year, and Andromeda decided to host a large garden party, which was why Hermione was also invited.. 

The plan was for her to go to Grimmauld Place, then Floo with the Potters to Andromeda Tonks’ house for the party, since there was a direct connection between Harry’s house and Andromeda’s.

Hermione arrived at Grimmauld Place that Saturday morning just before noon bearing a fancifully wrapped present for the birthday boy. She entered the house through the Floo connection and was greeted by Ginny, who was in her very last weeks of pregnancy. She waddled up to Hermione but could barely reach to hug her friend. 

“Are you all ready for the baby?” Hermione asked. Having gone to Ginny’s baby shower, Hermione knew that the Potters had every piece of baby equipment (plus enough clothes for ten babies) ready for weeks now, but she also knew that no amount of preparation could make you psychologically ready for a big change.

“I’m at the stage where I absolutely cannot wait for this little one to get out of me,” Ginny said, with a fond rub over her bump. “I think Harry’s still a little scared of the responsibility, but he’s so excited, too. But enough of that! Tell me how the new job is going?”

Hermione grinned, “I am loving every minute of it. Master Bergen is what I wish we could have had at Hogwarts. He’s brilliant, but not scary like Snape or so—”

“Greedy and self-serving like Slughorn?” Ginny supplied.

“Exactly!”

Harry came to the Floo parlor at that point bearing a large, wrapped present. “Hermione!” He greeted, then turned to his wife. “Are you all ready? Should we go?”

Together, the trio Floo’d to Andromeda’s house. The party was already underway when they arrived. They stepped out of the Floo parlor and walked through Andromeda’s house to her spacious backyard. Hermione saw several children running around the backyard; among them Teddy Lupin, Victoire Weasley and many little ones she did not recognize. Of the adults who were grouped around the tables and chairs set up in the yard, Hermione saw Andromeda, several Order of the Phoenix members she rarely saw these days, Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Molly and Arthur Weasley, Bill and Fleur Weasley, George Weasley with his fiancée Angelina Johnson, Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas, Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones…and Narcissa Malfoy. 

Hermione looked around for Draco, but did not see him anywhere. Several partygoers greeted Hermione, Harry and Ginny, many cooing over Ginny’s very pregnant belly. Hermione deposited her present for Teddy on the small side table where the other guests’ presents were placed, and went to greet her hostess.

“Hermione! It’s lovely to see you again!” Andromeda exclaimed. She wrapped Hermione in a hug. “Teddy will be so thrilled to see you again. It’s been quite a while.”

“Thank you so much for having me here today,” Hermione said, with a smile. She could never quite get over how genetics could play such a trick. Andromeda was almost a mirror image of her sister Bellatrix; whereas Bellatrix had always worn a haughty sneer and a glint of madness in her eyes, Andromeda’s face was open and kind. 

Andromeda gestured to the witch next to her, “Hermione, have you met my sister Narcissa? Narcissa, this is Hermione Granger.”

A flicker passed over Narcissa’s face as Andromeda made the introductions and Hermione would have sworn it was a look of unease, but it passed so quickly that she later wondered if she had imagined it. With the composure of a queen, Narcissa said, “Miss Granger, please allow me to apologize for what happened to you when you were in my home the last time we met. And please also allow me to thank you for giving testimony for my son.”

Hermione gave her a small smile. “That was all years ago, Mrs. Malfoy. I meant what I said about Mal—Draco. And it’s nice to see you today.”

“Where is Draco?” Andromeda asked her sister. “Teddy’s been asking for him all morning.”

“He said he would be along,” Narcissa said. “I’m sure he’ll be here any moment.”

Hermione excused herself from the ladies and headed toward the tables to pour herself a glass of Andromeda’s spiced pumpkin punch. She had just taken her first sip when suddenly, Ginny sidled along next to her and said, “Incoming, nine o’clock. My idiot brother.”

And as Hermione swung her head around, she saw Ron Weasley and Lavender arrive, each carrying one of their twins. Molly Weasley rushed over to fuss over her grandchildren, and Hermione saw Ron’s head swivel toward hers. Despite the bulkiness of her pregnancy, Ginny moved with surprising swiftness, deftly steering Hermione away and into the middle of their group of friends, so that soon, she was surrounded by Harry, Luna, Dean, Hannah, Susan and Neville. Hermione noticed that Ron was waylaid by his family and stood in a group with his brothers and his parents.

“—just amazing! Congratulations!” Susan was saying as Hermione and Ginny joined the group.

“What’s amazing?” Ginny asked.

“Well, we didn’t want to overshadow Teddy’s birthday, so please don’t make too much of a fuss about it,” Hannah said, holding out her hand to show off a princess cut diamond ring.

“You and Dean?” Hermione asked. “Congratulations!” And despite Hannah’s desire to keep things quiet, the little group gave the newly affianced couple a hug and a round of good wishes.

For the next several minutes, the group chattered easily about mutual friends and work, catching up with one another about their news. And then, feeling a sudden prickle in the back of her neck, Hermione turned and saw Draco enter the yard, carrying a bulky, wrapped present, which he placed next to the gifts table as it was too big to put on the table itself. He crossed the yard to greet his mother and his aunt. He was dressed in a cream colored button down shirt with tan slacks and brown loafers. Hermione had not seen him dressed this casually since their school days, but he still retained that same air of well heeled elegance he had when he wore his formal robes and business suits. 

“Malfoy is looking really fit,” Susan said, glancing toward the side yard where Draco stood chatting with his mother and his aunt. 

“If you like ferrety gits,” Dean said, rolling his eyes.

The witches now all paused to watch as Draco finished his conversation and started striding toward them. With his long, easy stride and casual grace, Hermione thought he looked like he could be stepping off a runway in Milan.

“Ladies, you’re all looking lovely today,” Draco greeted as he joined their group. He nodded to the wizards. “Potter. Longbottom. Thomas.” And then his eyes lit on Ginny and he smirked, “Weaslette, congratulations. You look like you’re due any moment.”

“Pretty much,” Ginny said. “Andromeda has the Floo connection open to St Mungo’s for me just in case.”

“Let me know if I can be of assistance,” Draco offered politely. He turned to Hermione. “Granger, a word, please?” 

Hermione reddened, and then followed him away from the group to the side lawn, very conscious of her friends’ stares and the gossip that was sure to follow.

“What do you think you’re doing, Malfoy?” she hissed. “Everyone is staring at us!”

“Draco,” he said.

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

“No, my name isn’t Sirius, it’s Draco,” he deadpanned.

Hermione blinked, and then her lips twitched in spite of herself. “You’re really terrible,” she said, finally.

“Relax, Granger,” Draco said, smiling his easy smile in response to her reluctant amusement. “I just wanted to say you look really nice today.”

“Oh,” Hermione blushed again. She was wearing a form fitting lilac jumper over a grey and purple tweed pleated skirt with light gray tights and black leather ankle boots. A decidedly Muggle outfit, but one which she knew flattered her complexion and her figure. When she’d gotten dressed that morning, she’d told herself that she was dressing up for the party, but there was a part of her that had definitely gotten dressed up knowing that Draco would see her today. She refused to analyze why this should matter, but she hadn’t missed how Draco’s eyes lingered on her legs. “Thank you,” she murmured, adding, “You look nice too, but then you always do.”

“Really?” his smile turned into a smirk. “Always?”

“Stop fishing for compliments, Malfoy,” Hermione groused, but the corner of her mouth twitched up again. To hide the smile she held up her glass with the remnants of the punch she’d been drinking and said, “This punch is really good. I wonder what your aunt puts in there.”

“Sprite.”

“Sprites?” Hermione blinked, and looked at her glass.

Draco grinned. “No. That Muggle drink. Sprite. She adds it in to give it a bit of fizz.”

“What do you know about Muggle soft drinks?” Hermione demanded, surprised.

“I told you, I had to live like a Muggle for a whole two months. I happen to like quite a few Muggle drinks.”

Hermione was about to remark on that when she saw some movement from the corner of her eye and said, “Andromeda and your mother are staring at us.”

“Yes, I know,” Draco said, easily. “I wanted them to see us.”

Hermione gulped. So it was starting. Their fake relationship. She supposed an afternoon birthday party among friendly faces was as good a time as any to start rumors of their being together, but it unsettled her to think of all those eyes on them. “You’re not going to—do anything in front of all these people, are you?” she whispered.

Something glinted in Draco’s eyes. “Just what do you think I’d do in front of all these people?”

“Malfoy!”

“Draco,” Draco repeated. “My name is Draco.”

Hermione ground her teeth together. 

“Maybe if I kiss you in front of all these people you’ll finally remember my name?”

“Draco!” Hermione burst out, panicked.

Draco smirked again, but he shook his head. “Relax. I just want them to start talking. Just get the rumor mill started. It’s too early to give them anything solid to go on. And I don’t want to take away attention from Teddy today. If they ask you what we discussed, you can just say it was work related like potions ratio calculations—”

“No one would buy that,” Hermione objected.

“From you, they would,” Draco said, firmly, adding, “But I did want to discuss moving forward on our plans, so I wanted to invite you to join me for dinner next Saturday.”

Hermione bit her lip, but nodded. She had a week to get ready. She squared her shoulders. She could do this. She gave Draco a tight smile.

“Are you all right?” Draco peered at her with narrowed eyes.

A sudden shout saved her from answering. “Uncle Draco! Hermione!” Teddy Lupin had just seen them and ran over to get hugs.

Hermione collected herself, and smiled. It had been quite a while since she’d seen Teddy and she was thrilled he still remembered her. She bent down and gave him a quick hug. 

“I missed you!” Teddy said.

“Me too, Teddy. Happy birthday!”

“Thank you!” he said before turning to barrel into Draco’s legs. “Uncle Draco! Up!!! Up!!”

Draco laughed and swept his cousin up, holding the boy parallel to the ground before he started running. Teddy held his arms out like the wings of a bird and whooped as he was “flown” around the yard. 

Hermione found herself mesmerized by the tableau in front of her, especially Draco’s face. He was normally so guarded, so unreadable, his Occlumency shields in place from years of practice. But with Teddy, he allowed himself to bask in the young boy’s unalloyed pleasure, and it was clear that Draco had great affection for his little cousin. Teddy’s every laugh was matched by Draco, who was now swinging the boy in a circle to his delight. Teddy was so happy that his hair changed every color of the rainbow as he was being swung around. Soon, they were both dizzy, and Draco then set Teddy down. “Happy birthday, Teddy!” Draco said, as Teddy hugged him again. 

By now, most of their friends had approached and Teddy saw Harry, and shouted for his godfather. Harry, too, gave an easy laugh and picked Teddy up, as the assembled group gathered around and wished the boy a happy birthday.

Draco, having relinquished the boy, now stood back away from the group next to Hermione. He watched Harry with Teddy, still smiling that unaffected way when he suddenly seemed to realize Hermione’s eyes were on him. He turned to her and winked and she felt her breath catch. But she kept her voice neutral. “You’re really close with him. I didn’t know you were that close.”

“I don’t have so much family left,” Draco said. “I told you before, I wish I’d known Tonks.”

“How often do you come here?” she asked.

“I try to make it here a couple times a month,” Draco shrugged. “I wish it was more often, but usually I’m only free in the evenings, long after he’s in bed. Once in a while I come to just chat with Aunt Andromeda, but I try to come more for Teddy because I think he needs me more.”

Hermione considered his words. “I’m not so sure about that,” she said. “Andromeda lost her only child. I’ll bet she appreciates the times you visit just her very much.”

Draco didn’t answer. His gaze was drawn briefly to his aunt and his mother, who were directing the Manor’s elves, on loan from Narcissa, to finish bringing food out to the tables.

Ginny, who had been watching Harry play with Teddy, now came up to Hermione and Draco. “I love seeing him with Teddy,” she said. 

“He’s going to be a great dad,” Hermione said. “Just wait until he plays with your baby like he does with Teddy.”

Ginny smiled. “I think he does all the things with Teddy that he wishes someone would have done for him as a child.” She looked up toward Draco. “I’m pretty sure Lucius never played with you like that either, did he?”

Draco snorted. “Lucius would have been horrified to see me play with Teddy like that. He’d go off about how I was being undignified and letting Teddy be soft. Among other bullshit, crackpot notions that he was full of.”

”So, Hermione tells me she’s working for you, now,” Ginny said.

“So it would seem,” Draco answered.

“You treat her well, or you’ll have me to answer for,” Ginny said.

“She seems to be doing just fine,’ Draco said.

“I’m right here!” Hermione protested, as Draco smirked.

Just then, Andromeda announced that lunch was ready, and the guests all headed toward the tables where a sumptuous buffet had been laid out. Ginny linked her arm through Hermione’s and they headed toward the tables, with Draco trailing behind them. 

As they reached the tables, Ginny went to rejoin Harry, and Hermione found herself confronted with the rest of the Weasleys who had originally been mingling with others in the party. Molly, holding one of Ron’s twins, gave Hermione a motherly hug, asking, “How are you, my dear?” and Hermione hugged her back, thinking that the one thing she really missed about dating Ron was actually his mother, who had always treated her like a second daughter. Arthur, who was holding the other twin, gave her a quick kiss on her cheek, and patted her hand before moving on to the buffet line. Behind the elder Weasleys, Hermione gave Bill, Fleur and George hugs as she saw them. To George, especially, she said, “How are you?”

“Good, ‘Mione,” George smiled. Since Fred’s death at the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione had always taken special care to keep an eye out for George. She made sure to send him messages every two weeks and to see him at least once a month for drinks. Even when things were at their worst with Ron, she had not neglected George. He had been especially fierce toward his youngest brother when he had found out about Ron cheating. It had only been Molly’s intervention that had kept George from firing Ron from working at Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes. “Heard you started a new job working for the ferret there?”

“George!” Hermione admonished.

George laughed. “He’s actually all right. We’ve collaborated on a couple products that his company produces and I sell through the shops. And…well, you saw him earlier with Teddy, didn’t you? Anyone who can play with a kid like that can’t be all bad. So, what are you doing at his company?”

“I’m working in his Potions lab. It’s actually very exciting,” Hermione said. “I feel like I’m actually accomplishing more than writing memos.”

George laughed. They had now reached the buffet tables and George handed her a plate. She saw him shoot a withering glare at someone behind her and she turned to see Ron and Lavender. Ron looked uncomfortable, and Lavender had the look of someone bracing for a fight. It had been a long time since she’d last seen either of them; she’d mostly taken care to stay away from events if she knew they would be there, but she refused to miss Teddy’s birthday because of Ronald sodding Weasley, and Lavender. 

“‘Mione,” Ron said.

“Hello, Hermione,” Lavender said. 

“Ronald. Lavender.” Hermione’s tone was frosty.

“You, um, look nice,” Ron said.

“Thank you,” Hermione said shortly, and because etiquette demanded it, she added, “Congratulations on the twins.”

Ron’s face relaxed into a smile. “Thanks, ‘Mione! Say—”

But before Hermione had to hear what Ron had to say, Draco appeared on her other side. “Granger.”

Ron scowled at the interruption. “Fuck off, ferret, we’re having a conversation.”

“Classy as always, Weaselbee,” Draco drawled, not taking his eyes off Hermione. “My aunt would like to speak with you.”

Hermione wanted to thank Merlin for the reprieve. She followed Draco away from the buffet line toward Andromeda. “What’s the matter?” she asked Draco.

“Oh, no, Granger. Aunt Andromeda didn’t ask me to call you. It just looked like you wanted to get away from him.”

Hermione tried to speak but was thrown by Draco’s unexpected perceptiveness, and attentiveness. Had he been watching her this whole time? How had he known to step in? But, by then they had reached Andromeda, who was chatting with Daedalus Diggle and Kingsley Shacklebolt.

Hermione and Draco greeted the trio, and then Draco said, “Hermione was just asking what you put in the punch. She really likes it.”

“Oh, do you, dear?” Andromeda smiled. “Well, it's a Muggle drink called Sprite. You might be familiar with it. Ted liked to drink it sometimes.”

“I’ve heard of Sprite,” Hermione said. Standing slightly behind his aunt, Draco gave her a little wink, and Hermione smothered a smile. “I’d love to get the recipe from you sometime.” 

“Of course, my dear. But you must get some food first, and I’ll owl you the recipe after the party.”

__

After everyone had eaten, the party assembled to cut the fabulous cake that Andromeda had provided, a two tier concoction in the shape of a Quidditch pitch with an entire Quidditch team made of enchanted fondant flying about the pitch. An enchanted fondant Snitch emitted sparklers as it flew around the cake. Everyone sang Happy Birthday and Teddy sat on Harry’s shoulders to blow out the candles that were floating above the cake. 

Afterward, Teddy opened his presents. He received an assortment of clothes and toys from various guests. George and Ron gifted him a variety of whiz bangs and other items from the joke shop. Hermione had gotten Teddy a book of stars and constellations that would actually project astral patterns in a darkened room. But what surprised Hermione the most was that Harry and Draco had given Teddy a joint present: his first broomstick and his first full Quidditch kit, complete with protective gear and all the balls and bats and the Snitch. 

Draco and Harry went to help Teddy try out his new broom and Quidditch kit, and the rest of the children at the party followed. 

Hermione stood beside George and Ginny watching them.

“What’s going on with you and the ferret?” George asked suddenly.

Hermione was too taken off guard to hide the sudden blush that came over her. “What do you mean?”

“He hasn’t been able to take his eyes off you all day,” Ginny said.

“That’s not true!” Hermione said, although the memory of how Draco had rescued her from a sticky conversation with Ron lingered in her mind, making her denial sound weak.

“Also, Narcissa has been eyeing you all afternoon,” Ginny said. 

“He had his eye on you the whole time you were eating, and you two seemed to be having a lot of cozy conversations today,” George added.

“I work for him! I’m working on a project he’s very interested in, and we actually discussed work. As for Narcissa Malfoy, I can’t exactly control what she looks at. Besides,” Hermione nodded her head toward Draco who was in what looked like a serious conversation with Harry. “Those two seem to have a lot to say to each other and I don’t think you’re about to accuse either of them of being interested in each other.”

“They have Teddy in common,” George said. “They’re like his surrogate dads. Look at the two of them. If you’d told me just a couple years back that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy would both mentor the same kid, I’d have thought you were having me on.”

“Anyway, if he hasn’t made a move on you, he’s going to,” Ginny predicted. “And you better tell me every juicy detail when he does.”

“Ginevra Molly Potter!” Even as Hermione protested, she was already mentally cataloguing the dresses in her closet and wondering what she would wear to dinner with Draco next Saturday.

Ginny grinned. “I’m going to pop out this baby any moment and then I’m going to be bogged down with feedings and diaper changes and no sleep. You’re going to have to be my entertainment.”

Chapter Text

Every Sunday for the past five years, Hermione had visited her parents at the Parkwood Home for Magical Rehabilitation. Parkwood was built on the site of a formerly grand estate in Cornwall that had fallen into ruin after its last owner had died without heirs. The long, winding road that led to the estate was closed off to Muggles who believed it to be the site of an abandoned junkyard, but it was a very different sight for magical folk who visited. The current facility was a refurbished sixteenth century manor house that had over sixty rooms in the main house, with three other buildings that served administrative functions, which sat on a cliff overlooking the ocean. There was a broad, beautiful lawn in front, with lovely manicured gardens and a stairwell built into the cliff wall behind the main house for patrons to climb down to a small private beach below. 

“Miss Granger,” the reception witch greeted as Hermione arrived the day after Teddy’s party. “I have your visitor’s badge all ready for you,” she said as she handed Hermione a small wooden badge and lanyard. The badge had the Parkwood logo, Hermione’s name, under which the word “VISITOR” was written, and the date all magically burned into the wood. “Your parents are down at the beach today.”

Hermione thanked the reception witch, took the badge and hung the lanyard around her neck. She’d been to the facility so many times she didn’t need to ask directions, but headed swiftly through the facility toward the back of the building and then climbed down the long, narrow staircase along the cliff’s edge to the beach at the bottom.

Several of Parkwood’s residents were at the beach, taking advantage of the beautiful afternoon. Some sat on the sand, basking in the sun. Others played in the water under the watchful eye of mediwizards. Hermione found her parents sitting on a blanket, under a large beach umbrella. Her father appeared to be napping and her mother was reading a novel. 

“Hello,” Hermione said.

Helen Granger, who now believed her name to be Monica Wilkins, looked up from the book she was reading and smiled broadly. “Hello! Hermione, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Yes,” Hermione said, smiling back. Her mother’s anterograde memory seemed to be improving. It had taken years of repeated introductions before her mother stopped looking at Hermione like a complete stranger each time she visited. Now, she recognized Hermione, although she believed her to be a girl who just happened to be staying at the same hotel as the Grangers. Helen believed that she and her husband still had a dental practice in Melbourne but were on a seaside vacation in England for a few weeks.

“Wendell!” Helen nudged her sleeping husband. “Look who’s stopped by to have a visit with us!”

Wendell Wilkins, formerly Richard Granger, awakened under his wife’s hand, blinked and saw Hermione. He frowned for a moment in confusion. 

“This is Hermione,” Helen said. “Remember Hermione? The nice young lady who’s staying at our hotel? Come sit with us and chat a bit, Hermione.”

“Oh, yes!” Richard sat up and smiled. “Of course. Haven’t seen you around much these days. How have you been?”

“I’m well, Hermione said, sitting on the edge of her parents’ beach blanket. “I just started a new job.”

“Really? And they let you have time off for a vacation? What a generous employer,” Helen said. “What kind of a job?”

“It’s in po—I mean pharmaceuticals,” Hermione said. 

“Fascinating,” Richard said. “What company are you working for? Pfizer? Novartis? Astra Zeneca?”

“No, not one of the big companies like that,” Hermione said. “But I work in research and development.”

“Any drugs for dental use? Anesthetics or antibiotics or medications to prevent tooth decay?”

Hermione smiled. Her parents just loved to talk about their work. “Nothing like that. But please, tell me, what have you been doing this week?”

Hermione and her parents chatted for nearly an hour. It was one of their better days, and Hermione felt cheered as she left them for the evening. She spoke with the Healer in charge of their ward. “They seem to be pretty happy and Mum’s memory seems to be improving.”

The Healer smiled. “We are cautiously optimistic, but Helen has been doing better on some of the cognitive metrics. But sometimes, these improvements trigger setbacks, so we’ll keep an eye on her and notify you if things change.

“Thank you,” Hermione said. “I’ll see you next week.”

__

The setback the Healers warned Hermione might happen with her mother’s improvement happened very quickly. 

The next Saturday afternoon, as Hermione was standing in front of her closet trying to decide what to wear that night for her first “official” date with Draco at seven, a patronus arrived with a message from Parkwood, announcing that her mother was having a setback and requiring her presence immediately. 

Hermione dropped the dresses on the floor, grabbed her favorite blue cardigan off a nearby chair and rushed to the Floo. Moments later, she stepped out of the Floo into the reception parlor at Parkwood where a mediwitch was waiting for her.

“How is my mother?” Hermione demanded as soon as she arrived.

“She’s having one of her days,” the mediwitch said, handing Hermione her visitor’s pass for the day. 

Hermione shoved the pass into her cardigan pocket and followed the mediwitch down the hall. She felt her heart sink, because she knew what the healer meant when she said her mother was having “one of her days.”

For the most part, her mother believed herself to be Monica Wilkins, dentist, with a practice in Melbourne, but in England on holiday. But on rare occasions, she would remember she was Helen Granger. And when that happened, she would become confused and anxious and sometimes very belligerent. The staff occasionally needed to use potions or spells to subdue patients who were acting out, and Hermione had given strict instructions that she was to be notified if her mother was ever in this condition.

When they arrived at her mother’s hospital room, they found Helen Granger, not Monica Wilkins. 

“My name is Helen!” she shouted at the staff orderly. “Stop calling me Monica! I need to find my daughter! You can’t hold me like this!”

“Mrs Wilkins, please,” the mediwitch pleaded, trying to restrain her patient.

“It’s Dr Granger! Who on earth is Mrs Wilkins? And where is my daughter? I need to find my daughter? Where is Hermione?”

“Mum!” Hermione said, running toward her mother. “I’m here!”

Hermione’s mother stopped speaking and gave her a suspicious look. “Who are you?”

“Mum! It’s me, Hermione!” Hermione tried to hold back tears. This was not the first time it had happened and it never failed to hurt.

“You are not my Hermione! My daughter is eleven! I don’t know you. Did you take my daughter? Where is she?”

By now, there were three other mediwitches in the room, and the Healer had arrived as well. Helen looked around the room warily.

“Can you tell us who you are and what you remember?” the Healer asked, calmly.

Still with the air of a skittish animal, Helen said, “I’m Helen Granger. I’m a dentist. I live in Hampstead. I’m married. My husband’s name is Richard. He’s also a dentist. We have a daughter named Hermione. Where is my husband? Where is my daughter?”

“Where is my dad?” Hermione asked the nearest mediwitch in a whisper.

“Your father is in the recreation room,” the mediwitch whispered back. “We felt it would be best to separate them under these circumstances because we didn’t want your mother’s episode to trigger one for your father.”

Hermione nodded. Her father’s episodes of awareness and confusion were much less frequent than her mother’s, but they tended to be worse. He was harder to pacify or sedate and he could sometimes become violent. One episode a year ago had required stunning spells from three separate mediwizards and they had sedated him for two days. Hermione still had nightmares from that episode, sometimes.

“What year is it?” the Healer asked, calmly. “Do you know the date?

“It’s September 1, 1991,” Helen said. “We’re supposed to take our daughter to Kings Cross to board the train for her first day of school and we’re going to be late. I don’t know where they are and why I’m being held by you against my will.”

Despite the fact that the date was wrong, this was the most coherent memory Hermione had heard her mother utter since she’d tried to reverse the Obliviation spell on her parents. 

“Mum!” she said desperately. “I’m Hermione.”

“Stop saying that!” Helen snapped. “My daughter is eleven!”

“Mum, it's not 1991 anymore. It’s 2004. I’m Hermione. I can prove it! My tenth birthday you bought me a Cabbage Patch Doll and a subscription to the Encyclopaedia Britannica. My sixth birthday you got me that little stuffed otter I called Ollie Ottie. My—my favorite dessert is cheesecake. You—you have two wedding rings because you thought you lost your original at work one day only to find it months later after Dad replaced the ring for you. You and Dad danced to “Unforgettable” at your wedding!”

During Hermione’s panicked recitation, Helen’s expression had gone from skeptical to suspicious to incredulous and finally to anger.

“Stop! Stop!” Helen shouted. “Who are you? How do you know this?”

“Mum, please!” Hermione was nearly in tears. 

Helen struck her across the face. “I’m not your Mum! I don’t know who you are! I don’t—let go of me!” Helen shouted as two mediwitches pulled her away from Hermione and began physically restraining her from hitting Hermione again.

The Healer turned to Hermione, “I’m sorry, Ms Granger, but you need to step out. Your mother’s deteriorating and we need to calm her or risk her condition worsening.”

A mediwitch came to pull Hermione from the room at the same time the Healer called for a vial of Calming Draught. Her mother was still shouting for her daughter and protesting the restraints, when the door shut behind her.

__

It took longer than usual to sedate Hermione’s mother and settle her for the night, and by the time Hermione left Parkwood it was nearly seven. Hermione realized as she Apparated back to her flat that she had done nothing to get ready for her dinner with Draco. She thought wildly about sending an owl to cancel, but some innate remnant of pride wouldn’t let her back out of a commitment. She resigned herself to being a few minutes late and cast quick cleansing charms over herself. She quickly pulled on the first dress she had considered wearing, a black satin slip dress with a lace neckline, and applied a little lipstick in a bright red shade. Her hair frustrated her the most. She had planned to spend the afternoon straightening and setting it but now she could only pull it into a twist and secure the chignon with extra pins. The final result she saw in the mirror was passable, but a far cry from what she had originally planned for the night, but she was already nearly twenty minutes late. Draco had given her the address to Stardust, a new restaurant that had recently opened in Diagon Alley not far from the bank. She took a deep breath and Apparated to the address she had been given.

__

It was just after nine when Draco returned to his flat. It was far earlier than he had planned to return, but the night had been a disaster, and Draco was in a foul mood. To start, Hermione had shown up twenty minutes late with no explanation other than a terse, “I’m so sorry I’m late, Malfoy.” 

The lack of explanation, coupled with the way she refused to meet his eye almost the entire night was frustrating, but he tried to tamp down his annoyance and to try to engage her in discussion, to try to set a congenial mood for the dinner, to even try to get her to relax. 

But Hermione was wound tight the whole night. She gave short, one to two word answers. To Draco’s repeated inquiries, she kept saying, “I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong with me.” She drank far more than she should and she barely ate. She hadn’t even done much to dress up. Draco would always think Hermione was an attractive woman, but he had seen her in previous years at the Ministry holiday gala and at other events where she dressed up and he knew she was capable of putting a lot more effort into her appearance. 

And despite Draco’s warnings that the mixed cocktails she ordered all night might be stronger than she’d thought, she just kept ordering drink after drink, until finally her words were slurring and she was starting to not make sense. 

By now, Draco was starting to regret every life choice that had ever led him to be in this position. He called for the check and asked to use the restaurant’s private Floo to get Hermione home rather than take her out the front door where reporters or photographers who were covering the “It” crowd who managed to get reservations to Stardust were sure to be stationed.

He was able to rouse her enough to get her into the Floo with him and to announce her address. He carried her out of the fireplace into her flat, where he nearly tripped over Crookshanks while trying to get her into her bedroom. By now, Hermione was snoring, with her head nestled against his shoulder, and if he hadn’t been so furious with her he might have thought it cute. He carried her down the short corridor toward her bedroom, and laid her down on her bed, a narrow, and very lumpy structure that occupied most of her very cramped little bedroom. He pulled off her shoes and tucked her under the covers. For a moment, he debated with himself, but finally, ended up pulling a small bottle of hangover potion from his pocket and set it on the nightstand next to her bed. 

He took one last look at Hermione, and his lip curled down. He straightened up, and for the first time, noticed his surroundings. The flat was small, and shabby, desperately in need of paint, with small cracks in the walls through which plaster had fallen and the underlying brick could be seen. Hermione’s bedroom was a mess, with dresses strewn on the floor and pots and jars of makeup askew on her rickety dresser over which a small mirror hung. As he walked through the rest of the flat on his way to the Floo, he saw that her sitting room was of moderate size, but dominated by three overflowing bookshelves. There was a small, battered sofa, a coffee table and a worn leather armchair that made up a sitting area, and a faux marble mantelpiece over the fireplace, which doubled as her Floo. A single picture of Hermione and her parents taken some time during her teenage years sat on the mantelpiece in a plain brass frame. In the corner of the room between the bookcases and the wall was a cat tree under which sat a cat bed.  Unlike the bedroom, the sitting room was painfully tidy. Other than that photograph and the bookshelves, and cat paraphernalia the entire flat looked very under-decorated and very impersonal, as though the flat was no more than a waystation. Draco found the place thoroughly depressing.

Once he was back in his own flat, Draco poured himself a tumbler of Firewhiskey and headed toward his balcony. The whole night had been a mess. Had Hermione found the thought of being with him, even pretending to be with him, so distasteful that she would rather be drunk? That she would rather live in a squalid, unwelcoming flat rather than take his money and improve her situation? He had thought that their relationship, such as it was, had improved over the past several weeks. He had thought that there would be a chance they could pull off this arrangement.

The Firewhiskey burned as it went down his throat, and his Dark Mark throbbed. It had rarely bothered him since Voldemort’s demise, but on certain days when his defenses were down and even Occlumency couldn’t save him from intrusive thoughts and self hatred, the Mark would feel as though it had flared to life again. 

Some days, Draco felt as though he was slowly clawing his way back to respectability. Slowly bringing some prestige back to the Malfoy name. Finally able to walk through wizarding Britain with his head held high again. He ran a legitimate business. Malfoy Holdings was one of the largest employers of magical folk in Britain. He made sure his employees were treated well. His mother donated huge sums of galleons to many worthy causes: St. Mungos, organizations that helped war widows and orphans, organizations that helped victims of Fenrir Greyback receive monthly Wolfsbane potions.

Slowly, but surely, these measures had been working. Most days, people treated him with deference, respect, or at least tolerance. Even the articles about him in The Daily Prophet seemed to have become less infuriating in the last couple of years, although that was perhaps also influenced by the fact that Witch Weekly had started to add him to the Most Eligible Bachelors in Wizarding Britain list, and those copies tended to sell well.

But every once in a while, disagreeable incidents would occur to remind him forcibly that people still had long memories: occasionally, he would be accosted by strangers on the street and heckled or even spit upon. Sometimes threats, or even cursed objects were sent to the Manor or his office. And to this day, he was banned from entry to the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade, despite the heartfelt apology he sent to Madam Rosmerta before he left Hogwarts in his 8th year. 

And apparently, despite saying she forgave him for his treatment of her in childhood and for what happened in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor, it seemed that Hermione Granger was not able to move past her distrust and dislike for him. 

This shouldn’t bother him so much. Granger was someone he had hired to do a job.  She simply wasn’t cut out to do the job he’d hired her for. Like any other employee that didn’t work out, he should be able to replace her with someone else. He would just tell her it wouldn’t work out and then look for a more suitable candidate for this position. Easy. 

Except it wasn’t easy. It bothered him on a level he didn’t want to examine too deeply. Maybe because they had been classmates. Maybe because he had, belatedly realized that she was actually attractive. Maybe because…

Maybe because these last few times he’d been with Granger he had actually felt they might get along. Maybe because when he kissed her at the Emerald Orb he had thought she felt something—he certainly had. Maybe because when she had smiled at him at Teddy’s party he had believed she had meant it. Maybe he was a fucking idiot reading things into gestures that had meant nothing to her. 

Draco shut his Occlumency shields down as hard as he could. Nothing was to be gained by a deep dive into these morbid and unsettling thoughts. And yet, he wondered if tonight would have bothered him less if he had thought her completely cold and uninterested all along?

Draco took a long swallow of the Firewhiskey in his tumbler. The liquid scorched down his throat bitter and burning, and he focused his concentration on that, as he stared, unseeing, at the lines of cars weaving their way through the streets of London far far below him.

__

Hermione’s mother was asleep when she arrived at Parkwood for her weekly Sunday visit the next day. The combination of sedatives and the physical exhaustion following an emotional outburst kept her asleep most of the day, and despite the guilt she felt about it, Hermione also felt relieved that there would be no further meltdown or setback to witness that day. She spent nearly an hour with the Healer discussing what had happened to her mother the day before and discussing further treatment options and plans before she sought out her father.

Richard Granger/Wendell Wilkins was out in the gardens along the side lawn when Hermione arrived. He sat on a wooden bench under a maple tree and from his vantage point, was able to look out over the cliffs to the ocean. In his hands, he held a copy of The Annotated Works of William Shakespeare.

“Ah, Hermione, lovely to see you,” Richard said. “How is your vacation coming along?”

Hermione managed a smile as she sat down next to her father, who never seemed to notice that his seaside vacation had lasted several years by now. 

“I’m well,” she said. She nodded toward the book. “Which play are you reading?”

“Interestingly enough, I’m reading ‘A Winter’s Tale’,” Richard said. “And I’m just reading about Queen Hermione right now. Quite the coincidence, isn’t it?”

“Yes, quite,” Hermione agreed, adding, “Don‘t let me stop you. I just thought I’d join you.” She reached into her beaded bag and pulled out a novel to read. As she opened the book, she looked at her father, and the nostalgia hit her hard. She and her father had loved to sit side by side reading. Countless happy hours had been spent on the sofa in the living room of their home in London sitting next to each other, companionably reading and occasionally chatting with each other about the books they were enjoying. As she turned away from her father to open her book, a single tear raced down her cheek. 

That night, when Hermione went home, she pulled out every potions book she had and began a systematic review of them. The healers at Parkwood were doing what they could but Hermione felt they were running out of options. She now put her faith in the memory restoration potion that Master Bergen was developing, and she was more determined than ever to help him finish his work. She marked pages, made annotations, took notes and scribbled down ideas, working late into the night before she finally succumbed to exhaustion and went to bed.

__

The summons arrived Monday morning while Hermione was in the middle of a test brew of a new variant of the memory potion. A memo, charmed into the shape of a dragon landed in front of Hermione on her workstation table.

Hermione had been dreading seeing Draco ever since she had awakened in her flat the day before with no idea how she had gotten there. She knew that their dinner together must not have gone well, especially since he had left a bottle of hangover potion by her bedside stand. But her thoughts that day had been dominated by her parents’ mental condition and what she could do to restore their memories. She had been thinking through this issue so single mindedly that she was able to tamp down thoughts of her dinner out with Draco. But now, faced with the memo summoning her to his office she felt her stomach twisting as she tried her best to remember exactly what had happened at dinner with him and she wondered what the consequences were going to be.

She cast a quick stasis charm on the potion she was working on and made her way to the forty-fifth floor. 

She reached the outer reception area where Denise Avery was sorting through the morning owl mail. 

“Mal—I mean, Mr Malfoy asked me to come to see him,” Hermione said.

Denise nodded to the door. “Mr Malfoy is waiting for you,” she said.

“Thank you,” Hermione said.

“He‘s in a mood,” Denise warned.

Hermione‘s heart plummeted. The ten steps it took to cross the reception area into Draco’s office felt like a hundred. Hermione stopped outside the door, braced herself, took a deep breath and then pushed the door open.

“Mr Malfoy, you wanted to see me?” she asked.

“Shut the door, Granger,” Draco said, looking up from his work. 

Hermione closed the door behind her and crossed the room toward him. Draco stood up and when he looked at her his silver eyes burned holes in her conscience. His gaze raked her up and down in a scathing assessment and Hermione was acutely aware that she wasn‘t dressed in company compliant attire. Because the staff in the Potions lab wore voluminous lab robes when they worked, Hermione had taken to wearing casual Muggle clothes underneath, and she was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt over which she had her favorite blue cardigan, clothes more appropriate to a college campus than a multi-billion galleon corporation. Under Draco’s trenchant gaze, she felt as though she stood before him naked.

“I assume you know why I asked you to come,” Draco began. His words and tone were biting and furious.

“I’m so sorry about the other night—“ Hermione began.

“I had thought it would be a simple request,” Draco continued as though she hadn’t spoken. He continued to lock his gaze on Hermione and his words cut like a whiplash. “Just dinner. A casual dinner. Maybe friendly, even.” He made the word friendly sound like a curse. Hermione winced. Draco continued: “Just a chance to get people used to seeing us together. After all, you’d agreed in word and in writing that you could do this.”

Hermione bit her lip. She wasn’t even sure what she had done or what she could do other than apologize for her behavior. But how could she apologize properly when she couldn’t even remember what she had done?

As if he had heard the question in her mind, Draco asked: “Do you even know what you did the other night?”

“Please,” she whispered. “I—”

“To start, you arrived late with no explanation, looking like you just threw something on at the last minute. Then, you wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t talk to me, wouldn’t even look at me. You looked like you were expecting me to Crucio you! And then you drank yourself into oblivion in just under an hour!”

“I didn’t mean to drink that much. I’m sorry!”

“I don’t believe for a moment, Granger, that you don’t know your own limits when it comes to alcohol. That wasn’t an accident. You know, your only job that night was to eat dinner with a smile! Is this how you take your obligations? Did you think you could just drink your way through this arrangement? I mean, I know you‘re Hermione fucking Granger, smartest witch of her age, but did you think the rest of us—did you think I was this stupid?”

“Malfoy—“

“Even now, you can’t even follow a simple request to call me by my name!”

“I’m sorry…Dr-Draco! Please—”

“I thought I could take a chance on you, Granger. I thought you were better than this. In the end I was just never going to be more than a Death Eater to you, was I?”

Hermione shook her head. “No! That’s not—” Hermione stepped closer toward Draco as she spoke, but bumped her hip against the edge of his desk, and stumbled forward. 

Instinctively, Draco put out a hand to steady her, and as he did so, he saw something fall out of her cardigan pocket. He reached down to retrieve it and saw that it was a visitor’s badge from Parkwood. It had Hermione’s name and the date of her visit.

Draco’s brow furrowed. “This badge is dated from two days ago.”

“Yes,” Hermione said, holding out her hand to take the badge back. “Please, Draco, I—”

But Draco seemed to be still fixated on the badge. “I thought you visited your parents on Sundays.”

“I do.”

“So—why were you there on Saturday?”

Hermione took a deep breath. “My—my mother had a bad day that day and the staff alerted me. I was there with her all afternoon.”

The tension and anger seemed to drain out of Draco’s frame. “Was that why you were late to dinner?”

Hermione nodded. “I’m sorry. I thought of owling you to cancel, but I didn’t want you to think I was going back on my word—but then I—I didn’t mean to mess up like I did—”

“Good Godric, Granger!” Draco groaned. He handed the badge back to Hermione. “Why in the name of Salazar didn’t you tell me this on Saturday?”

“Would it have made a difference?”

Draco looked as though he’d been struck. “What kind of a monster do you take me for?”

Hermione bit her lip. “This—this whole thing between us isn’t real. My parents are my personal life and I didn’t want to bring that into this. They’re not your problem. They—”

“Granger,” he interrupted, “What happened with your mother?”

Hermione bit her lip again, and then sighed. She looked down at her hands, which were fidgeting with the hem of her cardigan. After a couple of beats she looked up again at Draco. “Most days, my parents are content. They think their names are Monica and Wendell Wilkins. They think they’re still running a dental clinic in Melbourne and they are just in Cornwall on holiday. When I visit they think I’m a visitor who happens to be staying at the same resort as them.”

“Most of the time?”

Hermione looked down. “Every once in a while, a memory will return. It happens more to my mum than to my dad. When that happens she remembers who she is but she thinks it’s 1991. She starts panicking when she can’t find her daughter.”

“What happens when she sees you?”

A tear ran down Hermione’s cheek. “She—she doesn’t recognize me. She’s looking for the eleven year old version of me. No matter what I say when she’s in this state, she never believes I’m her daughter. She—she becomes frightened. Or angry.”

“Does she get violent?” Draco handed Hermione a handkerchief.

Hermione took the handkerchief. “Thanks. She—not usually.”

“Not—usually? But she does?”

Hermione’s face contorted. “She thinks I’ve kidnapped her daughter or she thinks I’m trying to trick her. It can take a long time to calm her down. Even calming draughts don’t do much—and they try not to use too many spells on the patients in this condition for fear it will worsen them, but every once in a while if she gets too agitated they need to stupefy her just to—to reset her mind.“

“Is this what they did on Saturday?”

Hermione nodded. “When—when she was stupefied, it seemed—for one moment as though she suddenly knew what was going on. She knew we were using magic on her. And she looked at us—looked at me—-and there was such a betrayed, wounded look on her face just before she lost consciousness—“ Hermione’s voice broke, and her face crumpled, and Draco stepped forward to take her into his arms. She stiffened, for a moment, not expecting to be held, but then gave into the need for comfort, and she sobbed against his chest. “I’m so sorry I drank so much on Saturday…it was just that I couldn’t get that look out of my mind all night.”

“Shhhh…” Draco soothed, rubbing a hand slowly along her back.

“She had that look on the day I Obliviated her,” Hermione confessed, as tears flowed freely down her face, soaking into Draco’s shirt front. “Just before she forgot me, she knew. She knew…” 

Draco held her for several more minutes while Hermione tried to calm herself down. Eventually, she was able to pull her mind away from the image of her mother’s face and to become aware of the woodsy, citrusy scent she associated with Draco, coupled with the warmth of his chest through his partially soaked shirt front, and of the gentle way he was running his hand along her back in a soothing motion. A part of her wanted to just stand there like this while another part of her felt a sudden, frantic need to pull away.

She gulped and pulled away from him. “Thank you,” she said, glad to hear that her voice was sounding more normal. She looked down ruefully at Draco’s shirt. “I’m sorry I ruined your shirt—“

“Don’t be ridiculous, Granger,” Draco said. He reached out and took both her hands in his, looking into her eyes. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Hermione nodded. The look in his eyes was full of concern, and it both warmed her and made her uneasy. She was still always half-expecting a sneer or smirk from him, force of habit from their years together at Hogwarts. But the Draco she knew since the first time she met him here in this office two months ago had been kind and respectful. Teasing, even. He threw her off balance in a way that somehow frightened her more than she’d ever felt when he had still been the cruel, nasty boy of their school years.

“So, how is your mother doing now? I presume you saw your parents again yesterday?”

“She was resting. Her—her outbursts take a lot out of her, so I only looked in on her briefly while she was asleep. I spent the afternoon with my dad. We—we talked about books we were reading.” Hermione gave a rueful smile, “And then he asked me if I was named after Hermione from A Winter’s Tale.”

“Were you?” Draco asked. “I always thought you were named for Helen of Troy’s daughter.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because Helen was supposed to be the most beautiful woman in the world,” Draco answered, as if that was obvious. 

Hermione blinked. “Draco—“ she managed, but Draco had something else on his mind.

“What you were saying before, that this—this relationship might not be…real,” Draco said, his words seeming to be measured out carefully, “But that doesn’t mean we’re not real people. Don’t ever feel you can’t tell me if you’re having a bad day, or you have problems with your parents.”

Hermione bit her lower lip and nodded. “Thank you.”

Draco’s lips curled into something that could almost be a smile. “You think we could reset and try again next Saturday?”

Hermione managed a small smile. “Yes, Draco. It’s a date.”

Chapter Text

GOLDEN GIRL AND DEATH EATER ROMANCE?

—by Jocasta Tattle

The Saturday evening crowd in Wizarding London were stunned to see none other than Hermione Granger, the former Golden Girl of the Golden Trio (with Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley), stepping out of Le Mirage—the exclusive, very expensive French restaurant which opened last year to much fanfare at the eastern end of Diagon Alley—with the notorious former Death Eater, Draco Malfoy. Ms Granger had famously been in a long term relationship with Mr. Weasley, but their relationship ended three years ago when Mr. Weasley left her to pursue his current wife, Lavender Weasley née Brown. Mr. Malfoy, now CEO of Malfoy Holdings, has been named Most Eligible Bachelor by Witch Weekly and several other wizarding publications many times in the past few years and has been seen squiring about many lovely, young, almost exclusively Pureblood witches in the past, but has never admitted to actively courting anyone before this. Will Ms. Granger be the one to capture his heart for good this time? When asked, Mr. Malfoy would only smile and say, “I hope so.” Stay tuned, dear Readers, for more developments to this story as they arise.

Hermione groaned as she glanced at the front page of the Sunday morning Daily Prophet. The article had been accompanied by no less than four splashy full color photographs. One was taken outside the restaurant when they arrived. Draco was escorting her like a proper gentleman into the restaurant. The second one, somehow, had been taken inside the restaurant, and it looked to Hermione as though it had been shot through a long range lens. It showed them sitting in their booth laughing and talking, clearly having a good time together. The last two showed them leaving the restaurant, with one—the largest one—that showed them kissing. Draco had warned her that the wizarding paparazzi would hound them relentlessly, and the kiss was staged for the camera, but, for several long minutes she couldn’t quite take her eyes off the last photograph. She kept reminding herself it was a staged kiss, because in the photograph that kiss looked passionate enough to make her blush. 

Hermione sighed. She had known the article would be forthcoming. She had, after all, been no stranger to salacious stories written about her love life since she was fourteen and Rita Skeeter tried to paint her as a trollop who had broken Harry Potter’s heart. But no amount of experience made this any easier. 

The incessant pecking at her window that morning told her that most of Wizarding Britain now knew about her relationship with Draco, or what the Prophet had reported. There were easily two dozen owls perched outside her window at that moment. She got up from her kitchen table and opened her window for the fifth time that day to retrieve the messages she’d gotten. Some were messages from friends who were shocked by the news or wanted confirmation or denial. Fully one third of the messages were Howlers from people furious that she had “betrayed the Order” by “fraternizing with the enemy”. And the rest were just fan mail and curiosity seekers. She set another pile of unread letters next to her fireplace ready to burn, and then retreated to her kitchen to make a cup of tea.

Just as she set the kettle to boil, her Floo flared to life and she saw Harry Potter’s head in the flames.

“‘Mione, you have a moment?” Harry asked.

Hermione crossed the small space between her kitchen and sitting room to the fireplace. “Harry, come in! Is Ginny all right?” she asked.

Harry entered through the Floo and brushed off a bit of Floo powder from his clothes. He seemed a bit uncomfortable. “Ginny’s fine. Just the last few days now, and she’s a bit cranky, but the Healers say she’s doing really well.”

“I’m so glad to hear that,” Hermione said.

“We, umm…” Harry tipped his head toward Hermione’s windows where another half dozen owls were perched, waiting to deliver the mail. “We saw the Prophet this morning and Ginny sent me to make sure you’re alright.”

Hermione’s lip twitched. “You mean she sent you here to get the gossip, and you couldn’t say no to a cranky witch in her third trimester.”

“Well, I did want to make sure you’re alright,” Harry blushed. “And…”

Hermione rolled her eyes at him and then marched over to open her windows, to collect more mail from the owls. Two of them were Howlers, which she quickly put under a Muffliato before Incendioing them. “I have to see about making this place unplottable,” she muttered. She turned toward Harry, “I was just about to make myself a cup of tea. Would you like one?”

“Well, actually, Ginny wanted me to bring you over since she can’t Floo right now.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “And she thinks I can’t say no to a cranky witch in her third trimester as well?”

Harry gave a sheepish grin. “Basically, I’m not allowed back home unless I bring you with me. She’s a bit put out that she had to find this out from the Prophet.”

“I can’t stay long. I’m going to visit my parents this afternoon.”

”Just have a little breakfast with us. Kreacher has been nicer than usual since Ginny’s pregnant. He’s made a full spread.”

Hermione’s mouth twitched as she took her kettle off her stove.  “All right, let’s go.”

She Floo’d to Grimmauld Place first followed by Harry, and a very heavily pregnant Ginny Weasley launched herself at Hermione before she’d even had the chance to dust the Floo powder off herself.

“Hermione Jean Granger, explain yourself!” Ginny demanded, brandishing the newspaper at Hermione like a weapon.

Harry entered behind Hermione. “Honey, let Hermione get a little tea and food in her before you come at her,” he suggested.

The trio settled down in the dining room where Kreacher had made a breakfast big enough for twenty. Hermione helped herself to a poached egg and toast and some fruit, while Harry took some waffles and scrambled eggs and sausages, and Ginny loaded her plate with a little bit of everything. When she saw Hermione and Harry eyeing her heaping plate, Ginny bristled defensively, “Don’t look at me, Harry James Potter! It’s your baby that’s giving me the appetite of an Abraxan!”

Hermione had just settled her napkin in her lap when Ginny started again.

“Alright, Hermione, you’ve dodged long enough. Spill.”

Hermione sighed. “Yes, Malfoy and I are officially dating.”

“Really? You’re dating and you call him Malfoy?”

Hermione groaned, “He calls me Granger. But…you’re right, old habits die hard.”

“You don’t look like a woman in the throes of passion.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You two have known me most of my life. Have you ever seen me to be in the throes of passion?”

Ginny smirked. “I should hope not, but even when you first started dating Ron you were more…starry eyed.”

“I was more starry eyed about a lot of things when I was nineteen,” Hermione retorted. But then she realized that she was doing a terrible job of doing her job. Which was, of course, to convince people that she was dating Draco. She gave a little, self deprecating smile. “It’s just—oh, you know I don’t like talking about things like relationships. It’s—it’s—”

“But we just saw the two of you two weeks ago at Teddy’s birthday party!” Harry said. “When did this even start? And aren’t you working for him?”

Hermione blushed, realizing there would be a really awkward explaining phase going on until people just accepted that she was dating Draco. She wondered, vaguely, if she’d have to undergo a separate awkward phase when this fake dating arrangement ended and they informed people that they had “broken up”. 

“Did you know Mal—Draco has a Mastery in potions?” Hermione began.

Harry nodded. ”We’ve talked a few times when we’ve been in to spend time with Teddy.”

“Well, I’m in his potions division and he put me on a project he was personally interested in,” Hermione said, giving the version of the story they had decided on to tell people. “We—we spent a lot of time discussing potions and, well, we just hit it off.” By the end of the statement, Hermione could feel her cheeks heating and she couldn’t quite meet Harry’s or Ginny’s eyes. 

She thought of last night when she and Draco had gone out for dinner. This time she had her curls tamed in a sleek chignon and wore a satiny blue dress that reached to her neck in the front but was bare in the back all the way down to her hips. It was probably the most daring dress she had, something bought once years ago when Ginny convinced her that it would be a great dress for clubbing, but never worn until now. She had charmed a pair of heels to match the color of the dress and she saw the way Draco’s eyes lit appreciatively once she took off her outer wrap in the restaurant. The feel of his hand on her back as he guided her to their table had sent tingles down her spine. 

Dinner had gone well. They were seated in a semi private alcove of the restaurant where they could see but were not so easily seen. The food was excellent and Draco knew how to pair wines. Their conversation flowed easily. Draco was very well read; after all, he had grown up in the home with the largest private magical library in England, and he confessed that he had spent as much time in there as possible when he was home during the war to avoid Voldemort and his lieutenants. Draco’s reading interests were varied. He liked novels, scientific texts and history. He said he sometimes spent hours in the library chasing down answers for questions raised by reading one book, and which often lead down arcane rabbit holes of magical trivia. 

Hermione was fascinated, and somewhat envious of what Draco had at his fingertips. 

“I’ll take you to the Manor library sometime,” Draco had promised.

“But, your mother—”

“Don’t worry about my mother,” Draco said. “She won’t get in the way of me giving you a tour of the library.”

“How many volumes do you have in there?”

“The last count was over six hundred thousand books and manuscripts”

“The last count?”

“We do an audit every five years. Make sure nothing has gone missing, and also to account for new books. The last one was done after the Ministry did their last post-War raid on the Manor looking for Dark objects. I think about a hundred books were taken, so we needed to make sure no other books went missing. And also, Mother likes to buy books—she’s very good at potions and she also likes to dab in experimental charms, so she’s always reading the latest theories.”

“Really?” Hermione’s perception of the Malfoy Matriarch had been that of a socialite who only hosted teas and balls and perhaps gardened occasionally. It was interesting to hear that the witch had other interests. 

“Mother is the one who came up with the protection charm on the library to keep—unwanted—individuals out of there. Also, to keep books from being taken out of the library without the express permission of a family member.”

“Six hundred thousand books,” Hermione breathed, going back to her original question. “I think if you ever brought me there you might not be able to pry me out again.”

Draco grinned. “Wait until you see the rare manuscript room.”

Hermione sighed. The longing in her face brought a shift in Draco’s expression from amusement to something deeper. His eyes darkened and he brought his hand up to stroke her cheek and along her jaw. Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. Was he going to kiss her? 

The servers arrived to bring them their orders and the moment was broken and they turned their attention to the food. Hermione picked up her fork, not sure whether she was relieved or disappointed by the interruption.  

Because of their unique vantage point in where they sat, Hermione and Draco could see most of the other diners. Draco knew most of the upper crust of wizarding society, and as they ate, he discreetly pointed out several individual diners and regaled Hermione with stories about their eccentricities and family histories that kept her amused throughout dinner. At one point, the story he told her about Ecumenius Quart—a member of the Wizengamot whose family owned quite a bit of real estate in wizarding London—was so outrageous that Hermione put her glass of wine down and said, “You’re making this up.”

”No, I swear, I am not,” Draco said, his lips and eyes lit up with genuine amusement. Hermione was left to wonder again what a difference the smile was from the cruel smirk he had worn in their Hogwarts days. He was already such a handsome man, but the way he smiled, it made Hermione feel like this was a smile that was only for her. She wondered if every woman he dated had felt this way about his smiles. “Ask anyone on the Wizengamot, and they’ll tell you how utterly nuts the Quart family are.”

By the time they left the restaurant, Hermione was amazed to realize that over three hours had passed. They had lingered a full hour after the dessert, just chatting as they each nursed an aperitif, and Hermione was even a little reluctant to leave. But as they stepped out the front door of the restaurant, Draco had murmured, “Are you ready?” 

Hermione had known they would have to put on an act for the reporters and photographers, but she had thought Draco was going to give her a light kiss for show. Instead, his kiss, while brief, had left her breathless and trembling and she had to clutch his arm for several moments to steady herself before Draco Apparated them to the doorstep of her flat.

“All right there, Granger?” Draco asked, as Hermione reached into her purse for her key.

“I had a really good time tonight, M—Draco,” Hermione said, earnestly. “Thank you.” She pulled out the key and unlocked and opened the door, wondering if she was supposed to invite him inside.

But Draco remained a gentleman. As soon as the door was opened, he leaned down and gave her a brief peck on the cheek. “Good night, Granger. Sleep well.” And then he Apparated away.

“THIS!” Ginny shouted, tearing Hermione’s thoughts from last night back to the present. She stabbed her finger into the fourth photograph, of Hermione and Draco from last night’s dinner, the one that showed them kissing. “I need to hear details about this!”

Harry abruptly excused himself from the table. “I actually do not need to hear details of this.” He leaned down to give Ginny a kiss and then said, “I’ll be in the library if you need me.” He turned to Hermione. “Just let me know if you need me for anything, okay, ‘Mione?” and then left the dining room.

“It was just a kiss,” Hermione said, trying to keep her tone light.

“Just a kiss? There was no follow up?”

“He was a perfect gentleman,” Hermione insisted. “He took me to my doorstep.”

“And you didn’t invite him in?”

“Ginny!”

“Well, for Merlin’s sake, Hermione, just look at him!” Ginny indicated the photograph again. “He was a total git in school but seriously, he’s fit. No one would blame you if you took a fine specimen like that to bed.”

“Ginny!” Hermione groaned.

“At least tell me he’s a good kisser,” Ginny said.

“You’re really incorrigible!”

“And you’re trying to dodge the question.”

Hermione couldn’t quite keep down the blush. “Yes, he’s a very good kisser.”

“Well, thank goodness for that! But is that it? What is it you actually see in him?”

“He’s actually quite charming when he wants to be,” Hermione said, honestly. “I—we really just talked and talked. He told me about the family library—”

“Oh, of course!” Ginny said. “That’s how he got you. The biggest private library in England. I’ll bet he got your knickers wet just talking about first editions.”

“Ginevra Potter, you are the worst!”

“But I’m also right,” Ginny said, laughing. “I also want it stated for the record that I predicted this back at Teddy’s birthday party two weeks ago.”

“Yes, you did,” Hermione admitted.

“So, explain, Hermione. I get that he’s a good kisser and I get that you have loads of swotty book things to talk about together. But how did it start?”

Cursing herself for not having concocted a detailed enough cover story, knowing how indefatigable Ginny was when it came to mining for minutiae, Hermione cast about for the most plausible yarn to spin. All good lies had a kernel of truth in them, so Hermione started with that, making a mental note to tell Draco to use the same details in his story to keep their cover. “So, remember how I told you that I’m working on a special potions project in the lab? It’s something that he’s very interested in, and—it was one day after work, I was in his office discussing the project with him—actually, we started arguing about the order in which the ingredients should be added, and…and suddenly…we just ended up snogging. And I…I was trying to stop the kiss to tell him we shouldn’t be kissing and I…well, I ended up kissing him again.” Hermione’s face was bright red by the time she finished speaking, and she hoped Ginny would mistake her distress at lying for shyness over discussing details of her love life.

Before Ginny could ask any more questions, Kreacher entered the dining room with a silver tray stacked full of letters, including at least three more Howlers. “Begging your pardon, Mistress Ginevra, but these letters came for the Mud—Miss Granger.”

Hermione groaned, and took the letters off the tray, thanking Kreacher and pretending she hadn’t heard his almost slur at her. “I’ve been dealing with these all morning,” she said, rising up from her place at the table. “I need to take these and get back home to get ready to see my parents this afternoon.” She bent to give Ginny a hug. “Take it easy, and let me know if you need anything from me.”

“I need to live vicariously through your love life, so you need to keep me updated!” Ginny insisted as Hermione headed off to the Floo parlor.

__

Hermione dined with Draco two more times in the next week. Each time they ate together, she found she was becoming more and more comfortable spending time with him. Sometimes, for long stretches of time, she even forgot that this relationship was fake. She felt herself engaging in conversation with him, feeling interested in what he had to say, and she would have to shake herself to remind herself that this was a game they were playing. She reminded herself of all the times he had been cruel to her, called her Mudblood, sneered at her. But, the power of those old memories seemed to have paled and dimmed over the years and in the face of the full force of Draco’s charm. 

And each time they were in public and Draco held her close, or took her hand in his, or kissed her before a camera, she had to remind herself to act natural, and to remember it was an act. 

Another week passed, and she was at dinner with Draco at a little bistro at the end of Horizont Alley when a Patronus interrupted their meal. A silver stag burst into view next to their table, startling the other diners around them, circled the table once silently, and then disappeared.

Hermione gave a little gasp, meal and conversation forgotten. “Draco!” she whispered urgently, mindful of the other diners around her. “Ginny’s baby! I have to get to St Mungos!”

“Of course,” Draco said, immediately, signaling for the check. “I’ll escort you there.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said, pulling on her wrap as Draco settled the check. They left the restaurant and immediately Apparated to the hospital’s street entrance. 

Draco had been about to leave her, but Hermione surprised him by taking his hand. “You have to come in with me!”

Draco paused, surprised. “Me?”

“Yes, you!”

“Why would you want me to come? And into a den of Weasleys?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You’re supposed to be my boyfriend. I’d never let a boyfriend of mine leave me to go meet Harry and Ginny’s baby alone. You have to come. And, besides, you and Harry get along these days!”

A strange mixture of emotions crossed Draco’s face. Confusion, reluctance, and a strange sort of satisfaction. He looked at the eager expression on Hermione’s face, and his hesitation faded. He nodded and went with Hermione in through the visitors’ entrance and up the lift to the maternity ward.

As expected, the waiting area outside the maternity ward was packed with redheads. Every Weasley had come to wait for the arrival of Ginny’s baby. There were Weasleys and Weasley adjacent spouses, and children filling up the entire space of the waiting room, all uncharacteristically quiet for once. Hermione was greeted enthusiastically by the clan. Molly Weasley, especially, gave Hermione a long, motherly hug. The Weasleys were a little taken aback by Draco’s presence, but were all courteous, especially since their attention was all fixated on the room at the end of the hall where Healers and Mediwitches were scurrying in and out.

Hermione took a seat as far away from Ron and Lavender as possible, next to George, and Draco sat next to her, appearing relieved to be keeping this vigil with his favorite Weasley, at least. George’s fiancée, Angelina was a Chaser for the Wimbourne Wasps and she was away at a game in Northern Ireland, so George was by himself. At Hermione and Draco’s approach, George gave Hermione a hug and then took the opportunity of Draco’s presence to bring up another idea for a joke potion to market. The discussion of the possibilities and drawbacks of the product took up the better part of an hour. Hermione knew very little of the workings of business and her fascination with the discussion between them distracted her from the tedium of waiting for news. 

Finally, Harry emerged from down the hall, appearing exhausted, his black hair even more unkempt than usual. He pulled his glasses off and rubbed them on a bit of his sweater before putting them on, and announcing, with a beatific smile, “It’s a boy! James Arthur Potter! Seven pounds, nine ounces! And Ginny’s tired, but she’s doing great!” He turned to his parents-in-law, “Molly, Arthur, would you like to go in? They said two at a time.”

As the Weasleys took their turns going into the room to see Ginny and the baby, Hermione turned to Draco. “Thank you for staying with me for this,” she murmured.

“I was under the impression that my presence was mandatory,” Draco answered drily, but his smirk robbed the statement of its bite. 

Hermione huffed a little laugh. “But thank you all the same. I love them—they’ll always be my family. But sometimes—especially if Harry isn’t around—they can be a bit…much,” she whispered. 

“Well, then, I’m glad I could be here to help you,” Draco said. “But I’m going to need something from you in return.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. Her warm feelings toward Draco for having stayed with her evaporated at his words, and were replaced by a sudden sense of dread.  “What are you asking for in return?”

He smirked, “Dinner with the Snakes next Friday.”

“Dinner with the—“ Hermione repeated, and then realized what he meant. She felt a sense of relief. This was hardly the worst thing he could ask of her. “Which Snakes?”

“Theo, Pansy, Blaise and Daphne,” Draco said. “At Nott Manor.”

“I guess that’s fair,” Hermione said. “And I’d have to get to know them eventually. Is Pansy still scary?”

Draco laughed. “Over the years she’s probably only gotten scarier. But she’ll behave herself—mostly. And anyway, I don’t believe for a moment that you wouldn’t be able to hold your own against her.”

Hermione gave him a playful shove. “Oh, I’m not afraid of her. All right, dinner with the Snakes on Friday it is.”

Just then, Harry approached them, “Hermione? Would you like to come in?”

Hermione stood up, pulling Draco with her. “Can Draco come?”

Harry appeared a little nonplussed, but collected himself quickly. “Of course.” He cocked his head in the direction of Ginny’s room. “This way.”

Draco looked like a deer in the headlights. “It’s all right, Granger, I can wait for you out here.”

“Don’t be silly,” Hermione said, breezily. “You’ve dealt with the worst Dark Wizards in history. Surely, you can’t be afraid of a little baby!”

Draco’s eyes flashed, but he followed Hermione down the hallway to Ginny’s room.

Ginny looked tired, but was glowing with happiness when they entered the room. In her arms was a nondescript bundle of blue blankets from which a tiny fist emerged. Hermione rushed to her friend’s side and sat at the edge of the bed next to Ginny, planting a kiss on the new mother’s cheek. “Congratulations, Gin!” she exclaimed. “How are you doing?”

“Tired, and sore,” Ginny admitted, “But so happy he’s finally here.” She gestured toward the baby. “Would you like to hold him? He’s only already been passed around by a hundred people today. He’s an old pro already.”

“I’d love to,” Hermione said, taking the bundle off Ginny’s hands, as Draco greeted Ginny and offered her the expected round of congratulations and good wishes.

Hermione pushed the blanket aside to glimpse the baby’s face. He was red like most newborns, with a scrunched up, pudgy face, and a little fluff of bright red gold hair on the crown of his head. “Oh, how adorable!” Hermione cooed. “Hello, there, James!”

She happened to glance up and saw Draco’s eyes on her. There was a curious expression on his face as he watched her with the baby, that she couldn’t quite interpret. A fond smile as though he liked the tableau before him. “Would you like to hold the baby?” she asked.

Draco shook his head. “He looks like he’s very comfortable where he is.”

“So you really are together,” Ginny said, with her characteristic bluntness. “I mean, I saw the pictures in the paper, but I’m still trying to wrap my mind around this.”

“You disapprove?” Draco asked, his eyebrows raised.

Ginny grinned, “You actually make a very handsome couple. I’m reserving judgment.”

“I wait with bated breath,” Draco drawled.

Ginny shrugged. “Oh, I’m rooting for you two,” she said. “But you treat Hermione right or you’ll have me to answer to.”

“I’m right here!” Hermione objected.

“Hermione,” Harry said, “Umm…we have a request to make of you, but we understand if you have reservations, as it’s a big responsibility—”

“What is it?”

“We—we’d like to ask you to be the baby’s godmother. You’re the closest person to a sister either one of us has and we’d be honored if you’d take on this role for the baby.”

“I’d love to,” Hermione said, as tears welled up in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks. She got up, baby and all and gave Harry a hug.

“Who do you plan on asking to be the godfather?” Draco asked, surprising Hermione.

“George,” Ginny said. There was a determined set to her mouth that made Hermione think that the choice was not without its controversy.

Harry sighed. “Once upon a time we would have asked Ron,” he said. “And Molly really pushed for us to ask Ron, but—with everything that happened, we agreed that it wouldn’t be fair to you to ask you to co-godparent with him. And anyway, we felt that George deserved some extra affection after all he’s been through.”

“I’d love to co-godparent with George,” Hermione said, feeling a wave of love and gratitude toward her friends. “But if he sics any of his joke shop products on me through baby James, just remind him that I can do the Bat Bogey Hex almost as well as Ginny can.”

“Oh, I know you can hold your own against George any day,” Ginny laughed.

Hermione handed the baby back to its mother and gave Ginny another kiss, “Get some rest, sweetie,” she said. “We’re so happy for you and Harry.” She turned and gave Harry a big hug, and then took Draco’s hand as they left the room.

“You know, George is still my favorite Weasel,” Draco said as they headed to the lifts, “But the Weaslette is sort of growing on me.”

Chapter Text

Hermione had a minor existential crisis the next Friday when she went into her closet to decide what to wear that evening to have dinner with Draco and the Snakes. She had already cycled through most of her best dresses going on dates with Draco two to three times a week over the past few weeks. The most recent dress she had worn to dinner with him had been borrowed from Ginny, but Hermione didn’t want to bother Ginny unnecessarily, especially now that she and Harry were so preoccupied with a newborn.

It wasn’t just that she wanted to dress nicely to keep up her end of the bargain with Draco. She dreaded looking dowdy in front of Pansy Parkinson. Pansy had always been the sharpest tongued Slytherin in their school years, and now, she was the owner of Circe’s Closet, the trendiest boutique in Diagon Alley. Her clothes were considered de rigueur among the fashionable and well heeled witches, and Pansy herself always looked runway ready.

Finally, having run out of options, Hermione settled on wearing the grey silk dress she’d worn the first time she’d had dinner with Draco at the Emerald Orb. She again paired the dress with her grandmother’s brooch and decided to hope for the best.

Draco Floo’d into her flat at seven that evening, just as Hermione slipped on her heels and stepped into her sitting room. 

“No, Crooks, I can’t have cat fur on my dress today,” she murmured anxiously. She reached into his treat jar and offered her cat a morsel, which he took with a grumpy meow. She turned to Draco who looked impossibly fit in his dark blue dress suit. “You always look so nice,” she said, thinking that in another life he could have been a movie star or a smashingly successful male model. 

Draco gave her a smile like the cat that had gotten the cream. “Thanks, Granger. You too. Ready to face the den of Snakes?”

Draco held her hand and Floo’d in with Hermione into Nott Manor. Theodore Nott Junior was waiting for them when they arrived. 

“Hermione?” A tall, lanky man with a mop of brown curls, twinkling green eyes and an irrepressible smile came forward to greet her.

“Theo,” Hermione said, smiling back. She was sure she had never spoken more than two dozen words to the wizard in all her years at Hogwarts, but they had passed each other often in the library and had always shared friendly nods. She remembered him as a quiet, studious boy who was always near the top of his classes, his name battling for prominence with her and Draco and Padma Patil. “It’s lovely to see you again. Thank you for having me here.”

Theo took her hand in his and gave her a kiss on the back of it, and for some reason, Hermione felt Draco stiffen next to her, as if he was annoyed by his friend’s gallantry. “Welcome to Nott Manor. I hope this will be the first of many visits.”

“Enough of that,” Draco cut in, sending his friend a warning look that only made the smile on Theo’s face grow wider. 

“He never ever liked sharing,” Theo said, shaking his head. “Come, let’s go to the drawing room. The others are there already.”

They left the Floo parlor and headed down a long hallway filled with portraits of presumed Nott ancestors, interspersed with suits of armor and ancient weapons mounted on the walls before reaching a set of carved double doors that Theo opened with a flourish. The trio stepped in to see Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass seated on various chairs and settees and with plates of food balanced on their laps. Ever the proper Purebred gentleman, Blaise stood up as Hermione entered the room.

“Everyone, as I’m sure you know, this is Hermione Granger,” Theo announced. “Hermione, this is Pansy, Blaise and Daphne.”

“Granger,” Blaise said, with a little bow before he sat down again. He was a tall, handsome dark skinned man with a seductive lilt in his voice, likely from his Italian background. He had been seated next to Daphne, and as he sat back down, he put his arm around the pretty witch.

“Hello,” Daphne said with a friendly smile. She was a very attractive blonde that Hermione remembered from their classes at school. A quiet, cool sort of girl that always had a flock of boys queuing to ask her out to Hogsmeade on the weekends. She was dressed in a very classy navy blue pantsuit and wore a wedding ring identical to Blaise’s

“Hermione Granger,” Pansy greeted in a slow drawl. Pansy had never been considered pretty in school and even now she was still nowhere near Daphne in looks, but she had an air of confidence and strength that was attractive on its own and made her Eurasian features very distinctive and unforgettable. She was dressed in the most daring outfit Hermione had ever seen on a Pureblood witch, a two piece burnt orange satin ensemble that showed the entirety of her midriff. From where she sat, she seemed to be taking Hermione in from head to foot in a way that slightly unnerved her. She then leveled her gaze at Draco and smirked. “You look good. Dating Draco seems to agree with you.”

Hermione tried not to roll her eyes. “Thank you, Pansy.” She looked at Blaise and Daphne and said, “Hello, it's nice to see you again after all these years.”

Theo directed Hermione’s attention to the sideboard, which was laden with over a dozen serving platters heaped with food, all under a warming charm. “We’re having an informal buffet here before we start the cards. Help yourselves.” He pointed to another cart in the corner, “Drinks are there. Would you like me to start you with something?”

“A gin and tonic please,” Hermione said. “And what did you mean by cards?”

“G and T coming up,” Theo said, moving to the bar, “And we’re playing poker after we eat.

“Would you like me to fix you a plate?” Draco asked, indicating the buffet.

“Thank you, but I can do that,” Hermione said, wanting to postpone the moment she had to sit down and start socializing. She picked up a plate from the sideboard and moved down along the table to assemble her supper.

—

The evening with the Snakes turned out to be much more enjoyable than Hermione had expected. Draco’s friends were fairly well read and had traveled extensively in the years before and after the war. Hermione’s travels were limited to the vacations in France she took as a child and her trip to Australia to bring her parents home after the war. With her parents to care for, she simply had no means to pay for any extras, including vacations. She was, however, fascinated by the stories that Draco’s friends told of their trips abroad, as many of them had families or estates in other countries, and she peppered them with questions about what they had seen and how foreign wizards’ customs differed from British ones. 

Blaise’s family had a vineyard in Tuscany and he had spent summers in Italy from early childhood; he was quite fluent in Italian, and since he married Daphne, she was learning as well. He regaled them with the story of how he and some local village urchins had accidentally got drunk on some of the best vintage wine the vineyard produced when he was eight, and the ensuing chaos that had followed.

Pansy’s mother’s family was from Jeju Island in waters off southern South Korea. Her grandmother had a large estate on the island; her family farmed pearls, both regular high quality pearls that were sold to Muggle jewelers, and magical singing pearls, which were so rare and prized that a single strand necklace of these singing pearls could be worth over a million galleons. 

“I’d love to see how they harvest the singing pearls,” Hermione said. “Your grandmother’s estate must be amazing.”

Pansy groaned. “It would be even better if my grandmother would get rid of the boomslang colony on the estate. Those creepy creatures are everywhere and I’m told the caves near the water are filled with boom slang skins from their shedding. We’ve told her she could make a fortune selling them but she won’t let us touch even one.”

“Why not?” Daphne asked.

“She’s had a seventy year feud with her sister who wanted to get rid of the boomslangs, so just for spite, Oehalmeoni is holding onto every last one of them.”

“Who is Oehalmeoni?” Theo asked.

“Oehalmeoni means ‘grandmother’ in Korean, you uncultured prat,” Pansy rolled her eyes.

Theo held his hands up, “How was I supposed to know? I don’t speak Korean!”

“Context clues!” Pansy said. “Honestly. I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

”I thought you were going to keep your claws sheathed today.”

”For Granger, yes. Not for you,” Pansy retorted.

Sitting back and listening to the conversation in the room, Hermione thought of how ridiculous the House rivalries and wizarding prejudices were. These were people she could easily have been friends with back in their Hogwarts days if it hadn’t been for the thinking ingrained in each child from day one that they needed to be rivals against other Houses. 

The conversation wasn’t all about the Snakes and their travels and histories, however. They included Hermione. They asked what she had been doing in the years since they left Hogwarts. They asked about her job in the Potions division. They seemed interested in learning what she was interested in. Hermione was touched at their obvious attempts to include her in the discussion, and it made her think that Draco and his friends must be very close, as his friends were surely making an effort for her for Draco’s sake.

Draco didn’t speak much that evening as they ate, enduring the good natured ribbing the others threw his way at his new relationship with a stoicism that Hermione had not expected. He even seemed to be enjoying it. He sat close with her, his arm around her or with her hand in his for most of the evening, and Hermione had actually been grateful, especially in the beginning, when she had been very nervous about facing his friends. 

Finally, Pansy declared that everyone had had ample time to chat and eat and it was time to start playing.

The others agreed, and two of Theo’s house elves, dressed in matching three piece suits came to clear the dinner away and to put a dessert on the sideboard. Theo waved his wand and the furniture rearranged itself to include a six sided poker table and chairs. 

Blaise sat down and immediately began to pull the chips out and divide them six ways. “Usual minimum buy-in of a thousand galleons with twenty-five galleons per chip?” He said, his tone expecting total agreement from the others.

Hermione blanched. The thought of frittering away that much money in a single night was almost obscene to her. She grasped onto Draco’s sleeve as the others moved to sit at the table. “I’ll sit this one out,” she whispered.

Draco smiled. “Don’t worry, Granger, I have you covered.”

“A thousand galleons?”

“I’ll buy-in for both of us. Whatever you win you keep and if you lose, it's no big deal.”

“I can’t let you do that!” Hermione protested.

“Well, you can’t have your own seat at the table unless you buy in, so unless you’d rather sit in my lap as my good luck charm—“

Hermione gasped and then glared at him, “Fine! You win! I’ll take the buy-in.”

“You’re welcome, Granger,” Draco smirked.

Hermione’s lip twitched. There was something about Draco’s playfulness that made her want to play along. 

“Thank you,” she murmured with a reluctant smile.

“You could thank me with a kiss,” Draco said.

Hermione’s eyes widened, but she realized that it was for the benefit of the Snakes who were assembled at the poker table. She leaned toward him and gave him a quick kiss on his lips and would have moved to sit down, but Draco caught her arm and pulled her in for a deeper kiss that made her pulse rocket dangerously.

“Have you lovebirds had enough or would you like to join us to play?” Pansy drawled.

Draco broke off the kiss and gave a self satisfied smile that would have infuriated Hermione were it not for the fact that she was still trying to catch her breath. She followed him to the table and sat down next to him, with Theo on her left. 

“Have you played before?” Theo asked, as Blaise began to deal out cards

“Years ago,” Hermione said. “With Harry and Ron.”

“Just the two of them?” Daphne asked.

“We—we were on the run from the Ministry that year and looking for ways to destroy Voldemort. We had a lot of time in the evenings and I’m rubbish at Wizarding chess.”

“You played poker? Nothing more diverting with two men in a tent?” Pansy asked.

“Pans!” Draco admonished.

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Just asking.”

Luck was on Hermione’s side and she won the first three hands. As she pulled in her chips for the third time, she was beaming. 

“Trust the Golden Girl to take our gold,” Theo grumbled as he began to deal the next hand. Everyone ante’d for the next hand.

“Ugh, I hate that nickname,” Hermione said, without thinking.

The Snakes all turned to her as one when she said that, and Theo turned red, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize it was a sore spot for you.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Hermione said, swiftly, not wanting to make Theo uncomfortable. “But it just pulls me back to the war and the expectations that people have that Harry and Ron and I are all joined at the hip.”

“You must be hating the headlines in the papers lately,” Pansy said drily. “Jocasta Tattler seems to be drawing her paycheck off sightings of you and Draco.”

“I’m surprised it's her and not Rita Skeeter,” Daphne said. “She’s usually first string for front page articles like that.”

“Rita knows better than to write about me,” Hermione said.

“Why is that?” Pansy asked.

Hermione smirked. “She’s an unregistered animagus. Apparently her animal form is a beetle. And after she wrote all those lies about me during the Triwizard Tournament, I trapped her in a jar for almost a year until she promised she would keep her poisoned pen away from me.”

Five pairs of eyes were suddenly wide with shock, horror or mirth. Draco looked actually delighted by the story. 

“That’s amazing, Granger,” Draco said, chuckling.

“All right, never get on your bad side, Granger. Got it,” Theo said.

“Why didn’t the Sorting Hat put you in Slytherin?” Blaise demanded.

“The Hat did have a hard time. It was debating between Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. I asked to be put into Gryffindor.”

“The Sorting Hat was originally going to put me in Ravenclaw,” Theo said. “But I knew my father would have made my life not worth living if that happened so I begged it to put me into Slytherin.”

“Was that such a hardship for you?” Pansy demanded.

“No,” Theo said. “I knew if I was in Slytherin I’d have all of you, so I wasn’t worried. But it might have been nice to be in Ravenclaw. There were a couple girls there that I always thought were really fit.”

“Which ones?” Hermione asked.

“Did you know Mandy Brocklehurst or Luna Lovegood?”

“I didn’t know Mandy very well, but Luna is a good friend of mine. It’s not too late yet,” Hermione said. “Maybe I could introduce you two sometime.”

“And I actually know Mandy,” Daphne said. “She and I work down the hall from each other in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. I know she’s going to be at the Midsummer gala this year. If things don’t work out with Luna I could introduce you to her,” Daphne offered.

“Thanks, you two,” Theo said to Hermione and Daphne.

“Speaking of the Midsummer gala, are you going this year, Draco?” Blaise asked. “I heard the fundraiser auction is going to feature a painting by Ajax Callahan. Weren’t you looking for a piece of his to add to your collection?” He put two chips down. “I’m in and I raise.”

“Well, then it might be worth going this year,” Draco said. He turned to Hermione. “What do you say, Granger? A date at the gala?” Draco added four chips into the pot. “I see your two and I’m raising two.”

Hermione didn’t really think Draco meant this as anything other than a rhetorical question, but she smiled and murmured, “All right.”

“Ugh! I’m out. Shiite cards you dealt me, Theo,” Pansy groused. She turned toward Hermione. “If you’re going to the gala, you must stop by the shop. I can fix you up with a nice dress.”

“I’m out, too,” Daphne said, putting her cards down before turning to Hermione. “Pansy’s making my dress robes for the gala, too, and her outfits are to die for! You can’t turn down a chance like this! It’s almost impossible to get appointments with her. Usually she’s already booked up for the Christmas gala by this time of the year.”

Hermione gave a noncommittal smile, as Theo quietly called the bet and added in his four chips. She privately agreed that Pansy’s dresses were gorgeous, but Hermione had once seen a photo spread in Witch Weekly featuring Pansy’s fall line last year and the price tag on each outfit made tonight’s poker buy-in look like pin money. 

“Stop in next Saturday,” Pansy said, as though it was a foregone conclusion. “I’ll owl you to coordinate.”

Hermione looked to Draco to rescue her, but he only smiled, and said, “Pans is very talented. You should go.”

“Thanks, Pansy, but I think I’m set,” Hermione demurred, adding her four chips into the pot.

“She’ll be there,” Draco said, overriding Hermione’s objection. 

Hermione bit back her refusal, reminding herself that she was here to play a role. She would have to deal with Draco’s high handedness later, after they left Theo’s. 

“Oh, don’t worry about the price tag, Granger,” Pansy said, the witch’s perceptiveness startling Hermione. “Draco can afford to stand you a dress for the gala.” Her sharp eyes went to Hermione’s outfit. “Speaking of which, is that brooch a gift from him? It’s quite stunning.”

“This?” Hermione’s attention was diverted by Pansy’s question and she fingered the iris brooch on her dress. “No, it’s not from Draco. This was my grandmother’s brooch.”

“Your grandmother’s brooch?” Pansy repeated. “Your Muggle grandmother’s brooch?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione bristled. 

“Don’t get your knickers all in a twist, Granger,” Pansy said. “I’m not putting you down as a Muggle-born. I just wondered how your Muggle grandmother acquired goblin made jewelry.”

“Goblin made?” Hermione shook her head. “No, it’s not goblin made.”

“Granger, I work in fashion. I either make fashion or I acquire fashion. I know my fabrics and my accessories. And I’ll bet the price of twenty dress robes that the brooch you have on is goblin made.”

“It’s possible,” Draco interjected. “Didn’t you say your grandmother got it as a gift from the Queen? If there was any Muggle who would have access to goblin made jewelry, it would be the Queen of England.”

“You think?” Hermione was still skeptical.

“It’s actually what I thought when I first saw it,” Draco said. “But your friend Bill Weasley, doesn’t he work for Gringott’s? I’ll bet he could authenticate it for you.”

“All right, show of hands,” Blaise said.

Cards were shown and Hermione had won again.

“Are you kidding me?” Theo asked. “We invite the lion in one time and she starts to clean us out?”

“It’s what happens when you go against the Brightest Witch of Our Age,” Draco said. He seemed pleased that she was winning, in an almost proprietary fashion.

“It’s been so long since I’ve played it’s almost like beginner’s luck all over again,” Hermione said. 

“Don’t sell yourself short, Granger,” Theo said. “None of us would.”

—

“Why did you tell Pansy I would go to her store next week when I said no?” Hermione asked, after Draco had brought her back to her flat that night. She had won over twelve hundred galleons at poker that night, and was thrilled at the windfall, but she didn’t want to spend all of it on one dress for a party, which is what she might do if she bought her dress from Pansy. Also, she was somewhat irritated at Draco’s high handedness.

“What’s the harm in looking?” Draco said. “Besides, Pansy’s right, I‘m happy to foot the bill for the dress.”

“Draco—“ Hermione didn’t have much, but she had her pride.

“Don’t think of this as a present,” Draco said, shrugging. “You’re coming with me to the gala as part of our deal. You need to dress the part. Think of it as a work uniform—like the lab robes you use in the Potions lab.”

“But—“

“I want my witch to be the belle of the ball,” Draco cajoled. He gave a smile clearly meant to charm. “Do it for me?”

“You’re not used to hearing ‘no’, are you?” Hermione grumbled, wishing she was strong enough to withstand the full force of his charisma when Draco chose to wield it.

“Nope.” Draco gave her an unrepentant smirk.

“Spoiled child,” she said, but with a twitch in her lips. “Fine, I’ll go to Pansy’s on Saturday.

“Thank you,” Draco said. “And for our date next Saturday, I’d like to show you my flat.”

“Your flat?”

“You’re going to move into it eventually, so you should see it first, don’t you think?”

“I—I guess,” Hermione acquiesced, her mind doing panicked cartwheels at the idea of moving into Draco’s flat. She had agreed to this, but the idea of living in such close quarters as him was terrifying to her equilibrium.

“You can come over after you finish at Pans’ place,” Draco said.

Hermione nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“So, what did you think of them?” Draco asked.

Attention diverted, Hermione considered the evening. “I think they were actually quite fun. It was a much more relaxing evening than I thought it would be.”

“It didn’t hurt that you were the big winner of the night, I’ll bet,” Draco said, laughing.

“Not at all. Oh, that reminds me,” Hermione dug into her beaded bag for her winnings. “Your buy-in money,” she said, pulling out the thousand galleon stack that she had shrunk to fit in her bag. 

“It’s yours, Granger,” Draco said. 

“But—“

“I told you, you keep your winnings. That includes the buy-in. Treat yourself to a few books,” He gave her a light peck on the cheek. “I’ll see you in the office on Monday. Goodnight, Granger,” he said, before he grabbed a handful of Floo powder and left her flat.

—

“So, of all the witches in the world, you chose Hermione Granger, and she agreed to your plan?” Theo said, still somewhat in disbelief.

“Well, it’s not like I could choose any witch,” Draco said, leaning back in his chair. He had just left Hermione at her flat and had returned almost immediately to Nott Manor for a post mortem with his friends to dissect the evening they’d had. “And I’d like to remind you that this was your plan.”

“But Hermione? And she said yes?” Blaise said, echoing Theo. “I thought you two hated each other.”

“Well, hate is a strong word—“ Draco began.

“You positively loathed her in school,” Pansy interjected. 

Draco decided not to argue with Pansy, although the truth was more complicated than the black and white his friends saw. It was true there was no love lost between him and Hermione Granger in their Hogwarts days, but he realized earlier than he’d ever admitted to anyone that he didn’t hate her so much as he hated what she represented, mainly, a repudiation of all he knew of the world and his place in it. Perhaps if the war had not intervened, he might have said something to her, but with the Dark Lord gaining power and his own inescapable involvement in the Death Eater army, there was no upside to admitting that underneath the hatred, he actually admired and respected the Muggleborn witch for her intelligence even as her swottiness and what he perceived as her insufferability over her accomplishments annoyed him no end. 

With the war and their schooldays long behind them, and seeing Hermione now with fresh eyes, Draco had felt as though he was finding out what she was really like for the first time. And he liked what he saw. That fierce brilliance still shone through in every conversation they had. She was passionate about the things she was interested in, and she was straightforward, kind, and proud. They shared a similar sense of humor. Other than that disastrous first date, each time he had taken her out, she had been the perfect dinner companion. And some nights when he brought her back to her flat, he had almost had to force himself to leave her. Had to forcibly remind himself that this was not real. She was not with him because she liked him, she was with him because he was paying her, and because they had an arrangement.

“Why did she agree to this?” Theo asked again. “What does she get out of it?”

Draco hesitated before answering. He understood and sympathized with Hermione’s reasons for agreeing to the arrangement and he knew his friends would, too. But he also knew Hermione to be fiercely proud and he knew she would not want his friends to know of her circumstances. “It’s my charming company,” he drawled.

“You can be charming when you want to be,” Pansy admitted, “but there’s no way you’ve been charming to her enough for her to agree to be your fake girlfriend just for the charm. Is she trying to get away from some unwanted attention like you are? Or is she trying to get back at Weasley for dumping her all those years ago?”

“Something like that,” Draco said, although he hated to think she would ever use him to get back at Weasley, since that would imply she still cared about the ginger wanker.

“And how long is this arrangement supposed to go on?” Pansy asked.

“Six months to a year. I just need to have time to not worry about all the work of courting or dating or whatever.”

“According to the gossip columns in the Daily Prophet you seem to be spending an awful lot of time courting for someone who’s not courting,” Blaise pointed out.

Draco sighed. “It’s just to make sure the gossips out there know we’re together. Once that’s all established I won’t need to go out there so publicly and so often.”

“But won’t that make people think your relationship is on the rocks if they don’t see you?” Daphne pointed out.

“She’s moving in with me, so I don’t think they’ll think we’re on the rocks even if we don’t go out so much.”

“She’s what?” Theo asked. “Moving to your flat?”

“Yes. In a couple weeks. We discussed this.”

“Your flat?” Pansy said. “The one where you said you’ve never let a girl stay the night?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I have more than one bedroom in there.”

“I can’t wait to see how long this lasts,” Pansy muttered.

“Does this mean I can’t come hang out there anymore?” Theo demanded. “It’s the only place I can go to watch the games on the telly.””

“You’re one the richest wizards in England and you’re telling me you can’t get your own Muggle flat to watch football games?” 

“It’s more fun watching with you since you get so riled up,” Theo said. Draco rolled his eyes.

“What does Narcissa say about all this?” Pansy demanded. ”After all, this is mainly about getting her off your back.”

“So far, nothing,” Draco said. “But she also hasn’t tried to set me up with anyone in over a month, which is a huge relief.”

“Have you actually told her you’re seeing Hermione?”

“My parents and I excel in the art of subtle avoidance. She knows. I know she knows. She knows I know she knows. And we pretend no one knows anything.”

“Hmmph,” Pansy said.

“Well, I for one think that you couldn’t have picked a better witch for the job. She’s nice and she seems to fit in,” Daphne said. “And even if she cleaned us out, she was more fun to hang out with than I would have ever expected.”

“She’s also doing a pretty good job of pretending to be your girlfriend,” Theo said. For some reason, this statement should have been a reassurance, but it disquieted Draco in a way he couldn’t quite analyze.

“Is it pretend?” Blaise asked, under his breath, but Draco heard him.

“What does that mean?” Draco asked.

Blaise’s eyebrows went up. “She seemed pretty into that kiss you shared.” 

Draco smirked

“I can’t believe she trapped Rita Skeeter in a jar for a year,” Theo said.

“Believe it. Did you know she also broke into Gringott’s and rode out of it on a dragon?” Draco asked.

“Stop,” Pansy said. “You’re having us on.”

“No, I’m not!” Draco insisted. “I’ll have to get her to tell you that story the next time you see her. But it’s absolutely true because the goblins have been giving her a hard time every time she goes to the bank ever since then. I had to go threaten Porblick that I’d take my funds out for them to promise to stop harassing her.”

“You threatened Porblick—for her?” Blaise asked.

“What’s wrong with that?” Draco asked.

“That seems like an awful lot of effort for a pretend girlfriend,” Pansy pointed out.

“Well, she may be a pretend girlfriend,” Draco said, “But she’s my pretend girlfriend. And I didn’t like the way they were treating her.”

“All I’ll say is that I’d better be the one to design her wedding dress,” Pansy said. 

Draco rolled his eyes at her.

“Anyway, I meant it when I said I hope she comes over more often,” Theo said. “It’s nice to have some new blood in our group. Actually, Draco, new rule is you’re not allowed back unless you bring her.”

“Glad to hear a lifetime friendship can be swept away so quickly,” Draco said, but his sarcasm lacked rancor. He turned to Pansy. “Speaking of dresses for Granger:  I have some things I wanted to discuss with you about outfitting her. And I’m prepared to open my wallet.”

Pansy grinned. “Music to my ears, Draco.”

Chapter Text

Circe’s Closet was located just at the junction of Diagon and Horizont Alleys. The front entrance was not flush with the sidewalk like other shops, but had to be reached by a short walkway paved with sandstone. The establishment sat behind an imposing wrought iron fence with a carefully manicured front garden. It was very discreet and very elegant, and it was clear that Pansy’s clientele were all very very well heeled.

“Welcome to Circe’s Closet,” Pansy said, greeting her as she walked in the door for her appointment. “How have you been since last week?”

“Hello, Pansy, I’m well, thank you,” Hermione said, stepping into the shop and feeling, almost immediately, the sense of luxury and exclusivity that the establishment exuded. The lighting was intimate, and the furnishings very rich with gleaming wood paneling and brass fixtures. The dress robes and other clothes Pansy had on display were all very well cut and beautiful, made of rare and expensive fabrics with fantastic embroidery or beading on many of the more exquisite pieces. “You?”

“Busy.” Pansy said. She herself was dressed in one of her creations, a light mauve set of dress robes that was both business-like and elegant and cut to show off the feminine curves in her figure. Pansy’s shining black hair was cut in a bob, and she wore a triple strand of very long pearls that would not have looked out of place on a 1920s flapper. Just like she’d been at Theo’s the week before, she looked very handsome, very formidable and very elegant.

“I’m glad to hear that business is good,” Hermione said.

“It’s the beginning of the summer season, and everyone’s looking to change their wardrobes. Business has been very good,” Pansy preened. “I may be opening a second location in Hogsmeade if the season pays off enough this year.”

“Congratulations,” Hermione said, trying to remember any time before the last week at Theo’s that she’d ever had a conversation with Pansy Parkinson that didn’t involve insults and hexes.

“Thank you. So, would you like a spot of tea while we do the measurements?” Pansy suggested. “And you can have a look around and show me which types of outfits interest you and I can put together a profile for you.”

“All right,” Hermione said. She followed Pansy toward the back, stopping for a moment to look at a cream colored set of dress robes with a bias cut and gold embroidery that caught her eye. She also happened to see the price tag on the outfit, and her eyes bulged a little. It was easily more than a month’s salary.

Pansy noticed and laughed. “Don’t worry about the prices. Draco’s footing the bill, and he can afford it.”

“Oh, uh…” Hermione’s face reddened.

“So, you and Draco,” Pansy said, her voice a little arch. “This is certainly unexpected.”

“Yes,” Hermione agreed. “It’s certainly nothing I would have foreseen back when we were in Hogwarts.”

“Well, a lot has changed since our Hogwarts days, including Draco,” Pansy said as she ushered Hermione into her measurement room in the back. A tea service was already set out. “Have a seat,” Pansy said. “Tea?”

“Tea, yes please,” Hermione said, adding, “What do you think has changed about Draco?”

“Draco is still essentially Draco,” Pansy said. “Still smarmy, still sure he’s the smartest man in the room. Still ruthless in getting what he wants. Still with an ego as fragile as glass. He was always loyal to his friends and family. But I think suffering has taught him some empathy. And he’s more patient than he used to be.” Pansy pulled out her wand and said,  “Mensura,” and a measuring tape materialized in front of Hermione and started taking measurements. 

“He’s more charming than I remember,” Hermione said.

“Oh, he could always pull out the charm if he wanted. It’s just that he was too spoiled or impatient to bother most of the time when he was younger,” Pansy said, dryly. She began to pour out tea for Hermione. “Milk? Sugar?”

“Yes, a splash of milk and two spoons of sugar please,” Hermione said. 

“So, I’ve known Draco since we were small children,” Pansy said, handing the teacup to Hermione. “Here’s what I can tell you: he’s very possessive. He doesn’t share. And he likes to show off. So, he’s going to want to show you off.“ Pansy pulled out a catalog from a nearby shelf. “This is our spring line. Just take your wand out and tap any outfit that catches your eye. Don’t be shy about it. Any outfit. I’m trying to build an idea of your overall preferences.”

“Do you—do you do this for all his girlfriends?” Hermione asked. 

“No. He’s had many dates,” Pansy said. “And a couple short term flings. But he hasn’t had an actual girlfriend before you since—since me, I think. I mean, you could count Astoria, but no one does, since that was an arranged betrothal and Draco was never very interested in her.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. She hadn’t forgotten that Pansy and Draco had dated in their fourth and fifth years and possibly even sixth year in school, but that had been so long ago. And nothing of Draco’s or Pansy’s interactions from that night at Theo’s had made Hermione think that there was still something going on between them, or even any interest on either side. Don’t be ridiculous, she chided herself. If there was still something between them, he wouldn’t need to get a fake girlfriend because he’d have a real one. And even as she mentally berated herself, Hermione wondered why she should even care. 

“What happened between you two?” Hermione couldn’t stop herself from asking.

Pansy gave a short bark of a laugh. “Oh, Merlin. I could say it was the war, but we were drifting apart even before he took the Dark Mark. We couldn’t be more incompatible if we tried. We’re too much alike and we both need someone completely different from ourselves. He needs someone who can challenge him intellectually, and for all his alpha male boasting, he needs someone who can put him in his place. And he needs someone who can love him because of his faults as well as in spite of them. The only thing that drew me to him was his looks, because, let’s face it, he’s gorgeous and has a body for sin. I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you how good he is in bed, but that’s not enough for a relationship without the rest of it.”

Hermione felt her face redden at the discussion of sex, and Pansy’s easy assumption that they’d already slept together, but Pansy was busy looking for a second catalog from inside a cabinet under the shelf.

“Take a look at this one, too. It’s last year’s autumn line, but it may have more designs that interest you.”

As Hermione perused the catalog Pansy had handed to her, Pansy excused herself and went to the front of the shop to pick some sample dress robes and other outfits for Hermione to look at. The clothes in Pansy’s catalog were very eye-catching, some with more daring hemlines and bustlines, and were more form fitting than most predominant wizarding styles. They were all elegant and very flattering. Hermione found herself tapping a lot of outfits. 

“Hmmm,” Pansy said, coming back with a dozen outfits charmed to float behind her. She looked at some of the choices Hermione had made with pursed lips. “Interesting. I’m glad to see you’re not afraid to show off a little skin. All right, Granger, step up to this mirror here.”

Hermione stood before the mirror Pansy indicated. “Now, I’m going to have you try on each of these outfits. They may not be in a style you like, but bear with me. I’m trying to get an overall sense of what cut and styles flatter you the most. So, here—“ Pansy held out a set of sunshine yellow dress robes. “Let’s start with this.” Pansy tapped the outfit with her wand and then tapped Hermione’s clothes and suddenly, she was wearing the yellow dress robes. Hermione let out a little yelp of surprise. Pansy laughed. “It’s a wardrobe changing spell. I had to learn it or our customers might take days to figure out what they wanted to wear. What do you think?”

Hermione looked at herself in the mirror. The robes were of a light fabric and they made her look pretty. Very feminine and elegant. Still, they were not quite her style. A little too dressy for anything she might need and a little under dressy for any fancy parties. 

“Hmm…” Pansy pursed her lips and went through the other clothes she’d brought out one by one and they discussed the merits of each outfit in detail. Pansy kept pointing out elements she thought Draco might appreciate. Hermione tried not to roll her eyes. Finally, Pansy had her try on a ball gown with a very daring décolletage. The original color had been a bright red that Hermione associated with phone boxes, but it was glorious. She liked it immediately. “Too red,” Pansy said. “Let’s go with green.” She tapped the gown and it turned green.

“No,” Hermione protested. “I liked it with the original color.”

“But Draco would like the green so much better.”

“Draco is going to have to learn to live with disappointment,” Hermione snapped. “I like the red.”

To her surprise, Pansy laughed. “Good for you, Granger. Don’t let him run roughshod over you. I was going to warn you to stand your ground with him but now I see I don’t have to.”

Hermione gave a smile of satisfaction. “I think I like you a lot better than I did when we were in school,” she said.

Pansy gave a short laugh. “Same. It’ll be fun to watch you and Draco. Now, once you’ve gone through these clothes we need to go to the back and look at lingerie.”

Hermione turned beet red. “I really don’t think we need to—“

“Yes, we really do need to. Enjoy being pampered. Everyone deserves a little of that once in a while. Besides, Draco needs to get his money’s worth,” Pansy said. “You think he thinks more of what you’re wearing on the outside than on the inside?”

There was no way Hermione could let Pansy know that she had no plans to ever let Draco Malfoy see a scrap of her lingerie, but Pansy chose to misinterpret her reticence as modesty. 

“Also, Granger, you might not realize it, but often a good brassiere or bustier will enhance the outer garment. And the right knickers are a must. So, let’s get going. We have so many things to consider.”

It was late afternoon by the time Hermione left Pansy’s shop. Pansy had told her she would have the dress ready later that week, but that Hermione needed to come in for a final fitting. To the concerns Hermione had about the cost, Pansy assured her that Draco’s galleons would be put to far better use dressing up Hermione than sitting around in a Gringott’s vault.

That afternoon, Hermione sat at her dresser putting the final touches on her outfit for the evening when she was due to go to see Draco’s flat for the first time. Even though they were having dinner in his flat, Hermione still didn’t feel she could forgo dressing up. She had ruthlessly raided her closet and after an hour, had finally pulled together an outfit she thought would be suitable: a cream lace top and dark green wraparound skirt that she paired together with a pair of black suede ankle boots. She tied her hair back with a ribbon she transformed to match the color of her skirt. As she dressed, she thought back to her afternoon with Pansy, thinking how she had enjoyed herself far more than she had ever thought she would.

“Pansy’s right,” Hermione said, to her reflection, “It does feel really nice to be pampered for once.”

—

Draco’s flat was everything Hermione expected and yet still took her breath away. It was a duplex penthouse on top of a very posh building in Mayfair, one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in London. The main floor had floor to ceiling wraparound windows, high ceilings and an open floor plan that made the rooms seem enormous. The furniture was modern, sleek leather, chrome, marble, and cantilevered glass, with priceless artwork adorning the walls and the various nooks around the rooms. Giant crystal vases filled with flowers and placed around strategic locations added a touch of warmth and elegance to the space. In one corner of the room was a baby grand piano.

Hermione stepped out of the Floo into a small antechamber just off the spacious living room, the main room of the first floor and stopped cold when she saw Draco sitting on the couch, working through a pile of parchment with quill and ink—and watching television. 

He looked up when he heard her enter through the Floo and smiled, standing up. He quickly crossed over to her and took the bottle of wine she had brought with her. “Granger,” he said, giving her a light kiss on the forehead. “Welcome. You look lovely.” He scrutinized the wine she had brought with her and murmured appreciatively, “Perfect. Red wine and a good vintage. Let me get this aerated and we can each have a glass of this for dinner. Come on in.”

Hermione followed him in and then pulled a small package out from her beaded bag. 

“What’s this—?” Draco looked down. “Sour apple gummies?”

“I seemed to remember you liked them quite a bit that day when we went grocery shopping. I was in Sainsbury’s this afternoon and thought you might like some more.”

Draco beamed at her and took the bag. “Granger, this is why they call you the Brightest Witch of Our Age. Thank you!”

They stepped further into the living room space and Hermione said: “I can’t believe you watch television.”

Draco grinned as he entered the kitchen and dealt with the wine. “Theo got me hooked on the telly and now we love watching football together. He comes over some nights and we watch the games, since he obviously can’t get reception at his house.”

“What’s your favorite team?” Hermione asked, turning to look at the enormous flat-paneled screen mounted on the wall. 

“You know football?” Draco asked.

“Not much more than I’m familiar with Quidditch,” Hermione admitted, “But I was just curious if you followed a team.”

“Manchester United.” Draco said.

“But you don’t live anywhere near Manchester. Neither here nor at the Manor!” Hermione exclaimed.

“I don’t but I wanted to pick the best team to root for.”

“Who does Theo like?”

Draco sighed. “I tried to talk him out of his misguided ways, but he follows Liverpool.”

“Have you ever been to a game before?” Hermione asked.

“I watch them all the time.”

“No,” Hermione said. “I mean at the stadium. There really is something very different about being there compared to watching at home on the telly.”

“I thought you didn’t like football.”

Hermione considered her answer here. “I’m not a fan of football. But I’ve watched games both on the telly and in the stadium. My father is an Arsenal fan and he took me to a few matches when I was younger. I didn’t love them, but somehow, the feel of the game is completely different when you’re in the stadium because of the crowds and how their energy pours onto you.”

“That makes sense,” Draco said. “I imagine watching Quidditch on the telly would also feel different from being at the game. Maybe I’ll have to go sometime. In the meantime, would you like to have the tour before we eat?”

Hermione nodded. 

“Well, this is what the estate agent called the living room. Mum would have called this a drawing room, but it's where I spend most of my time when I’m here. There’s the dining area and the kitchen—“ Draco pointed to a marble topped table halfway between the living room and the kitchen that sat six, and then the kitchen, which was open to the space of the living room, and which had all the latest and most modern kitchen appliances. Hermione wandered into the kitchen and opened a few drawers and cabinets. They were fully stocked, and everything looked pristine.

“Do you cook?” Hermione asked, pulling out a set of measuring cups from one of the drawers.

“No. I have a stocked wine room, but if I eat at home it's either takeaway or I have the elves bring me food.”

Draco took her to a small hallway off to the side of the kitchen behind the pantry and the wine room, and opened two doors that stood side by side. One opened onto an enormous room with sleek, modern furniture, including a platform bed that dominated the space. The windows of the master bedroom gave a panoramic view of London and the Thames, and appeared to open onto a balcony. “This is my room,” Draco said. He pulled back and then took her into the second room, which was half the size of the master bedroom, but still possibly larger than her entire flat. “This is yours. It has its own en-suite, and your closet is here.” Draco opened the door to an empty, but enormous walk in closet. The smaller bedroom also had a view of London, but was away from the Thames, and the windows, while still large, were not floor to ceiling. Still, it would be far and away the nicest bedroom Hermione had ever had. The furniture, like the set in Draco’s room, was very modern, and elegant, and, to Hermione’s delight, there was one wall with built-in bookcases.

“Oh, and I had these added in for you,” Draco said. He tapped the bookcases with his wand and they opened like an accordion to reveal three more rows of bookcases behind the first one. “Ministry approved Extension Charm.”

“That’s phenomenal!” Hermione exclaimed, enraptured.

“So, you like this room?”

“It’s—quite lovely,” Hermione said, although the reality of what she had agreed to do, to move in and live with Draco Malfoy was suddenly hitting her in a way that made her uneasy. She swallowed. It was getting to be too real. It’s pretend, it’s pretend, it’s pretend, she reminded herself, even as she thought of how Draco had gone above and beyond to get Ministry permits for an Extension Charm just for her.

“Let me know if there are any changes you want made.”

“Changes?”

“You’re going to be living here, so you might as well be comfortable,” Draco said, shrugging.

“When—when should this move happen?” Hermione asked. 

“Well, we’ve been officially dating for about three weeks now. How about next weekend?” Draco suggested. “Do you have a lot of things you want to bring over?”

“Just my clothes and books. A couple of knickknacks. And Crookshanks, of course.”

“Of course,” Draco agreed. “Come on, let me show you the second floor.”

Hermione followed him out to a spiral staircase she hadn’t seen before and climbed up to the second floor, which was smaller than the first because half of it was dominated by an outdoor deck that looked like the perfect space to host rooftop parties. The other rooms of the second floor were a library, an office, a small potions lab, two more bedrooms, two loos and a gym, which had all the weight lifting equipment of a modern gym, as well as a treadmill, a stationary bicycle and a rowing machine. Just outside the gym in a glass encased room with a retractable roof was a two lane lap pool and a sauna. Looking around at the gym, Hermione finally understood why Draco looked so fit.

Hermione spent a fair amount of time in the library, browsing the titles. There were a lot of potions books, but also a fair number of spell books and novels. She made a mental note of certain books she wanted to read in the future. After Draco showed her the gym, she stepped out from the sliding glass doors of the gym onto the deck. The evening was warm, and from the deck she could see all of London spread out below her. She looked out west where the sun had gone, but the sky still held traces of purple and magenta. She felt like she was on top of the world.

“What do you think?” Draco asked, coming out to stand next to her at the railing where she looked down on the city streets below.

Hermione sniffed ruefully. “I don’t know if I can live here.”

“Why not?”

“After this, anywhere else I live will always be a letdown,” she joked. “This is definitely the poshest flat I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m glad you like it,” he said. He took her hand. “Come on down, and let's have dinner.”

Hermione followed him back into the flat and down the stairs. In the time they had been exploring the flat, Draco’s elves had apparently come and set up the dinner for them. The dining table was now laden with cutlery, glassware, plates and dishes. Two long tapers had been lit, and the lights dimmed. The television had been turned off, and from some hidden speakers Hermione could not see, music was playing.

“You eat like this every night?” Hermione asked.

Draco laughed. “No. It’s usually just a simple plate, fork, knife and wineglass. I think the elves were trying to impress you.”

Dinner was pan seared duck breast with a sour cherry glaze, mushroom risotto and sautéed artichoke hearts with a light Hollandaise sauce. There was also a salad, and a mouth wateringly crusty loaf of freshly baked bread. The wine Hermione brought complemented the meal perfectly and she was glad that for once, she felt she was contributing something.

“How was it at Pans’ shop this afternoon?” Draco asked. “Did she take good care of you?”

Hermione smiled. “She’s very different from what I remember. She still has that sharp edge when she speaks, but she treated me very well, and I actually had fun going over fashion and designs with her in the shop. I think we could become friends, actually.”

Draco’s eyes widened. “Really?” He laughed, but added. “They all liked you the other night. Theo’s already threatening to not allow me back unless I bring you next time.”

Hermione pinkened with delight. It was so nice to feel wanted. “It’s a nice feeling to make new friends,” she said.

“Yes, I agree,” Draco said.

There was something in Draco’s expression when he said that, which made Hermione’s breath catch in her throat. She quickly cast about to change the subject before the moment got awkward.

“Have you been in her shop before?”

“Once. I brought Mother there when she needed dress robes for last year’s Ministry Christmas Gala. Even Mother was impressed, which is saying something. But then, Pans was always good at that: Fashion, design, decor. She has a feel for what works and what doesn’t.”

“We chose a dress for the Midsummer gala that I think you’ll like,” Hermione said, “And I know you’re going to ignore my protests over the price, so I’ll just say thank you.”

“Now I can’t wait to see how you’ll look,” Draco said. He looked over toward Hermione’s plate. “Are you finished or would you like another helping of the duck?”

“It was wonderful, but I’ve had enough,” Hermione.

Draco sent their plates to the kitchen sink and tapped his wand to bring out the dessert. The elves had made a Black Forest cake, and there was a selection of tea, coffee, and brandy. Draco cut a slice of cake and offered it to Hermione, and then cut a slice for himself.

“What would you like to drink?” he asked.

“Tea, please,” Hermione said.

Draco poured out the tea for her and added two sugars and milk, just the way Hermione liked her tea. He passed the cup and saucer to her and then helped himself to a glass of brandy. 

“So, Master Bergen says you’ve made a breakthrough in the potion?” Draco asked.

“Yes!” Hermione said with a smile. “Yesterday we tested the new formulation and it has gone up by a factor of eight in potency. At least in the in vitro studies. We’re going to try the potion out in vivo in the lab rats starting next week and then on the human volunteers. I’m really hoping it works out, and I have an idea that might increase the potency by another factor of three.”

“What did you change about the formulation?”

“Everyone uses Jobberknoll feathers in memory potions, but I also added in Occamy feathers. I remember reading a text from the sixteenth century where a witch used Occamy feathers in a potion that she used to help her patients that suffered physical brain damage. She shredded the feathers and added them into her potion, so we experimented with that and it seems to be working. I was also thinking of adding in some liquid silver into the potion to see if it might increase the potency of the Occamy feathers.”

“Brilliant,” Draco said. “Let me know how it works out.”

“I will,” Hermione said, adding, “This cake is divine. Who made this? Mipsy?”

“Yes, Mipsy is a genius with desserts,” Draco said. “I don’t often let her make desserts because the last thing I need is temptation, but since you were coming, we thought we’d make a special occasion of it.”

“Please tell her she’s outdone herself.”

“Tell her yourself,” Draco said. “She’ll be tickled to hear it from you. Mipsy!”

A loud crack sounded and Mipsy stood before them. This time she was wearing a black blazer with gold stripes and matching trousers, over a black silk blouse. She looked like she was ready to walk into a boardroom meeting. “Master?”

“Miss Hermione had something to say to you.”

“Mipsy, this dinner and dessert were simply wonderful,” Hermione said.

“Thank you, Miss Hermione,” Mipsy beamed.

“Mipsy,” Draco said, “Miss Hermione is moving in here next week. So, when she is here, you and Tippy are to come when she calls.”

“Draco, no—“ Hermione protested, at the same time Mipsy’s tennis ball large eyes overflowed with tears of happiness.

“Oh!!! Mipsy is liking Miss Hermione! This is wonderful news. Tippy will be so happy to hear of this, too! Yes! Please call Mipsy if you need anything, Miss!” and with a loud crack! Mipsy Apparated away.

“Draco, really! House elves?” Hermione was indignant.

“Granger. They’re all free elves!” Draco protested. “And they’re paid double the market rate. Just look at Mipsy. That suit she has on probably costs a month of your salary. And besides, if you don’t call them, they’ll get bored. They live for this!”

“I’m never going to get used to this,” Hermione grumbled.

—

Hermione’s move into Draco’s flat the next weekend was both nerve wracking and anticlimactic. Draco told her he had re-keyed the wards in the flat to recognize her so she could Apparate in at any time, and he had informed the doormen downstairs that she was moving in just in case she ever wanted to use the Muggle entrance to the building. She packed her things in one night and arrived at Draco’s flat with two suitcases, two dozen boxes of books magically shrunk and with feather weight charms placed on them to fit in her beaded bag, three boxes of personal effects she needed, ranging from her photos of her parents to her own personal toothbrush, and a cat carrier with an enraged Crookshanks inside. 

After Crookshanks had been freed from his carrier, the orange half-Kneazle promptly disappeared somewhere in the bowels of the flat to nurse his grievances over having been so unceremoniously shoved into a tiny canvas container, and then magically bounced through half of London.

Draco showed Hermione to her room and helped her organize her books on her bookshelves. She took out her personal items that she set up in various places around her room and in her en-suite bathroom. And then Hermione pulled her suitcases into her closet where she stopped short. 

Last week, the walk in closet had been empty, but now row upon row of gorgeous, stylish outfits hung in the closet. There were blouses, jackets, dresses, dress pants, dress robes and jumpers in a dazzling array of colors. The drawers were filled with more clothes, sleepwear, and blush-inducing lingerie, and at least two dozen pairs of shoes, boots and sandals filled the shelves at the bottom of the closets.

Hermione recognized the clothes from the catalogs in Pansy’s shop. Just tap anything, Pansy had told her. And Hermione, completely unsuspecting, had tapped everything that had caught her eye. And Draco had apparently bought it all. 

“What did you do?” she asked, although it was patently obvious what Draco had done.

“I thought you liked these. Pans said these were all outfits that caught your eye.”

Hermione found herself torn as she fingered the fine silks and cashmeres now hanging in the closet. On the one hand, she loved the clothes. They were so beautiful and sophisticated and fashionable. Who wouldn’t want a brand new wardrobe of expensive, luxurious things she had chosen herself? On the other hand, there was a sort of high-handedness about the way Draco and Pansy had done this behind her back that irked her. And mixed with that was the sense that Draco had been trying to do something nice for her, and for that, at least, she owed him some show of gratitude. 

Finally, after a swift internal battle, she looked up to Draco, who seemed to be gauging her reaction very carefully.  There was something very eager, and hopeful and unguarded in his expression that she’d never seen before, and she responded to that look against her better judgment. She gave him a wry smile. “I love them, and I want you to promise you’ll never do anything like this again.”

Draco seemed to have only heard the first half of what she had said. His signature smirk returned. “Can’t a wizard spoil his witch?”

“His pretend witch,” Hermione corrected, adding firmly: “Draco, thank you for the clothes, but this is really too much. You could buy a house for what these clothes cost. And I don’t think a year is even long enough for me to wear everything once!”

“Just enjoy them,” Draco said. “If it makes you feel better, consider this a closet full of work uniforms.”

Her lips twitched as she opened the suitcases she bought and pulled out the clothes she had brought with her. Hanging them side by side with the new clothes Pansy had sent over, her old clothes looked like shabby, poor relations. 

“I’ll leave you to finish unpacking,” Draco said. “But feel free to use the flat as your home. If you need anything let me or the elves know.”

Draco left her, and Hermione finished unpacking her clothes. She came out of the closet and surveyed her room. The bookcases were filled, and Draco had put them in the order she liked, grouped by subject, then author. The bed was easily a king sized bed, covered in fluffy pillows. She had added her knitted cat blanket with the cats done in intarsia over the bed to give it a more cozy feel. A long cushioned bench stood at the foot of the bed. Two nightstands stood sentry on either side of the bed adorned with gorgeous art deco lamps. There was a side table on which a crystal vase filled with giant pink calla lilies stood, and to which she had added her photograph of her and her parents. On the wall above the table was an Impressionist painting of a seascape in beautiful blues and greens that looked to Hermione’s untrained eye like a Monet. Crookshanks’ cat bed and scratching post were set up by the windows and there was a flat paneled television mounted on the wall opposite her bed. Despite the homey touches she had tried to add to the room, she felt like she was on vacation in the poshest hotel room she had ever seen.

As she tried to come to mental terms with living here, the door slid open and Crookshanks entered, having made his own tour of the living space. He gave her a grumpy meow and then jumped onto the bench at the foot of the bed and made himself comfortable on the cushion.

Hermione sat down next to him and gave him a scratch behind his ears. “What do you think, Crookshanks?” She whispered. “Could you stay here for a few months?” Crookshanks sank down and rested his head on his forepaws and began to purr. “Okay, then. I can, too.” Hermione gave her familiar a kiss on his forehead and then left the room to re-explore the flat. 

She found Draco sitting in the living room, reviewing parchments with ink and quill, and she went first to the kitchen to discover that the refrigerator and pantry were almost completely empty. He had milk and olives in his enormous refrigerator, and there were just a few condiments in his pantry. The kitchen itself was stocked as a full chef’s kitchen with a beautiful set of copper pans, all manner of kitchen utensils. There was a state of the art range, oven, stand mixer, microwave oven and dishwasher. The countertops were a lovely light gray granite. It was a kitchen that was begging for someone to use it. Hermione bit her lip and then went to inspect the other rooms.

The living room held no surprises as she had spent the bulk of her time there the last time she had visited the flat, so she went upstairs and checked out the rooms there. The potions lab was small, but fairly well stocked. Two cauldrons were bubbling, but she could tell they were under a stasis charm. She tried to guess what they held and decided one had a Pepper-Up potion. The other was a mystery; it had a sharp, but not unpleasant smell to it, and a pretty sunshine yellow color. She made a note to ask Draco later what it was. Two other cauldrons stood empty and she wondered if Draco would mind if she occasionally experimented in this lab when she wasn’t at work. 

The small library was, of course, her favorite room. She browsed the stacks again, and pulled out a half dozen books to take downstairs later. Draco had shown her a spell for pulling and reshelving books in this library and she tested it out, smiling as books whizzed toward her and then whizzed back into their proper slots on the shelves. 

Finally, with her books in hand, she went to the gym and examined the equipment. It was all very new and completely Muggle. The treadmill had a stand for books, and Hermione liked the idea of being able to exercise and read at the same time. As she was thinking about this, she went out onto the deck. It was mid-afternoon and a gloriously sunny late May day. The deck had an assortment of tables and chairs and a pair of outdoor chaise lounges. She put the stack of books on a nearby small table, and then reclined on one of the chaises, plucked a book off the pile and began to read. 

“How do you like the place?” Draco asked, startling Hermione nearly an hour later.

“Oh!” Hermione sat up with a sheepish smile. “I was just enjoying the lovely weather.”

“I was a little worried when I didn’t see you for so long,” Draco said, sitting down on the chaise next to hers. He was dressed in a light blue shirt over light tan slacks; his sleeves were rolled up and he wore sunglasses. Merlin help her, Hermione thought that if Draco got any hotter she might spontaneously combust. 

Hermione held out her book; it was a biography of Selina Starkiss, a witch from the sixteenth century who was believed to have invented several charms that healers to this day still used. Hermione had always wanted to read about her, and had only meant to take a peek into the book when she’d sat down. “This was just so fascinating. And the weather was so beautiful. I believe I might just live out here this summer. It’s so glorious.”

Draco gave her a slow smile. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Do you come out here often?”

Draco shook his head. “No, and now I’m starting to realize what I’ve missed out on. You’re right; it is the perfect place to spend a quiet afternoon. I think the only thing missing is maybe something to drink. Would you like anything?”

“A cold iced tea would be perfect,” Hermione mused.

“Mipsy!” Draco said. And with a crack! the little house elf appeared on the deck. Today she was dressed in a bright yellow sundress with polka dots and a lovely orange kerchief was tied around her neck in a jaunty bow. Hermione could swear she saw a label that said “Hermes” on the scarf.

“Master Draco! Miss Hermione!” she greeted. “How may I serve you today?”

“Mipsy, a cold iced tea for Miss Hermione, please. And I’d like a mint julep.”

“Of course! Right away!” Mipsy Disapparated.

Hermione shaded her eyes against the sun as she looked at Draco. “No wonder you were always a spoiled brat. This is the most decadent thing I’ve ever seen.”

Draco grinned. “Admit it, Granger, you kind of like it.”

Hermione gave a reluctant nod of her head. “Okay, yes, I do kind of like it. I don’t know that I want to get used to it, because it would be so hard to stop missing it when I leave here, but—“

“Worry about leaving here another day, Granger. You’re here now. Enjoy it.”

Before Hermione could answer, Mipsy returned with their drinks. “Anything else I can get you?” She asked.

“I think we’re all set, Mipsy,” Draco said. “Just have dinner ready by seven.”

“Of course, Master Draco,” Mipsy said, and she Disapparated again.

Hermione took a sip of her iced tea. “This is perfect,” she said, with a beatific smile.

“I aim to please, Granger,” Draco said, with a smirk.

He summoned his stack of parchment from the living room and settled back on his chaise to review them. Hermione stared at him in bewilderment. “You—you’re staying out here to work?”

Draco leaned forward and tilted his head. “Why not? It’s perfect weather, as you pointed out. And now that I have a cool drink and good company, what better place to be?” He leaned back in his chaise and continued reviewing his paperwork. 

Hermione leaned back in her own chaise, with her iced tea in one hand and her book in the other. At some point since Draco had come upstairs, Crookshanks had also found his way upstairs to the deck and had leapt onto Hermione’s chaise, settling himself comfortably on her legs. Hermione paused for a moment to take in the scene before her. If, three months ago, someone had told her that she would end up moving into Draco Malfoy’s flat, being pampered by his house elves and living a life of luxury on a London rooftop, she would have thought they were delusional, but here she was. And even though a part of her kept insisting that this was pretend, and transient, and that she was only here to play a role, another part of her was starting to wish very much that it wasn’t.

So, I stink at drawing backgrounds, but this is what I had in mind for Draco’s flat.

(Photo by ArchVizTech3D - source: Pinterest)

And this is what I had in mind for Draco’s upstairs deck where Hermione was lounging at the end of the chapter.

(Photo by Fire Pits Luxe. Source: Pinterest)

Chapter Text

Draco turned twenty four the week after Hermione had moved into his flat. As his birthday fell on a Saturday, his friends made sure to mark it with a celebration. 

They had dinner at the Emerald Orb in a private room. Pansy had organized it and invited Theo, Blaise, Daphne, Greg Goyle, and Millicent Bulstrode, all from Slytherin House. Daphne had invited Mandy Brocklehurst from Ravenclaw to be Theo’s date for the night. But to Hermione’s surprise, Pansy had added Neville Longbottom, whom she had started seeing, and also Harry and Ginny Potter. 

“Wonders never cease,” Theo muttered under his breath to Hermione. “Harry Potter here for Draco’s birthday party.”

Hermione nodded in agreement although she was secretly very pleased. She liked the idea of the former school rivals finding things to bond over, especially since what they had most in common was an adorable six year old Metamorphmagus boy and a shared love of Quidditch. 

Hermione, wearing a body hugging shimmering green satin dress that was one of Pansy’s creations, sat next to Draco as they ate and watched his reactions to his friends’ teasing and tributes. He tried to keep a stoic face—the Occlumens face, she privately labeled it—that he used when he didn’t want to show emotion, but she saw how his hands flexed and loosened under the table, how his leg twitched, how his fingers tightened against hers when she held his hand. She had started to get used to his tells and she could tell he was touched by his friends’ care for him, even as he tried to play off his reaction as nonchalance. 

Finally, the staff brought in Draco’s birthday cake, a two tiered lemon cake that was Draco’s favorite. It had cream yellow butterflies charmed to fly over the cake and charmed sugar violet buds that flowered when the candles were lit and the guests all sang “Happy Birthday”.

Afterward, Draco opened his presents. Theo gifted him the latest Firebolt model. It was not supposed to come out for another three months, but Theo had connections with the Spudmore family who made the brooms and had used his wiles to cajole out this early prototype, which was supposed to have superior braking and turning maneuverability. Blaise and Daphne gifted Draco with a portkey for a week’s stay in Blaise’s villa in Tuscany. Pansy gave him new dress robes for the Midsummer Gala. Harry and Ginny gave Draco a rare bottle of bourbon that had been made before the Statue of Secrecy, one of the last bottles to have ever been made by a combined Muggle and Magical method. Greg and Millicent, who now ran a successful bakery and confectionery shop in Diagon Alley had made the cake they had all just eaten. Mandy gave Draco a silver handled magnifying glass charmed to spot written lies. Neville gave Draco a cutting of the rare glowing mynah plant whose seeds were known to duplicate the properties of other substances. And Hermione, who had thought long and hard what to get the man who has everything, finally found something new for him. She used some of her poker winnings and bought him Executive Box tickets to see the opening day Manchester United soccer match at Old Trafford stadium in August.

“These are amazing, Granger!” Draco smiled delightedly. “I really look forward to this.”

“You still call her Granger?” Ginny protested. “You do know her name, don’t you?”

Draco grinned. “That name is reserved for special occasions—and special places.”

Hermione blushed to the roots of her hair at the implication. But sitting across from her the Snakes were ruthless.

“Aren’t you going to properly thank your girlfriend for her gift?” Theo asked.

“Draco, you can’t shame the House of Slytherin!” Blaise added.

Draco smirked for his friends but as he leaned toward Hermione, his demeanor changed. “Are you okay for this, Granger?” he asked, his voice low and gentle. His eyes were dark, the silver almost all replaced by the black of his pupils.

Hermione nodded. She had known the moment was coming. She closed her eyes and leaned into him for the kiss. It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not—

—and then her mind went blank as Draco’s lips came down over hers and she tasted the wine from his tongue and felt his arms around her, strong and sure. She could feel herself trembling, her heart racing, a fog of desire stealing over her brain. For a moment, she forgot everything and everyone around her except for the feel of his mouth on hers, the languid quicksilver movements of his tongue, the way their breaths seemed suspended between them, and the sense that she was melting into his embrace.

A slew of catcalls pulled her back to reality, and Hermione surfaced from the kiss still breathless and a bit dazed. She almost couldn’t pull her gaze away from Draco’s lips, pinkened and swollen and slightly open as if he was in shock as well. 

“All right,” Ginny said, coming up alongside Hermione as she stepped away from Draco, “I admit, I had my doubts about the two of you, but after that kiss, it’s clear you two are crazy about each other.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, that kiss was so hot I thought you two were going to start shagging on the floor.”

“Ginevra!”

Ginny grinned. “This is the longest I’ve gone without seeing the baby in a month. We’ve been so sleep deprived we were ready to jump at any chance to get a break, even if that meant going to the ferret’s birthday party, but I have to say, I’m having fun. Those Slytherins are actually good conversation, the food was excellent—and I’ll have to get Goyle to make Harry’s birthday cake next month, because this one was divine—and then you and Draco just gave us top-notch entertainment. After all that, I can’t wait to go to the club for the dancing.”

Blaise and Daphne collected Draco’s presents for him and Blaise did Draco the favor of taking them to Draco’s flat while the others gathered to head to the nightclub for the dancing and drinks that Pansy had organized.

Predictably, the nightclub was loud, packed and dark, with flashing lights and jarring music. Ginny and Harry were the first to escape to the dance floor, and Hermione saw that Ginny really meant it when she said she needed a break from the baby for once. Couple by couple, their friends made their way to the dance floor, and took a spin under the disco lights. 

Finally, only Draco and Hermione were left in their corner booth, each nursing a drink. Hermione, who had been fairly relaxed earlier in the evening, now found herself feeling breathlessly self conscious alone next to Draco. The room felt a little too hot. The lighting was too dark. The music too loud. She felt awkward, and tongue tied and oddly unable to form any coherent thought long enough to start a conversation or a sentence. The kiss they had shared earlier was consuming her thoughts and it was taking every ounce of effort she had not to look at his lips. 

Stop this! Stop this! She admonished herself. This is all fake. You are here to pretend you are his girlfriend. Your job is to sit here and keep fortune hunters and Pureblood princesses away from him, and snogging is just part of the job. Stop trying to read more into this. 

She forced her attention to the couples on the dance floor. To the drink in her hand. She made a game with herself to see how long she could make her drink last. She counted the number of times the servers passed their booth. She recited potions ingredients in her mind. Anything to keep from dwelling on the man sitting next to her, whose every move was making her hyper aware of his presence.

She almost jumped when Draco leaned forward and murmured into her ear, “I’m not crazy about the fast songs, but this one is a slower one. Care to join me for a dance, Granger?”

Draco held out his hand to her, and Hermione bit down the sudden panicked urge to flee. She took his hand, following him onto the dance floor. It was a slow number, the kind where couples held each other close and took slow, shuffling steps. Despite the lateness of the hour, Draco still looked as fresh and handsome as he had when they had left his flat for dinner. He smelled of the brandy he had just drank, and of his own woodsy, citrusy smell. His hands on hers and around her waist were warm and dry and sure. His chest was firm, and there was a heat that radiated off his skin through the fine silk of the shirt that she could feel down to her very bones. She laid her head against his chest. He was so tall that the top of her head, even in her heels, was just past his chin. His shirt collar tickled her cheek and she could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. 

“Did I tell you that you look lovely tonight, Granger?” Draco murmured.

“Fine feathers,” Hermione said, a little shakily, referring to her dress. This proximity to him was wrecking her equilibrium.

“It’s you.”

“No one can hear us, Draco, you don’t have to pretend,” Hermione said, trying desperately to maintain some semblance of detachment. She wanted to make it sound casual, but she couldn’t quite keep her voice steady as she said this.

Draco said nothing to this, and Hermione bit her lip, thankful that he couldn’t see her face. 

She was rescued by Greg and Millicent who had come to bid Draco good night. They had the bakery to run and needed to get a little rest before work the next day.

“It’s good to see you again, Goyle,” Draco said, as he stopped dancing and held out his hand to shake Greg’s. “Millie, always a pleasure—“ here, Draco bent down to give Millicent a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you both for coming. And before I forget—I want to put in an order for your raspberry chocolate tartlets for the next board meeting. I have some old codgers I need to soften up.”

Greg and Millicent bid their farewells to Hermione, as well, Greg also giving Hermione a kiss on the cheek, which she would never in a million years have expected, and Millicent gave her a wry smile, saying, “You’re more fun than I thought you’d be. Nice to see you, Granger,”

“You, too,” Hermione said.

The couple left, and, Hermione, desperate to change the mood, said to Draco, “Did I ever tell you I once Polyjuiced myself into Millicent’s cat?”

Draco blinked at her. “You what?”

Hermione’s lip twitched. “Second year. Harry, Ron and I wanted to sneak into the Slytherin common room because Harry was convinced you were the Heir of Slytherin and we wanted to get proof. I brewed a batch of Polyjuice Potion in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, and then Harry and Ron got hairs from Goyle and Crabbe and Polyjuiced themselves, but I accidentally got Millie’s cat’s hair instead of her hair. And I turned into a cat and human hybrid. It took weeks for Madam Pomfrey to get me back to me.”

Draco started laughing. “I don’t even know where to begin, Granger. You made Polyjuice as a second year? And what exactly did Potter and Weasley find out when they pretended to be Crabbe and Goyle?”

“Well, obviously, you weren’t the Heir of Slytherin,” Hermione said. 

“What was it like being Millie’s cat?”

“Ugh!” Hermione groaned. “I was still me. I just looked like a cat, and I tended to meow when I was upset. I did have some amazing night vision for a while, but all I really remember was how distressed I was that I was missing classes while I was in the infirmary.”

Draco was still laughing when Theo came up to them and proposed going back to their tables for a last celebratory drink in honor of the birthday boy.

The remaining couples toasted Draco at the table and sat for a while chatting and finishing their drinks. It was nearly two when Draco and Hermione finally left the club with their friends. Hermione was so tired by now she was yawning, and stumbling a bit. Draco Apparated them back to his flat, and had to help her stay upright as they made their way down the hallway toward her bedroom. He helped her inside and sat her down on the bench at the foot of her bed.

Draco bent down to help Hermione take off her shoes.

“Did you have a good time for your birthday?” Hermione murmured sleepily, swaying where she sat.

Draco straightened, “Can you stand, Granger?” He asked before he pulled her to her feet and guided her around to the bed, and tucked her in. “I had a very good time for my birthday. Thank you for my gift.” He gave her a light peck on the forehead. “I liked it very much.”

“I like you very much,” Hermione mumbled, and then she fell asleep. 

Draco stood over her for several long moments after Hermione’s breathing evened out in slumber. “It’s the alcohol,” he said to himself, finally, before he waved off her lights and left her room.

—

She told herself it was a crush.

She’d had crushes before and she was fine afterward. There was that juvenile crush she had on Gilderoy Lockhart as a second year. There was the Auror she saw sometimes in the cafeteria when she still worked for the Ministry who liked to wink at her in the elevator. What was his name? Andrew? Aaron? She tried to remember. She was still with Ron at the time, and she even remembered feeling guilty that she was attracted to someone else when she was in a relationship. And then one day she heard that he’d gotten engaged and it hadn’t even really bothered her. Of course, there was also Ron, but she obviously wasn’t nursing a broken heart after what he’d done to her. So, if she had a crush on Draco she would just need to keep her feelings bottled down, weather these next several months with him, and then she’d move on, and this silly little crush would end. 

She was not an Occlumens, but she was able to compartmentalize her thoughts to some extent. She’d had to when she was a student to keep her various classes and assignments in order. She’d carried most of the mental load for the trio when she and Harry and Ron had been searching for Horcruxes. She’d been able to compartmentalize her plans, their required chores, and the hurt she’d felt when Ron had abandoned them to function effectively through all the chaos of their year on the run. And later, she’d managed to keep work and home issues separated in her mind when she’d discovered Ron’s betrayal with Lavender, and she’d hidden her feelings so well that she’d even been accused (she’d overheard people gossiping in the Ministry hallways) that she was so cold hearted it was no wonder Ron had strayed. Well, better she be thought frigid than be thought pathetic. 

And there were not enough galleons in Britain to tempt her to let Draco Malfoy, of all people, know that she now harbored a crush on him. She could just imagine the smarmy looks, the smirks. His ego certainly didn’t need more stoking, and even if he had been nice to her these last several weeks, she knew he certainly was capable of crushing her if he so chose, and the last thing she wanted to do was to give him ammunition. Somehow, in some dim recesses of her psyche, Hermione recognized that while Ron’s betrayal had hurt, she had been able to recover, but that Draco Malfoy had the power to destroy her. She couldn’t give him the chance to do that. She would hide her feelings. Act natural. 

The morning after Draco’s birthday party, she was up at her usual time. After a week of living with Draco, she was starting to see a pattern to his days. On weekdays he was a fairly early riser. He liked his coffee ready for him when he finished his shower, and so either Mipsy or Tippy or both would come to prepare the coffee. The elves timed it so that it would be ready just when he finished his shower. And he would come out—distressingly still semi-wet and with a towel around his waist—to drink his morning cup before he returned to his room to get dressed for the day. The first Monday morning when Hermione had come out to the kitchen and saw Draco in that state, she had stopped dead for a full thirty seconds before she swallowed and forced herself to step past him to accept her own cup from the elves. The elves were so used to Draco’s morning state of déshabille that they didn’t even spare Draco a glance as they practically fell over themselves looking for ways to be helpful to Hermione. Draco took his cup, nodded to Hermione and said, “Morning, Granger,” before he sauntered back to his room. Hermione had watched his retreating back, mesmerized by the way his hair looked, wet and tousled, and by the way the muscles rippled along his shoulders and back as he walked down the hallway to his room. The sight had so unsettled her that she’d made three errors in her first potion brew of the day, earning her a rare reprimand from Master Bergen, who was not used to seeing her unfocused and sloppy.

On weekends, however, Draco seemed to like a lie-in while Hermione always woke before seven even on weekends. The morning after Draco’s birthday party was a Sunday and when she awakened, she was chagrined to see that she was still wearing her party dress from the night before, realizing that she must have been so tired that Draco had put her to bed. She took a quick shower and then, dressed in an oversized T-shirt and a pair of plaid pajama bottoms, she quietly padded down the hallway toward the kitchen. The refrigerator and pantry were still fairly empty, but Hermione was slowly starting to fill it with things she liked to use. She opened the pantry and pulled out her box of cereal and then went to the kitchen to pour herself a bowl, adding in some milk and a spoon. She took her breakfast to the living room and then sat down on the floor before the large glass coffee table that sat as a centerpiece to the room. There was a silver plush rug that kept her from freezing her bottom as she sat, and she dug her bare toes into the lush pile. She turned on the television, being careful to keep the volume low and turned the channel to the BBC. She wasn’t much for watching television, but she did like to keep abreast of the news. 

She had just started eating her cereal when she heard the door to Draco’s room open. He came down the hallway toward the living room, his hair still sleep tousled, and wearing an unbelted black silk dressing gown over a pair of black pajama bottoms. He was barefoot. And he was bare chested. His appearance immediately sent her resolution of remaining calm and unbothered into a tailspin. 

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” she asked, trying hard to not obviously ogle.

Draco yawned, “Morning, Granger. No, you didn’t wake me. I had to use the loo, so I just thought I’d get some coffee.” His gaze narrowed in on Hermione and the bowl in front of her. “You know there are three couches right there. Why are you sitting on the floor? And for Merlin’s sake, what are you eating?”

Hermione took a breath and then forced herself to sound normal. “I used to do this on the weekends when I was a child. I’d wake up before my parents and go into the kitchen and fix myself a bowl of cereal and then sit down to watch the telly or read a book. But if I watched the telly, I always sat on the floor with my bowl on the table. Less chance of spilling and making a mess.”

“And you still eat like you’re twelve years old?” Draco crossed the living room and sat down on the couch right behind Hermione.

“Old habits die hard.”

“What is this funny colored soup you’re drinking?” Draco asked, peering into her cereal bowl with a look of horror.

“Cap’n Crunch. Remember that cereal I bought when we shopped at Sainsbury’s? I—hey! What do you think you’re doing?” Hermione suddenly cried out indignantly as Draco had leaned over her and plucked the bowl out of her hands. 

Draco trailed the spoon through the milk, which had turned an unnatural blue gray color from the slowly disintegrating crunch berries in the cereal, and looked at the garishly colored cereal bits floating in the milk with fascination. He scooped a single red crunch berry onto the spoon and took a bite.

“That’s my breakfast!” Hermione said, getting up on her knees to grab her cereal bowl back away from him.

“Oh, Merlin and Morgana, how do you eat this?” Draco asked, wincing at the taste.

Hermione lunged for her bowl, but Draco, with his Seeker’s reflexes, pulled the bowl up and out of her reach, and she ended up falling into his lap. ”Watch it, you violent witch!” Draco said, laughter in his voice.

Too focused on getting her cereal back to be distressed by falling into Draco’s lap, Hermione scrambled off and hopped nimbly onto the couch. She managed to reach her cereal bowl and yank it out of Draco’s grasp, but she pulled a little too hard and the bowl tipped, sending milk and cereal spilling over both of them and onto the couch and the rug.

Hermione gasped, horrified. “Oh—oh, I’m so sorry!” She surveyed the mess they’d made of Draco’s previously pristine living room, as well as the way cereal milk dripped down his hair. There were also crunch berries in his hair and she was sure that her own hair must be a disaster as well.

But Draco couldn’t contain his laughter, and his lightheartedness was infectious. Hermione ended up giggling, as well, their laughter causing more milk to cascade over their clothes and onto the couch and rug below. 

“I really am sorry,” Hermione repeated through her chuckles, “even if it’s really your fault.”

“My fault?”

“I was minding my own business eating my breakfast when you rudely—”

“You call that Muggle mélange breakfast?”

“Draco!”

“Truce,” Draco said, still laughing. “Tippy!” he called.

Tippy emerged, wearing a red soccer jersey. “Master Draco?”

“We’ve had a bit of an accident,” Draco said. “Would you mind helping us clean up in here? I’m going to go have a bit of a wash up.”

“Of course, Master Draco!” Tippy began casting a cleaning spell over the couch, siphoning milk off the cushions.

“Oh, and I’d like some coffee,” Draco added.

“Yes, of course, Master Draco,” Tippy said.

“You didn’t have to call Tippy for this,” Hermione chided. “I could have—”

“Granger, we’ve gone over this. This is his job and he lives for this. Besides—“ Suddenly Draco stopped speaking as something on the television caught his attention.

Hermione followed Draco’s gaze toward the television screen.

The news anchor from the BBC was reporting on a rash of mysterious cases of amnesia occurring on the Isle of Wight. 

“…and the stricken have all been found wandering with no memory of their names, no recognition of their homes or places or work or of any of their friends and family. Medical examinations show no evidence of trauma or medical illnesses in common. Authorities are examining financial records, telephone records, and business records to establish any sort of links between the victims. These cases follow reports of similar cases occurring earlier in the year in Wales, the Cotswolds and even as far north as the Hebrides. Authorities are also evaluating for industrial contamination in the ground water or other possible causes for these puzzling and disturbing cases. Reporting live from Ryde on the Isle of Wight, this is Kirsten McNamara…”

“Draco?” Hermione was alarmed by the look on Draco’s face. “What—do you know something about this?”

Draco looked away from the television toward her. He seemed to be debating what to say, and finally he said, “I’ve been following this story for a number of months. Those cases in the Cotswolds and Wales and the Hebrides have all had traces of magical contamination. We don’t know what’s causing it, but—”

“How has this information not made it to the Prophet or any other wizarding papers?” Hermione asked, even a vague memory stirred. That combination of places. Where had she heard something about those three locations before?

“Because the victims have all been Muggles. The wizarding press don’t think this is important. But I think it is. Potter has been investigating these cases—”

“You and Harry have discussed these cases?” Hermione asked. Suddenly, she remembered that Ginny had mentioned months ago that Harry had been investigating cases in those locations. 

Draco sighed. “There’s more going on than just Muggles losing their memories. Did Master Bergen tell you how he got started on working on the memory potion?”

“Yes, he said there was some collaboration with the DuPont Institute in Switzerland.”

“Master Bergen had a bit of a falling out with the director of the institute because Director Lespere wanted to create a potion that would allow people to Occlude their thoughts and Master Bergen wanted to create a potion that would allow people to access lost memories. Since Obliviation is usually used only on Muggles to maintain the Secrecy Act, there hasn’t been a lot of interest in reversing it. So, this rash of lost memories in Muggles makes me wonder if there are some rogue elements in the DuPont institute or affiliated with the institute who are experimenting on Muggles.”

“But what does Occlusion have to do with lost thoughts?”

“For most Occlumens, we hide our thoughts behind walls or within other objects. We do this so that a Legilimens won’t be able to find our thoughts. But when an Occlumens is poorly trained, or very inexperienced, they can sometimes hide their thoughts in a place they can’t even find it. So, a bad Occlusion potion might mimic that.”

“What makes you think a potion is behind this and not just people performing strong Obliviation charms on random Muggles?”

“Because of the other thing that I’ve been paying attention to, which is raw materials. The ingredients used in potion making. Several raw materials have become suddenly very hard to obtain. Boomslang skin, crocodile heart, acromantula venom and asphodel power, which all have effects on the mind, have tripled in price. And the boomslang skin has been so hard to get that I’ve sent a team to Indonesia to see if they can get freshly molted boomslang skin that we’ll process here. Someone is buying or cornering this market, and I think the two are connected.”

“Then we also need to get the memory potion we’re creating finished as soon as possible. If people are going around obliviating unsuspecting Muggles we have to be able to help them!” Hermione said.

“What do you think you need?”

“I need—do you think you could take me to the library at Malfoy Manor today? I’ve been thinking for a while that you might have more books there  on the subject that I could review.”

“All right, let's get cleaned up and I’ll take you to the Manor.”

“Just one question,” Hermione said, “Can we avoid the drawing room on our way to the library?”

Draco’s face softened. “If it helps, that wing of the house has been completely renovated and the drawing room is actually gone. But I’ll Apparate us directly into the library and you won’t have to walk past anything that might bring back those bad memories.”

—

Half an hour later, both having showered again and dressed, Draco Apparated them both into the library at Malfoy Manor. 

The look on Hermione’s face when she saw the Manor library for the first time was awed, and reverential. It was like taking a true believer into a holy shrine. She swallowed several times before she spoke.

“This is—six hundred thousand volumes, you said?” She turned in a slow circle. The Manor library took up two floors. It connected to a large domed glass ceiling which allowed natural sunlight into the atrium of the library. The library itself was organized into several sections, like spokes on a wheel, all meeting in the central atrium where there were tables, chairs and even sofas placed for reading. Along the back wall was a fireplace, and there were two spiral staircases on either side of the atrium that lead to the second floor. 

Draco wanted to show Hermione the rare books room in the library, but he knew that if she ever saw that room it would take hours to drag her out of it and they were short on time. So instead, he showed her a spell his family had created for the library to call for certain books based on key words.

Hermione cast the spell and then watched in fascination as books came from all over the library toward her. 

“There must be over three hundred books here!” Hermione exclaimed, when the books finished stacking themselves on the floor in front of them. “Do we take them all?”

Draco shook his head. “I think we should refine our search a bit more. Why don’t we take home twenty-five today? We can go through the books quickly and see which ones would be most likely to be useful. The rest of the books we’ll leave here and I can come back at any time to pick up more books as needed.”

Hermione agreed and they began looking through the books in the pile, sorting them into “take home today” and “leave for now” piles.

As they made their way through the books, one of the doors to the library opened and a voice called out: “Draco, are you there?”

Draco looked up. It was his mother. She must have sensed his presence through the wards. He hadn’t warned her he was coming and he didn’t want to deal with officially introducing his mother to Hermione now when they were trying to get work done. He groaned. “Stay here, Granger. I’ll deal with her.”

He crossed the library through a section toward the front where his mother had entered.

“Mother, good morning,” he said, reaching her and giving her a kiss on her cheek. Narcissa Malfoy was dressed impeccably, as always, her light blond hair in a smooth chignon, wearing grey dress robes trimmed in silver. “I had meant to stop by this afternoon for tea to thank you for my birthday gift.” For his birthday, his mother had gifted him a Roman papyrus scroll from the third century that had the instructions for creating a potion that was believed to enhance magic. It was unprovable, because two of the ingredients listed were no longer attainable, but the scroll itself was practically priceless. 

“Did you like it?” Narcissa asked. “I saw it when I was on holiday in Rome with your Aunt Andromeda last month, and thought it would be perfect for you.”

Draco smiled. “It was perfect for me, Mother. But that must have cost a fortune. You shouldn’t have.”

“It’s not every day my son turns twenty-four,” Narcissa returned, smoothly, adding, “Why are you here now if you meant to come by later for tea? And why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I could have had breakfast prepared for you.”

“We needed to find some books for research,” Draco said, and then instantly regretted his slip of tongue.

“We?” Narcissa was quick to catch the wording. “Who else is here?”

“Hermione Granger. We’re doing research on a potion the company is developing.”

“Hermione Granger.” Narcissa was silent for a moment, her stare unblinking. It made Draco feel as though he was five years old and in trouble for tracking dirt all over his mother’s prized Persian carpet in the dining room. But he held her stare. After a few beats, his mother said, “Am I to assume the reports—” her voice dripped disdain “—the front page articles I’ve seen in The Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly about you and Miss Granger seeing each other are true?”

Draco didn’t answer his mother immediately, but when he did his words were measured. “You know they are, Mother. I’m fairly sure Tippy and Mipsy have told you that Hermione has moved in with me.”

“So, you are living with a witch. Unmarried. Is this a formal arrangement? Are you courting her? I haven’t heard that any jewelry has been taken from the vaults.”

Draco stiffened. “No, it's not formal yet. We’re taking things one step at a time.”

“Well, your steps are all backward and with the wrong person.”

“Wrong person?”

“Draco, you are the heir to two ancient and pure bloodlines. You are young, wealthy and can amass great power and influence in your life. Your future wife should be worthy of all those things.”

“Mother, I’m going to ask you to stop before you say something that you shouldn’t. I’m not beholden to you or Father. The betrothal with Astoria was broken and I’m free to make my own choices.”

“Then you should make the right choices. There are so many lovely, eligible young ladies to choose from. Why—”

“Like all the insipid girls with their vulture mothers you’ve introduced me to? I’m done with that, Mother.”

“Do you love this girl?”

“Don’t call her ‘this girl’ like she’s not even worthy of a name. She’s Hermione Granger. She’s a war heroine. She’s brilliant and kind and charming and beautiful, and I enjoy every minute that I’m with her.”

“Draco,” his mother’s tone was wheedling like he was still a small boy she could convince to do something he didn’t want to do. “It’s one thing to keep company with a young lady that interests you for a while, but if you are looking for a life-mate—“

“Mother, I’m going to stop you right there. I was going to ask you to invite her to tea at some point so you could meet her properly and see for yourself what she’s like, but if all you’re going to do is hurl veiled insults and snub her—well, I’m not going to subject her to that kind of treatment from anyone, not even you.”

“Draco!” Narcissa’s face was a study in shock. “Think of the family!”

Draco rolled up the sleeve on his left arm, exposing his Dark Mark. “I’ve been thinking of this family since long before I should have had to. I took this Mark for this family and I’ve been paying the price ever since. Maybe for once the family should be thinking of me.”

“Draco—“ Narcissa began again, but Draco stopped her. He put his hands on his mother’s shoulders, which stilled her. 

“Please let’s stop here. I need to get back to help Hermione find the books we need. And I’m afraid I will not be able to call on you for tea this afternoon, after all.” Draco leaned down to give his mother a goodbye kiss on her cheek, but Narcissa pulled away at the last moment.

“Good day, Mother,” Draco said, and he turned away from her to return to the library atrium where Hermione was still sorting through the piles of potions books.

When he reached her, Draco could tell Hermione had heard the conversation. He and his mother had not been loud, but he was familiar enough with the acoustics in the library that he knew where sound carried. 

“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” Draco said, 

“It’s okay,” Hermione said, but her voice was terse.

“No, it’s not okay,” Draco said. “You should never be made to feel you’re less than perfect.”

“Well, I’m not perfect,” Hermione said, her voice a little calmer. “But it doesn’t matter. It’s not like it’s real—”

“Granger!” Draco warned sharply. He didn’t know if his mother still lingered in the library doorway, but he didn’t want her to hear Hermione saying that what they had wasn’t real, since a large part of the reason he was “dating” Hermione was to make his mother stop harassing him with eligible ladies. He realized after talking to his mother now that he had grossly miscalculated her willingness to accept his choices, even now. He knew it shouldn’t bother him that his mother didn’t like Hermione, since this was supposed to be a sham relationship, but the whole conversation with Narcissa left a distaste on his tongue and a sense of disappointment with his parent that made him feel bitter. 

Hermione realized what she had almost let slip and she bit her lip. She looked down at the piles of books she had been sorting through. “I think these books here—“ she indicated the pile nearest to her feet, “—are the ones we should start with.”

“All right,” Draco nodded. He examined the books. Most were more standard texts and mostly modern. Those books he shrank for easy transport. Three of the books were more ancient tomes, and rather than subject them to shrinking charms, which might damage them, he tucked them under his arm. He held out his arm to Hermione and Apparated them back to his flat.

—

She shouldn’t care. She knew she shouldn’t care. Why should it matter to her what Narcissa Malfoy thought of her? There was no future between her and Draco, anyway. As far as she knew their arrangement would end in less than a year and he’d go on to marry a suitable Pureblood girl and sire Pureblood babies and live the life expected of him. And she—she would be fine. Just fine.

“Are you all right, Hermione, dear?” her mother asked. She was Monica Wilkins today, happily enjoying a beach vacation on the Cornwall coast with her husband and believing she was due to return to Australia in two weeks.

“Yes, Mrs Wilkins,” Hermione said, plastering a smile on her face.

“Because that sigh seems like a sigh over a boy,” Monica said with a sly smile. “I remember those days. I sighed plenty over Richard—I mean, Wendell.” Monica suddenly frowned. “That was a strange slip of tongue. I can’t imagine why I would suddenly call him Richard.” Monica then laughed. “Maybe I’ve had too much sun today.”

Hermione gave her an anxious glance, “Do you feel all right? Would you like to go lie down?”

“Oh, no, dear,” Monica said. “But, getting back to boy troubles…do you have a boyfriend, dear? No? Oh, a pretty girl like you, I can’t imagine that the boys aren’t all lining up to ask you out….”

—

Hermione arrived back at Draco’s flat in the early evening feeling drained and somewhat down. It was just so hard to be with her parents week after week, being so close and yet so far from them. 

Draco was waiting for her when she arrived. 

“Hey, Granger.” he said gently, when she came out of the Floo. He handed her a glass of wine. “I felt like you could use this.”

Hermione’s lips curved into a grateful smile. She kicked off her shoes and sent them into her room with a wave of her wand and took the wine. “Thank you, Draco.”

“How were your parents today?”

Hermione sighed. “Mum had a brief moment when she called my dad Richard, but then it flustered her. She told me that I should find a boyfriend.”

Draco smiled and took her hand. “Come on upstairs. I had the elves set up an al fresco dinner for us.”

Hermione followed him up the stairs to the deck where the elves had set up a table with linen tablecloth and candles and flowers. It was a pasta carbonara paired with shrimp scampi and a side of fresh sugar snaps. She hadn’t been hungry before, but the dinner looked very appetizing. There was a pleasant evening breeze, and the setting sun and purple and orange sky made for a beautiful view. Draco pulled out a chair for Hermione and then sat down. 

“What did you do this afternoon?” Hermione asked, as she set her napkin in her lap.

“I went to Aunt Andromeda’s. After my run-in with my mother this morning, I felt like I needed a sympathetic ear from someone who knows her. And then I spent some time helping Teddy with his broom flying technique. After tea, I came back here and started looking over the books we brought back. I thought after dinner, if you’re up for it, we could spend the evening looking through the books and seeing what we can find.”

Dinner conversation went smoothly. Draco had found some interesting tidbits in the books he had skimmed; some he thought might be useful for their research and some were just arcane bits of trivia he thought Hermione might like to hear. And he was right. She was fascinated. As they ate some of the sparkle came back into her eyes. The sky turned from dusk to twilight to night, and a waning gibbous moon rose over London as they sat enjoying the crisp evening air. At one point, she rubbed her arms a little, and Draco gallantly draped his dinner jacket over her shoulders. She wondered briefly if his fingers were lingering over her arms or if she was just imagining things. As she moved to tug the jacket around her more securely, their fingers touched. 

__

And here is the George Peabody Library in Maryland, which is my mental image of what the Malfoy Family Library looks like. Doesn’t it look amazing??

(Source: Travel.India.com)

Chapter Text

“You’re wrong.”

“I’m not wrong.”

“You are wrong, Granger. You couldn’t be more wrong if you tried.” Draco pointed his wand and prodded his queen back three squares.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Malfoy.”

“Oh, so it’s Malfoy, now?”

“It is when you’re wrong.” Hermione moved her rook to the right by two.

“She didn’t deserve him.”

“She thought he was dead!”

“Yes, but there was no reason she needed to agree to marry Prince Humperdinck even if she thought Westley was dead.” Draco moved his black knight. Are you sure you want to do this? his knight protested.

“You say this like someone who doesn’t understand societal pressure for women to conform to expected norms.”

“What?”

“Even now women are expected to follow certain roles and do as they’re told,” Hermione said, prodding her rook with her wand again. It took Draco’s knight. I told you not to do this! The knight squealed as he was dragged off his horse and bludgeoned by the rook.

Draco studied the wizard chess board for a moment and then rolled up his sleeves. He rarely ever did this as it exposed his Dark Mark, but now that his sleeves were up, Hermione couldn’t help notice the thickly corded muscles of his forearms, how they tapered into his wrists with their defined bones, and how beautiful his hands were, his fingers long, and elegant. Draco prodded his bishop diagonally forward two blocks. “Check, Granger. And yes, women are expected to follow certain roles but why agree to marry Humperdinck if she was going to kill herself afterward anyway? Why didn’t she just kill herself when she heard Westley had died?”

(Artwork by Selune_illustrations)

Hermione forced herself to look away from Draco’s forearms and she moved her pawn to block Draco’s bishop, realizing only afterward that she had exposed her king to his rook. The king threw up his little marble hands in disgust.

“Checkmate, Granger!” Draco said with a triumphant laugh, as his chess pieces both on and off the board began systematically hacking Hermione’s pieces into little bits of marble chunks. “What is with you today? You don’t seem to be paying attention!”

There was no way Hermione would admit that she had been distracted during the chess game by Draco’s forearms. Instead, she scowled. “It’s you distracting me with your inane arguments over The Princess Bride. This is clearly my punishment for making you watch this movie!”

Draco leaned back in his chair and laughed. “No, Granger, I kind of liked the movie. It was silly, but funny. But after that I definitely get to pick the next one.”

Hermione groaned. “What are you picking?”

“The dinosaur one.”

“Really?” Hermione asked.

“Yes, because I’m not sure I believe dinosaurs actually ever existed.”

“Why not? There are plenty of paleontological records that prove—“

“Those skeletons are clearly dragons, Granger. Wings disintegrate, which is why they don’t show up on the skeletal record.” Draco’s hands splayed and twisted as he spoke, emphasizing his point.

“What’s to say that both creatures couldn’t exist on earth or that perhaps ancient dinosaurs might not have evolved into modern dragons?” Hermione asked, although, mesmerized by Draco’s hands as she was, she wasn’t quite sure what she was saying.

Draco tilted his head considering this. “You have a point, Granger. But the dinosaur movie is still my choice for tonight’s movie.”

Hermione blinked. He was agreeing with her?

“What is going on with you, Granger?” Draco asked again. “You seem so distracted today.”

It’s you, she thought. I’m so distracted by you. I can’t stop looking at your damned perfect cheekbones and those hands. Those hands are making me so…so thirsty—

“Did you say you were thirsty?”

Hermione mentally groaned, furious with herself for saying the last word out loud. She hopped down from the bar stool where she had been seated across the kitchen counter from Draco for their chess match and opened a cabinet to retrieve a crystal tumbler. 

“I’m getting some lemonade,” she said. “Would you like a glass?”

“No, I’m fine,” Draco said, prodding the magically reassembled board pieces back to starting position. “Did you want to play again?”

Hermione opened the refrigerator, took out the pitcher and poured herself a glass of lemonade. She took one long swallow even though she wasn’t actually physically thirsty at all, and then looked at the clock on the microwave. “It’s getting late. Why don’t we stop by the video rental store to pick up the movie and then we can get a bite for dinner?”

“Does this bite mean something like pizza?” Draco asked, grimacing.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “We could go for sushi if you’re too much of a snob for pizza. There’s that new restaurant that opened around the corner near the bank.”

Three hours later, dinner finished and now more than halfway into the night’s movie, Hermione was seated on the largest sofa in the living room, curled into Draco’s side and hiding her head under the knitted cat blanket she’d Summoned out of her bedroom. Crookshanks had settled on her legs. On the TV screen, the T-Rex from Jurassic Park was chasing the trio in Alan Grant’s open air Jeep and Hermione screamed in time with the characters in the movie.

Beside her, Draco was shaking with laughter at her reaction. “Relax, Granger! You of all people know this isn’t real!”

“Those teeth looked very big!”

“They made it, Granger! You can come out of there now.”

Gingerly, Hermione pulled the blanket off her face and saw that the characters had, indeed, made it back safely inside. She relaxed slightly but didn’t pull out of Draco’s embrace, as the velociraptors came out on the screen, making her tense all over again.

“Here, have some popcorn,” Draco said, passing the bowl to her. 

Hermione took a handful of popcorn and nibbled at the snack, and as the action on the screen slowed down a bit, she suddenly began to wonder how she had ended up snuggled against Draco when they had started the movie sitting at opposite ends of the couch. She felt a small dart of panic. She shouldn’t be sitting here like this. She had to get up. But Draco’s arm was curled around her side over the top of the blanket. There was no gentle way to do this.

“I—I need to use the loo,” she lied, pulling free from him. She hopped off the couch and crossed the living room toward her room and her en-suite.

She shut the door to her room and took a moment to compose herself. It’s not real, she reminded herself. She berated herself for her loss of propriety. He was being a gentleman. He’s had dozens of girls try to throw themselves at him. And here you are practically draped all over him like a bloody, pathetic strumpet. He probably thinks you’re poorly bred, just like all Muggles. Here, Hermione stopped herself. Backtracked. He had not breathed a word against her heritage in the weeks she had been with him. It wasn’t fair to accuse him of still being prejudiced, even if he probably thought her behavior was bad form.

All right, she told herself as she left her room to return to the living room, Behave with the decorum of a Purebred society dowager.

“Are you all right?” Draco asked when she returned. “You were gone for a while. I was worried you weren’t feeling well.”

“I’m fine,” Hermione said, now sitting on the opposite end of the couch from Draco. “What happened?” She gestured toward the frozen television screen.

“Oh, I paused it to wait for you,” Draco said, restarting the movie. He frowned a bit, noting where she was sitting. “Here, don’t you want your blanket back?”

“I—I’m fine. You keep it,” Hermione said.

But Draco unfolded his length from the sofa and walked over to Hermione with the blanket, draping it gently over her legs. “Don’t be such a martyr, Granger,” he said. And then he sat down. Right next to her.

For the rest of the movie, Hermione kept herself as tucked into her corner of the couch as possible, trying not to touch him any more than necessary. She almost felt like she had to stop breathing. The end credits finally rolled, and Draco turned toward her. Hermione swallowed, wanting to cut the sudden tension she was feeling.

“Do you think Theo would like this movie?” she blurted out, and breathed a quiet sigh of relief when Draco blinked and then pulled away from her to ponder the question.

The question didn’t actually come out of nowhere. Theo sometimes came over on Sunday afternoons when Hermione was visiting her parents, and since the soccer season was in its summer hiatus, Draco had started showing him movies that he thought Theo would like. After the first time Draco had watched a movie with him, Theo had said, thoughtfully: “You know, I used to pity Muggles for not having magic, but now, having seen this—“ (They had watched The Matrix), I realize that we’ve quite missed out in the wizarding world. I’ll bet if they made everyone attend Muggle Studies and let them watch movies like this from the beginning, old Snake Face would never have gained power.”

“I think Theo would love this movie. But I promised him I was going to show him Star Wars next time.” Draco smirked. “I guarantee he’ll think he’s Han Solo.”

Hermione laughed, feeling herself relax a bit. “If anyone was Han Solo, it would be you, Draco. The endless cockiness, the insults—“

“Well, if we’re going to compare characters, Granger, there was never a bigger swot in that galaxy far, far away than Princess Leia. When she wouldn’t shut up in the garbage compactor I thought for a moment it was you!”

“Careful, Draco, I’ll bet there’s a wizarding equivalent of being encased in carbonite.”

“I’d like to see a wizarding equivalent of the metal bikini.”

“Draco!”

Draco poked her in the ribs through the blanket and she yelped. But Hermione’s reflexes were faster than he gave her credit for. Her wand was out and she said, “Incarcerous!” And suddenly Draco was bound by ropes hand and foot.

“Bloody hell, witch!” Draco swore, his whole body straining against the cords that held him. “Get me out of this!” 

But Hermione had scrambled off the couch, dislodging a cranky Crookshanks. Her lips twitched. She liked it when it was playful banter between them. The banter felt safe. Friendly. Out of dangerous territory.  She pulled her blanket with her. “Be glad I’m not the Ewoks from the third movie, trying to roast you for dinner.” 

“Granger!”

“Goodnight, Draco.” Hermione started down the hall with Crookshanks following.

“Fuck, no! Granger! You get back here and untie me! That’s an order!”

But Hermione had retreated to the safety of her room with her cat and shut the door behind her.

Swearing once more, Draco finally gave up trying to use any form of wandless magic to extricate himself from the ropes, and he called for Tippy to get him untied.

—

Theo moved the knitted cat blanket aside and sat down on the opposite end of the leather couch from Draco. As he sat, he lifted the blanket and studied it for a moment. It was a grey blanket with the silhouette of several cats knitted into it in intarsia. “Did Granger make this?”

Draco looked up from the remote control he had been using to get the DVD started. “I think so. I know she knits. I just don’t know if she made that one herself.”

“And you’re okay with this blanket just sitting here on your couch.”

Draco shrugged as he adjusted the volume.

“Draco. You once threw a date out of your flat because she moved the throw cushions to the other couch so you’d have more room to snog.”

“I wanted the cushions where they were.”

“You yelled at me once for not putting my glass on a coaster—” as he said this, Theo gestured toward the kitchen counter where Hermione had left a half-drunk glass of lemonade sans coaster. Hermione was upstairs at that moment with Ginny Potter and little baby James, enjoying the air on the deck. Draco and Hermione were hosting a dinner party that evening for their friends, but Theo had been invited over earlier to watch a movie with Draco, and Hermione had wanted to spend a little extra time catching up with Ginny and her godson before the party started.

“What’s your point, Theo?”

“I know the elves come in here to clean for you, but honestly, mate, there are signs of Granger everywhere. She’s got shoes and her sweater in the foyer off the Floo. There’s a book of hers half open on that table over there. This blanket here. Her glass on the counter. There is cat hair on your trousers! And none of this bothers you?”

Draco threw up his hands. “What? She lives here. I can’t expect her to not eat or read or have shoes. And the cat likes me.”

Theo gave his friend a wary look. “So…you’re saying you don’t mind sharing this flat with her?”

Draco knew what Theo was trying to do, but typical of Draco, he was being deliberately obtuse to avoid admitting his true feelings. Every one of the Snakes had known Draco since childhood. He was an only child. A very spoiled only child. He had never had to share anything and even as an adult, he hated to share, hoarding all his possessions just like his dragon namesake. Even a twenty five thousand square foot flat might not be big enough for a wizard like Draco to share. When he first proposed Hermione move in he was worried that he would regret it, that living with the witch would drive him crazy. What if she was messy, or loud, or overbearing? But instead, just the opposite had happened.

He discovered right away that he liked the company. He liked coming home after a long day in the office to another person, especially when that person was Hermione. They would have dinner, and talk. Unlike previous dinners with Pureblood and half-blood heiresses—whose conversations revolved around gossip, clothes and marriage—discussion with Hermione always fascinated him. She had a wide range of interests. She was well-read and endlessly curious. She was not afraid to challenge him. And her brain was on a plane unlike any other he had ever encountered. A few times he had come home frustrated by a problem at work and he found her willing to listen. She paid careful attention when he talked, and often she would have astute observations and insightful suggestions. He found himself actually looking forward to seeing her at the end of the day. 

As a roommate, she was quite satisfactory. She was unobtrusive. She was scrupulous about respecting common areas in the flat. Every night before she went to bed she would walk through the flat and clean up after herself. She knew when he needed quiet time and she respected it. The elves were in love with her, as she always treated them with gentleness and respect. When Draco’s friends stopped by she was the perfect hostess. Her overall manners were impeccable, and Draco knew that even Narcissa would have a hard time finding a flaw in how she conducted herself.

She upended his life, but in the best ways. With her, Draco found he was exploring more of Muggle London. They watched movies together both at the flat and in the theaters. She introduced him to Muggle literature. Muggle customs. Muggle food.

One evening, Draco had arrived home to find her cooking in the kitchen. He was so surprised he gawped at her for several seconds before remembering himself. “What are you making?” he had asked.

“Our dinner tonight,” Hermione had said. She was wearing a blue and white checkerboard pattern apron over a fitted white blouse and a coal grey pencil skirt that showed off every curve of her hips and backside.

“We have elves for that,” Draco had said, trying hard not to be a pervert and forcing himself to look away from Hermione’s arse.

“Oh, that’s quite all right. I told them I would be doing the cooking tonight and gave them a night off.”

“Well, what are you making?”

“Linguini with clam sauce, mushroom tartlets, salad, and I got us a loaf of Italian bread.”

“Where did you even get this food? The elves—?”

Hermione shook her head. “There’s a Marks and Spencer’s just downstairs. And around the corner there’s a Tesco’s. Since I was on call at the potions lab last night, Master Bergen sent me home early today. So, I went to the shops to get this food.”

“I thought you said you hated grocery shopping!” Draco had exclaimed, surprised.

“You know, I really did hate grocery shopping when it was a chore, but now that I don’t have to shop, I’m having fun with it!” Hermione had poured him a glass of white wine. Draco had recognized the bottle as being from his wine refrigerator, and while he normally would have been very annoyed that anyone would use one of his wine bottles without his express permission, he found that he actually liked the idea of her using his things as though they were hers, too. 

And even as he was thinking this, Draco had wondered, had any woman ever cooked a meal for him before? He knew that Narcissa had never cooked in her life. It was doubtful she would have ever gone to the kitchens other than to tell the elves what to make for their dinner. None of the vapid Pureblood heiresses he’d ever met or dated would have had the first idea of what to do in a kitchen, other than to hunt down a vintage bottle of wine from the wine refrigerator.

The dinner Hermione made had turned out to be wonderful, even for Draco’s exacting standards, although by now, Draco knew Hermione to excel at everything she tried.

For a few weeks, Draco was quite smug about the fact that this arrangement was working out beautifully. Fake girlfriend. No complications. And she was better than expected company. But then something happened that changed everything. It was a Saturday morning and he had awakened earlier than usual to use the loo, and had heard noises outside his bedroom. He had slipped out to find Hermione sitting on the rug before the glass coffee table, again with a bowl of Muggle-made slush water that she called Cap’n Crunch. She was dressed in an old, oversized Quidditch jersey with the Gryffindor colors, a pair of red, white and green flannel sleep shorts and a pair of white socks. Her wild locks had been twisted into a bun at the top of her head, and she had stuck her wand through this mess. 

She had been reading, but had heard him when he approached down the hall and she had turned to him. “Good morning, Draco,” she had said, squinting a little to shield her eyes from the bright sunlight that was flooding through the flat’s windows. The light made her golden skin glow and lit up like a halo around her nimbus of untamed curls. She was smiling up at him like she was genuinely happy to see him.

And just like that, Draco Malfoy had realized that he was in love with her.

Draco Lucius Malfoy, Pureblood son of two of the oldest Pureblood lineages in Europe. Earl of Pembroke, owner of a fourteen-thousand acre estate in Wiltshire. Former Death Eater and former blood supremacist. All-around selfish, smarmy git. He was in love with the swottiest, most earnest, most infuriating, most stubborn, most beautiful, intelligent and fascinating woman in the world. A woman who happened to be the antithesis of almost everything he had ever been raised to believe and admire. 

He had never been in love before; of that, he was certain. He had never before felt this curious sort of breathlessness upon seeing someone, not the way he had felt gazing upon Hermione. He realized this went beyond attraction or lust, and that while he would very much like to take Hermione to bed one day, he realized that just sitting next to her, holding her hand, watching a smile unfold on her expressive face, listening to the rise and fall and cadence of her voice, these things brought him a quiet sort of happiness. That just being in a room with her brought its own sort of contentment. He felt a curious hollow in his chest, and somehow knew that the space was Hermione shaped. 

It had been the hardest thing in the world for him to school his expression into neutrality and to return her greeting. He slammed his Occlumency shutters down hard. “Morning, Granger,” he had managed to grunt before he headed into the kitchen to call Mipsy for coffee and to give himself some space from her.

He knew things had changed between them, but he also knew she didn’t love him. She was here because he was paying her to be here. And while he knew she wasn’t acting when she was friendly and smiled, he also knew she would never have been here if it wasn’t for his deal with her. How many times had she reminded him that this wasn’t real, that she was his fake girlfriend, that this was a show they were putting on for others? Their kisses had all been in public, where a camera or a crowd was watching. 

But a little bud of optimism had taken root in his thoughts. He knew she saw him differently than before, that she had gone from dislike and distrust to a kind of friendliness. He might even say they were friends of a sort now. And sometimes he was sure she was looking at him when she didn’t think he was aware. Was it possible that one day Hermione could see him as something more? 

Draco knew what he felt, but he was nowhere near ready to confess those feelings to Theo. He knew his best friend would not mock him (well, maybe tease a little), and he knew Theo would be sympathetic, would even want to help. But these feelings were so new, like a fragile bud, just ready to bloom. He wanted to give it time, to let himself come to better terms with it, to understand better the depths of it. So, to the wizard sitting on the other end of the couch, he said, nonchalantly, “It’s not as bad as I thought it would be, living with her.”

Theo leveled a shrewd gaze at Draco, who managed to maintain a stoic expression as he cycled through the DVD menu to start the movie. 

“This isn’t really pretend for you, is it?” Theo asked.

“Do you want to watch the movie or not?” Draco asked, refusing to be baited.

Theo threw up his hands. “Fine, Draco. Start the movie. Where’s the popcorn?”

—

“You are really just the most adorable thing!” Hermione said, cooing at her little godson as she held baby James in her arms. “Look at those pretty pretty green eyes of yours!”

Lying on the chaise next to Hermione’s, Ginny sipped iced tea and took in the panoramic view of London in the early July afternoon. Hermione had set up an umbrella to shade them from the worst of the sun, set a levis aura spell to create a light breeze, put some light, jazzy music on the speakers set up around the deck, and laid out a small tray of snacks on the table between them. Behind them, Tippy and Mipsy were setting up tables and chairs and decorations for the party later that night. “This flat is really amazing, Hermione,” Ginny said. “But seriously, how is it really living with the ferret?”

Hermione sighed. She knew that her old friends would have a hard time coming to terms with her relationship with Draco, and she knew they meant well, but she hated walking the tightrope of lying to her friends at the same time she was trying to come to terms with where the line between lies and truth lay. 

“I thought he might be controlling and territorial about his space, but he pretty much told me at the beginning to make myself at home and to make adjustments if I needed.”

“And have you?”

“Well, there really wasn’t much here that I felt needed to change. Except for his refrigerator and pantry. I mean, there was literally nothing but a jar of olives when I moved in. I didn’t want to have to call the elves every time I wanted something so I started stocking those shelves.”

“But how is it with the ferret himself?” Ginny pushed.

Hermione considered the answer to that question.

How could she describe it to Ginny? When Draco first brought up the condition of cohabitating, she had thought she would hate living with Draco. She had thought the very best she could hope for would be a roommate situation that she had to endure because she needed to be able to pay for her parents’ medical care and this was the only way she could afford it. 

By the time the move-in had occurred, her feelings for Draco had changed. She had stopped fearing and distrusting him the way she had when she had first seen him at his office, but she was still a bit afraid of what he would be like in his home. She had heard that there were many people who behaved one way in public and very differently behind closed doors. Harry’s aunt and uncle came to mind, as she remembered his stories of how they would begrudgingly treat him with some semblance of decency when he was with them in public and then completely ignore him or insult him in private. Would Draco be like this? Cranky, intolerant, cold, or nasty? Or perhaps boorish, intolerable, and overbearing?

But Draco had been none of those things. He was the same in private as he was in public. Spoiled, definitely. He lived in the lap of luxury and made no secret of the fact that he considered anything less beneath him. But he was pleasant and generous with her. He acted like he believed she deserved the very best, too. He went out of his way to make her feel at home. He was considerate. If he poured himself a glass of wine he would always offer her one. If he called on the elves for a service, he would always ask if she needed anything. He wasn’t loud or obnoxious or overly judgemental.

And he was fascinating. His conversation never bored her. He was well-read and liked to learn things. He asked her questions about her day. He would listen to her answers and even if he didn’t understand, he would make an effort. She thought of her years with Harry and Ron and how sometimes she felt like she was talking to herself when she tried to discuss things with them, and how they always left her to do the mental load in everything they did together. Draco was different. He paid attention to things she needed. His pantry might have been empty before she arrived, but once she started buying things, he made sure that she never ran out of anything she wanted after that. Her favorite tea was always restocked. Milk for her cereal was always fresh. She burst out laughing one morning when she awakened and found twenty boxes of her breakfast cereal in the pantry. 

She found herself looking forward to spending her evenings with him. She took him on excursions in Muggle London and she found she loved seeing the Muggle world through his eyes. He had so many questions once they were out, but they were questions borne of genuine curiosity and wonder. And he wasn’t pandering to her. He made it very clear what sort of Muggle things he admired and what sorts of things he found ridiculous. He liked movies. He liked curries and sushi. He was not a fan of fast food. He thought religion to be a waste of time. He was fascinated by Muggle music.

Sometimes they argued over things they saw and read. But Draco’s arguments with her were genuine differences of opinion, not cruel or biting or insulting. He didn’t belittle her when he argued and he generally based his argument on either fact, or what he had believed to be fact (what he believed about the Muggle world were sometimes very fantastical things). He didn’t like to lose, but when he did he didn’t carry a grudge or take it out on her. Ron would sulk for hours or days when he lost an argument with her, and her anxiety over it used to be exhausting.

And even as she constantly reminded herself that it could go nowhere, she knew she was attracted to him. She had always thought him handsome, even in their Hogwarts days when she’d despised him, but he’d only grown more beautiful as his face and figure filled out after the war. She never dared stare too long, but his eyes that could morph from silver to slate gray depending on his mood, his tall, broad shouldered but slender-waisted physique, and the tenor of his voice were all mesmerizing to her. She felt it acutely whenever he touched her, when their hands met by accident as they both reached for the salt shaker or he put his hand on the small of her back to guide her through a door he had just opened for her. Or when he held her hand in public as they walked through Diagon Alley or even in Muggle London (“You never know who we might run into, Granger”). She looked at his lips often. The few times he had kissed her on the lips had always been for show, but she had felt them down to her core. And even though she knew better, knew it was a line she should never cross, shouldn’t even think of crossing, she wondered what it would be like to kiss him for real. In private. Just to kiss him because she could. 

She looked to Ginny, who was waiting for an answer. She couldn’t tell her the truth, at least not all the truth, but she could tell her something true. “He makes me feel happy to see him.”

Ginny sat up and swung her legs off the chaise, planting her feet on the floor as she  peered sharply at Hermione. “I keep having trouble connecting you and Malfoy together, because I keep remembering what a prat he was in school. But, he seems to worship the ground you walk on, and you really care for him, don’t you?”

Hermione nodded, not trusting herself to say more. Whatever reason she had for going into this relationship with Draco, even if she was only pretending to be his girlfriend, even if she was only supposed to be pretending to care for him, she realized she really did care for him. She really was happy to see him. She desperately tried to remind herself every day that this wasn’t real. That they were both playing a part. That this would end one day. But the line between what was real and what wasn’t blurred more each day. She just hoped that she wouldn’t be too devastated when the end came and reality crashed down on her.

—

It was past one-thirty when the last of the guests had gone home. Hermione kicked off her high heels, sat down on the couch in the living room, and propped her feet up on the glass coffee table, too tired to move. As she leaned back into the cushions, she could feel the skirt of her silver dress ride up her thigh a little, but she was too tired to adjust it. Beside her, Draco also flopped down on the couch, mirroring her movements as he loosened his tie and straightened out his long legs, also resting his feet up on the table. He held a tumbler of whiskey in his hand, and he took a drink from it before he settled it onto the side table next to him.

“I think that went well,” Draco said.

“Hmmmm….” Hermione agreed. “Me too.”

“Did you have fun?”

“Mmmm…” Hermione was feeling very sleepy. “I think this is the first time I ever hosted a party. Hosted? Or Hostessed? Or I was hostessing? What’s the right word?”

“I think you’re a little drunk, Granger,” Draco said, as he reached out a hand and traced a finger down along Hermione’s jaw. 

She closed her eyes, liking the feel of his fingertip on her skin. She could feel herself wanting to go to sleep, but she fought the urge. “I think Theo and Luna hit it off today,” she said, forcing herself to open her eyes. She thought of the look on Theo’s face when Luna arrived at the party. She was a little late because she’d had to finish her shift at St Mungo’s, but she came, lovely and ethereal as always, dressed in a bright blue caftan with silver stars that shimmered and glowed over the outfit. She wore starburst earrings and had silver powder over her eyelids and a light dusting of silver on her cheeks. She smiled her gentle smile when Hermione introduced her to Theo, and Hermione could tell that Theo was very smitten.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure they went home together,” Draco chuckled, dropping his hand. It rested on the couch very close to hers.

“Her place or his?”

“Does it matter?”

“Well, I’m glad we had a hand in getting them together,” Hermione said. “They make a lovely couple.”

“Mmmm…” Draco agreed. He sounded sleepy and Hermione turned her head toward him. His profile was sharp, his cheekbones looking like they were sculpted by a master. Under the overhead lights, his white blond hair glowed. He must have sensed her gaze on him, because he opened his eyes and turned toward her. “Granger,” he said, softly.

Hermione gave him a sleepy smile, but tilted her face toward his. She saw a flash of desire in his eyes as he turned toward her. As his face came closer to hers she could feel her heart beat seem to slow, but pound deeply, a steady booming rhythm that was filling her ears. His face was just so beautiful…

Crack!

Tippy and Mipsy Apparated into the living room, still dressed in the formal uniforms they wore to serve the guests at the party. The shotgun blast of sound that accompanied their appearance jolted Hermione and Draco into wakefulness as if they’d been dashed with cold water.

“Master Draco! Miss Hermione! We is finished cleaning up the party upstairs! Is there anything else you need tonight?” Mipsy asked.

Draco groaned. “Thank you,” he gritted out. “That will be all. Good night.”

“Good night!” the elves chorused in unison before they Disapparated.

Jolted out of her earlier stupor, Hermione stood up and levitated her shoes into her hand with her wand. She felt like she’d just awakened from a trance and had found herself trembling on a precipice. These last few weeks they had been playing a dangerous game. She had to rein in her desire or it would destroy her. “I need to get some sleep,” she said. “Good night, Draco.”

Draco pushed himself to his feet also. He looked chagrined, but managed a smile. Instead of the kiss she had been expecting earlier, he brushed a light peck over her forehead. It was gentle. Safe. Almost brotherly. “Good night, Granger.”

Hermione turned and made her way down the hallway toward her bedroom. She had been sleepy before, but now as she lay on her bed after changing into her nightclothes, she found that sleep eluded her. She lay awake for a long time that night.

—

Business concerns kept Draco very busy over the next several days. Over the past year, he had been trying to expand business outside Europe to the Americas. That week, the culmination of several proposals and trans-Atlantic communiques had resulted in a series of meetings with businessmen and women from New York, Vancouver and Buenos Aires. As part of his corporate dealings, Draco wined and dined these investors and trading partners in high end restaurants in both wizarding and Muggle London. Hermione accompanied him to these dinners. She wore the elegant dresses Pansy had designed and she charmed the company with her conversation and her wit. During one dinner, she helped clinch a tricky deal when she suggested a solution to a logistical problem that had kept the North American investors from signing on to the agreement. To thank Hermione for her help in facilitating a deal that would sell Malfoy branded charmed objects in stores throughout all of Canada, Draco tracked down a first edition of Most Potente Potions and gifted it to a delighted Hermione.

On other days, Draco was kept busy dealing with the legal ramifications of his French Malfoy cousins’ takeover bid of Malfoy Holdings. It should have been an easy case to fight, but a loophole in French law–plus a tricky deal Lucius Malfoy made before the end of the second Wizarding War that was supposed to safeguard Malfoy property from seizure by the Ministry of Magic–had now resulted in a legal headache of massive proportions. 

To try to resolve this issue, Draco made the decision to do what he had been avoiding for over three years. He went to Azkaban to visit Lucius to see what information his father had that could help him fight the legal battle. If there was one thing Draco did not want to do, it was visit the man who had been the source of so much pain, humiliation and disappointment. Despite all the horrors he had brought on his family, Lucius remained unrepentant and defiant. But Draco could leave no stone unturned if he wanted to protect his company, and so he applied for a visitor’s pass to the island fortress, and after two weeks the Ministry approved his visit.

Draco left the office in the middle of the afternoon at the time appointed to him on the Ministry papers. The journey to Azkaban was not easy, a precarious boat ride through inhospitable waters in the North Sea. Draco, who had been incarcerated in the cells for a month after the Battle of Hogwarts, still sometimes awakened in the night sweating as he remembered his journey to Azkaban and the hazy nightmarish weeks that had followed. Though the Dementors had been removed from the prison, their evil chill remained, having permeated the very rock from which the main prison was fashioned.

Lucius had no welcome for his son. He felt angry, misunderstood, and disrespected. He mocked Draco as “Lord Malfoy” when he entered the visitation room. He wanted favors from Draco in exchange for information—for Draco to petition for better quarters, more food, more visitation rights. He wanted Draco to promise to visit. He wanted Draco to commit to marrying a Pureblood. He wanted Draco to stop wasting his time with the Mudblood he was living with.

“Yes, I’ve heard about your little dalliance. Your mother was quite distressed about it. Even the Flints, McNairs and Rookwoods wouldn’t stoop this low. Don’t you think it's time for you to stop being such a disappointment and live up to your name and heritage?”

After forty minutes of mounting disappointment and anger, Draco had had enough. He stood up and motioned for the guard to open the door. At the door, Draco paused, taking in his father’s appearance. The older Malfoy’s once luxuriant mane of white blond hair had been shorn into a buzz cut, the stubble appearing stone gray and grizzled. He was gaunt, his sharp silver eyes sunken into his skull, and he appeared to have aged thirty years since his incarceration. A magically enhanced prison tattoo gleamed at his neck and his gray prison garb appeared threadbare and worn. His hands trembled and age spots covered the backs. His nails were cracked, yellow and brittle. 

Draco’s lips twisted into the signature Malfoy sneer. And this pierced his father’s armor when nothing else would. “I would hardly think I’m the disappointment in the Malfoy family line. I’m not the one who sold my son to a madman and almost destroyed the family and our fortunes. But if your delusions let you sleep at night—“ here Draco smirked joylessly, “—sweet dreams, Father.”

As Draco left the prison and headed toward the docks to take the return transport to the mainland, he stripped off the dress robes he had worn to the prison, tossing them into the bushes that lined the rocky walkway, feeling them soiled, feeling he needed to stand under a shower head for at least an hour to wash away the revolting churn of emotions that this visit had stirred up.

The boat left the island, and Draco sat resolutely with his back to Azkaban, vowing he’d never set foot on the island ever again.

—

It was late. Hermione lay in bed tossing and turning, unable to find a comfortable position. Crookshanks was so disgusted by Hermione’s restlessness that he bounded off the bed and went to sleep in his cat bed, something that he almost never did. She checked the clock by her bedside. It was after one in the morning. She wondered when Draco would return. He had told her that he was going to visit Lucius in Azkaban that day, and why. He had told her not to wait up for him. He had looked like a man about to face his own execution, and Hermione had worried about him all day.

Finally, knowing she would not be able to sleep, Hermione slipped out of bed and pulled on a dressing gown over her silk cami and shorts. For so long, she had resisted using the lacy negligees and peignoir sets that Pansy had added into her wardrobe, opting to still wear the fuzzy flannel pajama pants and T-shirts she had worn as a student, but over the past week she had been experimenting with the new sleepwear and found she liked the way the satiny fabric felt against her skin.

She tied the belt of the dressing gown around her waist, and, barefooted, she stepped out of her room, planning on going to the kitchen to make herself a cup of hot chocolate that she could drink while waiting for Draco to return.

But when she opened the door, she saw the light was on in the living room, and Draco was at the piano, playing something she couldn’t hear. He must have cast a silencing charm around himself to keep from disturbing her upon his return. His head was bent over the keyboard, his attention on the music and she watched him for a few moments, noting the fine line between his brows, the way his mouth was drawn, the tension in his shoulders. She felt a pang of sympathy for him, knowing his visit to Azkaban must have been stressful in the extreme.

She crossed the living room toward Draco, and he stopped playing, his head snapping up as he registered her presence. He waved off the silencing charm wandlessly.

“Did I wake you?” he asked. “I’m sorry. I was trying to be quiet.”

Hermione paused before the piano. “You didn’t wake me. I didn’t even know you were back. I—I couldn’t sleep. I was worried about you. It—what happened?”

Draco shook his head and let out a bitter laugh. “You don’t want to know.”

“I do.”

“You don’t. Or maybe I just don’t want to talk about it.”

Hermione stepped closer to him. She reached her hand out and tentatively touched the corn silk soft locks on his head, threading her fingers gently through the strands. “Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Draco shifted on the bench and patted the seat to indicate she should sit next to him. Hermione sat down. Draco’s clothes were still damp, and she smelled sweat and sea salt in addition to his usual citrusy and woodsy scent. 

“What were you playing before?” Hermione asked. 

Draco paused a moment, and then his fingers came down on the keyboard. Hermione did not recognize the song, although she would later learn the piece he played was Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in C-Sharp Minor. Draco played without sheet music, and without hesitation. The music washed over Hermione in waves. She felt the turbulence. She felt despair. She felt longing. She felt grief. As she listened, she felt tears forming in her eyes. 

Draco finished playing and sat still, staring straight ahead of him, his jaw clenched, his frame tight as though bracing for a blow. Hermione swallowed and moved her hand to touch his shoulder, and then suddenly he turned to her, and his lips were on hers. He claimed her boldly, his kiss deep, open mouthed, insistent. His tongue was writing runes against hers, and his hands took possession of her body. One hand in her hair, holding her to him while the other roamed her back. His breath feathered against her skin, and Hermione could feel herself growing molten in his arms, desire making her limbs feel heavy and hot. His kisses were igniting explosions in her chest, her heart beats pounding erratically, fast, slow, sharp, light. She felt breathless and dizzy from want. His lips moved from hers to tickle her along her jaw and he peppered her neck with nibbles. He licked against the shell of her ear, and he slid his tongue over the pulse point at the junction of her neck and shoulder before his lips sucked against the skin, marking her, making her shiver. And just as she gasped, he moved to reclaim her mouth, kissing her with frantic, desperate flicks of his tongue and teeth.

The tie of Hermione’s dressing robe fell loose and her robe slid off her shoulder. Draco’s hands found the bottom hem of her cami, and his fingers burned hot against the pebbled skin of her midriff, moving up against her breast, his palm rough against her nipple, his fingers slowly kneading the hypersensitized skin.

Hermione moaned into his mouth, as her hands gripped into his shoulder, and sought purchase against the damp locks of his hair. Her fingers trembled as they found the stubble-roughened skin of his face. 

“Want you…” Draco groaned against her throat, “Want—“

The sound of his voice jarred her senses. This was not some sort of dream or fantasy. This was reality. And then suddenly, as if a spell was broken, Hermione felt herself shaken and panicked. She had to stop. She had to stop!

“No, no!” She cried out pulling away from him and gripping his arms hard to hold him off her. “I—I can’t…I can’t!”

“What?” Draco looked bewildered. His eyes, which had been blackened by desire now looked wild, disoriented and shocked.

With a wrench, Hermione pulled out of his arms and sprang from the piano bench. Her breaths came hard and heavy as though she had been running. Her eyes were huge, terrified, and she wasn’t sure if she was more afraid of what they had done or more afraid of how she wanted more. It was the wanting that terrified her. She wasn’t supposed to want. She wasn’t supposed to lose the line between reality and desire. She desired him. But this wasn’t real. She had to be able to walk away when this ended. She had to be able to step back into reality.

“This isn’t real—it isn’t real!” Her voice came out in a harsh whisper. “I—I—“ her words failed her. Hermione gave Draco one last, anguished gaze, and then she turned on her heel and fled back to her room, slamming the door behind her before she sank to the floor and sobbed silently into her hands.

Chapter Text

Everything felt slow the following morning. Hermione had not slept much the night before; all night confused thoughts chased themselves in her mind. 

She wanted him. She knew this. She had a crush on him and she had come to terms with that. She also knew that he was off limits. She was his fake girlfriend. He paid her to be his fake girlfriend. This was an arrangement with an expiration date. She was only supposed to pretend in front of others, to kiss him, to hold his hand, and to appear loving and supportive as an act. She reminded herself over and over. It was an act.

She realized, as she sobbed into her pillow, that she had lost sight of what she was supposed to be doing. She had started to let her guard down, to become friendly in a way that went beyond the job she was supposed to be doing. It was her fault. She thought back to everything they had done in the past few weeks. She had been playful, flirty, acting like they were best friends. But they weren’t best friends. She was working for him and she had forgotten that. She had blurred lines and muddied a situation that was supposed to be clean-cut. 

Draco had been hurt and vulnerable last night. His visit to his father had clearly caused him pain and anguish, but she was sure that if she hadn’t been sending out the wrong signals all these weeks, he would not have kissed her. He had wanted her last night to assuage his pain but she couldn’t be that for him. She wanted to be that for him, but she knew that if she let things go any further, she would want more and more and more. And if he didn’t care for her the way she did, it would destroy her to want what he could not give. 

A logical part of her mind insisted that she needed to end this arrangement. She needed to tell him it wasn’t working. She needed to cut her losses and move on. Go back to her own flat. Find a new job. Find two jobs, even. She needed to do whatever she could to get the money necessary to take care of her parents, but she needed to extricate herself from this impossible situation.

But even as she thought this, a part of her heart was breaking at the idea of leaving. Despite the pain of being so close, but with a barrier between them, and despite the volatility of the situation, Hermione couldn’t quite bring herself to leave just yet. She realized that, at least for now, the pain of seeing Draco every day was preferable to the pain of not seeing him at all. 

She thought of the memory potion she had been working on. She had been working her way through all the books they had collected from the library at Malfoy Manor, and had yet to find a breakthrough. The potions work in the lab had stalled, early promising in vitro results not panning out when tested on live subjects. She hated the thought of leaving the project undone. She wanted so badly to stay and finish work on the potion. 

Maybe a few more weeks, she thought. She had lost focus, and it was her fault the project was floundering. But she could double down her efforts at work. She would give herself just a little more time. It was mid-July, now. She would give herself to the middle of August.

After coming to that last decision, Hermione finally fell asleep, but her sleep was fitful and plagued by nightmares. The first year after the war, Hermione had barely been able to sleep without a calming draught or Dreamless Sleep potion, but after several years the terrors of war and of her time on the run had gradually faded. This night, however, she was back in Malfoy Mansion on the floor of the drawing room. But instead of Bellatrix standing over her with a knife, it was Draco, peering down at her with a sneer on his face. 

“It was all fake, you silly girl,” he said, and the contempt and the disgust in his voice cut her worse than any knife.

“Draco could never love a Mudblood like you,” Bellatrix crowed.

“Draco used to laugh about you all the time,” Narcissa chimed in behind her.

“You’re just a toy to him,” Lucius added. “A toy he will play with and discard, like all his other toys.”

“I’ll need to cut your heart out, though,” Draco added, now with a knife in his hand. “And then stomp on it, your Mudblood heart.”

He brought the knife down, and Hermione awakened with a strangled cry.

She could see pink streaks in the sky heralding the approaching dawn, and knew she’d not be able to sleep again. She rolled over in the bed with a groan, letting her morbid thoughts chase themselves around in her head until it was time for her to get up and get ready for the day.

As she dressed for work that morning, she winced against the cheery sunlight that streamed in her windows, so incongruous to her mood, but she reviewed her decision in her mind. She would stay until the middle of August. She would dedicate all her available time to working on the potions project. She would do what was required of her with Draco, including attending the Midsummer Gala with him, but she would keep her distance. She would maintain her professionalism. She could do anything for a month. And when the time came that she had to leave, she would hopefully have achieved a breakthrough in the memory potion and she could then find a way to deal with the collapse of her heart.

Finally, teal pantsuit on, her hair tied back in a low bun behind her neck, and a light dash of eye makeup to hide the worst of the effects of her crying, she was about to leave her room when she caught sight of the bruise that had formed at the junction of her neck and right shoulder. She pulled out her wand to vanish the bruise, but then she swallowed, hesitating. She touched the hickey with the tips of her fingers, almost reliving the tactile sensation of Draco’s lips on her neck last night. Her lower lip trembled. She couldn’t let the world see this, but she wanted it for herself. This was the only thing she would keep. She put a stasis charm on the bruise and then glamored it to hide the mark. She took one last look at herself in the mirror and then took a deep breath, forcing herself to step out of her room.

“Good morning, Miss Hermione!” Mipsy squeaked as Hermione entered the kitchen. “I has your coffee! Milk and two sugars just the way Miss likes it!”

“Good morning, Mipsy. Thank you,” Hermione managed to say, although her voice sounded hoarse and weak. She took the cup from the little elf.

The door to Draco’s room opened and she steeled herself to face him. He came down the hallway, but to her astonishment, he wasn’t wearing his towel slung around his hips, he was fully dressed this morning, in formal dark gray dress robes over a crisp white shirt, his clothes and his hair impeccable. He looked as beautiful as ever, but Hermione saw his eyes and knew he hadn’t slept much last night, either. 

He gave her a brief glance as he entered the kitchen, muttered, “Morning, Granger,” and then accepted his cup of coffee from Mipsy. 

Hermione tried to answer but the words wouldn’t come out. She could only stare at him, marveling at his stoicism before she realized that he was Occluding very heavily. His eyes were slate gray, their blankness almost seemed like a rebuke. As he turned away from her she forced herself to return his greeting, “Good morning, Malfoy,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. 

She saw his shoulders stiffen and realized she had called him Malfoy instead of Draco. He went back to his room, coffee cup in hand, without another word. 

Hermione could feel tears threaten in her eyes and a sob building in her throat. To forestall the weeping, she quickly began to recite the ingredients of Wolfsbane potion in her mind, followed by ingredients in Polyjuice and Amortentia. She finished her coffee, even though it tasted like ash, and gave the cup to Mipsy. Still reciting potions ingredients to clear her mind, she headed toward the Floo connection and went to work.

—

Once a week, the staff in the Potions lab had a group lunch. Since the potion brewing operation in Master Bergen’s lab often required cooperation, such as when potioneers needed to take overnight shifts and handle other peoples’ potions, Master Bergen liked to foster a sense of camaraderie amongst his staff. His weekly lunches usually took place on Wednesdays, and on a rotating basis, the staff were asked to bring in food or drink or dessert. Three weeks ago, on Hermione’s first turn to bring in food, she had brought homemade lemon and lavender tartlets, which were a hit among the staff. (Draco had also eaten four of them before Hermione had gotten Mipsy to hide the rest for her). The Wednesday after things fell apart between Draco and Hermione, she had not been assigned to bring anything, which was just as well, since Hermione was so fixated on her brewing as a way to keep her mind off Draco that she’d completely forgotten about the team lunch. It wasn’t until Master Bergen himself ordered her away from her workstation that Hermione reluctantly joined the team in the lunchroom.

When Hermione entered the lunchroom, the staff were quizzing Alana Achen about potions interactions. Alana was Master Bergen’s oldest associate, and the deputy head of the Potions department under Master Bergen. They had worked together in Berlin and at the DuPont Institute. The younger staff circulated a rumor that the two had been lovers once, but Hermione knew from Draco this had not been the case. (Master Bergen’s lover had actually been Alana’s younger brother.) Alana had deeply hooded brown eyes and with her long face and somewhat aquiline nose she looked like a highly intelligent bird of prey. She was known as an exacting potioneer, but now she rarely brewed; instead, she spent much of her time supervising the junior potioneers’ work. The younger potioneers were all in awe of her. While most potioneers learned basic reactions between different ingredients, no one understood these complex interactions more than Alana did. It was almost like a parlor game for the younger staff to throw out the most outrageous combinations of ingredients and to ask Alana how they would interact.

“Mugwort and demiguise hair with pickled armadillo bile,” a young junior potioneer named Carrie Whitshaw called out.

“The demiguise hair will render the solution colorless, and the combination of mugwort and armadillo bile will cause the digestive system to go into overdrive. So you’ve created a laxative that looks like water,” Alana said. 

“Asphodel and acromantula venom,” suggested Joe, the junior potioneer whom Hermione had worked with on her first night on call in the potions lab.

“Ahhh, acromantula venom. That is a very interesting ingredient. By itself, the venom is incredibly toxic. With the addition of the asphodel, the toxicity is still there, but depending on how much of it you use, the poison may be weakened substantially. With small amounts of acromantula venom added to the asphodel, you can derive medicine that causes sleepiness, but also triggers very potent dreams. Some people report re-living the worst day of their lives and some people say those dreams re-lived the best days of their lives.”

More of the younger researchers continued to quiz Alana, but Hermione’s mind was starting to wander. She thought about the idea of dreams triggering memories and wondered about incorporating both the acromantula venom and the asphodel powder into the memory potion. She positively itched to return to her own workstation and to review the notes she had and to see if the ingredients might make a difference to the potion.

“She’s amazing, isn’t she?” Joe asked, sitting down beside Hermione with a plate of his lunch. 

Hermione looked toward Alana. The older witch was considered a great role model; she’d published dozens of papers in respected potions journals and she mentored the junior potioneers with high standards. Outside of lab work she was very grandmotherly. She liked to matchmake with the younger staff. She often brought in homemade cookies and pies. She remembered peoples’ spouses and their children. She could often be found consoling the younger staff when a potion went spectacularly awry or they just had a bad day in general. And yet, Hermione noted that Alana managed to maintain a certain private aloofness. She never discussed her personal issues. The younger staff weren’t even sure if she had ever married or had children. 

But Hermione knew, because Draco had told her. Alana had been a wunderkind at Durmstrang, top of her class and destined to do great things. She had married her Durmstrang sweetheart and had worked as a potioneer all her life. She was now widowed, and her only son and her brother had both been killed four years ago in a tractor-trailer accident. Hermione had expressed surprise that two wizards could be killed by a Muggle vehicle, and Draco had explained that the two of them had been drinking at a New Year’s Eve party and had tried to Apparate to Alana’s home together. Instead, they had resurfaced on a mountain highway in the Alps and been instantly killed by an incoming truck barreling at 100 kilometers an hour. In one stroke, Master Bergen had lost his lover and Alana had lost both her brother and her son. In their grief, they decided to leave Germany, and take up Draco’s offer to come to England to work at Malfoy Holdings.

Hermione had always felt sympathy and awe when she looked at the older woman. “I’d love to know how she’s so good at knowing how different ingredients will interact,” Hermione said.

“The first time I saw them quiz her on interactions, I thought she was making up the answers,” Joe said. “I thought no one would just know how things no one ever thought to combine would interact, and then they told me that every year, the staff comes up with some bizarre combination of ingredients and Alana will predict what the mixture will turn into, and every year, when they try to create the potion she’s always right. I heard there’s a prize for the first potioneer who manages to stump her but no one ever has.”

“I’m surprised she doesn’t create more potions of her own,” Hermione said. “It seems she would be able to create and patent so many new potions if she was so inclined.”

Joe lowered his voice, “I heard she created a potion early on in her career that was supposed to be used for softening dragon scales so they could be used in brewing. Except it was taken by Voldemort and used to maim and torture his victims in the First Wizarding War. The story is that she was the only one who knew how to make the potion and she destroyed all her notes and fled Europe until after he disappeared, and she vowed to never invent new potions again.”

“That’s such a shame,” Hermione said, still trying to turn over in her mind the idea of somehow incorporating acromantula venom and asphodel into her memory potion. Maybe this was the breakthrough she was looking for. Hermione finished her lunch and went to speak with Master Bergen.

—

The problem was obtaining the acromantula venom. It was incredibly rare, since it was so difficult to obtain. Malfoy Holdings did not regularly keep a stock of acromantula venom since it wasn’t generally used in their commercial potions. When Hermione asked Sergei if he could obtain acromantula venom, the old man had been surprised and regretful. He could ask his suppliers, but such venom was usually only available at certain times of the year. There were acromantula that were willing to trade their venom, but usually only in the spring when the eggs were hatching. Sometimes whole herds of cattle or sheep needed to be traded for just one vial of venom. The only other source Hermione could think of for such a rare ingredient was Professor Slughorn, who, years ago, had opportunistically used Hagrid’s grief over Aragog’s death to obtain several vials of the substance. Hermione wrote right away to the professor asking if he still had any vials left that she could purchase.

Slughorn’s owl returned the next day with the news that Slughorn still had two vials of the acromantula venom left, but each vial would cost four hundred galleons. Hermione had blinked and reread the scroll. Four hundred galleons a vial? Her lip curled. Slughorn never stopped trying to take advantage of any situation he could. She showed the letter to Sergei, but the old wizard had looked at Hermione as if she’d grown horns. Neither he nor Master Bergen could authorize such a purchase. The old wizard didn’t say it explicitly, but he made it clear to Hermione that if she wanted to buy the venom, there was only one person she could speak with. 

And he was the last person Hermione wanted to ask these days.

But Hermione was desperate. That night, she waited for Draco to return to the flat. Since the morning coffee incident the day after Draco had tried to kiss her, they had both been playing a dance of avoidance. Draco had sent word each night that he would be staying late at the office or taking clients out for dinner. Hermione, for her part, waited in her room each morning until after she heard Draco retrieve his coffee from the elves before she ventured into the hallway. And in the evenings, she went back to her room as soon as she finished her dinner, and stayed there all night. 

She was usually able to keep her attention on her work when she was in the lab, but in the evenings, in Draco’s flat, she was miserable. Somehow, her normal ability to compartmentalize her thoughts had failed. She was unable to stop thinking about Draco and this mess of their relationship. It was impossible for her to concentrate, and she was both lonely and depressed. There was no one in whom she could confide her unhappiness. Everyone thought they were sickeningly in love. She couldn’t tell her friends it was all a lie. She kept reminding herself it had never been real. She kept reminding herself that Draco Malfoy had never been more than a crush. And yet, she couldn’t quite rid herself of the feeling that, somehow, she had lost her best friend. 

It was all so awkward and wrong. The past few evenings, she had found herself lying in bed channel surfing on her television, something she had never done even when she still lived at home with her parents. But she was too keyed up to read. Too distracted to work. She had considered going to the small home potions lab on the second floor and working on her potion there, but after thirty minutes she had dropped three vials and accidentally cut her finger while cutting valerian root and realized that this was a waste of time. 

Now, however, armed with Slughorn’s letter and a couple of old textbooks that indirectly backed up what Alana had said about the combination of acromantula venom and asphodel, Hermione sat in the living room and waited for Draco to return.

It was nearing midnight when the Floo finally flared to life and Hermione saw Draco step out of the Floo foyer into the living room. He paused, surprised to see Hermione there, and then she saw his Occlumency shields slide into place. 

“Granger, what are you doing up so late?”

“I wanted to speak with you,” Hermione said, noting that there were dark circles under Draco’s eyes and his hair was more rumpled than usual. He was still otherwise impeccable, but Hermione was familiar enough with him to know that he was discomposed.

“It’s late, Granger. Why don’t we speak tomorrow?” Draco said. 

Now, Hermione noted that his eyes were a little bloodshot, too, and there was a slight slur to his speech that suggested he’d been drinking.

“It won’t take a minute,” Hermione said, doggedly, rising and approaching him. Draco stopped, staying several feet away from her. She sighed, and pulled Slughorn’s parchment from her pocket. “I need your help.”

Draco had a resigned look on his face. He took the parchment and read it. “I’m not sure I understand,” he said, slowly. “You want to buy acromantula venom from Horace Slughorn?”

Hermione quickly launched into a brief explanation of her theory of using acromantula venom and asphodel in her potion, and how Sergei had thought it would be impossible for her to obtain it out of season. “Sergei thought eight hundred galleons was excessive—“

“It is excessive,” Draco said. “It’s outrageous.”

“What if we just bought one vial?”

“If we bought?” Draco asked, pinning her with a sharp look.

“I mean, you, of course,” Hermione replied, anxious for Draco to agree, even if it meant placating his foul mood.

“Fine,” Draco said, giving a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’ll take care of this. Give me until tomorrow to get the funds for you.

“Thank you,” Hermione said. She bit her lip at the awkwardness of her response. She hated this frostiness that had come between them. Even though she had reminded herself daily that this relationship wasn’t real, she had hoped that when it ended, they might still be on good terms with each other. But, somehow, this felt worse to her than when they had hated each other in their school days. “I—Draco—”

“No.” Draco looked away from her. “Not tonight, Granger.”

”We can’t—this can’t—we can’t go on like this,” Hermione said.

For several beats, Draco said nothing, still not even looking at her. Hermione was about to cross the room toward him, when he turned toward her, still not making eye contact, and said, “Midsummer Gala is tomorrow night. I’ll be back at seven, and we can leave from here.”

“Draco—”

“It’s late, Granger. Goodnight,” Draco said the last word quietly, but there was a finality in his tone that didn’t leave any room for further discussion. Wordlessly, and with a sense of anguish, Hermione watched him walk down the hallway and into his bedroom. He shut the door softly, but the sound crashed around her ears.

Chapter Text

The galleons were sitting on the kitchen counter when Hermione entered to get her morning cup of coffee. Mipsy and Tippy greeted her with their usual enthusiasm, although she knew the elves were clearly aware that something was wrong between her and Draco. Mipsy offered to help her with her hair that evening before she left for the party, and, even though Hermione thought she could do a good enough job by herself, she agreed, not wanting to see the disappointed droop of Mipsy’s tennis ball eyes if she refused. The little elf clapped her hands enthusiastically before she and Tippy Disapparated back to the Manor.

Hermione sent off the galleons and a note to Slughorn, and by lunchtime, the vials had arrived at the potions lab. Hermione had discussed her plans with Master Bergen beforehand, and he was cautiously optimistic about this new idea. Now that she had the precious acromantula venom, Hermione pulled out all the notes she had on the memory formula and began reviewing them, trying to see how she could add the venom and asphodel, what steps should be interrupted, and how much she needed. She could ill afford to waste the precious substance, and she wanted to optimize the steps taken. 

She was so absorbed in her work that she barely noticed the time. It wasn’t until she saw people getting ready to leave for the weekend that she realized it was already five and she needed to get back to Draco’s flat to get ready for the gala that night. She was still in the middle of an idea about the potion and decided to take one of the vials of the acromantula venom back with her so she could test her idea in the potion lab in Draco’s flat over the weekend (she had thought vaguely that she might not be able to take an entire weekend in strained silence, and that working on the potion might be her best escape).

She arrived back at the flat to see that Mipsy was already there and waiting for her. The little elf had gotten her dress pressed and ready. Hermione looked at the dress she had chosen at Pansy’s shop, remembering, a little sadly, how excited she had been for Draco to see her wearing this. Now, she felt no joy in seeing the gown even though she knew it was beautiful and would fit her like a second skin. 

She dutifully climbed into the dress, and sat at her vanity while Mipsy helped her with her hair and makeup. By the time Mipsy was finished with her, Hermione could barely recognize the woman staring back at her from the mirror. What normally might have taken Hermione six hours with copious amounts of Sleekeasy gel and magic straightening spells had taken the elf little more than a few snaps of her fingers and some artful use of a hairbrush and some pins. Hermione’s curls were tamed into sleek waves that framed her face gently, and then were pinned at the back into a very elegant chignon with one long curl artfully draping over her shoulder. Her makeup was applied to emphasize her best features, her expressive amber eyes, and her cupid’s bow lips. The dress hugged her but didn’t feel tight, making her feel sexy and glamorous all at once. It was an eye-catching bright red satin with a discrete sprinkling of sparkling sequins and gold accents that made artful designs along the sweetheart neckline, the hemline, and the long side slit that showed off her legs. A matching red satin wrap settled into the curves of her arm and wrapped around her back, but when pulled away revealed a daringly low back to her dress. Her lip curled a little as she gazed at her own reflection. She thought of her thirteen year old self, who would never have believed she could one day look like this. She just wished she could be happier about it.

With a sigh, she opened her door at five minutes to seven and went to the living room. She found Draco already there, waiting for her. Her heart clenched. He was in his formal dress robes of midnight blue with silver embroidery, and polished black, dragon hide boots, his hair perfectly in place, appearing so impossibly handsome and refined that she swallowed several times before she could speak. “I—I’m ready to go.”

Draco seemed to do a double take when he saw her. For a moment, he had the look of a man who had been hit by a Bludger, and then Hermione saw the shock replaced by a stiffness of his expression and she knew he was Occluding again. He said, stiffly. “You—you look—really good, Granger.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said, crossing the room to take his outstretched arm. When she touched him, she felt him stiffen for a moment and she couldn’t quite keep the hurt out of her eyes. 

Draco seemed to notice, as she saw a flicker pass over his face, and then he said, in a gentler voice, “Shall we?”

They Floo’d into the foyer outside the Ministry of Magic’s Grand Ballroom. Every summer, the Ministry hosted a gala to raise funds for a designated charity. This year, the charity designée was St Mungo’s Hospital, which had recently added in a Magical-Muggle Healer Interface unit, where Healers were incorporating Muggle medical methods into their treatment regimens. The ballroom was decorated in balloons and streamers of blue and silver, the colors of the hospital’s logo. Close to a hundred tables seating ten each were placed around the enormous dance floor, with four tables on a raised dais overlooking the rest of the room.  A live orchestra was playing something that sounded light and breezy. Tables were set up along the walls for the silent auction items, including the painting by the magical artist Ajax Callahan that Draco had been interested in acquiring. Dozens of uniformed elves were weaving between the guests carrying trays of hors d’oeuvres and champagne.

Hermione entered the ballroom on Draco’s arm, looking about the room for familiar faces. All the Ministry department heads were there, as were a large number of Ministry employees and their spouses. The members of St Mungo’s Board of Governors were present, seated at the tables on the dais. And many wealthy and influential members of wizarding society, mostly Purebloods who were major donors to the night’s charity, were also present. Hermione’s eyes moved through the crowds, and among others, she saw Harry and Ginny, Arthur and Molly Weasley, Percy Weasley, Theo and Luna, Blaise and Daphne, Padma Patil, who was a junior Healer like Luna, and Ernie MacMillan who worked in the Portkey division of the Ministry. 

Beside her, Draco stilled, and she followed his line of gaze and saw Narcissa Malfoy chatting with Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Horatio Harrington, the President of St Mungo’s. Hermione wasn’t surprised. Narcissa had been working hard at rehabilitating the Malfoy name. She headed the Malfoy Foundation and funneled millions of galleons to numerous high profile charitable endeavors each year. 

“Fuck,” she heard Draco mutter under his breath. He glanced down toward her. “We have to make the rounds. Are you ready?”

“Make the rounds?” Hermione repeated, looking up toward him. 

Draco sighed. “My mother, as head of the Malfoy Foundation, is one of the major donors here tonight. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was the biggest donor of the night. I need to help represent the foundation and speak with the major players tonight.”

He led Hermione through the crowds toward the top tables on the dais. “Mother, Minister Shacklebolt, President Harrington,” Draco greeted. “You’re all looking well. Let me introduce Miss Hermione Granger—“

“Hermione!” Kingsley greeted, leaning forward to give Hermione a hug. He turned to Draco with a smile and a wink, “Draco, Hermione and I go way back. It’s a pleasure to see you both. And Hermione, may I just say you look like a vision tonight, doesn’t she, Narcissa? Horatio?”

Narcissa looked beautiful and elegant as ever in a set of blue-gray dress robes with Malfoy sapphires sparkling at her ears, throat and hands. She had her social smile in place, but she appeared stiff. As Harrington and Draco exchanged greetings, Narcissa leaned forward to give Hermione an air kiss. “What a pleasure to see you again, Miss Granger.” Her voice was frosty. She then moved toward her son, and gave him a much warmer greeting, pausing to whisper something into his ear. 

“Miss Granger,” President Harrington greeted, shaking Hermione’s hand, “I’ve heard quite a lot about you! Lovely to see you tonight. And Kingsley’s right: you look wonderful!”

“Thank you,” Hermione said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too.”

“Perhaps later, Mother,” Draco said, in response to whatever Narcissa had said. He took Hermione’s arm and said, “If you’ll excuse us, we need to make the rounds—“

They met with some of the board members, other VIP guests who happened to be nearby, and made small talk though the throngs until finally, Draco led Hermione toward their friends who were gathered in three or four groups on the other side of the ballroom. As they approached their friends, a chorus of “Hello!” and “Oh, you look simply fabulous!” and “It’s been too long!” rang out as hands were shaken, cheeks kissed and hugs exchanged.

A roving society page reporter and photographer for Witch Weekly approached them and asked to take pictures. Hermione tried her best to look happy and dignified, although the way Draco held her for pictures, with his hand along her bare back, was making her heart beat erratically in her chest. Before the cameras, Draco was suave and wore his signature smirk, praising the work his mother did for the Malfoy Foundation and praising the work that St Mungo’s did for all wizardkind.

“And you, Miss Granger, who are you wearing tonight?”

Hermione was a bit taken aback to be asked this question instead of being given a chance to discuss St Mungo’s. She cringed inwardly at the idea of being reduced to Draco’s arm candy, but she managed to school her features into a blandly pleasant smile and say, “This is a Pansy Parkinson creation.” 

“Well, you two look simply fabulous tonight!” the reporter gushed. 

“I can’t speak for myself,” Draco said, with a smile that managed to be both fond and possessive, “But Hermione here always looks beautiful.”

Hermione felt her heart stutter at that smile, at the look on his face she hadn’t seen in days. And then almost immediately, she felt a prick of pain as she reminded herself that he was just doing this for the cameras. It’s not real. It was never real.

The reporters switched their attention to Harry and Ginny, who were standing right next to Hermione, and started interviewing them. Draco steered her away from the press.

Draco was now greeting Theo and Luna, who were holding hands and looking very happy together. “I didn’t think Ministry parties were your thing. What brings you here, Theo?” Draco asked.

“My fifty thousand galleon contribution,” Theo replied with a shrug. Hermione didn’t think she’d ever get used to the way the fabulously wealthy just mentioned such vast sums of money so casually. Theo continued, “Plus, I’m here for Luna. Hello, Hermione!” Theo gave Hermione a kiss on her cheek in greeting.

Luna, dressed in an ethereal green gown that looked like it was spun from gossamer and paired with dirigible plum earrings, smiled serenely. “You look lovely, Hermione!”

“As do you, Luna,” Hermione said, sincerely giving her friend a hug. For although Luna’s combination was a bit jarring, somehow, on her, it looked just right. Beside them, Draco and Theo were now discussing the upcoming football season and possible trade prospects.

“Unfortunately, I can’t stay late,” Luna said. “I’m on overnight duty and I need to return to St Mungo’s by ten to start my shift, so I’ll have to leave around nine thirty to get changed into my work robes.”

“That’s a shame,” Hermione said. “But I’m glad you were able to come for some of it.”

“You look lovely in this dress,” Luna said, “But you have quite the infestation of Wrackspurts. Are you all right?”

“I—I’m fine,” Hermione said, a little jarred by Luna’s pronouncement.

“If you like, I have a potion of lemon juice and powdered doxy wings that can help with that,” Luna offered. “For Draco, too. He seems almost completely covered.”

“I—I think we’ll be okay,” Hermione demurred. She knew Luna was considered a very good Healer, but at times like this she wondered.

“Herm-own-ninny!” A deep voice called out from behind Hermione. Next to her, she could feel Draco stiffen. She turned around to see Viktor Krum approach. 

“Viktor!” she smiled in greeting. Viktor Krum, the star of the Bulgarian National Quidditch team and one-time Tri-Wizard Champion from Durmstrang Academy, also Hermione’s Fourth Year date to the Yule Ball, was approaching, dressed in impeccable black dress robes. He was tall, with dark hair and eyes and a handsome, aquiline face. Hermione had not seen him in years; the last time had been a couple years after the war. Viktor had expressed an interest in courting her, but she was dating Ron at the time and he graciously stepped back. Now he was back, and it seemed he was still interested in her.

Viktor stopped a few feet away from her and she saw how his eyes swept over her from head to foot in a way that most men did not usually appraise her and she felt a momentary twinge of uneasiness before Viktor reached out to give her a hug and a kiss on both cheeks. 

As soon as Viktor let go of her, she felt Draco’s arm around her waist. His sudden possessiveness sent a swirl of mixed emotions through her. 

“Draco Malfoy,” Draco said, extending his hand. Hermione noted that he stepped forward in a way that seemed to shield her body from Viktor’s.

“Yes, yes of course! I remember you, Malfoy!” Viktor said, giving Draco a hearty handshake. “You were in Slytherin House and you kindly let us share your dormitories and dining table during the Tri-Wizard Tournament! And now you are with—”

“Viktor!” It was Harry, who had finished talking with the reporter from Witch Weekly and had come to greet the Bulgarian Quidditch star. Viktor turned toward his one time Tri-Wizard competitor as Draco led Hermione away.

Viktor’s face broke into a wide smile and he gave Harry a hearty hug. 

Harry said, “Viktor, I’d like to introduce you to my wife, Ginny—”

“Ah, of course, the lovely and talented Chaser for the Harpies!” Viktor exclaimed, giving Ginny a kiss on the cheek. 

A series of bells began to chime and Kingsley Shacklebolt made an announcement that dinner would be served soon.

“Shall we find our seats?” Draco asked, and Hermione nodded.

The hundreds of guests found their designated tables and sat down as the elves began to serve their dinner. At the dais, Kingsley made a speech about the vitally important role that St Mungo’s played in every aspect of wizarding society, adding how the hospital now needed to be expanded to meet the many needs of its patients. He thanked the donors and sponsors, but added that further contributions would be needed to help the hospital carry out its mission of serving the health needs of the British wizarding community. He turned the podium over to Horatio Harrington, and then a slew of other guest speakers came up to praise the hospital or the sponsors. 

As they ate, Hermione and Draco made small talk with their friends at their table, and Draco kept his arm draped lightly across Hermione’s chair, occasionally running a thumb absentmindedly over her shoulder. Hermione felt a mix of acute longing and pain at the caresses. She savored his touch, but couldn’t enjoy any of it. She barely touched her food, although she drank two glasses of wine during the dinner, which followed the glass of champagne she’d had when they’d been mingling with the others beforehand.

The elves finished serving chocolate cake and coffee and Harrington then announced that the floor was open for dancing. The orchestra began to play more upbeat music and people started drifting to the dance floor in pairs.

“Granger,” Draco said, standing and extending his hand to her. Hermione took a breath, stood up with her hand in his and let him lead her to the dance floor. He took her into his arms in a slow waltz, expertly leading her around the floor in a series of turns and steps. She peeked up toward him as they were dancing, wishing she could enjoy this. Wishing that the stiffness and awkwardness of the last few days was gone. Wishing that this could be real. 

“You do look really lovely, tonight,” Draco murmured as they danced. 

“Thank you,” Hermione said. 

“The red suits you.”

“Pansy thought I should get this in green.”

“You’d look good in any color,” Draco said. “But I’m glad you didn’t pick green.”

“Really?” Hermione was surprised enough to look up into his eyes. “Why?”

“I like that you have a mind of your own.”

Hermione’s heart began to pound dangerously at those words. He couldn’t really mean—what was he trying to do here? 

She saw a flash go off in the corner of her eye and assumed that it was another society reporter and photographer covering the event. Just then, an older wizard tripped against her, making her stumble so that the high heel of her shoe caught on the hem of her gown and ripped it. 

“Watch it!” Draco snarled at the interloper, who clearly had had too much to drink; at the same time Draco pulled her against him protectively. His attention went back to Hermione. “Are you all right?”

“Sorry!” the bumbling wizard said, his words a bit slurred. 

“I—“ Hermione was inspecting the dress. “There’s a tear here. I—I’m just going to go to the powder room and see what I can do about this.”

“All right,” Draco said, leading her off the dance floor. She left a side door of the ballroom to find a ladies’ room where she could properly survey the damage to the dress and she hoped her meager skill with sewing charms would be enough to do a decent repair.

__

Draco watched as Hermione left the ballroom and let out his breath in a sigh. It had been Hell these last several days navigating the chill between them. He was torn between just ending the fake girlfriend arrangement for his own sanity and peace of mind, and his reluctance to let go of her just yet. He knew she was staying because she needed the money and she would fulfill her end of the bargain as long as she could. It was maddening. In those last weeks leading up to the night he had kissed her, he had felt sure that there was something between them. Something that went beyond just a business deal or even just friendship. And then it all went to pieces when he’d stupidly kissed her. Had he just spooked her, or had he only imagined the warmth between them? Bitterly, he was forced to admit to himself that his own feelings might very well have clouded his judgment terribly. Even so, he couldn’t quite convince himself that the torment of having her out of his life was preferable to the torment of seeing her every day while she was just out of his reach.

While he was sorting his feelings out, Draco had resolved to keep his distance from Hermione as much as possible, but his resolve nearly crumbled earlier that evening when she’d come out of her bedroom in that unbelievable red dress. He’d been gobsmacked. She’d looked like all his fantasies come to life and there was nothing he wanted more at that moment than to snog her senseless, then fuck her into the living room couch.

She was twisting him into knots. Draco decided he needed a drink. He headed toward the bar to get himself a glass of firewhiskey, but he was intercepted by Narcissa before he made it there.

“Draco, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Narcissa said, taking his arm.

Resigned, Draco followed her across the ballroom. She was always trying to find ways to strengthen the Malfoys’ social standing, and there was no end to the number of influential people she tried to cultivate. He assumed this would be more of the same, but he stiffened as he saw where they were headed. On the dais, next to a portly middle aged wizard dressed in an intricately embroidered blue and orange Baju Melayu with a black songkok, was a beautiful witch in stunning plum purple dress robes shot through with gold embroidery that shimmered as she moved. She had lightly bronzed skin and gleaming blue-black hair in masses of shiny ringlets that fell around her shoulders. 

“No, Mother,” Draco said, stopping.

“Don’t make a scene,” Narcissa said, sternly. She might have been reprimanding a five year old who didn’t want to eat his peas.

“You know that I’m seeing Hermione, Mother,” Draco said. There was a hint of steel in his voice.

“Seeing. Seeing? What does that mean? Are you actively courting her? It's been months. Have you even presented her with an interest gift?”

“Mother—“

“She’s not in your league, Draco,” Narcissa insisted.

“You’re right, Mother. She’s not in my league. She’s way above it,” Draco countered.

Narcissa gave him a sharp glance. “Draco!” She admonished, looking alarmed for the first time. Then her tone changed, became wheedling. “It’s not just Samira that I want you to meet. Her father is the CEO of Bahan Ajaib. They’re the biggest resource developers in Malaysia. They supply raw materials to half the potions makers in Southeast Asia.”

“And they’re Pureblood, too, I suppose,” Draco interjected, although he had heard of the Bahan Ajaib before. The company was notoriously finicky about whom it chose to do business with, but was known for delivering high quality goods. They’d also been growing quite a bit lately and were known for their ability to acquire the most difficult to source raw materials.

“They’re good potential business partners,” Narcissa said, firmly, tugging Draco toward the dais.

Draco’s nostrils flared in annoyance, but with his current supply chain issues, he knew better than to pass up the opportunity to find new sources for supplies. Reluctantly, he went with his mother to greet the witch and wizard.

“Draco, this is Jet Lim, CEO of Bahan Ajaib and his daughter Samira. Jet, Samira, this is my son, Draco,” Narcissa said.

Draco shook hands with Jet and Samira, “An honor to meet you both. What brings you to Britain?”

“We are with the Southeast Asian delegation of the International Magical Cooperation Alliance. We are here to discuss trade agreements,” Jet answered. “I am here on behalf of my national delegation, but my daughter Samira here is Chief Operating Officer of Bahan Ajaib and she is here to make business deals on behalf of the company.”

“We heard you are the main supplier of pharmaceutical potions to St Mungo’s, as well as several magical hospitals and clinics throughout Western Europe,” Samira said, eyeing Draco’s appearance appreciatively.

“Well, my company does do a fair amount of business in pharmaceutical potions. We partner with the DuPont Institute in Switzerland for European sales,” Draco said.

“I’d love to discuss becoming a supplier for Malfoy Holdings,” Samira said. “Would you have time to talk now?”

Draco’s eyes drifted briefly across the ballroom, but he did not see Hermione. She was fairly easy to spot in her bright red gown, so he assumed she was still dealing with her hemline. Still, he did not want to leave her alone too long.

“Would you be able to discuss business tomorrow or any time in the near future? I’d love to have you over to our main office for a tour and perhaps a lunch or dinner,” Draco hedged.

“Unfortunately, no,” Samira said. “Our Portkey to return to Kuala Lumpur activates at midnight tonight. I have some trade negotiations to handle in Shanghai after the weekend, and I need to get back to work with my team in advance of those meetings.”

“Draco, why don’t you get Ms Lim a drink, or better yet, ask her for a dance?” Narcissa suggested.

Draco smiled through gritted teeth. “A glass of champagne, Ms Lim? Or something stronger?”

“Champagne would be lovely,” Samira said, stepping closer to Draco. She moved with the assurance of a woman who knew she was beautiful and knew how to use her assets to her advantage. 

Draco snapped his fingers and an elf appeared at his elbow. “A glass of Kristal for Ms Lim, please,” Draco said, “and a Ritz Sidecar for me.” The house elf Apparated away only to return moments later with a tray bearing their drinks. 

“Cheers,” Draco said, lifting his drink and tilting it toward Samira’s. She clinked her glass against his, and they drank. 

“So, Lim,” Draco said, casting for some small talk to ease Samira into business negotiations, “That’s not a Malay name, is it?”

“No, my father’s family hails from Guangzhou in China. We’ve been in Malaysia since the time of the Ming Dynasty. Well over five hundred years. We’re an ancient family.”

Draco forbore to mention that if they were going to compare ancient bloodlines, his family had come over to England in the time of William the Conqueror, which was a full five hundred years and three Chinese dynasties earlier than the Lims had gone to Malaysia. Instead, he said, “and have your family always traded in magical potions ingredients?”

As Samira launched into a discussion of her family’s business, Draco did not fail to note the sudden smug look on his mother’s face as she tapped Jet’s arm lightly and said, “Let the young people talk business. I’d like to show you the Ministry rose garden. At the risk of being immodest, it’s not quite as large or beautiful as the gardens we have at Malfoy Manor, but they look quite lovely at this time of the year.”

—

Hermione held the ripped seams together and tapped her wand along the crease for the twelfth time. “Consuendi Simulia!” she commanded. This time, the seam knit together perfectly, with no wrinkles or loose threads.

She straightened up and looked herself over in the long mirror set against the lounge wall, and then did a little pirouette to see if the fabric would hold. The dress looked back to normal again. She sighed in relief, and slipped her wand back into the clever wand pocket that Pansy had hidden into the side seam of the gown and left the bathroom to return to the main ballroom. 

Draco wasn’t where he’d left her, but she knew she’d been gone for quite a while. She let her gaze roam around the ballroom until she finally spotted him on the dais. His white blond hair and his height made him very easy to find. He was sitting at one of the tables chatting with a gorgeous witch in plum dress robes. Hermione saw with a pang that they were both very engaged in their conversation, oblivious to everyone else around him. As she watched him she got the sensation that she was also being watched. She turned her attention away from Draco and saw Narcissa Malfoy standing a few feet away talking with a foreign wizard she did not recognize. However, even as she engaged in conversation, Narcissa managed to catch Hermione’s eye, and there was a gleam of triumph in the older woman’s gaze that made Hermione grind her teeth in a sudden burst of rage. Narcissa’s words that day in the library at Malfoy Manor came back to her in full force. Hermione’s hands curled instinctively into fists and  had to calm herself down by reminding herself that it absolutely didn’t matter what Narcissa Malfoy thought of her since her relationship with Draco was a sham. She wasn’t actually a consideration as a future Lady Malfoy—not that Hermione had ever wanted the title—so there was no reason to care what Narcissa thought of her. 

She forced herself to look away from both Narcissa and Draco. A serving elf was passing by with a tray of white wine and Hermione plucked a glass before she returned to her table. Blaise and Daphne were there, having some after dinner coffee and chatting with each other. “Do you mind if I join you?” Hermione asked before sitting down next to Daphne.

“Of course not!” Daphne said. “And you look great, by the way! Pansy knocked it out of the Quidditch pitch with this dress. Did you tell Witch Weekly she made this dress for you?”

“Of course,” Hermione said. “She really did a fabulous job. Your dress is amazing, too!” Hermione eyed the midnight blue gown trimmed in jet beads with its high collar and plunging back. It set off Daphne’s flawless figure beautifully. She saw how Blaise had been unable to keep his hands off his wife all night.

The trio sat and chatted for several minutes before Theo and Luna stopped by the table. “I just wanted to say goodbye before we left,” Luna said. Everyone lamented that Luna would not be able to stay a little longer and see who won the bidding on the silent auction, but Luna gave a serene smile and said she could read about it in tomorrow’s Daily Prophet. She and Theo then left to head to the Floo.

Hermione looked again toward the dais and saw that Draco and the unknown witch were still deep in conversation and she had to breathe in and out deeply several times to calm herself down when she really wanted to go up to the dais and hex the witch into a cockatiel. She took a long drink of her wine.

Just then, Harry came to the table alone and sat down next to her. 

“Where’s Ginny?” Hermione asked.

“Oh, she’s chatting with Eugenia Elegort,” Harry said, mentioning the owner of the Holyhead Harpies. “She’s interested in getting back on the team after the New Year.”

“Really?” Hermione was delighted. “I know Ginny always said she wanted to keep on playing even after the baby. I’m glad to hear that she’s still interested.”

“I think it would be good for her to get a few more seasons while she’s still young enough. It’ll be a hard go with James without her here all the time, but Molly’s happy to help out as much as she can,” Harry said. 

The band started playing a new tune and Harry and Hermione looked at each other. It was a song that had been popular during the war when she and Harry were on the run. There was one night after Ron had abandoned them, when they were both at their lowest, and this song had come on the Wizarding Wireless. Harry and Hermione had danced to it together under the single camp light in the tent. Both had been in tears by the end of the dance, but it had been cathartic for them. Harry stood up and held his hand out. “Hermione?”

Hermione smiled and took his hand, and they went out on the dance floor. 

“You really do look lovely tonight, Hermione,” Harry said.

“Thanks, Harry,” Hermione gave her best friend a fond smile. 

“You know, I was kind of skeptical at first of you and Malfoy. Mainly because of Malfoy. I know he’s very different from the prat we knew in school, but I didn’t want him to hurt you. Now, though, he really seems over the moon about you. When we meet up at Andromeda’s he always seems to light up when your name comes up.”

Hermione was torn between smiling and crying. She so wanted to believe Harry’s words, but, of course, Harry didn’t know the whole shameful story. He didn’t know Hermione was being paid to be Draco’s girlfriend. He didn’t know the whole thing was a fraud and that Draco was only playing a role in front of Harry and Andromeda. She wondered what Harry would think of her if he knew she’d made such a bargain.

“I hope it’s the same way your face lights up whenever anyone brings Ginny or baby James up,” Hermione said, trying to keep her tone light.

“It is,” Harry insisted, pulling Hermione into a turn. He wasn’t nearly as sophisticated a dancer as Draco was, but Harry knew the basics well enough. And there was something comforting about dancing with an old friend whom she trusted absolutely. 

“About Ginny going back to play for Holyhead,” Hermione said, “I can’t look after him the way Molly can, but I’d absolutely be willing to babysit baby James on nights or weekends if you need a back up.”

Harry grinned. “You really are the best sister Ginny or I could ever have,” he said.

The song ended, and Harry led Hermione back to their table. Ginny was waiting for them when they returned. 

“What did Elegort say?” Hermione asked when she sat down next to the redhead.

“She wants me to come in for an unofficial tryout next month,” Ginny said, with barely suppressed excitement in her brown eyes. “I’m going to have to do so much work to get back into shape!”

“You’ll be amazing,” Hermione said, encouragingly.

“Thanks,” Ginny grinned. She took a sip of her wine. “Where’s the ferret?”

Hermione’s smile faltered, but she did her best to nod her head nonchalantly toward the dais where Draco was still chatting with the dark haired beauty in plum silk. Narcissa was now nowhere to be found. “Business,” Hermione said, trying to keep her tone casual.

“Hmmm….” Ginny said, narrowing her eyes.

Hermione now saw, to her horror, that the woman was leaning close to him and caressing Draco’s hand. To his credit, Draco casually shifted in his seat, pulling his hands away and leaning back away from her, but he didn’t break off the conversation with the woman. He had to have been talking with her for at least twenty-five minutes by now. Hermione saw red. She half rose, ready to storm up to the dais and hex that woman to oblivion, but Ginny held her back. 

“Witch Weekly, three o’clock,” Ginny gritted out in warning.

“Herm-own-ninny,” Viktor said, approaching the table, “I have not had the chance to speak with you all night. Please do me the honor of a dance.”

Hermione had felt uneasy over Viktor’s interest in her earlier, but now, angry over the witch flirting with Draco, and having drunk a little too much alcohol, she ignored the warning look in Ginny’s eyes that telegraphed how this was a bad idea. She smiled at Viktor. “It would be my pleasure.”

She took Viktor’s hand and followed him out onto the dance floor. The song that came on was a rumba, which Hermione only vaguely remembered from dance lessons as a child. Viktor, however, like most Purebloods, had been trained in classical dance since childhood, and he also had the dexterity of an athlete as he swept her around the dance floor. At first, Hermione was concentrating on the steps, trying to remember the rhythm of them. Her tipsiness made it harder for her to manage the steps. It only dawned on her belatedly that Viktor was holding her closer than he should.

“You have become more beautiful each time I see you,” Viktor said.

Hermione stiffened and gave a self-deprecating smile even as she tried to pull away from his hold a bit. “Your flattery has gotten better each time I see you,” she countered. 

“Is flattery wrong if it is the truth?” Viktor demanded.

Quickly, feeling the need to get off this sticky topic, Hermione asked, “So, what brings you to England and the Midsummer Gala?”

“The Bulgarian Ministry’s Department of International Magical Cooperation needs a mascot to parade at these events,” Viktor said. He spoke the words as a jest, but there was a slight bitterness to his voice that suggested it was not all false.

“Well, anything to promote international cooperation is a good thing,” Hermione said, politely.

”It was worth it to see you again,” Viktor said. He twirled her, and when she came back into his arms, Hermione felt his hand was now holding her lower than it had been before. Worse, just then, a flashbulb went off and Hermione groaned mentally, now realizing why Ginny had warned her not to dance with Viktor.

“Viktor, I should tell you that Draco and I—“

“Ah, Draco Malfoy,” Viktor said. “You were more than just his date to this gala? Are you courting?”

“In the Pureblood sense, no,” Hermione said, “But we are together and have been for several months.”

“He is a Pureblood and he is not courting you even after several months?” Viktor sounded very skeptical. “Then he is not serious, my dear. You need someone who will pursue you the way you deserve.”

“Viktor, I’m not looking for—“

“I have always thought you were a worthy witch,” Viktor said. “You are lovely, intelligent and have a fire in you. I would be honored to court you.” His hands continued to move in ways that unsettled her. Discreetly, she pushed his hands into more innocuous territory.

“Viktor, I’m happy with Draco,” she said.

“Are you sure he is so happy with you?”

“Of course I am!” Hermione was getting very annoyed and uncomfortable with this conversation, regretting the jealous impulse that had led her to agree to dance with him.

“If that is so, why is he sitting up there on the dais with that black haired witch?” Viktor demanded.

“I’m not sitting with a black haired witch.”

Hermione turned at Draco’s drawl and saw him standing next to Viktor with his hand out. She felt a sudden surge of relief. “May I?” Draco asked, preparing to cut in. 

Etiquette demanded that Viktor acquiesce, and the Bulgarian did so, somewhat reluctantly. “Until we meet again, Herm-own-ninny,” he said, letting go of her.

Hermione moved into Draco’s arms and she could tell immediately that he was furious.

—

Draco Malfoy was furious. Here he was, sat with an unfamiliar Pureblood witch in another one of his mother’s blatant matchmaking attempts. If it wasn’t for the fact that Samira represented a company whose business could be very important to Malfoy Holdings he would never have agreed to do more than say a cursory hello. 

He didn’t know what his mother had said to the Lims before she dragged him over for the introduction, but it was clear that Samira wanted more than a business relationship. And she was a bold woman, which was a rarity in Pureblood circles. At least in British ones. He didn’t know if this type of behavior was deemed acceptable elsewhere, but it was disconcerting to him, especially since he wasn’t attracted to her. 

Objectively, Samira was beautiful. She had large, sloe eyes and delicate features with a rosebud mouth. She had flawless bronze skin and her hair was a gorgeous mane of dark ringlets. She was tiny, with a natural hourglass figure set to perfection by her lovely plum gown. Her voice was husky and very seductive.

And yet, all Draco could see was a witch with expressive amber eyes, little freckles on her nose, an untamable mass of brown curls and a stubborn set to her Cupid’s bow mouth. Even if Hermione never claimed him, she was the only witch who occupied his thoughts and lived in his heart. This other woman before him left him cold, and somewhat annoyed with her aggressively suggestive touches and whispered sexual innuendos.

Draco rarely ever had to walk such a fine line between charm and aloofness, as he tried to continue to engage Samira in business discussions while politely and firmly shutting down every avenue of attraction she tried to pursue.

This meant that simple discussions were taking much longer than usual. He could tell that she knew something about his supply chain issues, but she was cagey about disclosing what she knew, only saying that her company would be happy to work with his to resolve the issue. It took nearly half an hour for him to finally get her to agree to allow him to send a representative from Malfoy Holdings to discuss trade with her in Kuala Lumpur sometime in the near future. It was heavily implied that were he to come himself, the talks would go much more smoothly, but Draco thought that getting into bed with Nagini might be preferable to visiting this woman in her home territory.

Despite the intense discussions he was having with Samira on product acquisition, he’d seen Hermione as soon as she came out of the ladies room after she’d fixed her dress. At first, he had felt guilty that she was sitting with Blaise and Daphne like a wallflower when he should be dancing with her, but then Potter had asked her for a dance, and Draco had actually felt some relief that someone he trusted was taking care of her. Someone safe. In all their interactions, it was very clear that Hermione and Harry saw each other as strictly platonic. Best friends and siblings. Draco was not worried about seeing them dance together. 

But then Krum came and asked her to dance, and it was clear as day to Draco that Krum’s intentions were anything but brotherly. He saw how closely the Bulgarian held his witch, and Draco had gritted his teeth. Then, Krum leaned in far too closely when he spoke with Hermione; she squirmed, and looked uncomfortable, and Draco could stand it no longer. He abruptly wrapped up his discussion with Samira, promising to write and formalize their negotiations. He then left the shocked and slightly offended witch alone on the dais as he moved to the dance floor as swiftly as his legs could carry him. 

He was a heartbeat away from punching Krum when he saw the Quidditch star’s hand just inches from Hermione’s backside. How dare he? This was his witch. His. His. His.

“Until we meet again, Herm-own-ninny,” Krum said, when he relinquished his hold on Hermione and Draco stepped in to reclaim her. Draco’s hand tightened around Hermione’s waist and he spun her away from Krum.

“What were you thinking?” Draco demanded. “Krum? Of all people?”

“You’re one to talk,” Hermione hissed. “Who was that witch that took up all your time tonight?”

“That was business!”

Draco saw the reporter from Witch Weekly prowling at the perimeter of the dance floor and realized that this could get messy quickly. ”Let’s discuss this at home,” he muttered, leading Hermione off the dance floor. She followed without protest, although he could tell she had a lot to say. They returned to their table to get Hermione’s beaded bag and her wrap, said brief farewells to their friends, and then headed toward the Floo.

As soon as the emerald green flames deposited them back in Draco’s flat, he rounded on her, backing Hermione into the wall of the Floo foyer. “Fucking Krum? Have you never heard of his reputation with witches?”

“I could handle Viktor,” Hermione protested. “Nothing was going to happen.”

“He had his hands all over you!” Draco countered.

“We were dancing!” Hermione insisted.

“Fucking Salazar, Granger! No one touches a witch like that unless they want to fuck her!”

“Oh, so this was to protect your reputation? You were afraid people would think I was making a fool of you?” Hermione shot back.

“My—my reputation?” Draco was so angry he could barely breathe. “Is that what you think I was worried about?”

“Why else should you care?” Hermione challenged. “It’s not even like we’re really together! People just think we are!”

“Is that all you can think about? That this is a sham?” Draco ground out. “Is that what you really believe?”

“It is a sham!” Hermione persisted.

Draco gave her one incredulous look. He felt his pulse spike dangerously. He wanted to throttle her so badly, and before he knew what he was doing, he had his hands in her hair and his mouth was on hers.

—

Hermione had not seen the kiss coming. Her emotions were a mess. She was still wound up over the witch who’d been trying to seduce Draco, furious at both the witch and at Draco. She was feeling mildly guilty about dancing with Viktor. She was bewildered over Draco’s obvious jealousy. She was worn out over the week and a half of tension between them. And she was a little more drunk than was good for her. 

When Draco’s lips touched hers though, all her conflicting emotions fell away and she could only think that she wanted him. She wanted him so very badly. She was tired of trying to deny herself. It might all be a sham, but she wanted to pretend. She wanted to believe, even for a few blissful moments, that this was real. That Draco Malfoy wanted her as badly as she wanted him. That he was kissing her because he cared about her, not because he was finding a way to punish her for her defiance. 

Draco’s kisses were hard, almost bruising at first. He cupped her face in his hands and held her to him as he kissed her as though he was drowning and she was air. He kissed her as though he wanted to brand himself on her, to make her forget anyone else she had ever kissed before him, to make her never want to kiss anyone else after him. 

At first, Hermione had stood still, in shock, but as desire began to burn its way through her veins, she felt some of the tension ease out of her body and she melted against him, her hands coming up to fist his dress robes, to pull him closer to her. 

And then Draco groaned, his hands now going around her as he hauled her against his body, crushing her to him. One hand on the back of her neck and the other around her waist. His lips nipped along the sides of her face and her neck before they came back to her mouth. She was kissing him back now, and as her lips opened for him, his tongue plunged into her mouth, taking possession, claiming her over and over again. 

Hermione began to feel dizzy, to feel a sharp pounding in her chest as her heart stuttered and jolted almost in sync with the shifting of Draco’s lips and tongue and teeth over hers. Pressed up against him as she was, she could feel the hard length of his arousal against her belly and she could feel herself growing wet with want. Her breaths came out short and sharp as she tried to keep up with Draco’s relentless waves of kisses, nips, and licks.

His hands moved down her body, grasping her buttocks, squeezing, kneading, and caressing, and Hermione moaned. And then his fingers reached the slit in her dress halfway up her thigh, and his hand moved up the smooth skin of her leg, in slow strokes, moving closer and closer to the junction of her thighs. 

“Tell me this is just a sham,” Draco breathed against her neck, but Hermione couldn’t form words to respond. 

“Tell me it's a sham!” Draco insisted.

Drowning in sensory overload, Hermione could only shake her head, willing him not to stop, wanting to beg him for more, and yet too incoherent to speak.

Draco’s hands reached her knickers, and he cupped his palm over them, over the mound of her pussy. “Drenched, Granger,” he murmured. There was a note of triumph in his voice before he added, “Tell me to stop.”

Hermione gave a cry of protest, but no words formed.

“Tell me you want me to stop!” he demanded.

“No!” The word tore out of her throat, even as she opened her legs wider, moving instinctively and involuntarily, canting her hips toward his hand. 

Draco slid his fingers under the edge of her knickers, unerringly finding that little nub of her clitoris and Hermione jolted with another cry at the sensation. 

“So wet for me, Granger,” Draco crooned. “Fucking dripping. You want this, don’t you?” 

He rubbed little circles around her clit, and her legs trembled in response. By now, she was so boneless with desire that she was clinging on to him with her arms, anchoring herself against him as the only way to stay upright. She was so overwhelmed with the sensations Draco was wringing out of her that at that moment, if asked, she would not be able to remember her own name.

Draco slid a finger inside her and she let out a low wail. He pumped his finger inside her a few times and then added a second finger, all the while still rubbing against her clit with his thumb. Draco’s fingers were longer and thicker than hers and he was able to hit places inside her that she’d never been able to reach by herself, and every swipe of his fingers seemed to map out a new erogenous zone inside her.

Hermione moaned her appreciation and then Draco kissed her again, plunging his tongue into her mouth again. He began moving his fingers and his tongue in sync, and Hermione could only grip his arms and hold on as tightly as possible, riding out the sensations. Her leg came up to wrap around his, as though she wanted to urge his fingers more deeply inside her. She began to feel that low, coiling pressure build inside her as waves and waves of pleasure rolled through her, each wave growing higher and higher, making her more desperate with each plunge of his fingers inside her.

“That’s it,” Draco urged, “Come on, sweetheart, come for me.” His fingers curled upward as they pumped and suddenly, Hermione came with a sharp, keening cry. Her arousal gushed out of her as her walls clenched tightly against his fingers and she bucked hard against his hand, riding out her orgasm in a mindless burst of ecstasy. 

She came down from that high in a daze, panting. He withdrew his fingers, and Hermione continued to cling to him, her face now plastered against his chest as she tried to calm down her breathing and the erratic beating of her heart. Finally, she was able to pull away and look up at him. 

She didn’t know what to say. But her emotions played havoc on her expression. So many feelings chased themselves through her mind. Want, fear, release, joy, confusion, and need. She wanted him to hold her so she wouldn’t fall apart. She wanted him to reassure her. She wanted him.

But in her wide eyed questing gaze, Draco saw devastation instead of desire. Tears had sprung into her eyes from all the roiling stew of emotions warring in her mind, and one rolled down her cheek. He pulled back, gently grasping her shoulders. He was panting, as well, his pupils blown by desire, but his mouth twisted in a rictus of agony. “I—I shouldn’t have done that—” he said, his voice hoarse. “I—I’m sorry, Granger—I—”

Hermione shook her head, trying to find a way to tell him that he had nothing to be sorry for, but Draco backed away from her, dropping his hands from her shoulders.

“I—I’m sorry. I—I can’t do this—“ he said, brokenly, then he Apparated away from her with a crack.

Chapter Text

Theo Nott had just poured himself a glass of brandy, and was getting ready to settle in for the evening in his favorite armchair in his library at Nott Manor. He had changed out of the dress robes he’d worn earlier that night to attend the Midsummer Gala, and now, clad in his favorite brown silk dressing gown and matching pyjama pants, he reached for the book on runic spells that he was reading for some light research. His new girlfriend Luna was on overnight duty at St. Mungo’s, and Theo was prepared for a quiet, comfortable evening, when the sudden crack of Apparition startled him out of his complacency, nearly making him drop the book. The next thing he knew, Draco Malfoy was stumbling onto his priceless Aubusson rug. 

“I can’t do this!” Draco looked as though he was in pain.

“The hell, Draco! Warn a fellow before you drop in like that!” Theo exclaimed, regretting that he’d ever given Draco Apparition access past his wards. He sat up straight in his chair, alarmed at the sight of his best friend before him.

Draco was a mess. His normally immaculate hair was disheveled, as though someone had run their hands through it, pulling the locks in every direction. His clothes were rumpled, top button of his dress shirt unbuttoned, dress robe askew, tie loosened. He looked sweaty, and there were red stains on his face that looked suspiciously like lipstick. He was breathing heavily, as though he had been running. But, it was his eyes that unsettled Theo the most. They were wide and wild. 

“What’s the matter?” Theo asked, putting his book and tumbler down. He leapt up from his chair and went to his friend who looked like he was about to collapse. He helped Draco into a nearby seat. “Draco! Talk to me!”

“I—I can’t….I can’t do this anymore.”

“Do what?”

“Granger…I can’t—she—she’s tying me into knots. I don’t know what to do!” Here, Draco dropped his head into his hands and sat for several moments, trying to get his breathing under control.

“What happened tonight? You two looked all right when I saw you at the gala. Luna and I left just an hour ago. What happened?”

“This whole thing is a fucking disaster. Why did you talk me into doing this?” Draco moaned.

”Doing what?” Theo was baffled.

“‘Oh, you need to find yourself a fake girlfriend, mate!’” Draco mimicked Theo’s voice, his own dripping with sarcasm. “Why the fuck did I listen to you?”

Theo coughed to hide his sudden urge to laugh. The world was not ending. It was just Draco being an idiot. 

“Back up, mate. Tell me what happened? We saw you an hour ago and everything seemed all right.”

“It’s—she still—I don’t—“ Draco mumbled, seemingly unable to finish a coherent thought. 

Theo quickly poured out a glass of brandy for his friend. “Here. Have some of this, and get your thoughts in order and start from the beginning.”

Draco took the tumbler and took a long draught of the brandy, coughing as the last bit went down his throat. He held his hand out for another. Against his better judgment, Theo refilled the glass. This time, Draco just took a small sip and then groaned.

Theo settled himself down in his own chair and waited.

“I want to end this. I can’t do it any more.”

“You want to end what, exactly?”

“This fake dating crap. I don’t want to fake date Granger.”

“You want to find someone else?”

“No! Why the fuck would I want to find someone else?” Draco shot an angry look at Theo, as though Theo had insulted him.

“But you just said you don’t want to fake date Granger.”

“I don’t!”

“So, you don’t want to date anyone at all? Just go full celibate?”

“No! What the hell are you talking about, Theo?”

“What are you talking about?” Theo prodded. He was pretty sure he knew exactly what Draco wanted, but he also knew that if he said the words out loud, Draco would categorically deny it.

“I just—I need to end things.”

“And do what, then?”

“I don’t know—I haven’t thought that far.”

“So, you just want to go up to Granger and tell her to pack up and go back to her own flat?”

“No! Of course not!” Draco looked almost panicked at the thought. 

“Mate, you’re not making any sense,” Theo said.

“She keeps saying it's fake,” Draco mumbled, dejectedly. “It’s all fake to her.”

“So…you’re saying it’s fake to her—but not to you?” Theo pushed gently.

Draco, who was looking down at his half-full tumbler of brandy, shook his head. “She keeps saying it’s fake and it’s driving me crazy.”

“Because it’s real to you?” Theo clarified.

“I’m in love with her,” Draco confessed, and Theo had never thought he’d hear those words uttered in such a tone of despair. 

“Oh, mate,” Theo was torn between sympathy and laughter. He had a sense that one day they’d both have a laugh over this; after all, it was ironic that Draco Malfoy should fall in love with the last witch in the world he ever thought he’d want. Theo had thought Draco’s feelings for Granger were possibly an infatuation. Maybe added in with some sexual repression. He’d never dreamed that Draco would fall, and fall this hard. Theo remembered the old saying about the Malfoys. How once they fell in love, it was for life. Old Lucius, however much of a gold plated bastard he was, had definitely been devoted to Narcissa. He remembered how, during the war, the one thing Lucius and Draco had agreed upon was their mutual protection of Narcissa, which was the main reason Draco had even agreed to take the Dark Mark.

“Are you sure she doesn’t care for you, too?” Theo asked gently.

Draco shook his head. “She keeps saying it’s a sham. It’s not real. She—she’s only there because I’m paying her.”

“Does she need the money that badly?” Theo asked, astonished. He thought back to the time he had asked Draco why Granger had agreed to pose as his fake girlfriend, and he realized that Draco had dodged the answer. He had allowed them to think that Granger was trying to antagonize an ex-lover, but had Draco actually said that?

“Her parents,” Draco said. “She Obliviated them during the war and sent them to Australia with no memory of her so that they would be protected from Voldemort. And she was right to do it. I know that he sent Rowle and McNair to kidnap them, and her parents were gone by the time they arrived. Then…after the war she tried to reverse the spell and it backfired and now they’re in a private medical facility. She was hemorrhaging money trying to pay for their treatment, so I offered her a thousand galleons a month to be my fake girlfriend.”

“Damn,” Theo took a long swallow of his brandy. He let the words sink in and thought about it for a while. It made more sense that Granger had agreed to do this with Draco because she was desperate. He had privately wondered what incentive Draco could have had to lure a girl like Granger, when most of the wizarding world knew that there was no love lost between them in their school days.

But then he thought back to the times he’d seen Granger with Draco in the last few months. Poker Fridays, Draco’s birthday, the dinner party at Draco’s flat, even tonight at the gala. If Granger was playacting, then she was a damned good actress. And she certainly had not been that good when she was in school. This was the same girl who had always worn her heart on her sleeve. Passionate and direct. She’d punched Draco in the nose in third year, after all. (Theo grimaced remembering how Draco couldn’t shut up about that punch for months afterward). It didn’t add up to Granger just pretending. Even if she refused to admit it to Draco, even if it was possible she refused to admit it to herself, it seemed to Theo that she cared for Draco, too. She might not be in love with him, but Theo was pretty sure that this was not entirely a sham for Granger, either. He’d seen the way her eyes followed Draco, how comfortable she had been with him, her body language clearly speaking for her. The two of them had talked and laughed together so easily. And then there were the times she thought no one was watching. A couple of those times, Theo had seen hunger in her eyes, hunger for Draco. 

Tentatively, Theo said, “She might have agreed to it for the money, but that doesn’t mean her feelings couldn’t change.”

“What?” Draco looked up, confused.

“Well, you picked her because you thought there would be no danger of catching feelings for her. How do you know the same thing hasn’t happened for her?”

“Then why would she keep reminding me that this is a sham?”

“Pride? Because she’s afraid to admit her feelings? I mean, have you told her how you feel?”

Draco looked at Theo for several long beats. Theo could almost see the gears turning in his friend’s mind as Draco ruminated over his words.

“No,” Draco said, finally. “That’s not possible.”

Theo sat back in his chair. This was going to be a very long night.

—

It was late afternoon on Saturday when Draco finally returned to his flat. Hermione had spent the day in the small potions lab upstairs running small scale experiments on the acromantula venom. Neville had gifted Draco a glowing mynah plant for his birthday. The plant was also a rare thing, and its seeds were known for their ability to duplicate the properties of other substances. She had taken a teaspoon full of the seeds and set them into a container with a teaspoon of the acromantula venom, and watched as the seeds dissolved into the venom and doubled the quantity of venom. Now, she was running tests to see if the duplicated venom retained the properties of the original venom. She could not make vast quantities of venom this way, as mynah seeds worked with their transmuted substances on a one to one ratio, but at least, if it worked, she would now have more venom to work with.

As she worked, though, her mind kept wandering. It was inevitable that she would be unable to stop thinking about the events of the previous night. Those kisses. His hands. What he did with his hands. It was like a drug. It was everything she feared. Once she had a taste of him, she had known, instinctively, that she would hunger for more. And now she did. She had tried to keep him at arms length to spare her heart, but now she realized that she was only torturing herself. The way Draco had spoken to her, the way he had kissed her. What if it really wasn’t a sham to him? What if he had grown to care for her? To want this to be real the way she did? 

She poured two drops of her newly constituted venom into the cauldron in front of her and waved her wand, chanting out the incantation that would test the strength and potency of the substance. The liquid in the cauldron changed color from light pink to pitch black, which was the result she had hoped for. This was promising. She corked the rest of the venom and then wrote her results down on some parchment.

She sat back in her lab chair, and her mind went back to Draco. Before she realized what she was doing, she felt her hands roaming over her body, slowly tracing over places he had touched, reliving the tactile sensation of his caresses. She shivered slightly, consumed with yearning. 

She heard footsteps in the corridor outside the potions lab and she quickly sat upright, gasping as she realized Draco was back. And if he was outside the potions lab, then he was looking for her. She tugged her T-shirt straight and ran her hands quickly through her hair. 

Just as she had gotten herself somewhat composed, the door opened and Draco stepped inside. He looked much calmer than he had last night, but there were circles under his eyes and it was clear that he hadn’t slept much. His hair and clothes looked a little rumpled, which was also an indication that he was unsettled. She had the sudden urge to run her fingers through his hair, to smooth it down, but she didn’t dare move. 

Draco spoke first: “How are you? Are you all right?”

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. She felt a sudden sinking fear as to where this conversation was going. “I’m fine, Draco. I—“ she wanted to tell him that she was wrong. That for her, this was no longer a sham. That she hoped he felt the same. That she wanted to try to make this relationship real. But the words caught in her throat. She desperately needed to know how he felt, first.

But Draco seemed very hesitant to tackle the Nundu in the room. “I—um, saw a package downstairs?”

“Oh, yes,” Hermione said. “It took a dozen delivery owls to bring that here this morning. It seems you won the Ajax Callahan painting from last night’s silent auction.”

Draco’s lip curled, but the smile was humorless. “Of course I did.” He looked around the lab. “Have you been here all day?”

“Most of the day,” Hermione said. “I needed to have something to do.”

“What are you doing?”

“Just trying to see if I can increase the amount of acromantula venom using the glowing mynah seeds from the plant Neville gave you for your birthday. I—I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of using some of those seeds—I know it’s your—“

“It’s fine, Granger. I’m glad you found a good use for them.”

“Oh, okay. And, it’s promising! It looks like the acromantula venom made from using the seeds has the same exact properties and potency as the original. So, I have more to work with.”

“That’s good to hear.”

An awkward silence followed, and then Hermione asked, “Where did you go last night?”

“Theo’s.”

“I—I was worried about you. You—”

“I was fine,” Draco said, cutting her off.

Hermione bit her lip, unsure of what to say.

“I’m sorry,” Draco said, his voice halting. “I—I shouldn’t have—” his voice now trailed off.

Hermione looked into his eyes. They were slate gray and she knew that he was Occluding. She hated it when he did that. Whatever he was going to say to her, she wanted him to say without hiding behind walls. 

“Can you not Occlude when you talk to me?”

Draco blinked, taken off guard. “What?”

“Whatever you’re going to say, and especially if this is about last night, I want you to say it to me without hiding your feelings like you do every time you Occlude.”

Draco took a deep breath. He seemed to need a moment to compose himself. But she saw the gray leach out of his eyes as they turned silver again. His expression was now unguarded, and it was very unhappy.

“I’m sorry for what I did last night. It—I know I went too far. You never agreed to this. If you’ll forgive me, I just want to go back to what we agreed on. I’ll control my—it’ll never happen again. I promise.”

Hermione felt the breath deflate out of her. So, for all his protests, it had been a sham. He had never really wanted more than a fake relationship. And last night—last night could never have been more than a drunken mistake in his mind. She swallowed, blinking back tears. She had been right to hold back. She had been right to guard her heart. Because this hurt. 

“What does that mean for us, then?” She forced herself to speak calmly.

“We go out on days that I have social engagements. Otherwise, your time is your own.”

Hermione wanted to wince at the flatness of his tone of voice. He sounded so cold. So detached. “Do—do you have any social engagements this week?”

“No. This week is free. It’s just as well. I have a lot on my plate at work.”

“Ummm…Harry’s birthday—” Hermione ventured. “It’s next Saturday. But that’s my—you don’t have to go to that. I’ll make your excuses for you. It’s not official business, and—”

“I’ll be there,” Draco said.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to—”

“I’ll be there,” Draco said, firmly.

There were so many things Hermione wanted to ask, so many things she wished she could say. But all that had gone on between them—the dinners, the talks, the movies, the evening walks, the poker nights, the afternoons on the deck, the hand holding, the hugs, the kisses—all that had now dwindled to this strained silence between them. She sighed, softly. “Thank you.”

Draco backed out of the room. “I’ll leave you to it, then,” he said, nodding toward her bubbling cauldron.

He shut the door behind him and Hermione had to suppress the urge to smash the cauldron to the ground. She bit into the meat of her palm to keep from making a noise he might hear out in the corridor and let the tears silently stream down her face. For so long, she had been denying her feelings, telling herself that it was all a sham, all the while, an unacknowledged hope had burned in her heart that Draco might want more. It wasn’t until he extinguished that hope entirely that all her confused feelings sorted themselves out, and she realized she was really feeling only one thing. 

She was in love with Draco Malfoy.

—

In the following days, Hermione was grateful she had her work and her research on the memory potion to give her something to do, something to take her mind off the man who lived with her and was as far out of reach as the moon. 

During her working hours she worked on more than the memory potion she was developing with Master Bergen. Each potioneer had a regular panel of potions to brew besides the ones they were developing. Each Monday morning, Master Bergen assigned brews to his staff and gave deadlines. 

The Monday morning after the gala, Hermione received her weekly assignments and then got the ingredients she needed for her first brews. She ran into Sergei in the main ingredients storeroom and struck up a conversation with him about rare ingredients that he stocked, and their conversation continued as they worked together at their adjacent workstations.

Sergei Vasilovich Romanov was a gregarious man with iron gray hair, and brilliant blue eyes, who looked far younger than his purported eighty years. His name seemed to stir up romantic nostalgia among the staff. They told Hermione that he was a Russian prince born in exile in Paris just a few years after the last Tsar and his family were executed in Yekaterinburg, and many people wondered how he’d ended up in a corporate potions lab, of all places. 

“He’s a real half-blood prince,” Draco had told her one evening not long after Hermione had moved in with him, confirming the staff’s gossip. “His mother was a witch, a French Pureblood, and his father, Prince Vasily, was a Muggle, a second cousin of Tsar Nicholas. Sergei grew up in a 20 room flat on the 8th Arrondissement, with his parents lording it over the rest of the Russian Émigré community. The family had no idea how to adjust to the fact that there was no income and by the time Hitler’s troops were marching into Paris, they were broke, selling Fabergé eggs and priceless oil paintings to survive.”

Hermione had expressed surprise that Draco knew who Hitler was. 

“Mandatory Muggle Studies,” Draco had said, smirking, “I got an O. And for your information, I knew who the Queen Mum was long before you gave me that little history lesson.” 

“Then why did you pretend you didn’t know who she was?” Hermione had demanded. 

“You were so nervous that day and I was trying to put you at ease. You were always such a pedantic little swot.”

Hermione had elbowed him for that.

“Hey! Watch it, you violent witch!” Draco had exclaimed, laughing. 

“Are you going to go on with your story or not? What happened to Sergei?”

“Sergei’s family tried to make him marry a witch from a wealthy Pureblood French family, but he had fallen in love with an English Muggle woman and they eloped and traveled the world. He made potions to sell when they needed money, and because he traveled so much, he learned where to find ingredients in all sorts of obscure and unusual places. They traveled through Africa, Southeast Asia, Eastern Europe, even the islands of Micronesia. Then one day his wife got sick—I think it was cancer—and they came to England so she could get treatment. He started working here as a junior potioneer when it was still my grandfather who ran the company just so she could have a stable home. But then she died not long after they came to England and he never left because he didn’t want to leave her gravesite.”

Hermione had tears in her eyes by the time Draco had finished his story of Sergei’s life. “How many years were they together?”

“About thirty years.”

Now, sitting in the potions lab with Sergei as they worked on their own potions assignments, Hermione studied the old man before her as they chatted about potions ingredients. He had an encyclopedic memory of where to find potions ingredients and often an interesting anecdote to tell about the various places where he’d traveled and found different ingredients. He told Hermione a thrilling tale of a trek through snake infested jungles in central Africa where they were chased by irate natives before they found hidden caves filled with Erumpent skeletons, and hundreds of horns among them.

“Tricky to get those horns out. If one exploded, every other horn in the cave would have blown up, and it would have taken down the entire mountain. We had to use a dozen layers of stasis charms and even then had to levitate each horn out by itself and pack them in whipperfloo duck down to keep them from being jostled during transport,” Sergei said. 

Hermione loved stories like these and she had so many questions about his adventures that their discussion took them to lunchtime. Sergei made an exclamation of surprise and excused himself, saying he had a lunch meeting. Since Sergei was leaving, she decided to get some lunch, too, and she cast a stasis charm over her cauldron.

“By the way, I meant to tell you that I saw you have attained the acromantula venom,” Sergei said, just before he left. “I took the liberty of moving the vial to the heated botanical section. Most people just store their venom on the shelf, which is fine, but I’ve discovered that the venom becomes more potent when stored in warm conditions and even better among plants, flowers or fruit. It simulates the conditions in Borneo where the acromantula originates.”

“Thank you!” Hermione said. She, too, left the potions lab and headed down to the company cafeteria. Like most things in the Malfoy Holdings headquarters, the cafeteria was enormous and offered high quality food. Hermione usually went down each day at noon, but because she’d been so caught up chatting with Sergei that morning (all the better to distract her mind from her situation with Draco), she ended up going down half an hour later than usual. 

As she was queuing in line with her French onion soup and her apple, she heard someone behind her call her name and turned to see her old Hogwarts classmate Justin Finch-Fletchley behind her holding a tray with a sandwich and a bowl of seafood chowder.

“Justin!” Hermione smiled to see him. “How have you been? It’s been years since I’ve seen you!”

“I was in Paris for the last two years, and just got the transfer back to the London office three weeks ago.” Justin was a lanky young man with dark hair he kept slicked back nearly over his forehead, and impeccable dress robes. 

“And you’ve worked for Dr—Malfoy Holdings all this time?”

Justin grinned. “I started here on a dare. I was looking for a job because I was tired of Ministry bureaucracy and Malfoy Holdings was advertising positions. I was at the Leaky one night and Seamus dared me. So, I came in for an interview. I interviewed with the deputy head of Partnerships and Acquisitions. Malfoy stopped in during my interview and he was surprisingly pretty decent and offered me a good position with much higher pay than I’d been getting from the Ministry. I worked in this office for a year in the Strategic Partnership division then got transferred to the Paris office and now my old boss retired, and I’ve come back here as the new deputy head of Partnerships and Acquisitions."

“That’s wonderful,” Hermione beamed, as she paid for her lunch. “But can you explain exactly what you do?”

“I negotiate with other companies on behalf of Malfoy Holdings. Sales, partnership, buying goods, all that.” Justin was right behind her and paid for his lunch, and then the two of them found an empty table to set their trays down.

“That must keep you busy,” Hermione said, sitting down and pulling out her napkin.

“A lot of travel,” Justin confirmed. “But what about you? How long have you been here? What do you do here?”

“I’m a senior potions analyst,” Hermione said. “I started in April.”

“And do you like it?”

“I do,” Hermione said. “It’s exciting to work on the creation of new potions.”

“I have to say, I thought you’d be the last person in the world to come work here for Malfoy,” Justin said. “I never liked him in school, but you two positively loathed each other.”

“Everyone grows up,” Hermione shrugged. “And I was also in a Ministry job that wasn’t going anywhere.”

“Well, it’s good to see you here, now,” Justin said. 

They spent the rest of the lunch break eating and catching up. Since Justin had been out of the country, he had not kept up much with gossip.

”…and little baby James is adorable. I think he’s going to look just like Harry when he grows up,” Hermione said, as she caught him up on the doings of their classmates.

“How are they handling parenthood?” Justin asked.

“Seems like they’re doing well. In fact, Ginny’s making plans to return to the Harpies, and I’m hoping it works out for her.”

“Hmmm…maybe a good time to ask about getting tickets to the games,” Justin said. “Oh! And I’m not entirely out of the loop. I did hear about Dean and Hannah getting engaged.”

“Oh? You keep in touch with them?”

“No. Last week I stopped by the Leaky and Seamus was on duty and we had a little chat while he was at the bar.” Justin looked down at Hermione’s empty tray. “Looks like you’re all finished. Do you want to go?”

“Oh,” Hermione checked her wristwatch. “Goodness. I have to get back. I’ve got a potion on a stasis charm I’ve got to rescue.”

They took their trays to the return racks and then headed toward the lifts.

“What floor are you going to?” Hermione asked.

“Eleven,” Justin said, pressing the button for the lift. “I have a meeting with the Charms division. You?”

“Thirty-two.”

“It’s been great catching up with you,” Justin said. “Say, would you like to go out with me for some drinks some time?”

“Oh,” Hermione was so surprised she was momentarily tongue tied. The lift doors opened and they moved to step inside.

“Oh, are you seeing someone?” Justin asked, “Sorry, I’ve been away for so long—“

“Ummm…yes,” Hermione said, hoping he wouldn’t follow up.

But of course, he did. “Is it someone I know?”

“Granger. Finch-Fletchley.”

Hermione felt her heart lurch for a moment and then quickly turned to see Draco standing behind them. She was surprised to see him there. He had his own Floo in his office. Why would he use the company lifts? Unless, of course, he had been someplace where he couldn’t Floo.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy,” Justin said, attention diverted by Draco’s presence.

The trio stepped into the lift at the same time, and Justin reached for the buttons. “Forty-five for you, Mr. Malfoy?” Draco nodded, and Justin pressed 45 for him, 32 for Hermione and 11 for himself.

The lift doors closed and as the car moved, Justin edged closer to Hermione and asked again, “So, you didn’t answer me earlier. Is the guy anyone I know?”

Hermione coughed. “Ummm…” 

But thankfully, the lift reached Justin’s floor. “Oh, my floor,” he said, as he stepped out. “It was good to see you, Hermione. Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy.”

The lift doors closed, now leaving Hermione alone with Draco. She hadn’t seen him since last night when she’d come back from visiting her parents. She’d deliberately come back after dinner would have been served to avoid an awkward meal. Draco had been in the living room when she returned and there was a look of what she interpreted to be annoyance on his face when she’d entered.

“You’re usually back earlier,” Draco had said. “I thought you said visiting hours ended at six. I was worried something had happened to you.”

“I—I went for a walk,” Hermione said. “It was a nice evening out.”

“I had Mipsy leave your supper for you.”

“That was kind of you,” Hermione said, “but I’m not hungry. I think I’ll turn in.” And like a coward, she’d absconded to her room, even though she was starving. She ended up waiting until after Draco had gone to his room, and in the middle of the night, she crept out into the kitchen and quietly fixed herself a bowl of cereal to eat.

This morning, the two of them had done their avoidance dance, with Hermione leaving the flat far earlier than she used to and deliberately missing the elves’ morning coffee. 

Now, she stood next to the one man in the world whom she simultaneously wanted to be with and away from, and her chest ached. She looked down at her shoes. Just a few weeks ago, they would have been laughing and joking together, and now it felt like she was standing next to a complete stranger.

“How are you, Granger?” Draco asked.

Hermione couldn’t trust herself to look at him. “I’m fine,” she said, quietly, staring resolutely at the floor numbers on the dial that showed the elevator slowly climbing up through the building. She wished the elevator would go faster.

“I’ll be out at Theo’s tonight,” Draco said, “so I won’t be home for dinner.”

Hermione nodded. She turned her head partway toward him, still not meeting his eyes. “Have a good time,” she said. “Give Theo my love.”

“Granger…when I’m home, you don’t have to hide from me,” he said, although his voice sounded strained. “I meant what I said about treating the flat like your own home.”

Hermione flushed, hating how he read her so easily. She was supposed to be a Gryffindor. The brave one. Instead, she was hiding like a wounded animal. The lift reached her floor with a ding, and Hermione squared her shoulders, still not looking at him. “It’s just a sham,” she whispered, her voice wobbly, and she stepped out of the lift to return to the lab.

Chapter Text

Harry Potter’s twenty-fourth birthday fell on a Saturday, and his party was held at 12 Grimmauld Place. Ginny’s invitations had asked people to come at seven, but she specifically asked Hermione to come at 6:30. 

Two minutes before the appointed time, Hermione and Draco met up at the Floo foyer in his flat. Hermione swallowed as she took in Draco’s appearance. Even in a casual cable knit light gray jumper over charcoal gray slacks, he took her breath away. Hermione was in a cobalt blue belted two piece outfit, a Pansy Parkinson design, and had put her hair up into a low chignon fastened with a gold hair pin. She wore dark umber suede pumps and had put on some light makeup. As she approached him, she thought she saw a glint in his eye as he took in her appearance, but she refused to interpret the look as anything other than an acknowledgment of her presence. 

“You look nice,” Hermione said as she approached him. She hated how her voice sounded stiff.

Draco’s lip twitched in the ghost of a smile. ”You too. But then you always do,” Draco said, gesturing toward the Floo. “After you, Granger.”

She paused before she left and said, quietly, “Thank you for doing this.” She then took a pinch of powder and threw it into the flames. Moments later, she was dusting the residual powder off her clothes as she stepped into Harry and Ginny’s house. Draco followed not one minute later. 

“Dirty Mudblood soiling my father’s house!” screamed the portrait of Walburga Black from the wall opposite the Floo. “And you, Draco Malfoy, what were you thinking? Bringing in such filth! You should be ashamed of yourself!”

“Always charming,” Draco drawled, as he waved his wand toward the portrait and suddenly, Walburga’s voice was silenced. She appeared to be shrieking, but no sound emerged.

“How did you do that?” Hermione asked, astonished. “Harry and Ginny have been trying to shut her up for years.”

“I’m a Black, so the painting recognized me. The charm will only hold while I’m here,” Draco shrugged.

They heard noises from down the hall and then Ginny came out of the hallway toward the Floo parlor carrying baby James.

“Oh, thank Merlin you’re here,” she said, and without ceremony, she pushed the sleeping baby into Draco’s arms. “Be a dear, ferret, would you, and hold him for a moment? I need to speak with Hermione.”

Draco blinked, startled, but after a moment of awkward silence, he repositioned the boy more comfortably in his arms and smirked at Ginny. “Good to see you, too, Ginevra. I didn’t realize that I had the job of being babysitter tonight.”

“You can handle him for five minutes,” Ginny said airily. She took Hermione’s arm. “I need to talk to you.”

As Ginny pulled her into the hallway, Hermione looked back toward Draco. He made quite the attractive tableau with the baby in his arms, and Hermione felt her heart give a painful contraction as she imagined, just for a split second, Draco holding a small child with his platinum blond hair and her curls in place of baby James. 

“What’s the matter?” Hermione asked, turning her attention back to Ginny.

“I’m sorry,” Ginny said. “I should have spoken with you earlier and given you a heads-up. But—well, Ron and Lavender will be here tonight,” she said. “I hope you’re okay with this. It’s just that Harry invited his estranged cousin Dudley here tonight, and—“

“Dudley? As in Dursley?” Hermione didn’t know if she was more astonished that Ron or Dudley was coming.

“I know Harry’s cousin treated him terribly when they were kids, but Harry said Dudley had been trying to make amends after the Dementors attacked him in the summer before fifth year. And, it seems that he’s married with a little girl, and his daughter is nearly three and is showing signs of being a witch, so he wanted to meet with us.”

“Well, that’s some poetic justice,” Hermione murmured. She had always despised the Dursleys for how they had mistreated Harry in his childhood.

“So, anyway, since we invited Dudley, we talked about Ron. I know you’re the one he wronged, and I understand if you are uncomfortable. If it turns too awkward we’re happy to go back to keeping him away. I mean, if you were still single, I never would have even considered inviting him, but—but now you’re with Malfoy, and so I thought it might not be bad—“

“It’s fine,” Hermione said. And she meant it. She had long ago gotten over Ron. And whether she liked him or not, he was Ginny’s brother, and she hated to come between the siblings. She was a big girl, and she could handle seeing Ron for a night.

“Also,” Ginny said, with a bit of a malicious grin, “especially since you’re here with Malfoy. I know it drives Ron absolutely batty.”

Hermione should have been cackling with Ginny, but she couldn’t have a sense of humor over anything related to Draco right now, and the best she could manage was a weak smile. Finally, she said, “So, is there anything you need me to do to help you?”

“Nope,” Ginny said with a curious glance at Hermione. “Everything’s ready.” She gestured to the decorations in the hallway before popping her head back into the doorway of the Floo parlor. “Come into the kitchen, ferret. Would you like something to drink? A glass of rum punch?”

Draco followed them into the hallway, still carrying the sleeping child.

“Oh, here, let me take him from you,” Ginny said, reaching for her son.

Draco pulled away from her. “James and I are perfectly fine here, Ginevra. Just get me my drink.”

Ginny grinned. “Whoever could have imagined that Draco Malfoy of all people would enjoy holding Harry Potter’s son?”

Hermione and Draco followed Ginny down the hallway.

“What did she need to speak with you about?” Draco asked.

Hermione took a breath. “Ron and Lavender will be here tonight.”

“Are you all right with that? We don’t have to stay if you don’t want to—“ Draco began.

“I’ll be fine,” Hermione said. “I’m not nursing a broken heart over Ronald sodding Weasley of all people.”

There was such a note of contempt in Hermione’s voice that it made Draco raise an eyebrow. “Well, if you need my assistance with him, just say the word, Granger.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said, as they followed Ginny into the kitchen, where Kreacher was putting last minute touches on a tray of hors d’oeuvres.

They also found Harry sitting at the enormous oak table in the center of the kitchen with three strangers Hermione presumed to be Harry’s cousin Dudley, his wife and daughter.

Introductions were made. Dudley and his wife Betty were a stout couple, but whereas Dudley had a beefy face, Betty was pretty with a creamy complexion. Between them sat an adorable, rosy-cheeked girl of three with dark curly hair and bright blue eyes dressed in a red, smocked pinafore over a white blouse.

“Who might you be?” Hermione asked.

“I’m Daisy,” the little girl said. “I’m three.”

While Ginny handed Draco and Hermione each a cup of punch, Betty turned back to Harry, and resumed their conversation. “I find it fascinating when she does something unusual, like when she makes her cookies fly in the air or changes the channels on the telly without touching the remote, but for some reason, it drives Mother Petunia batty. She’s so unsettled by it.”

“Dad’s worse,” Dudley said, with his eyes trained on Kreacher, as though he was still trying to believe the cranky old elf was real. “He refuses to admit that he’s seeing her do magic even when she does it right in front of his eyes.”

“Does talking with them about magic violate the Statute of Secrecy?” Hermione asked Ginny.

“It’s a bit of a gray area,” Ginny said. “After all, Dudley’s always known about magic, and since their little girl is showing signs of magic, Harry checked with McGonagall. It seems that her name is on the scroll for Hogwarts. So, Betty would have learned about magic eventually when Daisy got her letter. We’re just speeding things up a bit, I guess.”

“Was it like this for your parents?” Draco asked Hermione quietly.

Hermione sighed. “I think it was harder for my parents because they had no idea magic was real. They must have thought they were losing their minds.”

Ginny approached them to take James off Draco’s hands. “I really need to put this one down. And the rest of the guests should start arriving any moment.”

Even as Ginny said this, they could hear the Floo roar to life down the hall as guests began arriving and the party started.

—

An hour later, the house was packed. Hermione guessed that there must be over seventy guests there to celebrate Harry’s birthday. Of course, the Weasley clan took up a good chunk of the party-goers. All of Ginny’s siblings had come, except for Percy, who was in Albania on Ministry business. Even Charlie Weasley, burly and sporting various burns on his arms had come from the dragon reserve in Romania where he worked. Ron and Lavender were the last of the family to arrive, and Hermione was somewhat spitefully glad to see that they looked somewhat uneasy to be there. She gave a frosty nod of acknowledgment to his hello, and hoped that would be the last of their interactions for the night.

Everyone in Gryffindor from their year had come, as well as a good sprinkling of people from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Even Theo and Pansy had come; Theo as Luna’s date and Pansy as Neville’s date. Andromeda Tonks and little Teddy Lupin were also there. (Teddy had been a little disappointed that the other children there were mostly girls, like Victoire Weasley and little Daisy Dursley, but still ended up playing happily with them in the playroom Ginny had set up). The rest of the crowd were Harry’s co-workers from the Auror’s office, and a couple of Ginny’s friends from the Harpies.

Food was served buffet style, and the guests queued in two lines through the kitchen and dining room for all the dishes that had been laid out. Afterward, the guests fanned out to eat in the dining room, the drawing room, on the back terrace, and in the downstairs library. At some point, Hermione lost track of Draco, but she didn’t feel too guilty, as he had Theo and Pansy to keep him company if the critical mass of Gryffindors was too much for him. As for herself, she breathed easier with him out of sight, even though she missed him as she sat among a crowd of mostly friends. The tension between them had been affecting her sleep and her appetite. She told herself it was good to spend time with other people now and again, so she chatted lightly with Hannah Abbott, and the Patil twins, exchanged some jokes with Seamus Finnegan, and caught up on news with Charlie Weasley. 

She was feeling more relaxed than she’d felt in weeks by the time she finally sat down on the couch in Ginny’s drawing room with her plate of food and spread her napkin on her lap, placing her glass of pumpkin juice on the floor near her feet. Just as she started to cut into her meat, Harry sat down next to her with his plate of food.

She turned toward Harry with a smile. “This is a treat! I get the birthday boy’s company while I eat?”

Harry smiled back briefly. “It's always nice to catch up with you, ‘Mione.”

“I missed you, too,” Hermione said. When she worked at the DRCMC, she and Harry met up for lunch at least once a week in the Ministry cafeterias, and she stopped by Grimmauld Place often. Now, their meetings were much more sporadic.

Harry continued: “I hope you don’t mind that we invited Ron. I’m not going to ask you to forgive him or make up with him, and if he gives you any trouble I’ll be the first one to send him packing. It’s just—”

Hermione shook her head and took a sip of her juice. “I already told Ginny I can handle him. I know Molly has been giving you guys a hard time.”

“Thanks,” Harry said. He took a bite of his food and then said, in a much quieter voice, “Is everything okay with you and Malfoy?”

Hermione stilled. “Why would you ask that?”

Harry hesitated before he said, “It’s just—I’ve seen you with him these last few months, and you two seemed closer before. Today, it’s like you two have been avoiding each other.”

Hermione shook her head. “We’re fine, Harry.”

“You’re sure?”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Harry,” Hermione said firmly. She gave Harry a smile.

“Well—” Harry began, before Parvati Patil came to tap Harry on the shoulder.

“Harry, I think Ginny’s looking for you. I think she needs your help.”

Harry rose to his feet, taking his plate with him. “Sorry. See you later, ‘Mione.”

After Harry left, Hermione tried to eat a little more but her appetite was still terrible. Instead, she finished her drink and got up to get a refill of her pumpkin juice. She saw Draco standing in a corner at the back of the dining room chatting with Theo as he ate off his plate. He looked toward her when she stood at the sideboard and poured her juice as though making sure she was all right. She gave him a tight smile of acknowledgement and then took her juice to return to the drawing room.

As she entered the drawing room she ran into Ginny, who was carrying a very cranky James who had clearly awakened from his nap on the wrong side of the crib. He was rubbing his eyes and whimpering.

“Everything okay?” Hermione asked. “Do you need help?”

“He’s all right. Probably just a little worked up from all the noise and energy in the place,” Ginny said, as she gently bounced her son, which seemed to settle him a bit. She peered toward Hermione. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Hermione said, baffled. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I’m just wondering why you’re eating in the drawing room and the ferret is holed up in the back of my dining room. Is something going on with you two? Are you okay?”

Hermione huffed. “Honestly, Ginny, you’re such a mother hen. We’re fine. Do we have to be joined at the hip? You’re not standing next to Harry—should I be worried about you?”

“We’re hosting seventy-five people and dealing with a baby. We have to be in ten places at once. Don’t try to deflect, Hermione Granger. I’m a Quidditch player. I know all about feinting.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “We’re fine, Gin. Go do your hostessing duties, and stop worrying about me.”

Ginny gave Hermione one more skeptical glance, but she really was very busy and returned to the kitchen. 

Hermione turned around and nearly collided with Luna who was on her way to the dining room to get a drink. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Hermione exclaimed. 

“Don’t worry,” Luna said, in her gentle voice.

“I almost hit you,” Hermione said, apologetically.

“Yes, but almost hitting means you missed, so it’s all well,” Luna countered. 

“I suppose you’re right,” Hermoine said. “How are you doing? I’m glad to see you and Theo are getting along so well.”

“Theo’s lovely,” Luna’s voice was dreamy. “He has such a pretty aura and he’s so sweet and so intelligent!”

Hermione allowed herself a small dart of envy that Luna and Theo found happiness together so quickly and easily, but she said sincerely, “Yes, Theo’s a real joy. I wish we’d been friends during our Hogwarts years.”

“That was a shame that we missed out, but now we all know each other, so it’s as it should be,” Luna said. She tilted her head appraisingly at Hermione. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like my potion of lemon juice and powdered doxy wings? You’re covered in Wrackspurts again.”

“I think I’ll be all right.”

Unperturbed, Luna produced a small corked bottle from her pocket. “Well, take this just in case. And give some to Draco, would you? He’s also swarmed by Wrackspurts. Are you two all right? Did you quarrel?”

Chagrined, Hermione took the bottle. “We’re all right. Thanks, Luna,” she said, stashing the bottle into her beaded bag. 

Luna beamed. “I’m going to get myself some gilly water. Would you like some, too?”

“Oh, I’m good,” Hermione said, holding up her drink. “I have some pumpkin juice.”

“Okay,” Luna said easily, and then she headed into the dining room.

Now Hermione was worried. If people were starting to notice that all was not well between her and Draco, then they were doing a dreadful job pretending to be together. She stood for a moment in indecision and then took a deep breath and returned to the dining room. She saw Theo and Luna leave the dining room by the back door that led to the back terrace, and turned to see that Draco was sitting, surprisingly, next to Betty Dursley who was peppering him with questions about wizarding life.

Draco saw her enter the dining room, and immediately seemed to realize something was off. “Excuse me,” he said to Betty and then got up from the table, reaching Hermione with three swift strides.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

Hermione stepped back out into the hallway and Draco followed. His close proximity wreaked havoc on her nerves as always, but she said, “We’re apparently doing a terrible job at pretending to be together.”

“What do you mean?”

“Harry and Ginny and Luna have all come up to me separately to ask me if everything is all right between us. I—“

“I understand,” Draco said. He went to retrieve his plate, and said politely to Betty, “It was lovely talking with you, but I have some obligations—-“

“Oh, of course! It was wonderful talking with you! Thank you for answering all my silly questions,” Betty said with a smile.

“Let’s get this show started then,” Draco muttered as he followed Hermione out to the drawing room.

Hermione stiffened for a moment and then headed toward an empty couch where they sat down together, juggled their plates, napkins and drinks and then resumed eating.

For Hermione, the eating mainly consisted of moving her food around her plate. With Draco seated so close to her, she was feeling too self conscious to eat much. Instead, she nibbled little bits off her fork and tried not to think about how Draco’s thigh was pressed up against her own, and how she could feel his warmth searing through the layers of cloth between them. She tried, instead, to concentrate on the conversations swirling around them. 

“…and then he said he was going to take a trip…”

“…through Hogsmeade village! They unleashed a flock of pixies who flew…”

“…three times to make the dough. Don’t forget to…”

“…smash their heads together! What idiots! I can’t believe…”

“…she said she hated him. And then he asked her out again! Can you…”

Hermione started to feel a little overwhelmed by the discussions taking place around them, and she was unable to latch on to any one discussion and make any meaningful sense out of any of them. She felt dizzy, and closed her eyes for a moment.

”You all right?” Draco asked, murmuring in her ear. She immediately opened her eyes realizing that Draco had leaned forward to speak to her and she could feel his breath tickling the back of her neck. She made a half turn and suddenly wanted to drown in the look of concern she saw in his gray eyes before she reminded herself that this was all a show. He had even said so just before they came to sit down.

“I’m all right,” she said. “Maybe I’m just a little tired. I haven’t been sleeping well.” As soon as she said it, she wanted to kick herself for admitting that to Draco.

But his only response was to reach up and lightly massage the back of her neck at the junction of her neck and shoulder. And even though she felt an initial tinge of shock, she liked the sensation so much she wanted to purr like a cat. She felt herself leaning back toward his touch, trying to drown out the intrusive thought that this was an act for their friends, and instead, just enjoy it for how it made her feel. 

Her easy acquiescence to the caress seemed to embolden him. He finished the massage and then put his arm around her easily, almost possessively, tugging him into the curve of his side where she sat as easily as if she was made to fit there.

She heard Draco making conversation with Neville Longbottom, of all people, as they discussed Neville’s experiments in raising unusual or hard-to-grow magical plant species in the Hogwarts greenhouses and how he was interested in obtaining a tract of land to build some greenhouses to start his his own plant growing business. 

“Depending on what you grow, perhaps we can do business in the future,” Draco said. “My potions and product divisions will always need plant supplies.”

Most people had finished eating by now and were just chatting. Ginny came back into the drawing room to check that everyone was all right and to ask if any guest needed anything. She was still carrying James, who appeared to have fallen asleep. She stopped in front of Hermione and Draco, took in their cozy proximity to each other and her mouth twisted in a grin. “Having a good time, you two? Do you need anything?”

“We’re fine, Ginevra,” Draco said.

“Do you need help with anything?” Hermione offered, satisfied that she had assuaged Ginny’s concerns about the state of the relationship between her and Draco.

Ginny paused for a moment as if coming to a decision about something and then said, “Well, I need to help Kreacher get the cake out. Would you mind taking James up to the nursery and settling him down?”

“No problem,” Hermione said, getting up to take her sleeping godson off Ginny’s hands. He gave a little grunt as he was being transferred, but stayed asleep.

“And do you know how to set the monitoring charm?” Ginny asked.

“Yes. We’ll be fine,” Hermione said.

“Thanks!” Ginny said, heading into the kitchen. 

Hermione turned to see Draco staring up at her with an odd expression on his face, something best described as a mix between wonder and longing, which baffled her. “I’ll be right back,” she said as she left the room.

James’ nursery was on the second floor of the house across the way from Harry and Ginny’s bedroom. She’d been inside a few times to help Ginny when she’d been setting up the nursery, but she’d never seen the completed room. Ginny had made the room into a very warm and welcoming space. The walls were cream with shelves and trim and crown molding done in olive green to match the crib, rocking chair and small daybed. Small woodland animals had been painted on the walls above the wainscoting and they gamboled freely around the walls of the room. The bookshelves held a selection of children’s books and stuffed animals. A small lamp sat on a table near the crib and it cast low lights on the ceiling in the shapes of small animals. The animal shapes ran and hopped as though they were in a cartoon reel. 

Hermione gave James a light kiss on his forehead and placed the sleeping boy down in his crib and covered him gently with a quilt. “Good night, sweetie,” she murmured, before casting the monitoring charm. 

She left the room and took the back staircase that led to a long corridor to the kitchen, and as she came down the stairs she saw Draco come out of the loo. She headed toward him, still feeling the awkwardness that defined their relationship now. 

“Did he go down easily?” Draco asked.

“He never woke up,” Hermione said. She had now reached where Draco was standing in the corridor, and due to the confines of the space, she paused, not sure if she should wait for Draco to move first or to sidle on past him. 

Just then, she heard some noises coming from the kitchen, but before she could turn to investigate the sound, Draco had her pinned against the wall and he was kissing her. 

The touch of his lips set off a Bombarda in her chest. He moved as though he was full of coiled energy that desperately needed release, kissing her open mouthed and hot, one hand cupping her face and the other braced on the wall behind her. Held in the circle of his arms and torso, Hermione moved her hands up his chest, pulling at the folds of his shirt, kissing him back as though she might never have a chance to kiss him again. She channeled every feeling of tortured hope and repressed desire into her kisses back to him, wanting and needing him in a way that felt as elemental as air.

“Bloody hell!”

The exclamation startled them apart, and, after a dazed moment, Hermione realized Ron was standing at the kitchen door looking shocked at their display, his ears red. She darted a glance at Draco to see if he was as surprised, but his face was inscrutable. She could almost believe she saw the ghost of a smirk on his lips.

“Is there a problem, Weasley?” Draco asked, his voice in a low drawl. Hermione couldn’t believe his voice could sound so normal, not when she couldn’t even trust herself to speak.

“Are you kidding?” Ron asked, just as Harry came to the door. 

“What’s the matter?” Harry asked.

“I just came out to use the loo, and found that ferrety git all over Hermione,” Ron said.

Harry’s eyebrows rose, but he recovered quickly. “Ron, just go use the loo by the front cloakroom.”

“I hate going there,” Ron grumbled, still not taking his eyes off Draco. “That batty old Walburga never stops screaming.”

“She’s quiet today,” Harry said, pulling Ron away from the doorway. Ron glared one last time at Draco and then headed back into the kitchen.

Harry pinched his nose over his glasses, looking a little harassed. “Hermione, are you all right? Did Ron cause any—“

“I’m okay,” Hermione said. “He just sort of sounded shocked to see us. Nothing happened.”

“Okay,” Harry said, sounding relieved. ”I just came to find you two to tell you that Ginny’s got the cake out in the dining room, so come on over, okay?” He gestured toward the dining room and backed into the kitchen, leaving Hermione and Draco alone.

For a moment, neither Hermione nor Draco said anything, both still breathing a little heavily. The tactile sensation of Draco’s lips were still on hers, but there was a bit of a bitter taste on her tongue as she realized the whole thing was likely staged. Hermione asked: “Did you know Ron was standing there?”

But instead of answering her question, Draco took her hand and just mumbled, “We should get back there,” before leading her down the hallway toward the kitchen.

They emerged through the kitchen into the side door of the dining room where the guests were all assembled to sing Happy Birthday to Harry. They took up a spot near Pansy and Neville and on the opposite side of the room from where Harry stood with Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys.  The birthday cake was in the center of the table, a three tiered concoction that looked like a replica of Hogwarts castle. There was even a melted chocolate Black Lake with charmed fondant merpeople and a fondant giant squid that waved lazily at the guests. Instead of candles, there were sparklers charmed to float over the cake. A miniature of Harry himself on a broomstick was charmed to fly around dodging the sparklers.

Everyone sang and then Harry prodded his miniature with his wand, and as Harry closed his eyes to make his wish, the mini-Harry flew around extinguishing the sparklers. The guests all applauded and then Harry made the first cut in the cake. Everyone applauded again, and then Ginny cast a spell that cut the cake into several dozen pieces and levitated the pieces one by one onto plates with forks, which she and Harry and Kreacher handed around to the guests. 

As soon as the cake was distributed to everyone, Ginny vanished the remainder of the cake and then tapped a wand and Harry’s presents appeared on the table and he started opening each one to cheers and applause. Hermione’s gift to Harry was a tiny painting of a wizard that announced that she had gifted Harry a sitting for a family portrait for him, Ginny and baby James with a world famous wizarding artist. Draco had gotten Harry a 24 year-old bottle of rare leprechaun-made whiskey. From others, Harry received a wondrous assortment of charmed magical gifts, but the gift that surprised Hermione the most was the fancy Muggle wrist watch that Dudley and Betty gave him. She remembered the painfully wretched gifts the Dursleys used to send Harry for Christmas—crumpled tissue paper, a coat hanger, a single fifty-pence coin—and wondered if this gift made up for those in any way in Harry’s mind.

As they watched Harry work his way through his presents, Hermione stood next to Draco, who had his arm around her shoulders. She wondered at the dichotomy, how something that she wanted so badly could also cause her so much pain at the same time. Being held in Draco’s arms was both bliss and agony. There was no feel of hesitation or reluctance in Draco’s touches; he held her like he wanted to hold her, like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to pull her close to him, to twine their fingers, to rest his chin over the curls at the crown of her head.

She wanted so badly to believe that Draco wanted this as much as she did, but the way he had muttered “Let’s get this show started then” played on an endless loop in her mind. She needed to get back to her room, to shut the door, to cuddle with Crookshanks for a couple of hours and get her equilibrium back. 

The party wound down after Harry finished opening his gifts and all the cake was eaten. People started heading home, one by one making their way to the Floo parlor. A few ventured out the front door and walked to nearby Apparition points. Hermione approached Harry and Ginny to hug them and thank them for a lovely party and to wish Harry a happy birthday again. Ginny reminded Hermione that her own birthday was coming up in less than two weeks, but she wanted to do a much simpler gathering. 

“Just a girls’ night out,” Ginny said. “Back room at the Leaky. I’m too tuckered out from tonight to plan another big do, and Harry is just terrible at planning parties. My birthday’s on a Tuesday, so I thought we could meet up on the Friday after my birthday with some of the girls like Padma and Susan and Hannah and Luna and just have a relaxing night.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Hermione said. “I’ll be there.”

“Thanks for coming, ferret,” Ginny said to Draco, who was standing behind Hermione next to the Floo.

“Thanks for having me, Ginevra,” Draco said. 

“Thank you both for coming,” Harry said, giving Hermione a last hug.

Draco took Hermione’s hand and they stepped into the Floo. He called out his address and within moments, they were in his flat. Hermione sprang free of his touch the moment they arrived, pulling away so hard she stumbled forward, causing Draco to reach forward and pull her upright.

“Steady, Granger,” Draco said.

“We’re away from everyone,” Hermione said, tightly. “The show is over and you can let go.”

“The show? What are you saying? You were the one who said everyone was suspicious—”

“Are you accusing me of making that up?”

”No! I wasn’t accusing you of anything.” Draco looked bewildered.

”You just said I said everyone was suspicious as though you didn’t believe me!”

“Are you mental, Granger? Where did you get that from?”

“From your condescending tone of voice!”

“I wasn’t being condescending. I was exasperated!”

“What have you got to be exasperated about?” Hermione asked.

“You! You’re impossible to deal with; you blow hot and cold, and you always think you’re right!”

Hermione felt tears of frustration starting and she knew if she kept arguing she would start crying. With an heroic effort of will, she forced her next words to be civil. She tried to keep her tone flat, but it came out cold. “Thank you for accompanying me to Harry’s party. But it’s been a long night. Good night, Draco.”

Draco looked taken aback by the abrupt change in tone for a moment, and then he responded by drawing his Occlumency shields up. “Good night, Granger.”

Hermione went back to her room, shut the door behind her and sat down on the bench at the end of her bed. Crookshanks came to her lap, offering calming purrs. Hermione stroked his orange fur and took out another of the books she was reading on magical medical potions to find new pathways to finish her memory potions. Ironically, so she could try to forget the man who had stolen her heart and plagued her thoughts.

Chapter Text

Hermione opened her laboratory notebook and wrote out: “Memory Potion 291, version 27. Test subject 3.” She put down her quill and turned to the volunteer before her. There were five other subjects to get through today, and she hoped things would go smoothly. The young wizard was healthy, and had passed a general physical evaluation. He was being paid two galleons for his efforts as a test subject, and had just filled out the questionnaire that Hermione had prepared. She brought out the vial before her. 

“This is a randomized double blinded controlled trial,” she said. The wizard blinked his incomprehension. “That means,” she informed him, “that you will be getting either the actual potion or a placebo. And neither you nor I will know which one you are getting until the trial is over.”

“How will I know if it works, then?” the wizard asked, fearfully.

“Well, you’ll know if your memory returns,” Hermione explained. “But even if it doesn’t, the memory I will be removing will not have any effect on you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m going to give you a series of things to see and remember,” Hermione said. “And I will give you an hour to examine them and to try to remember them. At the end of the hour, I will Obliviate you, but only to remove those test objects from your memory. Then, I will administer the potion. After another hour, I will question you and see if you remember any of the items and how many of them you remember. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” the wizard answered, although he still looked somewhat fearful. 

Hermione brought him to the testing room and showed him the objects. There was a short poem for the man to read and learn. A series of objects, both magical and non-magical to remember. And a series of numbers and letters to memorize.

“After an hour, I will come back and do a short test to see how much you remember. You don’t need to worry how you do on the test. I just need to take a baseline before I perform the Obliviation.”

She left the wizard with the items and went to prepare the next test subject. She opened her notebook, went to a new page, and wrote: “Memory Potion 291 version 27. Test subject 4”. She put the notebook back down on the table and went to speak with the next subject, a middle-aged witch, who was also deemed in good health. She gave this test subject the same speech and then took her to a separate testing room from the one where the young wizard had been placed, but which held the same objects as the first testing room. 

Throughout the day, she ran her trials as she explained to her subjects, providing them with items to remember, testing them, Obliviating them, giving them vials of either potion or placebo, and then testing them again. 

After each subject was done, she wrote out the raw data in her laboratory notebook and then went to her next subject. 

Finally, after a long day of trials and testing, she bade the last of her test subjects a good day and sat at her workstation reviewing the raw data she had obtained. She had two more days of trials to conduct, but based on the data she had collected so far, she was a little anxious about the efficacy of version 27. 

People started getting ready to go home. They were calling out their farewells and Hermione reluctantly put down her notebook. She wished she could take the notebook back to Draco’s flat to review it further, but all notebook and parchments generated on company property were spelled to be unable to leave the building. They could be destroyed, but not removed due to concerns of corporate espionage and proprietary rights. She knew that if she asked Draco, he could lift the anti-theft charms from her papers, but she was loath to ask for special favors, and would not have asked even if she and Draco were on better terms. She finished reviewing the data and then returned her notebook to her workstation desk drawer.

She took off her work robes in the locker room and returned to the flat. Mipsy was setting out dinner on the dining room table. Hermione had wrestled with the question of whether or not to have dinner with Draco the entire day. She finally decided that since she was giving herself an end date and would be leaving soon, that she could brave out a few awkward meals. Her Gryffindor self was in full rebellion against her cowardice and avoidance over the past few weeks even as her sense of self preservation urged her to continue hiding. 

Mipsy, the sweetheart that she was, knew clearly that something unhappy was going on between them. The little elf kept trying to find ways to bring them together, tempting them with their favorite treats, leaving little hints, and going out of her way to be helpful to both of them. Hermione hated to see her distress over the state of things between her and Draco, and she hated even more the thought of never seeing Mipsy and Tippy once she moved back to her own flat. She tried her best to be patient with Mipsy even if she was often very chagrined and even somewhat reluctant to go along with the unsubtle schemes Mipsy hatched. 

Tonight, Mipsy had decked out the table with red roses and candlelight. She had slow, jazzy music playing on the speakers. She must have read the playbook on aphrodisiacs, because she pulled out as many of them as she could combine in a meal. Oysters. Red wine. Artichokes. Chocolate covered strawberries. Had it been for any other reason, Hermione might have laughed because Mipsy was so kind hearted and sweet. 

Draco returned to the flat as Mipsy finished lighting the candles. He appeared tired and was in a testy mood. He saw Hermione and said, “Granger,” with a curt nod before he held out her seat at the table. She sat down with a wary glance at him as he moved to sit down at his place at the head of the table. By the time he was seated, she could already see the slate gray of his eyes and knew he was Occluding.

Mipsy was effusive in greeting him, asking if he’d like a drink before dinner was served, if there was anything she could get Master Draco. He merely stared at her, and then at the elaborate table setting as if to say, I know what you’re up to and it's not going to work. He shook his head. “Just serve dinner, Mipsy.”

“Right away, Master,” Mipsy said. She snapped her fingers and the appetizer course, a rich lobster bisque with a half dozen chilled Kumamoto oysters appeared on the table. She paired that with a glass of Sauvignon Blanc for each of them. 

They ate in silence. Hermione thought she would have had an easier time talking with Draco even before the war than right now. Every avenue of conversation seemed to be a landmine. Every movement or look put her on edge wondering what thought or intent was behind it. Had she known that agreeing to be Draco’s pretend girlfriend would detonate her own heart, she would never have agreed to this no matter the sum offered. But how could she have known that the Draco she came to know when she first moved in was everything she ever wanted?

She took two spoonfuls of soup and spent far more time than was necessary in adding condiments to her oyster before she finally admitted defeat with the appetizer course. Mipsy quickly cleared away their plates and brought out perfectly prepared tenderloin medallions, artichoke hearts with hollandaise sauce and duchesse potatoes molded into heart shapes paired with a lovely Malbec.

Draco raised his eyebrows at this dish. “Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you, Mipsy?” he drawled.

Mipsy blanched, and Hermione kicked him under the table. 

“The hell, Granger!” Draco snapped.

“Be nice to her,” Hermione hissed.

“I just wanted to eat my fucking dinner in peace,” Draco muttered.

“This is lovely, Mipsy,” Hermione said.

Mipsy beamed at her and then scurried back into the kitchen.

“Are you all right?” Hermione asked. She had meant the words to be of concern, but it sounded more like an accusation, as if she believed he was taking out a bad day on her and the elf.

“I’m fine,” Draco gritted out.

“I just mean to say—“

“Granger, I’m sorry if I’m not in the mood for your witty repartee tonight.”

“As if there could be anything further from wit here,” Hermione said under her breath before she took a long swallow of her wine.

They finished the rest of the main course in silence.

Mipsy was almost in tears when she brought out dessert, a tray of hand dipped chocolate covered strawberries. She handed each of them a glass of Pinot noir. Hermione couldn’t let the little elf go like this. She reached out and took both of Mipsy’s hands in her own. 

“Miss?” Mipsy’s tennis ball eyes were swimming in unshed tears.

“This dinner was absolutely lovely,” Hermione said. “I appreciate all the effort you went through to make this wonderful meal. We both do, don’t we, Draco?” She shot a glare at Draco.

Draco was in no mood to play nice. “Sure.”

“But I wanted Miss and Master to be happy at the end of this dinner!” Mipsy wailed.

“Mipsy, everyone has a bad day once in a while. Thank you for trying to make this one better.”

Sniffing, Mipsy returned to the kitchen. 

“You could have been nicer,” Hermione frowned. 

Draco ignored her. He took a breath. “I’m going on a trip out of the country. I’m leaving Wednesday night.”

Hermione blinked. She should be relieved that she’d have a reprieve from this strained atmosphere, but she only felt dismay. “Where are you going?”

“Kuala Lumpur,” Draco said.

“Kuala Lumpur,” Hermione repeated, feeling a sick unease. The witch who was trying to seduce Draco at the Midsummer Gala was from Kuala Lumpur. Draco had not told her anything about her, but Hermione had read about her in the society pages of The Daily Prophet on the day after the gala. “How long will you be gone?”

“At least two days. Possibly a week.”

Hermione nodded, and then pushed her chair back. “Safe travels, Draco.”

—

Draco opened his trunk and then flicked his wand in a series of practiced waves, and a half dozen of his dress shirts floated out of his closet, folding themselves neatly as they landed in the trunk. A second round of waves brought out trousers, socks, jackets, dress robes, vests, socks, pants, and several pairs of shoes. He checked his watch. It was nearly ten thirty at night and his Portkey to Malaysia was set for eleven. He still had time. He was debating on bringing casual clothes for the trip when he heard a sudden crashing sound from the room next door. 

Hermione.

Draco raced out of his room and knocked on Hermione’s door. There was no response. Panicked at the sound he’d heard, he opened the door and found Hermione half dressed, pulling on a jumper. A heavy book lay on the floor, the pages splayed messily, likely the cause of the loud crash. Hermione shrieked when she saw him. “What are you doing here? Get out!”

“What happened? I heard a crash!”

Hermione pulled on a pair of jeans. “Don’t you have a Portkey to catch?” She slipped on socks.

“Where are you going? What the hell’s going on?’

She pulled her trainers on, scowling.

“Granger! For Merlin’s sake, talk to me!” Draco moved closer to her. 

She looked up at him, and perhaps she saw the concern in his face, and some of the irritation that she’d shown faded. Her own face was pale and her eyes were wide and frightened. Her voice trembled a bit as she spoke: “My—there was a Patronus. My father was in an accident. He’s at St. Mungo’s.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.” A tear escaped down her cheek and Hermione’s voice sounded fragile as she bent down to tie her shoelaces. (Irrelevantly, Draco mused that there would always be something Muggle about the way she did things. She could have used a spell and the laces would have tied instantly.) “They just said he was critical and I should come now.”

“I’ll come with you,” Draco said. 

“You’ll—?” Hermione stopped tying her laces and she looked up at him. He could tell by the sudden flash in her eyes that she wanted him to come. But out loud, she said, “You have your Portkey to catch!” 

“Give me a minute, Granger,” Draco said. He slipped into his room and grabbed two items off the bed, stuffing them into a small satchel he transformed from a sock. “Tippy!” He called out. The little elf appeared instantly. 

“Find Justin Finch-Fletchley and give him the bag. Tell him the Portkey to Malaysia leaves at eleven, and the files he needs to review are here. I’ve a suite booked at the Four Seasons that he can use.”

“Yes, Master,” Tippy said, taking the bag and Disapparating with a pop.

He went back to Hermione’s room. “Are you ready to go?”

“Don’t you have to leave?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Draco said, ushering Hermione to the Floo parlor.

They Floo’d into the Visitor’s Entrance at St Mungo’s and Draco led Hermione to the reception desk. 

“Wendell Wilkins?” Hermione inquired. 

The reception wizard reviewed a scroll of parchment. “Second floor. Accident and Emergency Unit.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said, as they headed toward the lift. The lift doors opened and they stepped in. Hermione had been pale and somewhat composed up until now but once the lift doors closed on them, she slumped against the wall as though she didn’t have the energy to stay upright. Draco moved immediately to hold her up.

“What happened to your meeting?” she asked.

“I sent someone else to take care of it,” Draco said.

“But it must be important if you were going to go yourself,” Hermione protested.

“This is more important,” Draco said firmly.

Hermione opened her mouth as though to protest, but then bit her lip. “Thank you,” she said, quietly.

The lift doors opened and they entered the second floor foyer. A representative from the Parkwood Institute was waiting for her. 

“Miss Granger,” the mediwitch said, “I’m Florence Pendleton from the Parkwood Institute. I brought your father in—”

“What happened? Where is he?” Hermione interrupted, too distraught to care about the rudeness.

The mediwitch resumed, unperturbed, “Staff found your father on the beach at the bottom of the cliff. He was unconscious, but breathing. He looks like he has a small concussion, but he’s also got a broken leg. The Healers think it's a compound fracture.”

“Where is he now?”

“He’s in the Accidents and Emergency ward, but the Healers are working on him.”

“What did they say about his condition?”

“They’re still running diagnostic tests on him.”

“Can I see him?” Hermione asked.

“I was instructed that a Healer would come as soon as they can give relevant information, but for now no visitors while they’re conducting assessments and giving initial treatment.”

“How did he end up there? Wasn’t there any supervision?”

“Your father was present at dinner and at the first evening check at eight PM. He was in the patient lounge reading a book. The second night check was scheduled for eleven, but before that, a little after ten, your mother raised the alarm saying she couldn’t find your father. We immediately began a search.”

“How did he end up on the beach?”

Florence shook her head, “We don’t know yet. We’re conducting an investigation. According to your mother, she was alarmed when your father didn’t come to bed. She said your father kept saying something about ‘seven years ago’.”

Hermione stiffened involuntarily at those words.

”Does that mean something to you, Miss Granger?”

“I—“ Hermione seemed to be eyeing the mediwitch with some distrust. “I’m not sure,” she said, finally, adding, “Did the Healers say how long we’d have to wait out here? Is there someone on staff I could ask about his condition?”

“The A&E mediwitch desk is through this door,” Florence said, indicating a door to the right under a sign that said, “Accidents and Emergencies.”

Hermione seemed to be about to head through the door, but stopped suddenly, and asked. “Where is my mother?”

“Mrs. Wilkins is still at the Parkwood Institute.”

“And how is she? Does she know my father is here?” Hermione asked.

“She is aware there has been an accident.”

“She needs to be here,” Hermione said.

Florence blinked. “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

“Why not?”

“It’s against patient protocol. Your mother is still under our care and we cannot authorize a visit outside the Institute for this reason.”

“Why not?” Hermione asked again. 

“Well,” Florence sounded a bit annoyed, and, in Draco’s opinion, somewhat condescending, “We simply haven’t the staff to be escorting patients off the grounds. And if anything were to happen to her while she was off premises—“

“Well, my father was under your care and look what happened to him,” Hermione snapped. “I know my mother and I know she would want to be here. She must be going spare not knowing what’s going on and not being able to see my father!”

“I’m afraid it’s still not possible,” Florence insisted. “We simply can’t spare the staff—“

“How much?” Draco asked, interrupting her. Florence’s superciliousness was irritating in the extreme and he didn’t like how upset Hermione looked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“How much overtime would it cost to have a staff member escort Mrs. Wilkins here?”

“Well, I—who are you?”

“Draco Malfoy. And I want to know how much it will cost to have a staff member escort Mrs. Wilkins here. If you don’t know the answer, you’d better find out. I don’t care if you have to wake the managing director, but Mrs. Wilkins had better be here within an hour or a lot of people will be out of a job by tomorrow morning. And I guarantee, Ms. Pendleton, that this will include you.”

“Mr. Malfoy—“ Florence began, indignantly.

But Draco cut her off. “Now you’re down to fifty-nine minutes, Ms. Pendleton.” He didn’t wait for her to babble out more excuses, and instead, escorted Hermione into the A&E to ask the staff about her father’s condition. 

—

Hermione’s father was listed as still unconscious, but stable when Hermione went to enquire about his condition. The front desk mediwitch informed her that they still had one or two more tests to go and she would be allowed to go into his room to see him. The witch suggested Hermione and Draco wait in the visitor’s lounge, and a Healer would come soon to give an update about her father’s condition. 

As they headed toward the lounge, a voice called out, “Hermione! Draco!” Both of them turned around to see Luna Lovegood in her lime green Healer’s robes. 

Hermione smiled for the first time on seeing her friend. “Are you working here tonight?”

“Yes,” Luna said. “I heard you asking about Wendell Wilkins?”

“He’s my father,” Hermione said. “Do you know about his case?”

“Yes,” Luna said. “I’m the junior Healer on his case. We just finished the preliminary diagnostics. He’s still unconscious, and he has a compound fracture of his left femur. We decided it would be more expedient to remove the bone and dose him with Skele-Gro, especially since he’s unconscious and won’t suffer from the effects of the regrowth.”

“Is there anything you can do to wake him up?” Hermione asked.

“After the bone regrows we’ll re-assess. If he starts to show increased signs of brain activity we’ll let him awaken naturally. Otherwise, we might have to try some reviving potions. But let’s give him at least 24 hours before we push the potions.”

“Can I see him?” Hermione asked.

“Come with me,” Luna said, gently. 

Hermione and Draco followed Luna down along a rabbit warren of corridors into the bowels of the hospital. In the last ward they reached, there were patients and family members that looked clearly Muggle. Hermione was a little surprised to see so many Muggles at St Mungo’s, but she was too worried about her father to pursue that line of thought. Finally, Luna stopped before a door marked 229 and said, “I’ll be down the hall at the medi-tech station if you have any questions.”

Hermione paused before the door and steeled herself to step inside. Instinctively, she reached for Draco’s hand, needing his touch to keep her steady. She took a breath and opened the door. 

The room looked like a standard hospital room with a narrow patient bed, two bedside stands, and two comfortable chairs for visitors. Wendell Wilkins lay in his bed appearing to be asleep and with diagnostic charms floating above his head as a series of glowing, blinking numbers and alphanumeric codes that didn’t mean anything to Hermione. She stepped close to her father and let go of Draco’s hold and she reached to grasp her father’s hand in both her own. His fingers were a little cold to the touch.

“Dad?” Hermione said softly. “Dad? If you can hear me, it’s Hermione. I’m so sorry you were hurt. I miss you and I love you and I hope you wake up soon.” 

There was no response, not that Hermione had expected any, but it felt terribly empty and confusing to stand before her father and not be able to do anything to help. A thousand things were running through Hermione’s mind: memories of her childhood, snippets of songs she knew her father liked, random memories of things she associated with her father, like his favorite blueberry pie and the dental association journals that he used to read on Sunday afternoons. She wondered what she’d say to him when he woke up. She apologized to him again in her mind, for what she had done to him. 

Suddenly, she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to see that Draco had brought a chair over for her to sit in. “Thank you,” she murmured, sinking into the chair. 

Draco moved the other chair next to hers and sat down in it. “Tell me about your father,” he said.

Hermione gave him an incredulous look. He had never asked much about her parents. She answered his question, haltingly at first, and then the words tumbled out of her as though a dam had been breached, and her memories spilled out. She told Draco about her father’s awful dad jokes, and how he used to sit with her in his study on Sunday afternoons to read. He’d read dental journals, and occasional mystery novels and old classics. He liked British punk rock. He knew all the statistics of all the Arsenal players. She told Draco about how her parents met back in Uni, when her dad tripped and fell headlong into her mother’s lap in the student quad; mortified, he’d blurted out an invitation for a date before he realized what he’d done.

The door to the room opened, and this time Luna ushered in Hermione’s mother, and another older woman wearing Parkwood Healer robes. “This way, Mrs. Wilkins, Healer Marchbanks,” Luna said in her mellifluous voice. 

Monica Wilkins entered the room and stopped short with a look of dismay. The Healer cast a critical eye over the situation and then said, “He’s still unconscious, but his vital signs are stable.”

Monica stepped closer to Wendell and seemed to notice, for the first time, Hermione and Draco. She seemed a little confused, “Hermione?” she asked. “How did you come to be here? And who is this young man with you?”

Hermione and Draco had risen on Monica’s arrival. Hermione quickly said, “I was here visiting a friend when I saw Wendell come in, and I thought I’d stop in to keep him company until you arrived. And, this—“ she indicated Draco, “—-is my-my boyfriend, Draco.”

“Has he woken up at all?” Monica asked, fearfully. 

Luna stepped in with her gentle manner and started discussing Wendell’s case with Monica as Hermione turned to Healer Marchbanks. 

“Do you know any more of what happened? How he happened to be out at night?” Hermione asked.

“I had been trying a new type of therapy in the last week,” Healer Marchbanks said. “I’ve been studying some East Asian healing methods and I’ve been trying to combine runes with the spells. Mr. Wilkins has seemed to respond well. He has remembered you in two of the sessions, but the memory has always retreated after a short amount of time. I’ve been working on a way to make the memories last longer. This evening, the staff reported that he was a bit restless and agitated. I wonder if his agitation might have been related to the memory retrieval session.”

“You’ve been using runes?” Hermione asked, looking intrigued. “What kind of runes?”

“It’s a bit complicated, but I have a series of research articles I’ve been studying and I can owl them to you in the morning,” Healer Marchbanks said. 

“Can you tell me a little more about what he said when he remembered me?” Hermione asked. “The mediwitch, Ms Pendleton said that he said something about seven years ago.”

“There are just snippets. He has mentioned that he had a daughter who went to Hogwarts. He mentioned that she looked like her mother. He mentioned that she was named after the Shakespearean Hermione.”

“Are you going to continue with these experimental treatments?” Hermione asked, with a note of hopefulness in her voice. This was the most her father had remembered in years. “Because if you do, I’d like to sit in with you and watch.”

“Yes,” Healer Marchbanks said. “I’ll also owl you a schedule of my treatment times and you are welcomed to come.” 

Hermione nodded her agreement and the Healer moved to speak with Monica.

“What was that about?” Draco murmured. “I can hear gears turning in your mind.”

“I was thinking that perhaps adding runic spells to the formula might be what the memory potion needs. Also—“ Hermione paused and looked toward the door. 

“Also?” Draco prompted.

“Did you notice all the Muggles on this ward?”

“Yes. I wondered if they might be the Obliviated Muggles we’ve been seeing on the news.”

“If they are those Muggles then some of them have been here for a long time,” Hermione said. “I wonder—if we can get the potion finalized if these patients might benefit from clinical trials with the potion?”

“That’s not a bad idea, Granger,” Draco said, thoughtfully. “We can catch Luna later and talk to her about it.”

They both now turned their attention to Luna, who was still answering Monica Wilkins’ questions. Despite her memory issues, Monica was still very observant and astute and she asked very insightful, clear questions about Wendell’s medical issues, and was very thorough in her interrogation. Hermione thought it was a good thing Luna was the Healer on the case because she never seemed ruffled and was easily able to handle Monica’s nervous, slightly aggressive questioning.

“No mystery where you got your brain, Granger,” Draco said, amused.

—

Hermione’s father awakened the next afternoon. By then, the Skele-Gro had taken full effect and his bones had completely regrown. There were only some residual cuts and bruises that were rapidly healing from the potions and creams the Healers had applied to his wounds. 

By the weekend he was back in Parkwood and Hermione went to watch Healer Marchbanks’ treatment sessions. There were brief moments of lucidity that brought tears to her eyes, when Wendell Wilkins became Richard Granger again. It was so much harder for her to accept it when the light of comprehension left his eyes and he reverted to Wendell again, but certain sessions were lasting longer than others, and Healer Marchbanks was hopeful that she would eventually find the right combination of runes, spells, and therapy to finally restore Wendell’s memories. For her part, Hermione had read the materials Healer Marchbanks had owled to her and she had prepared a thorough list of questions about the Healer’s methods and the theories behind them. 

Back in Draco’s flat she spent her time in the potions lab or his library reviewing her notes and books that she had acquired dealing with runes and alternate magical theory books she had Tippy and Mipsy bring to her from the Manor library. 

At work, she reviewed her findings and her theories with Master Bergen, who gave her suggestions based on his own experience incorporating spells and runes into potions. He was very excited about the possibilities of going in this direction and even called in Alana for her expertise and suggestions. Alana went over Hermione’s notes and gave some suggestions for adjustments in amounts of ingredients and the order in which they should be added. Hermione took those suggestions and she feverishly brewed batch after batch of potions with different combinations of runes and spells and ingredients based on those suggestions.

She visited Parkwood again in the middle of the week to witness another treatment session that Healer Marchbanks administered to her father. He usually began to remember things rapidly after the runes were written and the spells performed, but on this day, it took longer than usual for him to respond. When he did begin to show signs of a return of memory, he was irritable. He seemed to understand that something had been done to him, that magic had been used on him against his will. He hadn’t quite realized that it was Hermione who had damaged his memories, but watching him grapple with the slow return of memories and the outrage he was feeling Hermione felt the guilt stab her deeply. She wanted to kneel down and apologize, to beg her father for his forgiveness. But it had been a condition of her attendance at his healing sessions that she never interfere with the Healer’s methods or interrupt the treatment, so she bit her tongue and kept quiet. It was almost a relief when she saw the telltale signs that his memory was slipping away again and he reverted back to Wendell Wilkins.

That night, Hermione dreamed she was back at Malfoy Manor, writhing under Bellatrix Lestrange’s knife.

—

Draco set the parchment down on his lap, leaned back against the headboard of his bed and pinched his nose under his reading glasses. After his hasty orders for Justin Finch Fletchley to go to Malaysia to represent him in talks at the Bahan Ajaib headquarters, Draco had sent an entire team to Kuala Lumpur to discuss a possible trade agreement with the company. They were still in negotiations, but it was clear that Samira Lim was peeved that Draco had not deigned to come himself. She was dragging her heels on the negotiations and the team was sending increasingly desperate requests for help in closing a deal with the other company.

Draco was meant to be formulating an alternative trading plan but found he was having trouble concentrating. He glanced at the wall between his bedroom and Hermione’s. She was tying him in knots and he was ready to call an end to this fake girlfriend plan that was supposed to be an easy solution to his problems, but instead, had left his equilibrium in tatters. 

He should be in Malaysia leading the talks himself. Had Hermione been the no-strings attached fake girlfriend he had expected to have, he would have been in Kuala Lumpur days ago. What the hell was he doing here, like a lovesick puppy, constantly worried about a woman who pushed him away at every opportunity, and yet so easily drew him into her cares and concerns and needs?

The logical part knew he should end the agreement with Hermione. He could be generous. He would pay her for the year he had offered, even let her stay on in the company until she finished her work on the memory potion. She still had her flat in Cauldron Court. He would make sure that the company gave her a glowing recommendation for any other position she sought. Maybe tomorrow he could break the news to her after dinner. He felt his chest clench at the thought even as he knew this was the best course moving forward. He wanted her, but she had made it clear over and over again that she saw this as a fake arrangement and nothing more. 

He considered what he might say to Hermione. How did one break up with a fake girlfriend? Or was it the same as breaking up with a real girlfriend? And even as he considered the words he needed to say, every part of his heart was rebelling against this notion. 

“Granger, I think we should call an end to this—”

“Granger, this isn’t working out for me—”

“Granger, thank you for working with me, but—”

“Granger—fuck it!”

This last attempt was punctuated by a fruitless fist punch against his mattress. He was still deciding on what to say when he heard a scream from the next room.

He was on his feet and sprinting for the door, wand up, madly wondering how anyone could have gotten past the wards into the flat as he flung open the door to Hermione’s room.

The room was dark and she was the only one there. Draco stopped short, realizing that she was in the throes of a bad dream. Her cries were heart wrenching. Moving on instinct, Draco crossed the room and sat down on the side of Hermione’s bed, lightly shaking her. 

“I said I don’t know how we got it!” she was crying. “We never went to a vault. We don’t know anything about a vault! It—it just came to us! Please! Please don’t—noooooooo!” The cries ended on a scream as Hermione thrashed in the bed. 

Draco reached out and gathered her into his arms. “Granger! Granger! It’s just a dream! Wake up! Granger….Hermione! Shhhhh! It’s all right! You’re safe! It’s just a dream!”

Hermione shuddered, and her cries turned to whimpers, and then to sobs. 

“Shhhh! Shhhh!” Draco soothed, holding her close and gently rubbing circles on her back. Hermione’s sobs started easing up, although her breathing was still ragged. His chest was wet with her tears and her hair was tickling him under his arms, but none of this bothered him as he held her against him, rocking her like she was a small child, murmuring soothing words into her hair.

Finally, Hermione’s breathing started to calm, “Draco?” she mumbled into his chest. 

“It’s all right. You just had a bad dream,” Draco said in a low rumble.

“It—it was Bellatrix. She was torturing me again,” Hermione managed to say, but her words were not steady.

“Bellatrix is dead,” Draco said. “She’s gone. She can never hurt you again. You’re safe, Granger.”

Hermione nodded against his chest. 

“You should go back to sleep and get some rest,” Draco said. He ran a hand softly through her hair, cursing his dead aunt in his mind. She’d been insane, a sadist, a truly nasty woman. Seeing how her evil still left its mark so many years later, Draco wished for a moment she was still alive so he could kill her himself, in the most painful ways possible. 

“Okay,” Hermione breathed, but she made no move to lie back down. Draco tried to loosen his hold on her so she could lay back down but she latched onto him like a limpet. “Please—-stay with me until I’m asleep?” she begged. She was shaking a little.

Draco sighed. He wanted to hold her and he also knew that holding her was its own form of torture for him. He should be extricating himself from her in every way possible, and yet, he knew he would never be able to walk away from her when she was begging him for help. He settled himself down into her pillows, pulling her with him so she could lie down, her head against his chest, while his arms were around her. She settled against him, still breathing a little jerkily, still feeling tense.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Draco asked.

Hermione shook her head. “I just want to sleep. To forget.”

Draco patted her gently as she lay against him. “Then go to sleep, Granger. I’m here. You’re safe.”

“Draco…” Hermione sighed. Within moments, her breathing had evened out and she was asleep. 

Draco could tell she was asleep by the easing of the tension in her muscles. He wanted nothing more than to hold her for the rest of the night, but for his own sanity he knew he had to get out of her bed. He slowly eased her onto her pillows and then slid out of her bed. He leaned down and pressed a light kiss to her forehead. 

When he reached the doorway to his own room, he saw the scatter of parchments on his bed, remembering the work he was doing on finalizing a trade deal with Bahan Ajaib, and he knew he would get no work done tonight. He slipped on his dressing gown and then headed toward his Floo parlor. He threw in a pinch of Floo powder and then knelt down to stick his head through the flames to see if he might have a word with Theo, hoping his best friend could find a way to help him straighten out his thoughts.

Chapter Text

The workday ended at five and Hermione had gone back to Draco’s flat to change before heading to Nott Manor. It had been several weeks since she and Draco had joined his friends for their Friday night gatherings, and the Snakes had taken offense to this. Pansy had said, in no uncertain terms, that they were expecting the pair of them this Friday, and the owl she sent ordering them to come was just short of a Howler. 

Things between Hermione and Draco were still in an awkward limbo. She had been so grateful for his presence and assistance when her father was hospitalized, but outside the hospital, Draco had been withdrawn, almost sullen. This had only spurred her to hasten her efforts in the potions lab, wanting to finalize the memory potion before she left for good. She had even gone back to her old flat a couple times to air the place out and get it ready for her return. The visits to Cauldron Court were depressing but she knew that her situation with Draco had to end, and soon. 

Still, until things ended between them, she remained his fake girlfriend, and so when Draco told her of Pansy’s owl, she had agreed to go to Theo’s for the evening. Draco said he’d be late because he was wrapping up some things at work and for her to go first and not wait for him. Hermione arrived back at the flat at five after five and then went through her wardrobe to find something to wear to Theo’s. She settled on a mid-thigh length electric blue satin cocktail dress with spaghetti straps and beaded gold and silver accents and paired that with strappy silver heels. She left her hair down loose around her shoulders, put on a light layer of makeup and Floo’d to Nott Manor.

She’d been to Theo’s house enough times now, that when she arrived, no one was there waiting for her. She knew the way from the Floo parlor to the drawing room, so she navigated the opulent corridors until she reached the double doors of the drawing room, which were slightly ajar. Just before she reached for the door to open it, she noticed the strap was loose on her right shoe and she bent down to rebuckle it.

As she did so, she heard voices floating out from the drawing room, most notably, Pansy’s drawl. “…don’t know how long they’re going to keep that charade up.”

A voice that sounded like Daphne’s responded, but the words were spoken so softly, she couldn’t make them out.

Pansy gave a short laugh, “I seriously never thought Draco would go with the whole idea of a fake girlfriend, and you really could have knocked me over with a feather when it turned out to be Granger—”

Theo’s voice cut through. “Can we change the subject, Pans? They’re going to be here any moment!”

Pansy scoffed. “The whole thing was your bright idea to begin with, Theo. You needn’t act so sanctimoniously about it all!”

Hermione’s blood turned to ice in her veins. They knew? The Snakes knew from the start? All this time she had earnestly tried to make friends with them and they were laughing at her behind her back? Was Draco laughing with them? And worse, did they know why she had agreed to be Draco’s fake girlfriend? Were they pitying her behind her back? Was that the reason Pansy had been so insistent on getting her a new wardrobe?

Hermione was so mortified that she didn’t wait around to hear what else they would be saying about her. She just knew she would not be able to sit through a night with the Snakes and pretend all was well. She turned and retraced her steps along the corridor toward the Floo parlor, her mind a jumble and not sure where she was going. Just before she reached the Floo, she saw Luna Lovegood emerge from the flames. For a moment, Hermione was confused by her appearance before she remembered that Luna and Theo were now dating.

“Hermione!” Luna greeted with her serene smile. “How lovely to see you! I had hoped you would come today. Although, I have to say, you look a little unwell. Have you taken the tonic I gave you at Harry’s party?”

“I—um,” Hermione stammered. It was always a little disconcerting how Luna seemed to zero in on her emotional state.

“Well, it’s lovely to see you anyway. We’ve all missed you at these Friday night gatherings.”

“Really? No one else is willing to be the butt of the jokes?” Hermione asked, bitterly.

Luna’s face registered confusion. “No one has been making fun of you,” she said. “Everyone seems to like you very much.”

Hermione felt a little ashamed for having snapped at Luna, who might not have any idea of what the rest of the Snakes all seemed to know. Of course, Luna only seemed to see the best in everyone. Even after having been imprisoned and tortured at Malfoy Manor, Luna didn’t bear any animosity toward Draco or his family. Hermione both envied and pitied Luna for her lack of resentment and her generosity of spirit. 

“I’m actually leaving,” Hermione said. “As you pointed out earlier, I don’t feel well.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Luna said, peering at her a little more sharply than usual, and adding, “I hope you feel better soon.”

“Thanks,” Hermione said, as she reached for the Floo powder. 

She arrived back at Draco’s flat and stepped out of the flames. She didn’t want to stay here tonight, but she wanted to get out of the cocktail dress and heels before she decided where to go. She entered the living room and sat down on the nearest chair to undo the straps on the shoes. She’d just taken them both off when she saw Draco come down the hallway from his bedroom. He’d clearly just gotten dressed to go to Theo’s in a casual cream colored silk button down shirt and fawn summer wool slacks with dark brown Italian wing tips, looking impossibly handsome, like a model on his way to a photoshoot. He stopped short when he saw her. She thought, for a moment, that she saw a gleam of admiration in his eyes as he took in her dress before a shutter of Occlusion seemed to come down over his expression.

“I thought you’d be at Theo’s already. Were you waiting to go with me?” he asked.

Hermione glared at him and got to her feet. “They all knew?” she blurted out. She hadn’t known what she was going to say to Draco when she saw him, but this was not quite how she had meant to start the discussion.

“Who all knew what?” Draco appeared genuinely confused.

“Your friends. The Snakes. They all knew that this was a fake arrangement between us!” Hermione said. Caught off guard, he didn’t try to hide his reaction. The guilty look Draco gave her broke her heart. 

“Who told you this?”

“No one. I was there—at Nott Manor. I heard them. Your precious friends! Pansy and Daphne and Theo—“

“You were just at Nott Manor?”

“Was I supposed to stay after that? Keep on pretending while your friends made fun of me to my face?”

“They were mocking you to your face?” Draco’s eyes flashed and she saw a muscle twitch in his jaw.

“No—no, they didn’t know I’d heard them,” Hermione said. “I was about to go into the drawing room and I heard them talking and I left.”

“Are you sure you didn’t misinterpret it, then?“ 

“Pansy was crystal clear. She said she was surprised I agreed to be your fake girlfriend. Feel free to tell me how I misinterpreted that.”

“Granger—” Draco began, but Hermione cut him off.

“How could you?” she asked, unable to keep the hurt out of her voice. “All this time, I was pretending like you asked me to. I lied to all my friends. I had to act! And all the while you and your friends knew this was a fraud and you were laughing at me behind my back!”

“No one was laughing at you!” Draco insisted. “They all really like you!”

“But they knew!” Hermione retorted, squaring her shoulders, as though she was getting ready to fight. “They were all acting, too, and pretending to be happy for us, when they all knew! No wonder you lot are all called snakes! You’re all two faced and fake! Was this whole thing a cosmic joke between all of you?”

“This was never a joke!” Draco said. He looked a little desperate. “Granger—”

“Do they also know why I agreed? Do they know what you’re paying me? Did Pansy push to get me a new wardrobe so I wouldn’t embarrass you?”

“No!” Draco ground out, “They don’t know why you agreed. They think you agreed to get back at Weasley!”

“All those times I had to pretend—to kiss you in front of them and act like—like we were real—”

“Yeah, I’m sorry it was such a hardship for you, Granger,” Draco’s voice sounded bitter.

“I didn’t say it was a hardship!” Hermione burst out, surprising him. “It was—it just wasn’t fair to me that I was the only person in the room who didn’t know that everyone knew it was a charade! You all made a fool out of me! Why didn’t you just tell me they knew?”

“I didn’t tell you because if you knew they knew it was a sham you would have been even more nervous to meet them!”

“Oh, don’t try to pretend that you lied to me for my sake!”

“Fuck it, Granger,” Draco said, running a hand through his hair in frustration, “This whole fake girlfriend thing was supposed to make my life easier, not tie me in knots like this!”

“Oh, yes, let’s forget I’m the one who’s been wronged and center the problem on you!”

“You’re reading too much into this!”

“Of course you wouldn’t understand! I knew I should have ended this earlier!” Hermione said, trying to hold back her tears. “I should have left when—” her voice trailed off and she swallowed. 

“You—what?” Draco looked stunned. “What do you mean, by ‘end this earlier’? You never said—were you planning on leaving?”

Hermione sighed. “Yes.”

“But—I thought you needed the money for your parents,” Draco said. There was an undercurrent of desolation in his voice. “And I—was it so terrible here with me that you couldn’t even stay for that?”

“No,” Hermione said, her heart aching, now that the words were out, and she had let him know of her intentions. “It wasn’t because you were terrible. You weren’t. You aren’t, I mean—-”

“Was it because of that night?” Draco asked, quietly.

Hermione knew immediately that he was asking if she’d thought he had gone too far the night of the gala. They had never really talked about what had happened, but it was never far from her mind. She’d relived those moments countless times in the nights when sleep had eluded her and she wanted him so badly that she’d thought she’d go mad. She’d never dared to ask him why he’d touched her like that and then left her, afraid she wouldn’t be able to bear the answer. She’d always feared he regretted touching her, but now she wondered for the first time if he’d thought he’d hurt her. She looked down. “No. It wasn’t that. It—I mean, I had already planned to go before that.”

“Since when?”

Hermione remembered that night he kissed her at the piano. The first time he kissed her when it wasn’t for show, when she couldn’t pretend away that surge of desire she’d felt. When she realized it was killing her to pretend. She closed her eyes. How was she supposed to tell him this?

Draco seemed to have come to his own conclusions about her silence. “It was me—you just couldn’t stomach the thought of being with me.” His voice was laced with self loathing, and made Hermione’s heart twist.

“No! It’s not that!”

”Then why?”

“I—I just hated acting!” Hermione said, realizing it was both a truth and a deflection.

“You were certainly good at it,” Draco said, sourly, adding under his breath, “Too good.”

Hermione winced. “Don’t sell yourself short, Draco. Sometimes you even made me believe—” she stopped, abruptly, not wanting to admit that she wanted to believe. 

Draco gave her a sharp look. “So, then, why did you stay all this time if you meant to leave even before the gala?”

“I—” Hermione had an answer that she told herself, and she had an answer that was the actual truth. “The memory potion. I wanted to finish the potion.”

“You didn’t have to stay with me to finish the potion,” Draco said. “I know how important that potion is to you! I wouldn’t have held you hostage to this charade that was so distasteful to you.” His eyes were two shards of silver ice, piercing her heart.

But there was an accusatory note in Draco’s voice that sat ill with her. Hermione’s temper flared a little. “Don’t make me out to be the fake one! Don’t forget you were talking about me behind my back with your Snakes!”

“It’s not what you think it was!” Draco defended, sounding exasperated. “It’s not like that with them!”

“Really? It wasn’t a group project? Pansy said that the whole thing was Theo’s idea. Are you saying that the topic never came up when you were at Theo’s for dinner the other night?” Hermione challenged.

“Damn it, Granger, I was talking to him because I was trying to figure out a way to make it real!” Draco bit out, as he raked his hands through his hair in sheer frustration.

Hermione’s eyes widened and she looked at him in shock. He looked like he regretted the outburst even as his eyes met hers, pained and stark. She felt her heart leap into her throat, beating so hard she was having trouble breathing.

The shutters came down on Draco’s expression again, and his mouth twisted into a humorless smile. “Fuck!” he muttered, dropping his hands from his hair. He shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment as though he wished he could take his words back before he turned away from her, heading down the hallway toward his room.

“Draco!” the word tore out of Hermione’s throat, a desperate cry that made him still and then turn back toward her.

She met his eyes again, and she knew this was it. “I want it to be real, too,” she said, her words coming out in a hoarse whisper.

“You—do?” Draco’s gaze was incredulous. A sudden fire leapt into his eyes.

“Us—I want us to be real,” Hermione repeated, taut with trepidation. “I only wanted to leave because I didn’t think you wanted it that way—”

Before she could finish what she was going to say, Draco had come back to her side in a few swift strides. He reached for her and crashed his mouth against hers in a scorching kiss that stole her breath. There was no finesse or gentleness in his lips that were almost bruising in their intensity, there was only raw hunger and ache that seemed to have burst out of him. His lips claimed hers boldly, and he pulled her up against him, pressing her hard against his body as though he wanted to imprint himself on her in every way. His hands were in her hair, tangled in the curls, holding her as he kissed and kissed and kissed.

Crushed against his chest, Hermione grasped his shirt collar with her hands, and then snaked them up along his neck until they were slipping through his silky locks of white blond hair. She moaned into his kisses, opened for his tongue that plundered into her mouth, each stroke making her heart jolt in time as it plunged over and over, gliding over her tongue and teeth, his breath hot against her mouth. She poured every ounce of desire, and need and desperation that had pent up over the past several weeks into the kisses she gave and returned, each kiss melting into the next.

Draco’s hands moved from her hair to roam down along her back, exploring her body, her arms, the curve of her breasts, the small of her back, and finally he reached her buttocks, hauling her against him. She could feel the hardness of his erection pressing against her belly, and this realization made her feel a liquid heat start between her legs, making her moan. She slid her hands down from his hair and grasped onto his upper arms; the bunched muscles she felt under her fingertips through his silk shirt made her almost feral with want.

Draco’s lips moved from hers to kiss her down along her face, and then her neck and her shoulders, his tongue tickling against the sensitive hollow at the base of her throat as his hands came up along her shoulders, slipping the straps of her dress down along her arms. The dress glided down with a whisper of satin and landed with a clatter of the beads and sequins, and she was left standing in nothing but her lacy midnight blue thong. Draco groaned appreciatively at the sight of her bare breasts before him. 

“Fuck me, Granger, you are so beautiful,” he whispered, reverently, before he dipped his head down and took a hardened nipple into his mouth. 

Hermione almost came at the sensation of his mouth, with his heated breath and his wet tongue lapping against her breast and all around her nipple. His teeth grazed along the nipple and then he suckled, making her breath stutter. His hand was stroking the other breast, squeezing and caressing and making her skin pebble under his touch. “Draco,” she gasped, not sure what she was asking for, only knowing that she didn’t want him to stop, ever. 

“Waited so long, Granger, wanted this so long,” he muttered, as he moved away from her breast to take her lips in his again. His hands roamed down along her sides and her hips, one hand trailing down along her abdomen toward her knickers, and his fingers slid under the gusset. He sucked in his breath when he felt the wet warmth waiting for him. “Gods, you’re just perfect,” he groaned as he moved his thumb against her clit, making her cry out against him. He slipped one, then another finger into her needy cunt, pumping a few times and making her breath ragged, before he pulled his hand out. 

Hermione’s eyes flew open and she whimpered in protest, but Draco had put his hands under her backside and lifted her up against him so that her legs wrapped around his. “The first time I take you I want you on satin sheets where you belong, Granger,” he murmured into her mouth as he carried her down the hall to his bedroom. 

Hermione felt the world tilt as he laid her down on his bed, but she had her arms around his neck and as he tried to pull away to straighten up, she snaked her hands around to his front and grabbed onto his shirt, her fingers trembling as she began to undo the buttons. Draco shrugged out of his shirt and Hermione’s eyes widened as she greedily drank in the perfection of his chest and abdomen and arms. It had been weeks since she’d last seen him shirtless, and although she hadn’t forgotten how breathtaking he looked, seeing him now before her still stunned her. He was broad shouldered, with well defined muscles along his arms and torso, and a mouthwatering Adonis belt.  A network of faded scars crossed his chest, the remnants of Harry’s Sectumsempra curse, but the scars only enhanced the beauty of the silken skin and hard muscle underneath. His Dark Mark stood out starkly on the skin of his left forearm, but he made no move to hide it, and she liked the idea that he was baring all of himself to her. She sat up and pressed a kiss to his chest, licking against his nipple and Draco gasped before he pushed her back down on the bed.

“Not yet, Granger,” he gritted out, “I won’t be able to hold back if you do that now.” He reached down and tugged her legs forward until her buttocks were at the edge of the bed, and then he slid her knickers off, pulling her legs apart before he sank down, nudging her knees apart with his shoulders. 

Hermione clutched at the satiny duvet covers with her hands, scrambling for some kind of hold as Draco began to lick her inner thighs, making her tremble with desire and anticipation. His breath, hot against her core, was almost too much for her, but when he suddenly dragged his tongue through her folds she almost shot off the bed. “Oh my gods, Draco!” she cried out, panting, straining against his hands that were holding her thighs apart, holding her down, forcing her to stay in place as he tortured her with his tongue, as his merciless nips against her clit made her legs twitch involuntarily. She was writhing, crying out incoherently now, the pleasure building in wave after wave under his relentless onslaught. Her hands were now in his hair, grasping at the pale locks, pulling, desperate. And then he slipped his fingers into her cunt, pumping and curling against her walls and she came hard, screaming his name, crying out, “Fuck! Draco! Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes! Draco!!!”

He gave a low chuckle of satisfaction as he finally pulled away, leaving her in a wanton mess of post orgasmic bliss. She opened her eyes and looked into his beautiful face, his finely moulded mouth curved into a smirk of satisfaction, his gray eyes hazy with desire. She was finding it hard to believe that this was real, that what she had fantasized about and wanted and dreamed of for so many weeks was now a reality and it was so much better than anything her imagination had ever conjured. She sat up as he rose above her and she reached for his belt buckle and his trousers. Draco kicked his shoes off, moved to help her, and stepped out of his pants in one swift movement, letting his cock spring free. 

Hermione’s eyes widened again as she moved to touch his cock, her hand reaching out to gently stroke against the velvet skin encasing his hard length. It was large and thick, with a slight curve, a duskier pink color than the rest of his skin, and she licked her lips in anticipation, mesmerized. 

“Like what you see, love?” Draco asked in a husky voice, confident in his own desirability, which only made Hermione shiver and moan. “Move up back against the pillows,” he commanded, and she slid back up along the bed until she was ensconced between the pillows and shams at the head of the bed.

Draco climbed on the bed and followed her up, reaching to capture her lips, gently pressing her down against his pillows as his hands came up to cup her face, his arms now bracketing her shoulders. She could feel his body against hers, now with no barrier of clothes, and his skin was satiny and warm. There was something so intimate about the touch, feeling the press of his torso, the ridge of his ribs against hers, the coarse hairs of his legs against her calves as his lips nipped and nibbled against hers. She felt her legs open to let him come closer against her. His tongue traced along her lower lip before coming into her mouth again in hot, open mouthed kisses that were making her frantic to have him inside her.

“Please,” she begged, “I need you.”

“Anything for you, love,” Draco’s voice was thick with desire, and a hint of amusement. The tip of his cock pressed against the outer folds of her pussy and she felt him line up and notch against her entrance before he plunged into her with a swift stroke that made them both cry out from the sudden sensation. 

“Fuck, you feel so good. Such a good girl, taking all of me so well,” Draco’s breath tickled against her ear as he whispered filthy praises and plunged in and out, slowly at first and then picking up speed to a rhythm that had them both moaning with pleasure. “You’re mine, mine, mine…”

“Draco…” Hermione breathed his name out as he fucked her, stretching her, filling her, imprinting his body on her. His body and his breath were so hot against her skin, he seemed to burn her everywhere he touched. He was watching her as he thrust, intensely studying her reaction to his every movement, rolling his hips until she suddenly gasped, feeling him hit a spot that sent electricity through her nerves, and he honed in there, hitting that spot again and again, eliciting moan after moan from her. She could feel the slow, sensual buildup of her orgasm begin, and she begged, “Don’t stop….don’t….yes! Right there! Please, please…!”

“I’ve got you,” Draco promised, growling into her hair, taking her over and over with each plunge, each snap of his hips. “You can do it, love. Come for me!”

Hermione cried out again, her walls clenching hard against his cock as she came bucking underneath him, riding out her orgasm as he continued to pound into her. 

“One more, love,” Draco coaxed, now picking up his pace. He pulled her leg up over his shoulder, and this angle brought him closer and deeper than she ever would have believed possible. 

Hermione was now panting, writhing, clutching and scratching at Draco’s back as she felt, impossibly, another orgasm build inside her. She had never come more than once with sex and now Draco was bringing her to the brink of a third. She came again on a hoarse cry, calling his name in thankfulness and ecstasy, feeling wave after wave of the orgasm through a sudden, relentless banging just before Draco came inside her with a groan and she could feel him filling her with his hot cum.

He stilled, slumping a little against her, but still careful not to crush her and then he kissed her, gently, tenderly, his lips lightly nipping at hers, holding her as though she was the most precious thing in the world to him. “That was amazing, love,” he murmured. “You’re amazing.”

Hermione was still processing the aftermath of her third, explosive orgasm and for a moment, she could barely form words. Finally, she managed to whisper, “I’ve never come like that before. It was magical.”

“Speaking of magic,” Draco said. He briefly pulled away from her which made Hermione whimper, but before the whimper could grow into a full fledged protest, he reached down to the floor to grab his wand and cast a quick contraceptive charm on her. He then lay down next to her and pulled her toward him, holding her body tightly against his. 

Hermione had never felt so warm and cherished and sated all at once before. She melted into his hold, relishing the feel of his arms around her. She rested her head against his shoulders and closed her eyes. 

“All right, there, love?” Draco whispered, pressing a gentle kiss on the crown of her head.

Hermione snuggled in closer against him. “It was perfect, Draco,” she mumbled, and then, slid into a boneless, and contented sleep.

—

Hermione didn’t know how long she’d been asleep, but when she opened her eyes again, it was still dark. The room was lit by the glow of the city lights outside the open window, and a light breeze was coming in from outside, and she saw that she was in Draco’s room, in his bed. She was under the covers, on her side, spooned against him. His arm was draped over her, his hand gently kneading at her breast as he nuzzled his face against the back of her neck. From her backside, she could feel him hard against her. She swallowed and then wriggled a little in his hold. The hand that was on her breast stilled and then he purred in her ear, “Sleep well, love?”

“Ummm,” Hermione nodded sleepily, as she burrowed herself back closer to him. His hand moved from her breast and then down along her body in between her legs, stroking at her clit and the entrance to her cunt, making her writhe deliciously, grinding her backside against his cock.

Draco chuckled darkly, “Wet and ready already, darling?” He plunged his fingers into her and she gasped, squirming against the invasion that was already making her breath come in short, needy pants. 

She reached behind her, and grasped his cock and he hissed when she passed her thumb over the tip, feeling the slick of his precum. She pumped along his length slowly, feeling him twitch in her hand and she smiled, liking the heady feeling that she could affect him this way. 

Draco pulled her hand away and reached to pull her leg up, opening her so he could position himself up against her cunt. He entered her from behind, filling her swiftly, making her gasp, and then he pulled out and plunged in slowly, almost languidly. She closed her eyes savoring the feel of him filling her up and moaned softly. He turned her face toward him, and kissed her deeply, as he continued fucking her slowly, each plunge making her whimper, wanting more. His hand moved down toward her clit again and now she suddenly felt something a little cold and hard against her clit. 

“You‘ll like this,” he whispered. And before she had done more than dimly register that this was his Malfoy signet ring she was feeling, it began to vibrate. Her reaction was immediate. She began to buck and thrash, moving her hips against him faster and faster, the waves of pleasure she was feeling building up into more and more intense pressure until she came screaming his name again as her walls clenched around him. 

But he wasn’t done. He took his ring away from her just long enough for the last spasms of her orgasm to subside before he brought it back again, and this time it took barely a few seconds before a second orgasm washed over her, even harder than the first. She felt him suddenly speed up his thrusts, hitting spots no one had reached before, making her almost delirious from the combination of his fucking and the aftershocks of her orgasm, before she felt him cum in her with a roar against the back of her neck. And then she finally felt herself go limp, her limbs going liquid as she fell back against his body, both of them sweat soaked and sated.

He traced lazy circles over her body with his hands, his breath tickling her ears. “Gods, everything about you is perfect, Granger. Do you know how hot you sound when you come?”

Hermione felt herself blush in the darkness. She had never been called hot before. And to have Draco tell her this made her heart leap almost painfully in her chest. She twisted her upper body and her face toward him and kissed him deeply. He answered her kiss with a groan, kissing her back, cupping her face in his hands, kissing her slowly, leisurely, thoroughly.

From somewhere in the distance, she heard a car horn sound, the noise jolting them slightly from their kissing, and then Draco suddenly chuckled and said, “I want to stay and fuck you all night long, love, but I’m also starving. Let’s get cleaned up and get something to eat, Granger.”

Chapter Text

The sun was already bright in the sky when Hermione woke the next morning. It took a moment for her to come out of disorientation and to realize she was in Draco’s room, in Draco’s bed and in Draco’s arms. She felt a small frisson of pleasure work its way through her system, as she inhaled Draco’s citrusy, woodsy smell, now mixed with the scents of musk and sex. His arms held her firmly against him and her head was pillowed on his broad chest. 

Savoring the feel of being held by him, Hermione allowed her mind to drift to the night before. After their second round of sex they had gotten into the shower and spent a pleasurable hour exploring each other’s bodies under the guise of lathering and rinsing. Hermione was fascinated by the opulence of Draco’s private en-suite, which she’d never seen before, including all the water settings in his rainfall shower and the plethora of cleaning products, soaps, shampoos, conditioners, moisturizers, hair gels, and lotions he had. (“The vanity!” she’d teased, tugging on a bit of Draco’s now-wet hair. “Are you going to tell me you don’t like what you see, Granger?” Draco had returned with a smirk.) Draco seemed especially fascinated by Hermione’s hair and the regimen she used to care for her curls. It didn’t seem he could get enough of running his fingers through her locks. And Hermione discovered there was a decadent sort of intimacy in standing skin to skin with Draco under the shower head and kissing him while warm water sluiced over their bodies.

Out of the shower, they had a short debate on calling the elves to make something this late at night versus ordering takeaway which Hermione won by straddling Draco’s lap and kissing him into silence. They ordered Chinese and then sat on the couches in the living room alternating their time between eating, kissing, and just chatting lightly. 

Crookshanks, who had been absent all evening, made an appearance at this point. He pounced onto Hermione’s lap, claws digging lightly through the thin silk of the dressing gown Hermione was wearing, before he settled himself on her legs and then peered curiously and hopefully at the food on the coffee table. Normally, Hermione was very strict about feeding Crookshanks table food, but tonight she was in an indulgent mood and the half Kneazle was treated to sesame chicken and bits of beef and broccoli. He gave his approval with a series of deep purrs while she petted him. Hermione, who by now was sitting with her back against Draco’s chest as he played with her hair—he was practically petting her, as well—felt she could purr from contentment, too. 

Hermione had expected they might go for another round of lovemaking after dinner, but she was so comfortable sitting in Draco’s arms with her cat on her lap, and now a full belly, that at some point, she closed her eyes and swiftly slipped into sleep. 

She had no memory of being moved off the sofa or of being carried down the hallway. It wasn’t until she was awakened by the sunlight that she realized what had happened. Now, awake, she stirred, and felt a deliciously unfamiliar soreness and achiness throughout her body that was a testament to how she had spent last night. 

As soon as she moved, Draco moved as well. She looked into his handsome face, taking in the sharp planes of his features and the mesmerizing silver of his eyes. She had never seen him look this relaxed and contented before. His lips curved into a smile. “Morning,” he murmured.

Hermione smiled back, reaching up a hand toward his face, her fingertips tentative as they grazed the almost invisible stubble on his jaw. “It’s real,” she whispered, as she caressed his cheek.

“Real?” Draco repeated.

“It’s real. We’re real,” Hermione said. “This is real.”

Draco chuckled. “I should hope so. But if this is a dream, I hope I never wake up.” He tilted his face forward and kissed her softly. 

Hermione twisted to angle her face better as she kissed him back, and her hip grazed his erection. She grinned and slid her hand over his cock, “Good morning to you, too,” she said, stroking it under the covers.

Draco smiled lazily, “Keep that up, Granger, and there might be consequences.”

She gave him a wicked smile back. “I’ll take my chances,” she said, and then before he could react, she shoved the covers down and dove her head down to take his cock into her mouth. 

Draco gasped his pleasure and she felt his cock twitch in her hold. She began to lick, swirling her tongue along the tip as she continued to stroke him and she watched how his body reacted to her ministrations. It was a heady feeling to have this power over him. To know she was holding his pleasure in her mouth. She made runes with her tongue up and down the shaft and then she took him into her mouth as deep as she could and heard him cry out. His hands were in her hair, and his hips jerked involuntarily. 

“Merlin and Morgana, that feels so good, Hermione!” he gritted out, as she went particularly deep at one point.

Hermione suddenly stopped what she was doing, pulled her head back, and started to laugh.

Disconcerted, Draco, lifted his head from the pillows. “What’s the matter?” he asked, “Why did you stop? What’s so funny?”

“After all this time,” Hermione said between gasps of mirth, “this is finally what it took for you to say my name?”

Draco gave a reluctant chuckle as his head flopped back on his pillow. “Oh, fuck, Hermione, stop torturing me!”

“Yes sir, Mr. Malfoy,” Hermione smirked, before she took him back into her mouth and went to work turning his protests into moans. 

After he finally came into her mouth with a shout of pleasure while spasmodically jerking his hips, he pulled her back up toward him and kissed her until she was breathless. 

“You promise to do that again, and I’ll call you Hermione every day for the rest of your life,” he pledged, planting nibbling kisses down along her neck.

—

Draco would have happily spent the weekend holed up in the flat, and curled around Hermione in some form or another, but after a very pleasurable morning shower together, Hermione wanted to go out and enjoy the beautiful day. It was a mild day for mid-August, with a bright sun and playfully light breezes that chased away the usual late summer mugginess and oppressive heat. Hermione proposed a morning jaunt to the British Museum, followed by a picnic lunch somewhere in Hyde Park. “We can spread out a picnic blanket on the grass, have some wine and snog a bit,” Hermione suggested with a kiss, which short-circuited Draco’s objections immediately. 

The elves arrived to make Saturday morning breakfast for them, and neither Mipsy nor Tippy was subtle about what they saw.

“Master and Miss is kissing!” Mipsy squeaked when she Apparated into the flat and found them entangled together on the living room sofa. The couple in question were so startled they fell off the sofa. Draco was chagrined and more than a little annoyed, but Hermione dissolved into embarrassed giggles from where she was sprawled on the rug, which turned Draco’s annoyance into reluctant amusement.

“We has been waiting for this for so long!” Tippy seconded with a squeal, clasping his hands together in excitement. 

“So long?” Draco asked as he helped Hermione to get back on her feet. “How long are you talking about?”

“Since Miss Hermione is moving into the flat,” Mipsy said, as though it was obvious. “We has been waiting for you two to stop being so silly for months, now.”

Before Draco could object to being called silly by the elves, Tippy asked if they would like to eat in the breakfast nook or up on the deck, and Hermione said, “Oh, deck, please! It’s so lovely outside! I want to enjoy every minute of the day.”

“Yes, Miss Hermione!” Mipsy said, and with a crack! the elves Apparated away to take their breakfast to the deck.

“Now, where were we?” Draco asked, turning to Hermione with a slightly wolfish grin. He pulled her into his arms, lifting her to sit on one of the bar stools by the kitchen counter to bring her up to a closer height with him, and within moments they were lost in another deep kiss that left them both deaf and blind to the world around them.

A whooshing sound came from the direction of the Floo foyer, but neither Draco nor Hermione registered it until they heard a groan. “Oh, Salazar! It’s nine in the morning, you two!”

Both Draco and Hermione turned at this. “Theo!” Draco said. “What are you doing here?”

Theo managed to look both chagrined and amused at the same time. “Well, I actually came to apologize.” He shot Hermione a contrite look. “Luna told me you heard us talking last night—Granger, I’m so sorry. We had no right to gossip about you, and I swear we were not making fun of you. We all love you, and enjoy your company. We—we just—well, we were all rooting for you and Draco to—to be happy together. And…it seems that things are progressing pretty well on that front with the two of you….but in any case, I apologize for upsetting you, Granger.”

__

Hermione said nothing for a moment. The memory of what she had witnessed at Nott Manor the night before had been completely forgotten in the face of all that had happened with Draco afterward, but now, that rush of shame and hurt came back with Theo’s apology. It wasn’t just that they talked about her behind her back, but that everyone had participated in concealing the fact that they knew it had started off as a sham relationship. That really was Draco’s fault, and she turned from Theo to give her lover a stern look. “You still haven’t apologized to me for hiding the fact that they all knew,” she said.

Draco had the grace to look ashamed. “You’re right, Hermione. I should have told you the truth. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have hurt you like that.”

Hermione frowned at him, although it was really hard to sustain any sort of indignation and anger when he was standing before her looking so contrite, and so damn hot at the same time. “Don’t keep secrets like that from me again,” she said, before she turned back to Theo. 

Like with Draco, Hermione knew she should be furious with Theo and all the Snakes. Still, there was something mollifying that Theo would voluntarily come to apologize, and he had sounded sincere and contrite. She gave Theo a piercing gaze. He was shifting uneasily and biting his lower lip as he awaited her judgment. She finally said, “You did hurt my feelings. And if you really want to be my friend you have to promise not to hide things like this and gossip behind my back any more.”

“I’m sorry and I promise never again.”

“I forgive you then.”

Theo sighed and then gave Hermione his irrepressible grin. “Thank you, Granger. That’s such a relief.” And then he turned and stuck his head into the Floo and shouted, “The coast is clear, come on through!”

To Hermione’s and Draco’s astonishment, the Floo roared to life again, and suddenly, Luna, Pansy, Blaise, Daphne and Neville came through, all looking a little sheepish.

“We missed you last night,” Pansy said, tartly, without preamble. 

“Pans!” Theo admonished, glaring at her. “You haven’t even—” he gesticulated toward Draco and Hermione.

Pansy’s lip curled and she sighed. “You’re right,” she conceded to Theo. She turned to Hermione. “Granger, whatever you heard, I wasn’t making fun of you or Draco. I’m sorry if I upset you. But, honestly, since you now know we knew it was a fake dating arrangement, it’s hardly the worst thing in the world if we think the two of you should just admit to each other that you’re mad about each other and put the rest of us out of our misery having to watch you pretend to pretend.”

Hermione’s lip curled. “Pansy, that’s probably the worst apology I’ve ever gotten, and I dated Ron Weasley once. But—fine.”

“We’re good then, Granger?” Pansy clarified.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Pansy was and always would be incorrigible. The rest of the group mumbled a collective apology as well, except for Luna, who beamed at them and said, “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” She then turned to Hermione and said, “Your aura is really glowing today, Hermione. And all the Wrackspurts are completely gone! You must have had plenty of really good sex last night.”

While Hermione was spluttering, and Draco was smirking in a way that should have been illegal, the elves reappeared in the kitchen and then squealed in delight on seeing the guests. 

“Master Draco, you didn’t tell us you was expecting friends!” Mipsy said, a little reproachfully. 

“I didn’t know I was,” Draco said with a pointed glance at his gatecrashing friends.

”Mipsy, my dear, you are looking especially lovely today,” Theo said, admiring the elf’s lime green sequined tracksuit, which made the little elf preen delightedly.

“Thank you, Master Theo.”

“Welcome!” Tippy added. “We has breakfast on the deck! Give us a moment and we will add more plates and seats for your party!”

“Wait, it’s not a party!” Draco protested, but the elves had Disapparated again and Draco found himself shouting at an empty spot in the kitchen.

“Oooh! Breakfast!” Theo said, completely ignoring Draco as he headed for the stairs. Like a herd of lemmings, the others followed, trouping through the living room and heading for the stairs at the back of the flat.

“Fuck! I’m supposed to be in bed getting shagged, not hosting that lot!” Draco grumbled. 

Hermione was now shaking with laughter as she watched their unexpected guests disappear up the stairwell. She wrapped her arms around Draco’s waist and said, “I’m happy to do anything as long as I’m doing it with you.”

Draco’s sour mood disappeared and he gave Hermione a look of unaffected fondness that made her heart give a little lurch of pleasure. “You’re right. I’m happy just to be with you. But I’m kicking that lot out after an hour. I want the rest of my day to be just with you.”

__

After what Hermione considered to be the best weekend of her life, it was hard for her to leave Draco’s arms and head into work the following Monday, but, reluctantly, they both agreed that it would be a bad look if both of them skived off work that day. As she got dressed, Hermione reminded herself that there were exciting things underfoot with her potions project and instead of going to Malfoy Holdings, she went to St. Mungo’s, where she met her first patient of the day, a man who had agreed to take part in an experimental trial to recover his lost memories.

The patient was a Muggle, a middle aged man named Thom Ford, who had been hit with the Oblivion curse several months ago in Swansea. Before he’d been cursed, he had been a fisherman with a wife and four children. With the curse, he had experienced complete memory loss of his self identity: he didn’t remember who he was and he didn’t recognize people or places he’d known all his life. He couldn’t remember plots of stories he’d read or movies he’d seen. Strangely, though, even though he could not remember ever being trained to fish, once he had been brought on board his boat, he seemed to know exactly what to do, how to operate the boat and the lines and the nets. He knew how to drive a car and bake a casserole, and he knew instinctively how to get from his home to the local shops, but he had no memories of learning any of these things.

The Healers had very limited success in treating patients like Thom, who now filled an entire ward in St. Mungo’s, which had been retrofitted to look like a Muggle medical facility. A separate, street level entrance had been created for families of these Obliviated Muggles to visit their loved ones, but their numbers had only been increasing. To add urgency to the situation, Luna disclosed that in the past two weeks they’d gotten three separate cases of wizards and witches arriving with the same symptoms. The three new cases were all discovered in different parts of the country, and the only common factor among the three new cases was that they were all Muggleborns.

In discussions with Healer Marchbanks and Luna’s supervisor, and the St. Mungo’s investigative research committee, Hermione had suggested trying out her potion with the Healer’s runes and spells to see if the combination of treatments might work. The experimental protocol had been approved, by both the St. Mungo’s review board and Master Bergen (who had reviewed Hermione’s notes and been very enthusiastic about the possibilities). 

The memory potion had become an item of interest in Master Bergen’s lab since Hermione had put forth the idea of adding runes to the potion making, and Alana, who had refused to handle experimental potions for decades, had surprised everyone by volunteering to assist Hermione with the trials at St Mungo’s. Master Bergen, though, had felt that Nicholas Babbington, the other Muggleborn Senior Potions Analyst, would be better suited to dealing with Muggles than Alana, and so the younger researcher accompanied Hermione to St. Mungo’s as she began to put her potions hypothesis to the test.

The hospital research team assigned Hermione eighteen patients, and the patients were assigned into one of three groups. One group was given potions and spells. The second group was treated with potions in which runes had been incorporated during the potion-making and the third group was treated with a combination of rune-enriched potions and spells. 

Hermione asked patient Ford a series of questions about himself and Nicholas recorded the answers. Ford was part of the research arm that would receive the rune enriched potions and spells and Hermione needed to get a baseline. The first dose of potion was administered and then, under Healer Marchbanks’ directions, Hermione cast the memory reversal spells. The patient was allowed to rest for an hour and then brought back for questioning.

He remembered nothing new.

The same was true of all the other test subjects that they worked on that day. Hermione told herself not to despair. That even with negative results, she could use the setback to re-evaluate her potion, the runes used and the spells to see if different combinations of things might make a difference. 

She and Nicholas packed up the potions and notebooks they had brought with them, and bid the Healers goodbye. As they headed down the rabbit warren of corridors to the nearest Floo, she and Nicholas discussed the mystery of the Obliviations. She was curious to hear Nicholas’ opinion on the topic, as he was the only other Muggleborn Senior Potions analyst and had a chemistry PhD from Cambridge University in addition to his potions mastery. 

Nicholas was a quiet man, ten years older than Hermione. His Muggle parents had been killed in a raid led by Fenrir Greyback just two days before the Battle of Hogwarts. Nicholas had managed to escape and save his much younger sister, who was now in her last year at Hogwarts. He had wanted to find ways to integrate potion making with chemistry, but had not been taken seriously by anyone until Master Bergen recruited him for the Potions position, and Draco had agreed to supply him with advanced Muggle equipment like mass spectrometers, chromatographs and centrifuges. Despite Master Bergen’s enthusiasm for learning new methods of potion making, Nicholas was regarded as an oddity in the lab. Alana and Sergei both refused to go anywhere near Nicholas’ corner of the lab, and eyed his modern Muggle equipment with the fear most people reserved for live grenades. 

However, since he had studied in a Muggle university, he had a good working knowledge of modern genetics, and Hermione was anxious to hear his opinion on their research.

“Why are Muggles and Muggleborns the only ones Obliviated? Is it a spell? A potion? A combination?” Hermione speculated. “And do you think that it only affects Muggles and Muggleborns or if this curse or potion affects everyone but it was Muggles and Muggleborns that were specifically targeted?”

“It would be interesting if it only affected Muggles and Muggleborns,” Nicholas said. “I mean, it would give credence to the Pureblood theory that we ‘steal’ their magic somehow, if it could be proved that there was a biological difference between us and them.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Hermione said, “We’re all just people in the end. With the number of Muggleborns who have married into wizarding society, you’d think that any differences in genetics would be gone by now.”

Nicholas shrugged. “It’s curious why Muggleborns like us come about, don’t you think? In my family, there’s no record of any witch or wizard going back five generations, or at least, I don’t think so. And yet, in my generation both my sister and I have magic. What of your family?”

Hermione shook her head. “No, Mum and Dad had a very hard time accepting what Professor McGonagall said when she came to tell them about my letter. We have none in our family. But I always considered magical genes to be a combination of genes rather than one dominant or one recessive gene controlling all magic. It’s like the tumblers in a lock. If you get the right combination you get a witch or wizard and if you don’t then you get a Muggle or a Squib. And even among Muggles and Squibs, I’d theorize there are people who are deemed not magical enough to get a Hogwarts letter but still have some small magical ability that can’t be explained in normal scientific terms.”

“True, that’s likely, but after generations of not getting a magical child, what made our parents have us? Just a lucky combination of genes? Or was there something more? A mutation that made these genes activate?” Nicholas theorized. “Or perhaps we’re looking at it backwards; perhaps all people are born with magical genes and there’s a suppressor gene that keeps the vast majority of humans from being magical. And it’s this suppressor gene that the spell or potion is targeting? If we posit that magical folk don’t have this suppressor gene but Muggles do and Muggleborns have the gene but it’s been mutated somehow, then this could be something that the curse or spell or potion could target.”

Hermione’s eyes grew large. “That could be it. Maybe whoever’s behind these attacks have found out that Muggleborns and Muggles have a suppressor gene and they’re afraid that if the vast majority of people find out that they have inherent magic that’s being suppressed that they could target those genes and treat them and turn magic—that would terrify the Pureblood purists, because if everyone was special and magical, then magic would no longer be special.”

They had reached the Floo connection by now and, as it was the end of the work day, they bid each other goodnight. Nicholas called out his home address and stepped into the flames. Hermione followed and called out Draco’s office, since she knew he would still be at work. 

Draco was at his desk when Hermione entered his office. His head was bent and his brow was furrowed in concentration as he went through what appeared to be a mountain of parchment and scrolls. Hermione paused as she came out of the Floo to admire him; even working on mundane tasks he managed to look elegant and mouthwateringly handsome. He looked up when he heard the noise heralding Hermione’s arrival and his expression instantly changed to one of lazy amusement. He stood up. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Granger,” he said.

“I thought it was Hermione,” she protested as she crossed the expansive office toward his desk.

Draco grinned as he came around his desk. He leaned against the polished mahogany with his arms crossed, waiting for her to come to him. “Maybe you need to earn that,” he teased.

Hermione’s eyes widened at the challenge. Without breaking her stride, she cast a Collaportus on the office door and a Muffliato on the office itself. It was past five and Hermione knew that most of the executive level staff had already gone home, but she didn’t want to take any chances. She reached Draco and swiftly cast a cushioning charm on the floor before she sank to her knees and placed one hand on the front of his trousers, feeling through the layers of fabric at the hardening cock underneath, with the other hand poised at the zipper in the placket. She looked up at him through her eyelashes and saw Draco swallow, visibly shaken and aroused at the same time. His earlier insouciance now replaced by a heated tension that made her breath come shallowly. 

“Shall I go on?” she asked.

“Don’t you dare tease me, Hermione,” Draco’s voice was husky with desire, and his knuckles were white as they gripped the side of his desk. 

Hermione gave him a very saucy grin as she pulled down the zipper and went to work.

Twenty minutes later, Hermione was on her back on the couch where she had once sat to sign her employment contract and Draco’s face was buried between her legs as he returned the favor. Draco’s fingers and tongue were very deft and he paid careful attention to the way Hermione responded to his touch. Already, he was learning what she liked and using it to draw out sensations that were making her wild. After a few minutes, Hermione was too lost in pleasure to remember her own name, but the last thought she had before she surrendered to the mindless euphoria was, “I’m in so much trouble.”

Draco coaxed her through three mind blowing orgasms before he finally gathered her up in his arms and held her against him as they sat on the couch together. With her head nestled against Draco’s shoulder, Hermione looked up toward the wall above the fireplace and realized that the previous Matisse painting had been removed, and a new painting had been put in its place. The new painting depicted a street cafe on a busy cobblestoned street. It was of a modernist style, much like the Matisse had been, but there was nothing so special about it as to justify the removal of the Matisse.

“What happened to the other painting?” she asked.

Draco smiled. “This is the Ajax Callahan I won at the silent auction at the Mid Summer gala.”

“This?” Hermione narrowed her eyes and regarded the painting again. On second viewing, she noted the vibrancy of the colors in the painting. Though there was no one in the painting, she had the sense that the painting was beckoning her to have a seat at the cafe, to drink the coffee and eat one of the croissants on the table. The lighting shifted a little as though clouds were slightly blocking the sun. It was very enticing, but she still didn’t understand why Draco had been so insistent about buying it.

“You don’t like it?” Draco asked.

“Well—it’s—“

“Do you know why this painting is special?” Draco asked.

“I—“ Hermione shook her head.

“It’s called Kaleidoscope,” Draco said. He summoned a book from the bookshelf next to the credenza on the other side of the office. The book flew into Draco’s outstretched hand. Draco then turned to Hermione and said, “If you could take something out of the painting, what would you take out?”

Hermione blinked. “Take out?”

“Just take something out of the painting. You could remove anything.”

“Okay,” Hermione shrugged. “The cafe chair in the front.”

Draco smiled. “Chair it is.” He took his wand and tapped the painting and said. “Facere Commercialis!”

The painting shimmered, and Draco reached into the painting, and put the book down on the cafe table in the front and at the same time, pulled the chair out of the painting. 

Hermione gasped as a beautiful wrought-iron chair was suddenly wrenched out of the painting. But the painting began to change. It rearranged itself into a cacophony of shapes and colors and then rearranged itself again into an opulent study with a handsome carved desk, large, walnut bookcases along the wall and plush chairs. The book Draco had added into the painting now sat atop the desk as though someone had just read it and left it there to be finished at a later time. The painting style had also changed from Modernist to Renaissance with deep, rich oil colors.

Hermione gave a delighted laugh. “So, this picture can completely rearrange itself  every time you add something and take something out?”

“Yes. You can only take something out if you’ve added something in, but you can add something without removing anything.”

“Where do all the objects go if we can’t see them in the frame?”

Draco shook his head. “It’s like the Room of Requirement, only nothing sentient can go in or out of the painting. Anything else is fair game. If you want something to stay in the painting even after the painting rearranges itself you can add the spell Noli Molveris. You want to try it?”

Hermione nodded, straightening out her clothes and pulling out her wand. “Ok. Let’s put the chair back and I’ll take out that feather quill on the desk. What was the spell again?”

“Facere Commercialis!”

Hermione repeated the spell and placed the wrought iron chair back into the painting, then reached in to take the quill off the desk. It was a strange feeling, putting her hand through the painting. It was like moving through syrupy molasses. But her fingers touched the quill and she was able to pull it from the painting. As Hermione studied the quill, the painting itself rearranged again and now it was in Impressionist style. It depicted a stone terrace with a table and the iron chair she’d replaced. The terrace itself overlooked a beautifully landscaped garden that was filled with lush flowers and ponds with stone pathways and fairy lights. Hermione gasped in delight. 

“I know, it’s tempting to keep going on and on,” Draco said, smiling. “When I first put the painting in the office I think I put in and swapped out about twenty things.”

“Does it ever show the same scene?” Hermione asked as she examined the pheasant feather quill in her hand. It was beautiful, shimmering and the ink on the nib was so new that it left a stain on her fingers.

“I don’t know. It hasn’t, yet.”

“What if there’s a scene you particularly like? Could you get it back?”

“No. The parchment of instructions that came with the painting didn’t say anything about that.”

Hermione gazed at the picture a little longer and then twirled her fingers, wandlessly creating a small bouquet of bluebells.

“Did you just do silent, wandless magic, Granger?” Draco asked, admiringly.

Hermione smiled. “I’m not as good at it as I’d like to be. The year I was on the run with Harry and Ron I tried practicing wandless and silent magic in case I was captured. I started with charms because they seemed to be the easiest thing, so I can create flowers and conjure things like pebbles, like this.”

Hermione flicked her fingertips and a scattering of small malachite pebbles emerged, clattering to the ground and scattering everywhere. 

Draco picked one up. It was a beautiful, polished rock of varying banded hues of green. “Was the green for my sake?”

Hermione beamed. “Of course. The problem is that I was trying to work my way up to being able to do defensive and offensive spells wandlessly and silently, and I was never great at them. I can occasionally get Expelliarmus to work, but for the rest,” she shrugged. She cast the spell for the painting again and added the bluebells and the pebbles into the painting, which immediately shifted into a fractured patchwork of modern art that incorporated the colors of the bluebells and pebbles.

“Granger, you’re welcome to do this as long as you’d like, but may I suggest we have something to eat? I skipped lunch to run some last minute meetings and I’m starving.”

“You want to eat here?”

“I used to do it all the time,” Draco said. “I’ll just have the elves bring our supper here from the flat. Tippy!”

Tippy Apparated with a crack! “Tippy, bring our supper here, please,” Draco ordered.

Tippy bowed. “Of course, Master Draco.” 

The little elf was about to leave when suddenly, Hermione said, “Oh, wait, Tippy! Could you please bring me a green apple, too?”

“Anything you likes, Miss Hermione!” Tippy squeaked. He disappeared to fetch their supper.

“Green apple?” Draco asked. “What for?”

Tippy returned with dinner just then, which he laid out on the coffee table in front of them. “Your apple, Miss,” he said, handing the apple to Hermione.

“Thank you, Tippy,” Hermione said.

“Yes, thank you. That will be all,” Draco said.

The little elf Disapparated.

Hermione took the apple and her wand and approached the picture. She repeated the spell to add an object to the painting and to keep it in place and then she placed the apple on the table that had been set out on the terrace.

Immediately, the painting shifted and now showed a farm kitchen table filled with plates and bowls. A large fruit basket sat on the table and was filled with bananas, pineapples, oranges, and the green apple Hermione had added into the picture. 

“What was that for?” Draco asked.

“For when you’re too busy for a meal but you want a snack,” Hermione said with a grin. She leaned forward to give him a kiss. “I know green apples are your favorite.”

“They’re not my favorite snack, Granger,” Draco said, kissing her back and then lightly licking the side of her cheek. “I can think of something so much tastier.”

Chapter Text

The Patronus came in the middle of the night. A silvery jackalope bounded into Draco’s bedroom, startling awake the occupants of the room with Luna Lovegood’s gentle, dulcet tones.

“Hermione, you must come to St. Mungo’s. There’s been a development.”

Hermione dressed as quickly as she could, gave a sleepy, and slightly grumpy Draco a kiss and then Floo’d to the hospital, practically sprinting through the corridors until she reached the Muggle wing. 

Luna was there with her supervisor, Healer Tipton, Healer Marchbanks and Thom Ford, their Muggle patient to whom Hermione had given Rune-spelled memory potion in conjunction with Obliviation reversal spells. At the time they had treated the patient, he’d felt no different, and had failed all the memory testing metrics they had given him. In the nine days since they’d treated him, Hermione, Nicholas, Master Bergen and Healer Marchbanks had all reviewed their notes and had been brainstorming ways to adjust their treatment but had not come to a consensus on what to do. 

And then, earlier in the evening, Thom’s wife had brought him back to St. Mungos in a panic, saying he was not making sense. He had been agitated and babbling, but amid the word salad he was spouting, his wife had recognized names and things that seemed to suggest his memory was returning. 

Healer Marchbanks had administered a Calming Draught, which had helped Thom relax enough to begin to speak coherently. They began to question him and evaluate his physical condition at the same time. 

Physically, he was fine, although his heart rate and blood pressure were up slightly. His electrolyte panel and blood counts were all in normal range and they could detect no unusual chemicals in his system.

Thom’s memory was incomplete, but he was starting to remember things. Mostly things from his childhood. He was starting to recognize certain family members, like his mother. His sisters and his wife—whom he’d known since childhood—he didn’t recognize, but when shown their childhood photographs, he recognized all of them. He began to recall incidences that had happened when he was in primary school, but he still could not remember anything that happened in the weeks and months leading up to his Obliviation. 

Now that he had some of his memories back, and a partial sense of his own identity, things were both easier and harder for him. It was jarring for him to see himself in the mirror since he remembered a much younger version of himself. Even his hands, aged and weather worn as they were, unsettled him. And when he was told that Kipper, the family Labrador had died thirty years ago, he wept unabashedly, like a child. 

Still, Thom’s partial memory restoration was the most exciting thing the Healers and researchers had seen since the rash of Obliviations had begun. The Aurors assigned to investigate the case were also notified. For now, Thom’s memories were mostly of things that happened nearly forty years ago, but they were hopeful that if more memories returned he might even remember things that would help the Aurors figure out who was behind the attacks and why. 

At Healer Tipton’s direction, Luna contacted the families of all the Muggles who had taken part in the experiments in the past week and all were asked to return to St. Mungo’s for further evaluation. 

By the time Hermione returned to Draco’s flat that night she was exhausted, but so hopeful she felt she was floating on air. Perhaps, given time, Thom’s memory might return. After much review of the treatment protocol they had developed thus far, they had decided to give a second round of rune-infused potion to the patients and to monitor them more closely. Fired up by this success, Hermione now had a dozen new ideas floating around her mind that she wanted to work out. 

Draco returned to the flat ten minutes after she did, and as soon as she heard the whoosh of the Floo, Hermione rushed into the Floo parlor and launched herself on him. 

“You’re home!” she called out as she collided with his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck. 

Almost instinctively, Draco had reached out to grab hold of her, as well, and he pulled her up into his arms, letting her wrap her legs around him as he propped up her backside with one hand while the other wrapped around her back.

Hermione peppered his face with kisses and Draco laughed as he kissed her back. 

“That must be the best homecoming I’ve ever had,” Draco grinned as he carried Hermione into the living room and sat down with her now settling on his lap. “I take it Luna’s Patronus was good news?”

“Don’t pretend Master Bergen didn’t already update you!” Hermione chided. 

“But I want to hear it from you,” Draco said, kissing her softly by the shell of her ear where she was very sensitive. 

Hermione sighed and leaned into his caresses. “I think this combination might finally be the breakthrough. One of our patients had some return of childhood memories.”

“I’m so glad to hear that,” Draco said, nibbling along her neck with little kisses even as his hands roamed along her back, coming finally to rest on her buttocks, which he was lightly kneading.

Hermione was still trying to find the line between relaxing to his touches and being set on fire by them. In their time together she was starting to learn that Draco was a very tactile lover. When they ate together he often reached over to her to hold her hand or play with her fingers. When she passed him in the hallway he would touch her hair. He liked to hold her against him when they watched movies and he would often massage her neck muscles or let his hands roam on her thighs. When she woke in the middle of the night she would sometimes feel his hand gently kneading her breasts or else his fingers would be lightly skimming along her bare skin, tracing little runes or just gently caressing. It was both thrilling and comforting, the way he always seemed to want to find a way to touch her. 

She was learning, too, what Draco liked and where he liked to be touched. It didn’t come without its hiccups, of course. She discovered early on that Draco was dreadfully ticklish, a fact that she thought was hilarious until he stopped her by flipping her over and holding her down and kissing her until she gave up. By then, she was almost breathless from trying to dislodge thirteen stone of hard masculine muscle when she herself weighed barely eight stone soaking wet. 

Eventually, she discovered he liked when she held his hand. He purred better than Crookshanks when she massaged his neck and shoulder muscles. And he loved it when she ran her fingers along his biceps.

In bed, he liked to be touched everywhere. He would laze like a contented cat when her hands or lips explored his body. It was a heady, and powerful feeling having that big, magnificent body under her hands like her own personal playground. 

But for now, as she recounted all the successes of the day to him, Hermione settled into his arms, lightly tracing patterns over his forearms as he continued to nibble his way down her neck. 

“I always knew you’d do it,” Draco murmured into her hair. “The most brilliant woman I’ve ever known.”

Hermione basked in the praise in a way she hadn’t in years. He wasn’t trying to get something from her or currying her favor. He was saying the words in a matter-of-fact way like he was stating a fact, and the thought that Draco believed her to be brilliant sent a thrill of pleasure through her. She flushed and Draco, who noticed everything, saw this.

He chuckled, “I think you have a bit of a praise kink, Granger.”

Hermione squirmed, “I—I don’t—”

“Oh, yes you do,” Draco murmured. “You liked being called brilliant. You like when I tell you that you’re beautiful, and you like being told what a good girl you are in bed.”

And just like that Hermione’s knickers were now soaked and she whimpered. “What are you going to do about that?” she challenged in a whisper.

He lifted her into his arms and began to carry her into his bedroom. “I’m going to have you for an appetizer while the elves come in to set up dinner, of course.”

—

The team Draco had sent to Malaysia to discuss raw material sourcing business with Bajan Ajaib returned after three weeks with very little to show for their efforts. The debriefing meeting was very frustrating, but it all boiled down to one thing: Samira Lim was offended that Draco had not come to personally handle the negotiations. 

Unfortunately, with the global shortage of so many raw materials, Bajan Ajaib and its business were more important than ever. Draco knew it would be a matter of time before he would have to go to meet with Samira himself, although he viewed that meeting with the enthusiasm he might have over wrestling the Giant Squid in the Black Lake at Hogwarts. 

The meeting ended and the team were dismissed with the task of drafting a new set of proposals that Draco could use in reopening negotiations when he finally did go to Kuala Lumpur to meet with her. One by one, the team members filed out of the conference room until finally, only Justin Finch-Fletchley remained. 

Draco looked up in surprise from the parchment he was reviewing. “Yes, what is it?”

“Mr. Malfoy,” Justin said, approaching him. He had a small Muggle device in his hand with a Motorola logo. Draco recognized it as a flip phone. “I want you to take a look at this.”

Justin opened the phone and tapped the keys to bring up the pictures stored on the phone. He flipped through a half dozen before he stopped on one. It was a candid shot and it was clear that the subjects in the picture did not know they were being photographed. It appeared to have been taken of two people who were having a private conversation in an alcove. Draco recognized one of the people as Samira Lim, but while the other was someone he only vaguely recognized, he saw right away the significance of the other person’s presence. It was a male in his early thirties, a Caucasian, tall, and bulky, but with a shock of white blond hair that marked him clearly as a Malfoy. 

Draco’s head reared back. He was sure it was one of his Malfoy cousins from France, but he couldn’t place the name. He’d met most of them during his childhood when his parents had taken him to France during the summer holidays. The family had a chateau in the Loire valley, and Narcissa liked to go at least once a year. She wasn’t fond of the Malfoy cousins, so she limited their association, but Draco was sure she knew all of them.

“I take it you figured out that this was a Malfoy,” Draco observed drily.

“Yes, sir. I saw him at the Bajan Ajaib headquarters on the first day I arrived. At first I thought it was your father, and then I remembered your father is—”

“Yes, Lucius is in Azkaban, and as I’ve not yet heard of an outbreak, this couldn’t possibly be him. I see some resemblance, but this man is twenty years younger than my father and must have two stone on my father—well, maybe three stone now,” Draco amended, remembering how emaciated Lucius had looked last time he’d seen him. “Did you happen to get his name?”

Justin shook his head. “I was too far away to hear more than a few bits of what they were saying. She mentioned a sum of thirty million galleons and he said something about a hearing.”

“What made you decide to take his picture?”

Justin shrugged. “A hunch. He had to be a Malfoy, but if you didn’t send him, I had a sense something strange was going on. I’m sorry I couldn’t find out more, but Ms. Lim was already so put out that I was there instead of you that I didn’t want to stir her up more.”

Draco said nothing for a minute as he ruminated on what Justin said. Finally, he said, “Do you think you could get me a copy of that picture?”

Justin nodded. “There’s a Portaprint down the street. Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be back.”

“Thank you, Finch-Fletchley. And thanks for taking this on with such short notice. You’ve done an excellent job. I won’t forget this.”

“Sir,” Justin said, before he left the conference room.

Twenty minutes later, Justin was back as he had promised and he handed Draco a folder. 

“I made a half dozen copies in case you needed them,” Justin said. 

“Thank you,” Draco said, reaching for the folder. “Good work. Let me know when your team finishes their draft proposal for me.”

After Justin left, Draco opened the folder and examined the photograph. It was definitely one of his Malfoy cousins, and Draco had a suspicion that whatever was going down in Malaysia was related to his French Malfoy cousins’ attempts to take over Malfoy Holdings. He signaled for Denise Avery.

“Sir?” she asked, coming into the office.

“I need to run a quick errand. I’ll be out of the office for half an hour. Adjust my schedule, please.”

“Very good, sir,” Denise said.

Draco stood up, picked up the folder and headed toward the Floo. He threw in a pinch and called out, “Malfoy Manor!”

—

Narcissa was in the garden when Draco returned to his childhood home. She had her wand out and was pruning the late hydrangeas with a clipping spell. She turned when she sensed Draco’s arrival, and her lovely face lit up in a smile. “My dragon! What are you doing here? It’s been so long since you’ve come to visit. Are you well? What are you doing here in the middle of a work day?”

Draco reached his mother’s side and he bent down to give her a kiss on her cheek. “Hello, Mother,” he said with a smile of his own. “You’re looking well. How have you been?”

“I’ve been fine,” Narcissa said. “A bit lonely. You haven’t visited in months. Are you in trouble? Is something wrong?”

Draco gave his mother his most charming smile. “Is that the first thing you think of me? No, I’m not in trouble, Mother. I’m well. I just came because I need your help on something.”

“Well, since you’re here, would you like a cup of tea? Or, it’s almost noon. I can have Tinny lay out lunch for us on the small terrace.”

“Just a cup of tea, please, Mother,” Draco said, as he automatically held out his arm for Narcissa to take as he escorted her out of the garden to the small terrace. “Tinny!” he ordered.

On cue, a wizened house elf in navy blue livery appeared, “Master Draco, welcome home,” Tinny said, bowing low.

“Hello, Tinny,” Draco said with a fond smile.

“Tea service, please, Tinny,” Narcissa ordered.

“Of course, Mistress,” Tinny said, bowing again before he Apparated away.

Draco helped his mother into her chair before he sat down across the table from her. “The gardens are looking as lovely as ever,” he complimented. 

Narcissa preened briefly, before she turned her blue eyes on Draco with that sharp eyed stare she had perfected during his childhood. The look that said, “I see through whatever machinations you have going on.”

But Draco was no longer a small boy in thrall to his parents. The horrors of the wizarding war, and the years of picking up his own broken pieces had forged him into a man who that little boy could never have recognized. He met his mother’s gaze with a calm equanimity, and waited for her to speak first.

Before she could say anything, Tinny returned with tea service and a large tray of biscuits and lemon tarts.

“Thank you, that will be all,” Narcissa said, and Tinny Disapparated. She poured out tea for both of them. 

“Thank you, Mother,” Draco said, taking his tea and helping himself to a lemon tart.

“So, what can I help you with, Draco?” Narcissa asked, as she took a sip of her own tea.

Draco opened the folder he had brought with him and withdrew the photograph that Justin had printed for him. Justin had enlarged the photograph from the phone and the picture was grainy, but clear enough for both of them to make out the defining features of the people in the photo.

“My team returned from Kuala Lumpur where they were negotiating on my behalf with Samira Lim. One of my team took this photograph, and I’m wondering if you can identify him,” Draco said, pointing to the man.

Narcissa peered at the photograph, and frowned. “This is a Muggle photograph.”

“Mother,” Draco prompted. “Do you recognize him?”

Narcissa sighed. “Vincent Malfoy.”

“Vincent?” Draco tried to remember a cousin named Vincent.

“He is your uncle Philippe’s younger son. They have a small estate near Nice.”

“Philippe,” Draco repeated. Now it made sense. Philippe was his relative who was spearheading the effort to take over Malfoy Holdings. There was a hearing scheduled in October in the Wizengamot for the members to review the case, and Draco had been using all the leverage he possessed to remind the Wizengamot members both of the advantages of keeping on his good side and the disadvantages of having to deal with his temperamental French cousins. 

The question, of course, was what his cousins were doing getting into business with Samira Lim. Was it because he hadn’t come to negotiate with her? But that made no sense, since Justin said Vincent was there the day he arrived. They must have been plotting something for a while. What was this connection? There was something about this entire arrangement that had his suspicions tingling, but Draco didn’t have all the pieces to put together. 

But before he could begin to ponder this question, Narcissa broke into his thoughts. “Why didn’t you go down to Malaysia to deal with the Lims directly? I know that Samira wanted to do business with you.”

“It seemed you wanted her to do more than business with me, Mother,” Draco countered, dryly.

“Is it wrong for a mother to wish for the best for her son?” Narcissa asked.

“If you really wished the best for me, you’d stop meddling.”

“Helping, Draco, not meddling.”

“Mother, you need to stop interfering with my relationships. And you need to stop pretending that you don’t know that I’m dating Hermione Granger.”

“Dating? Is that what you call shacking up with a witch without any serious intentions and no betrothal contract or even courting arrangements?”

“As a matter of fact, Mother, I’m going to take the Aquitaine bracelet from the vault this weekend.”

“The Aquitaine bracelet!” Narcissa echoed, setting down her tea cup with an uncharacteristic thunk in her dismay. The Aquitaine bracelet predated the Malfoys’ emigration to England. Only four Malfoy brides had ever been gifted the bracelet in a thousand years. It was the oldest piece in the entire Malfoy jewelry collection. It was insured for ten million galleons, but was easily worth several times more than that. “You’re going to give that to a Mu—a Muggleborn?”

Draco met his mother’s gaze squarely. “Yes.”

“But, you can’t be serious about her!” Narcissa protested. “You’re the last Pureblood heir of two ancient lines!”

Draco paused for a moment, picturing in his mind’s eye the parade of sleekly elegant, poised, lovely and utterly dull Pureblood girls his mother considered suitable and contrasted that with his favorite vision of Hermione in her ghastly Gryffindor red and gold Quidditch jersey and flannel pajama pants with her riotous hair in a haphazard bun atop her head and with a wand stuck through the curls. One vision left him cold and the other brought out a sense of happiness and contentment and warmth that he’d never known before in his life. There would never be a day he’d regret his choice.

“Mother, you’re going to have to let go of this notion of Pureblood lines. I will never marry a Pureblood heiress. I don’t give a damn about any of that.”

“So, you’re with Miss Granger as a protest? A rebellion against every value your father and I raised you with?”

“There are so many things wrong with what you just said,” Draco countered. “To start, I’m not a teenager who needs to test out his boundaries by being rebellious. In case you’ve forgotten, I am now head of House Malfoy. I make the rules for myself. Secondly, let’s revisit these values that forced me to take the Dark Mark, that made us lose every semblance of dignity and honor in the war, that cleaned out a quarter billion galleons from our vaults, that led to Father being imprisoned for forty five years. How was it for our family, being humiliated by that inhuman wreck and treated like servants in our own home? Do you know how many truly heinous things people like Bellatrix and Greyback pushed me to do? And for you since the war—how long has it taken for you to claw your way back to respectable society? How long was it before you could show yourself in Diagon Alley without being spit upon? And let’s not forget your values led you to almost lose the only family member worth keeping—Aunt Andromeda. Why, in Merlin’s name, would I want to uphold these values? You think I give a damn what some moldy old tapestries and paintings in the Ancestors’ Gallery have to say?”

“That’s enough!” Narcissa snapped, appalled.

“Mother, take a look at yourself. You are alone in this Manor with nothing but pride in your bloodline to sustain you. I love you, but I will not stand by you if you continue to disparage the woman I love. If you want to spend the rest of your life alone because of some ancient traditions that have let us down in every way possible, be my guest. But listen to me carefully; I love Hermione Granger. I want to court her and hopefully she will one day care enough to agree to be my wife. I hope to fill my home with children who look just like her. You can either be a part of this or you can just waste your life away in bitterness. But you will never again interfere with my relationship. You will never try that ridiculous stunt you tried to pull at the gala ever again.  If you ever try to push another woman at me or undermine my relationship with Hermione you will find yourself banished to the Black dower house in Scotland with a much reduced allowance and I will never see you again.”

All the blood had drained from Narcissa’s face at the conclusion of this speech. “Draco,” she sobbed. “I’m your mother! How could you threaten me like this?”

“It’s not a threat. It’s a promise. Your future is in your own hands. Think carefully what you want to do with it. Thank you for your help with the photograph, Mother. I need to get back to work. Be well.” Draco stood up and bent down to give his mother his customary kiss goodbye. Narcissa was in too much shock to react. Without another word, Draco re-entered the Manor and headed to the Floo parlor to return to work.

__

Hermione knew right away that something was wrong when Draco returned to the flat that night, but Draco was reluctant to bring up his mother’s frustrating, and frankly disappointing, inability to look past her ingrained prejudices. How could she fail to see what a jewel among women Hermione was, with her brilliant mind, her kind heart, her high moral character and her captivating personality? How could blood status be worth anything in comparison to all that Hermione had? Draco was sure of few things, but two things he was sure of: he loved her and he was utterly unworthy of her. 

“Something’s on your mind,” Hermione said looking up from her pasta carbonara. She idly twirled her fork, giving Draco a look of concern that brought out an answering smile of affection from him. She wasn’t fooled by the smile and she persisted: “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“As a matter of fact, my team returned from Malaysia and Justin Finch-Fletchley brought me some interesting information.” Draco summoned his briefcase and pulled out the folder with the photograph Justin had taken and showed it to Hermione.

Hermione peered at the photograph. “Who is that with Samira? It looks like a Malfoy with that hair. And where did you get a Muggle photograph of them?”

“Justin,” Draco said. “He’s really turned into an asset. He had one of those cell phones with a built-in camera and he took this picture. And that is a Malfoy. One of my cousins from France. His father is the one who is spearheading the movement to get control of the company from me.”

“And he’s somehow working with Samira Lim?” Hermione’s eyes widened. “That means—her appearance at the gala wasn’t a coincidence.”

Draco sighed. “That’s what I was thinking. I need to get to the bottom of this, and I think this means I may have to make a trip to Malaysia after all.”

“That could be dangerous,” Hermione said. “I could come with—”

“No,” Draco said. “You stay here where it’s safe. I’m going to bring my team with me. I’m going to have Blaise come, too, since his firm handles my legal issues. There may be some nuances of international law that he can help me with when I negotiate with her. And…he’s always good as a back up. He doesn’t duel much, but whenever we’ve done sparring matches he has the fastest draw time I’ve ever seen.”

“When will you go?”

“My team just got back, and I’m having them redraft a contract. I sent a message requesting reopening negotiations, but not until the end of September.”

“Why wait that long?”

Draco smiled at her, and bent down to give her a kiss. “Because I want to be here to celebrate your birthday, love.”

“My—” Hermione narrowed her eyes, “Draco Lucius Malfoy, what are you planning to do for my birthday?”

Draco grinned. “I’m going to spoil you.”

Chapter Text

Thom Ford was back at St. Mungo’s for his weekly evaluation. As time went by, more and more of his memories were resurfacing, but they were coming in jumbled heaps. His memory did not return in any discernible order. He remembered some things from early childhood but not others. He remembered an event from his honeymoon but not his wedding. He remembered certain friends but not others. The memories tended to resurface in the morning, which Healer Marchbanks found fascinating. She theorized that sleep allowed the brain to reset and that was when memories filtered back in. 

But while the researchers were fascinated, Thom and the other subjects who had received Hermione’s rune potions and charms were frustrated by their recovery. The inconsistent and arbitrary manner of their memory restoration was confusing, and in some cases, frightening. They felt as though they had lost their hold on reality. They were irritable and restless. Their loved ones reported changes in their personalities. Hermione, studying her notes on these patients, concluded that the order in which people made and retained their memories shaped their personalities, and now that these Obliviated people were remembering things out of order, it was also affecting how they viewed the world and how they reacted to things. One man, who had been somewhat paranoid and nervous his entire adult life, seemed to be much more calm about how he reacted to things—on careful questioning of his family, it turned out that he did not remember being mugged as a teenager even as he remembered events from later in his life. However, several days later, the mugging memory resurfaced, but the man still remained fairly calm, even though he told the researchers that the memory of the mugging was “quite unsettling”.

The researchers brought in Mind Healers to help the patients, and they were hopeful that one day the patients’ full memories would be restored. Hermione reviewed her notes on her potion formula, wondering what could be adjusted to allow the patients’ memories to return faster and in a more chronological order. She brainstormed with Master Bergen, Alana and Nicholas on what ingredients might be adjusted.

She was so engrossed in her research that she lost track of time, and before she knew it, it was Friday, the seventeenth of September and when she returned to Draco’s flat that evening, she was surprised to find Draco already there waiting for her.

“What’s going on?” Hermione demanded, even though it was a happy surprise to see that Draco had gotten home before her.

“I left the office early; but you were supposed to be back by five. I was just about to go back to the office to look for you.”

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said. “I just got so caught up with work. The potions formula revisions—”

“No. No more work, Granger,” Draco interrupted. “Not this weekend.”

“All right,” Hermione acquiesced, mesmerized by the gleam in his eye. “What do you have planned?”

“Close your eyes and give me your hand,” Draco commanded.

Hermione did as she was asked. She felt him put something in her palm. “Can I open my eyes?” she asked.

“Go ahead,” Draco said.

Hermione opened her eyes to find a Muggle pill bottle in her hand. She frowned and peered more closely at the bottle. She read the label and smiled. It had her name on it, the date of her birth and the instructions, “Hold in palm at five-thirty PM.”

“It’s a portkey!” Hermione exclaimed. “But where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” Draco said.

“Do I need to pack?”

“You’re already packed and your things have already been sent to our destination.”

Hermione looked at the clock beside the Floo. It was five-twenty. “It’s almost time. Why can’t you tell me where we’re going?”

Draco leaned down and kissed her on the nose. “Patience, my dear.”

“But it’s not even my birthday today!” Hermione protested.

“It’s your birthday weekend,” Draco corrected. 

“So, we just stand here for ten minutes while you refuse to tell me anything?”

“No, of course not,” Draco said, pulling Hermione into his arms. He nibbled the shell of her ear. “We’ll both hold tight to the portkey and I’m going to snog you senseless.”

And then, he proceeded to do exactly that. Hermione was so caught up in his kisses that she was taken completely by surprise when she felt the sudden tug behind her navel as the portkey was activated and she and Draco were whisked to their destination. 

Hermione broke off the kiss as soon as they landed, and looked around. They were in a very large, very elegantly decorated bedroom suite decked out in French Empire style furniture with pale green and cream silk accents. The suite had several rooms, and the one they had landed in looked like a sitting room. There were several couches and low tables arranged in cozy configurations. An enormous television screen dominated one wall, the first clue that this was a Muggle establishment. A large silver ice bucket with a bottle of champagne stood on a nearby table next to an enormous vase of white snowball flowers. A note card read: “A Mlle Granger: Nos meilleurs vœux pour un joyeux anniversaire. —De la part de tout le personnel de l’Hôtel Ritz Carlton.” She looked out the panoramic windows that took up one wall of the space and then gasped when she saw the tall, ornate obelisk set in the center of a paved square.

“Is that the Place de la Concorde?” Hermione asked. Draco nodded, pleased that she recognized it. “You brought me to Paris for the weekend?” she laughed in delight. 

“Happy birthday, Hermione,” Draco said.

Hermione launched herself at him and peppered his face with kisses.

Draco laughed, and pulled her into a tight hug against his chest. “Much as I would like to stay here and have you on every piece of furniture right now, I thought maybe you’d like to change into something nice and I’ll take you to dinner? And then perhaps a stroll along the Seine, or would you like to go to Place Cachée and see a bit of wizarding Paris? We could go to Le Bonbon for a late night snack—they really have the best chocolate croissants—and then we could come back here and…test out the furniture. What do you say?”

Two hours later, they were seated in an outdoor cafe in the heart of wizarding Paris watching street performers who gave an amazing light show with fire. They sipped cappuccinos and shared the flakiest chocolate croissant Hermione had ever had. She’d already eaten her fill of a rich dinner at the upscale Muggle restaurant with a view of the Eiffel Tower, but could not resist ordering the dessert after she saw the patrons at the table next to her eating their own chocolate croissant. As they sat, Draco had his arm draped casually over her shoulder, and even though he had suggested sharing the croissant, he seemed content to watch Hermione devour the dessert, amused at her naked pleasure over the rich chocolate and buttery pastry. 

“This is the most decadent thing I’ve ever had,” Hermione said, with a sigh. She put the remains of the pastry down and looked at her hands, which were dripping with chocolate. She was about to lick it off her fingers, when Draco took her hand, and began to lick the chocolate off her fingers one by one with gentle, teasing flicks of his tongue that soon had her knickers drenched. 

“Draco,” she protested, blushing.

“Tastes so much better on your fingers, Granger,” Draco drawled, seemingly in no hurry to finish what he was doing. 

“Draco!”

“Although,” his voice dropped down to a very low murmur, “Nothing tastes as good as your delicious cunt, Granger.”

“Take me back to the hotel,” Hermione managed in a strangled whisper, sure that she was going to go up in flames at the table if Draco kept this up.

“Anything for you, birthday girl,” Draco laughed as he Apparated them back to the hotel suite.

__

Hermione awakened long after the sun had risen the next morning, deliciously sore and comfortably warm and cozy in Draco’s embrace. She was disoriented for a moment in the unfamiliar surroundings before she remembered she was in Paris. She stretched lazily like a cat and then curled back into Draco’s arms as he opened his eyes. 

“Good morning,” she greeted, which was the last thing she said for a long time as Draco began to kiss her with deep, leisurely kisses that left her breathless. And before she could recover from that onslaught, he was moving to make love to her, and as he bottomed into her she sighed with pleasure, wondering if she would ever feel like she had enough when she was in his arms.

Later that morning in the shower, Hermione asked, “What are your plans for today?”

“Well, it's a little late for breakfast, so, lunch. Then the Tuileries. Then dinner.”

“That’s it, just lunch, the Tuileries and dinner?” Hermione gave him a suspicious look. It seemed a little simple, and Draco never did simple.

“I swear on Merlin and Morgana,” Draco said with a laugh as he twisted her wet curls around his fingertips. “I don’t have anything more than that planned for today. If there’s anywhere you want to go, I’m happy to take you.”

An hour later, dressed in a cream sundress with tan wedge sandals and a light beige sweater, Hermione was ready to set out. She eyed Draco, who filled out his light blue button down shirt and tan trousers like a runway model, and sighed. 

“Like what you see, Granger?” Draco smirked, taking her hand as he escorted her out of their suite.

“You’re too handsome for your own good,” Hermione said, when they approached the lifts.

“I just need to be handsome enough for you,” Draco answered, and Hermione’s heart lurched. 

The lift doors opened and they stepped inside. The doors hadn’t even begun to shut before Hermione was in Draco’s arms again kissing him as though she hadn’t spent much of the morning doing just that already.

The lift doors opened when they reached the ground floor of the hotel, and Hermione needed a moment to remember where she was as Draco led her out of the lift and toward the lobby, where Hermione stopped in surprise and pleasure to see a group of witches and wizards sitting on the rococo couches waiting for them. Harry, Ginny, Luna, Theo, Neville, Pansy, Blaise and Daphne were chatting together, but looked up when Hermione and Draco approached. 

“Well, birthday girl, you make a good model for my sundress,” Pansy greeted in her drawl, as the rest of the group got up en masse to give Hermione a hug and to greet Draco.

“Draco!” Hermione turned to him in astonishment after the round of greetings. “Tell me you didn’t—”

“—Arrange for portkeys for all of us and a weekend stay at this amazingly posh Muggle hotel all to celebrate your birthday with you? Yes, ‘Mione, he did,” Ginny supplied.

“Let’s go, our lunch reservation is for eleven-thirty, and we’re going the Muggle way,” Draco said, slipping his arm around Hermione’s waist, and herding the group toward the taxi stands past the front doors.

As they stood out on the pavement waiting for the doorman to hail their cabs, Ginny sidled up to Hermione. “You know, I was so skeptical when you first started dating Malfoy, but since he’s not only completely head over heels over you, but also willing to treat all of us to a fabulous Paris weekend getaway just to give you a good birthday, I’m totally in on this relationship.”

“Ginny!” Hermione laughed, and then she looked up to Draco, who was smirking in satisfaction. 

“What?” he asked.

“You weren’t lying when you said you’d spoil me,” Hermione said. 

“Oh, I’m just getting started,” Draco said, as the cab pulled in front of them, and the doorman opened the cab door for them.

—

Draco treated the group to lunch at an upscale restaurant with spectacular views of the Seine. There was amazing food, excellent wine and plenty of laughs and good conversation. In the mid afternoon, the group strolled down along the river past the Louvre toward the Tuileries Gardens. They reached the remains of the old Tuileries Palace, and one by one, slipped under the magical stone arch to reach the wizarding portion of the gardens. 

Hermione was delighted when she entered the magical garden and saw the moving sculptures and the magically sculpted bushes. The magical garden was easily five times larger than the Muggle one, comprising well over three hundred acres. There was a small herd of unicorns grazing at one end of a manicured lawn, and other magical creatures roamed the enchanted acres oblivious to the presence of the sightseeing witches and wizards. There were roving magical performers who entertained the visitors, and little stands placed throughout the gardens selling snacks and drinks. It was like a mini magical amusement park.

“I remember reading about this,” Hermione said as they strolled along the gravel paths. “Catherine de’ Medici built the Tuileries Palace—and of course, she was a witch—and she created this secret garden for her descendants, but most of her children pre-deceased her. This is really marvelous.”

After a couple hours marveling at the sights, the group returned to the hotel to rest and get ready for dinner. Draco had meant for Hermione to get some actual rest, but as soon as the door shut behind them, Hermione pulled Draco into a deep kiss that led to a session of lovemaking so intense that they almost missed dinner. Draco was the one who surfaced from the drugging allure of Hermione’s arms to realize that the incessant buzzing of his wand was the alarm he had set to get ready for dinner. They swiftly changed into their evening clothes and reached the lobby of the hotel to a round of good natured teasing from their friends, who loudly, and unabashedly speculated on why their hosts were so late.

“Sod off,” Draco said, although his pleased smirk robbed the words of any bite. Draco treated them to dinner in a private room at Le Rose Meridien, the most exclusive restaurant in wizarding Paris. 

Even though it was the day before Hermione’s actual birthday, they treated the dinner as her birthday dinner and the guests had all brought presents for Hermione. She had expected to receive books, since that was what so many people tended to gift her, but her friends surprised her this time. 

Ginny and Harry gave Hermione a beautifully crafted magnifying glass charmed to translate texts from any language into English. 

Luna and Theo gave Hermione a bottle of well water from Glastonbury Tor, which was supposed to enhance the properties of any healing potion. The well water was especially hard to obtain since the well was guarded by three hags who would only give the water to supplicants they deemed worthy, and no amount of money could bribe the hags if they decided not to part with the water.

Pansy and Neville gave Hermione a pair of earrings with magical singing pearls that were farmed from her grandmother’s estate. If the wearer rubbed the pearls three times they would create music suited to the wearer’s moods: Calming music for when they were in distress or upbeat music for when they were sad.

Daphne and Blaise gave Hermione special box tickets to watch the holiday season performance of the magical ballet. The special boxes were generally highly coveted and Daphne was able to get the tickets for the sold out performance because of her work in the Ministry Office of International Magical Cooperation. 

Everyone was very curious to see what Draco had gotten for Hermione, but Draco didn’t produce a gift. “It’s not her birthday, yet,” Draco said, to a collective round of groans.

But Hermione stepped in at this point. “I got a fabulous trip to Paris. I got to celebrate my birthday with all of you. I’ve had such a wonderful time. And it’s all because Draco arranged it for me. I’m already so happy, I don’t need anything more.” She finished by giving Draco a kiss on the cheek. As she did so, she noted that Draco looked surprised, as though he didn’t often have people jump to his defense and her heart went out to him even more. 

She took his hand as he kissed her back on her cheek and murmured in her ear, “I didn’t say I didn’t have a gift for you….just that it wasn’t your birthday yet, love.”

“Oh, I know,” Hermione whispered back, wondering what he had planned. Knowing Draco, it would be something very unique or very spectacular, which worried her a little. She wasn’t materialistic and she didn’t want any embarrassingly grand gestures. She looked at Ginny, who had celebrated her birthday a month ago. Harry’s present to her had been a vacation cottage in Devon right on the shore. Harry had couched it as a combination birthday present and celebration of the birth of baby James, but almost every male in their friend group had bemoaned that Harry had ruined gift giving for all the rest of them. Hermione hoped Draco wasn’t going to try to top that.

The birthday cake arrived, a five tier wonder that was shaped to look like all of Hermione’s favorite books in an artful stack. Each slice of cake was a book, and each “book” opened to one of Hermione’s favorite book passages. 

“Really, Granger? Hogwarts: a History?” Pansy drawled as she inspected the cake. “Draco, pass me a slice of Macbeth. I like the Weird Sisters.”

“Ooh! Give me the Murder on the Orient Express! I love murder mysteries!” Luna said, surprising them all. 

“I didn’t know you read Muggle books,” Hermione said. 

“One of the patients in the Muggle ward left the book behind when he was discharged. I started reading it when I had some down time on my overnight shifts,” Luna explained. 

One by one, the cake was divided up. Hermione surprised Draco by requesting Pride and Prejudice. “You remind me of Mr. Darcy,” she said. 

“Which one is Mr. Darcy again?” Draco asked. “The handsome, rich one?”

“He’s the arrogant prat that no one likes,” Ginny countered. When the others all looked at her in astonishment, Ginny shrugged. “What? I’ve seen the BBC version with Hermione on the telly!”

After dinner, they left the restaurant and went to a karaoke bar a few blocks away, in a more lively section of Place Cachée. The karaoke bar had a large selection of music, both magical and Muggle, and they were having a singing contest that night. Everyone took their turns singing, but the big winners of the night were Hermione and Draco, who sang a duet of a popular Celestina Warbeck and Weird Sisters collaboration song. Draco had a very pleasant baritone voice, and his steady notes covered some of Hermione’s slightly faulty soprano, but it was the fact that they were having so much fun and so attuned to each other that made their performance a success. Not to mention the enthusiastic support of their friends in the audience as they sang. They won a bottle of elf made champagne from Reims, and immediately opened it to pour a round to their friends to top off their night. 

Slightly drunk, and all in a very good mood, the group returned to the Ritz sometime after midnight with some of them (Theo, Neville, Ginny, and surprisingly, Daphne) singing as they walked through the streets of Paris back to the hotel. 

As the lift climbed up to their floor, Hermione gave Draco a hug, resting her head against his shoulder. “Draco, this is the best birthday I’ve ever had,” she said.

“Well, now that it's past midnight, it really is your birthday,” Draco said as they re-entered their suite. “Happy birthday, love,” Draco pressed a light kiss to her lips. “How does it feel to turn twenty-five?”

“Pretty much the same as being twenty-four,” Hermione admitted. “I would have thought I’d be wiser or more accomplished by now, but on the whole I’m too happy right now to care.”

Draco brought Hermione to sit down on one of the sofas in the sitting room. “Now that it's your birthday, I wanted to give you your present.”

Hermione didn’t think she needed another present, but she knew Draco well enough to know her protests would fall on deaf ears. He truly meant it when he said he was going to spoil her, and for once in her life, she thought it wouldn’t hurt to be a little pampered, just so long as he didn’t go too over the top. She looked at him with expectant eyes and Draco pulled out his wand and conjured a small square box. It was bejeweled and very ornate. The lid of the box was gilded with gold and set with pearls and precious gemstones. 

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Hermione said, thinking that the box was her gift, but Draco opened the box for her. 

Inside, nestled in a bed of white silk, was a gold bracelet. The gold was finely wrought filigree interlinked in a delicate pattern that looked vaguely Celtic, and inlaid with diamonds and rubies.

“Oh, Draco!” Hermione breathed. The bracelet gleamed under the lights, and seemed to be almost vibrating with magic.

“This is known as the Aquitaine Bracelet,” Draco said. “It was originally created by Duke William of Aquitaine for his daughter Adelaide of Aquitaine, who later became the Queen of France when she married Hugh Capet. This was way before the Statute of Secrecy, and the Duke commissioned it from goblin artisans, and had it imbued with certain magical properties. Eighty years later, it was gifted to a Malfoy count whose descendants brought it over to England when they came with William the Conqueror. Over the years, my ancestors have added a few more charms and protections, but this is one of the oldest pieces in the Malfoy vaults. The rubies made me think of you, Gryffindor girl.”

“Oh, Draco,” Hermione repeated, in awe after hearing Draco’s recitation of the bracelet’s history. The Capetian kings of France ruled over a thousand years before, and the thought of being given a priceless treasure like this overwhelmed her. She reached out tentatively to touch the bracelet, but stopped short and asked. “What charms and protections does it have?”

“Once gifted, the bracelet protects the lady from the unwanted touch of any man. I’d be allowed to touch you since I gifted it to you, but it’ll give a very unpleasant zap to anyone else. It will also adjust itself to fit perfectly to its owner’s wrist. And here—” Draco pointed to the two rubies on either end of the bracelet. “—these rubies were magically linked to the signet ring of House Malfoy. If you press on those two rubies at the same time, I will be alerted, so it’s only to be used if you are in danger. I’ll be able to find you anywhere in the world if you use it to call me.” 

Draco lifted the bracelet from the silk setting and worked the clasp to place it on Hermione’s left wrist. Once settled on her wrist, the bracelet immediately shrank slightly to fit comfortably, and Hermione’s magical core seemed to respond to the magic of the bracelet. 

“If you’re feeling a vibration, it's the bracelet recognizing your magical signature, so that it can become yours,” Draco explained. 

“This is beautiful,” Hermione said, marveling over the delicate gold filigree. She traced her fingers lightly over the surface. The bracelet gleamed on her wrist, and despite its great age, the bracelet looked as new as if it had just been fabricated. “But—” she hesitated. “This is a museum quality priceless antique. It—it—I’m just a regular…person. It seems like it's too fabulous for me to be wearing it as everyday jewelry.”

Draco looked at her as though she had said something ridiculous. “Don’t ever say anything like that again. You sound like you think you’re unworthy of this gift. Granger, you deserve this, and so much more.”

Hermione smiled softly, for a moment not trusting herself to speak. A part of her was a little shocked by the pricelessness of what she’d been given and wanted to refuse the gift, but she’d seen the look on Draco’s face when he told her the story behind the bracelet. There was a hopefulness in his eyes, as though he worried she’d reject his gift, and she couldn’t hurt him by refusing despite her misgivings. She swallowed, and finally said, “Thank you, Draco. I love it.”

Draco gave her a gentle, lingering kiss. “Only the best for you, birthday girl.”

Later, after Draco had taken her to bed and made love to her until she had come screaming his name at least four times, she lay in the circle of his arms, ready to drift asleep, and she thought of the bracelet he had gifted her. She thought of how easily the magic of the bracelet had accepted her. Her last thought before sleep took her was to wonder if there was more behind the bracelet than just an extravagant birthday gift from her boyfriend. 

__

The group assembled in the lobby the next morning and then headed toward the hotel’s grand buffet for a sumptuous Sunday brunch. Thanks to the Sober-up and Pepper-up potions that Draco had thoughtfully supplied for the group, they were in much better shape than should be expected for the amount of drinking they’d done the night before. 

Pansy was the first to notice the bracelet Hermione now wore. “This—was your birthday gift?” she asked, holding Hermione’s wrist up to examine the bracelet.

“Isn’t it lovely?” Hermione asked, smiling. “Draco told me the history behind it. I think he chose it for me because he knew I’d like something with such a fascinating story.”

“Fascinating story,” Pansy repeated. She gave Draco a sharp glance and then turned back to Hermione. “It’s lovely, Granger. But then we all knew Draco would pull out all the stops for you.”

The rest of the group ooh’d and aah’d Hermione’s bracelet appropriately, and then they settled in to eat. Conversation flowed easily, as everyone was in a good mood and looking forward to the day’s excursions. They planned to see the Eiffel Tower and then take a boat ride along the Seine. Draco had chartered a luxury yacht to take them on a leisurely afternoon ride where they could drink champagne and dine on canapés. At the end of the boat ride, each couple had a portkey ready to take them back home. 

“I do miss little James,” Ginny admitted as she stepped onto the yacht and took a glass of champagne from the serving house elf, “But this weekend away was wonderful. We’ll have to return the favor and have you down to the summer cottage next summer.”

“I’d love that,” Hermione said, although the notion of where she’d be next summer stunned her for a moment. Since she and Draco had become a true couple, she had been living day to day. She had just been enjoying being with him, while at work she was consumed with finalizing the memory potion. It had been several weeks since she had thought of her future. When the arrangement was still a “fake dating” arrangement, she had always assumed that by next summer—however painful the notion was—that she’d be back in her own flat in Cauldron Court. But now, she wondered—almost afraid to believe it might be true—if she would still be living in Draco’s flat, if this domestic bliss they had been experiencing for the past several weeks would be her new reality and her future. She felt a pang of yearning at that thought. 

“What’s the matter?” Draco asked her later after the crew had pulled the anchor and the yacht cruise was underway. He found her sitting a little ways apart from everyone else, looking down and watching the water of the river flow past the boat. He sat down next to her and gently put an arm around her.

“Nothing,” she said. “I’m just happy. But I needed a little time away from everyone to recharge a bit.”

“Does needing time away from everyone mean me, too?” Draco asked.

“Never you,” Hermione said.

“Because I don’t mind giving you space if that’s what you need.”

Hermione took his hand in hers. His long fingers wrapped around her hand, engulfing it. She marveled that she was now in a position where she could take his hand in hers as if by right. She could kiss him anytime she wanted. She could make love to him every night. She shivered a bit, thinking that she had been so close to walking away from all of this. She wanted to tell him that she wanted to be like this with him forever. But their relationship was still so new. She wanted to tell him but she wasn’t ready yet. 

“Just sit with me and hold me, Draco,” she said. He gave her a look that told her plainly he knew there was something going on in her mind—something important, but he said nothing and wrapped his arms around her. She leaned into his chest and gave a sigh of contentment. 

Chapter Text

It was inevitable that with two people as intelligent and opinionated as Hermione and Draco were, eventually their views would clash. And a few days after their return from Paris, on the night before Draco was due to leave for Malaysia, they had their first lovers’ quarrel.

Hermione had been thinking about her situation. It was one thing when they were fake dating and there were no expectations of emotion or even thoughts of the future, but now that their relationship had changed, she felt wrong taking Draco’s money. She wanted to pay Draco back the money he had paid her to be his fake girlfriend.

Draco absolutely refused.

“Are you saying that this is still fake?” Hermione demanded.

“I’m saying that we started out as fake, we signed a contract and you were paid for fulfilling your end of the bargain and just because things have changed between us, it doesn’t negate that you deserve the money.”

“But it’s—”

“Pride won’t pay the bills at Parkwood,” Draco continued. “That was the whole reason you agreed, wasn’t it?”

“I still have money, I have my salary from the potions lab,” Hermione insisted mulishly. “I can still—”

“Why are you so stubborn about this? How does you keeping this money make a difference in whether or not things are real between us? Yes, you still have enough money in the bank to cover their bills, but why do you need to make things harder on yourself?”

“I don’t want money to come between us,” Hermione said.

“Well, it wasn’t until you put it there front and center,” Draco countered.

“The whole basis of our relationship was money.”

Draco sighed in exasperation. “It was a business transaction to start. And now it’s not. I’m not asking you for your money back. I don’t think anything less of you if you keep the money, and I don’t understand why you need to make this such a big deal!”

“You’ve never been poor,” Hermione said. “You accused me of pride, but you’ve never had to be in a situation where pride was all you had.”

“And Salazar help me, you’ll never be in that situation ever again if I have anything to do with it!” Draco snapped.

“Why should this matter to you?” Hermione demanded. “I’ll be fine!”

“Because we had a deal, and I’m not going back on it just because circumstances changed.”

“Draco, I’m not just talking about ten or twenty galleons here. This is over five thousand galleons since we started, and—“

“And? What on earth would make you think that I’d look down on you for keeping five thousand galleons? You understand that I’m rich, right? Very rich. I make more than five thousand galleons an hour just in interest!”

“Does it amuse you to throw numbers like this at me so you can make light of what this money means to me?”

“I’m not making light of this!” Draco insisted. “I’m trying to make you understand that you are making a far greater deal out of this than it needs to be!”

“I don’t feel right about keeping this money!”

”And I don’t feel right about taking it back from you. If you don’t want the money, donate it all to hippogriff sanctuaries or flobberworm research or Croatian orphans or whatever makes you feel better, but I’m not taking back one Knut from you!”

“You don’t understand! I’m living here rent free, eating your food, wearing clothes you bought, and getting paid to be here! I’m a kept woman!”

“Merlin and Morgana, has someone said something to you? What put this insane notion in your head? This isn’t Victorian England. Kept woman? Really?”

“No one said anything to me,” Hermione answered stiffly. “I’m perfectly capable of formulating ideas on my own.”

“Well, this idea is completely mental! Why is it such a big deal to you now?”

“Because nothing is real if I’m being paid to be fake!”

“Nothing is real? Are you saying what we have now isn’t real? That I just dreamt you were in my arms this morning?”

“Not that it didn’t happen, but that it doesn’t mean anything if I’m being paid for it!”

“Salazar grant me patience,” Draco said, measuring his words out as though he was trying very hard not to lose his temper. “What the hell do you think has been going on between us these last several weeks?”

“What do you think is going on?” Hermione challenged.

“Do you think I’d pull a family heirloom out of the vaults—the oldest one we have—one that’s been gifted to only four Malfoy brides in a thousand years and give it to you as a birthday gift if this whole thing was fake to me?”

“Did you say gifted to Malfoy brides?” Hermione asked, her eyes growing large. “This—” she indicated the Aquitaine Bracelet, “This was a courting gift?”

Draco looked thunderstruck. “After all that time I spent describing the history of the bracelet and its protections, did you really think I just gave out that bracelet like some trinket? Of course it was a courting gift! I want to court you! I love you!”

“You—!” Hermione’s voice choked and she burst into tears. 

Draco looked as though he was at a loss for what to do. “Hermione?” he asked, tentatively, reaching toward her to take her in his arms. He held her lightly and patted her awkwardly, not sure what to make of her sudden crying. “Hermione, are you all right? I’m sorry if I upset you by saying I love you—I didn’t mean to overwhelm you or make you feel obligated to—”

Hermione shook her head and tried to speak but her sobbing had devolved into stuttering breaths and she only managed to utter a garbled reply that sounded like the squawking of a seagull. She threw her arms around Draco and tried very hard to calm herself down. He held her more tightly against him, gently rubbing her back, murmuring soothing noises as Hermione tried to get a hold of herself.

“Hermione?” he asked again. 

She pulled back a little and looked up at him. Tears were still streaming down her face, but her breathing had steadied. He looked wary, as though he was afraid she was going to crush his emotions. Her lips curved into a smile. “I love you, too,” she whispered. 

Draco looked like she had lit the sun in front of him. His beautiful face glowed as a smile dawned on his lips. He moved his hands around to cup her face. “You mean that?” he asked, his voice tentative, as though he was almost afraid to believe what she had said. 

Hermione’s heart stuttered as she heard the unsure note in his voice. Draco was always so cocksure and smarmy—but she realized from his reaction to her words, that his arrogance and smirks were a facade to hide the unsure, unworthy boy that he thought he was. She knew that there was a part of him that never really believed he deserved redemption or to be loved even now, and her heart broke for him. “Draco Lucius Malfoy—have you ever known me to say things I don’t mean? Yes, I love you, I—”

Hermione never got to finish what she was going to say as Draco caught her lips in a sharp kiss, his mouth slanting over hers with urgency and hunger, pulling her into his embrace as his lips and tongue sought out the contours of her mouth, drugging her with wave after wave of sensation. Hermione moaned back into his mouth, as her fingers wove their way into the silky strands of his hair, and she pulled her body flush with his, feeling the hardness of his length against her. She’d kissed him so many times in the past few weeks since they’d decided to make this relationship “real”, but this was different. It went beyond passion. There was intimacy, emotion, commitment. He wanted to court her. Even with Hermione’s rudimentary knowledge of Pureblood customs, she understood that Draco was serious about her. Happiness was radiating off her in waves. She wanted to stay in his arms forever.  

She didn’t know how long they kissed, before he finally broke off the kiss, and smiled at her again, possibly the goofiest smile she had ever seen from him, and she felt her heart melt from the open expression she’d never seen from him before. 

“You really mean it?” Draco asked, again.

Hermione grinned. “Yes, I really mean it.” She kissed him, then pulled back a little with a playful smile. “How long?” 

“How long what?” Draco asked.

“How long have you known?”

Now Draco’s head reared back and a faint pink flush appeared on his face. 

“Draco?” 

“Our first kiss.”

Hermione gasped. “At the Emerald Orb?” Draco nodded. “No! You’re having me on!”

“No,” Draco said. “I mean it. I—I don’t think I quite realized it at the time. I just remember coming back here and thinking that I was in trouble. It wasn’t until you moved in that I understood what I was feeling. You?”

“Your birthday party,” Hermione said. “I told myself it was a crush. But—” she sighed. “You know this makes you a liar, right?”

Draco’s head reared back in confusion. “Liar? What did I do?”

“You said there was almost no chance that we’d ever fall in love, so I agreed to be your fake girlfriend, and then I was tortured for weeks and weeks being in love with you and thinking that you just wanted me as fake arm candy!”

But now Draco was laughing, “I swear I thought there was no chance for me, Hermione. I must just be the luckiest man in the world.”

Hermione buried her head against his chest, savoring the moment, but this didn’t last. As usual, her mind was always spinning. She hesitated, not wanting to spoil the mood between them by bringing up the sticky topic, but Draco knew her well enough.

“I can hear that big brain of yours whirring. What is it?”

Hermione grimaced and then looked up at him. She was a little chagrined he read her so well, but she knew she’d feel better if the situation was resolved. “Being in love doesn’t solve the problem though.”

“What? What problem?”

“The money!” Hermione said.

Draco gave her an incredulous look, “You’re like a bloodhound, Granger. All right, since you’re never going to let this go: No. I will not take back a Knut from you but I will tear up the contract and I won’t pay you any more going forward. That will be the end of this. Can you agree to that?”

Hermione bit her lip. She didn’t want to argue any more and since Draco was agreeing to destroy the contract she could go along with this arrangement knowing that this fake girlfriend business would be behind her. “All right,” she nodded in agreement. 

Draco drew out his wand and summoned his copy of the contract along with a quill and ink. He quickly wrote two lines to cancel out the contract and then signed his name and had Hermione sign hers as well. 

As soon as she finished writing her name, Hermione felt as though an invisible cord had lifted from around her wrist, signaling that the contract had been broken. She went up on tiptoe to kiss Draco on the cheek. “Thank you.”

But Draco had scooped her up in his arms, and carried her in the direction of the bedroom. “You’re not getting away with it that easily, love. I’m going to be away from you for at least a week tomorrow—and you’re going to have to send me off with some sweet memories.”

—

The Obliviated Muggles were reporting more memories regained with each evaluation, and Healer Marchback and Healer Tipton both agreed that the memory potion formula, in conjunction with the runes Hermione incorporated, was a success. They discussed writing a research paper on their findings, while Master Bergen gave Hermione the task of finalizing the formula so they could apply for a patent with the International Wizarding Patent Board. He was so excited, he even planned to hold a celebration after the patent approval. Until the patent was approved, however, the prototype formula for the potion had to be kept secret as a strictly Malfoy Holdings proprietary document. The parchment Hermione used for the formula was charmed so that no copy of the formula could be taken off company property. It could be destroyed, but was safe from being stolen. 

Three days after Draco left, Hermione was on call at the potions lab. She welcomed the call night because being in the lab would give her something to do. Even though Draco had only been gone for three days, she missed him dreadfully. The first day after Draco had left, Hermione had been occupied by the task of packing up her flat in Cauldron Court. Draco had convinced her it made no sense for her to be holding onto that flat now that they both agreed this arrangement was no longer temporary and fake. He wanted his flat to be their home. Together. And Hermione found his insistence so appealing that she could only muster a token objection that she wanted to contribute to their living expenses if she was going to move in permanently. Draco looked as though he found the idea exasperatingly ridiculous, but he also knew her well enough to forestall another argument by suggesting that she pay him the same rent she had paid for her flat if she had to insist on using her money, and, not wanting another argument, she had agreed.

Packing up with magic was a hundred-fold easier than doing it the Muggle way. But even so, Hermione spent some time putting away documents and paperwork carefully before she divided her remaining possessions into boxes to be placed in her beaded bag with the illegal extension charm, the rest to be donated or thrown out. A Muggle charity shop across London was the surprised recipient of Hermione’s donated furniture and kitchen wares, which she had placed in their back alley donation area after first temporarily disabling the CCTV camera trained to monitor traffic in that area. With the flat cleared out, she Owled the key and her last months’ payment to her landlord, and returned to Draco’s flat, which he insisted should now be called their flat, and climbed into their bed, and spent the night missing Draco dreadfully.

As discussed, Draco had taken Blaise with him for this trip to Malaysia, and so the next night after her old flat had been cleared out, Hermione had invited Daphne and Luna to dinner with her. She wanted to invite Ginny and Pansy, too, but Ginny had gone up to Holyhead for a pre-tryout training session, and Daphne informed her that Pansy and Neville had gone to Korea. There had been a death in Pansy’s family and they had gone for the funeral.

Hermione, Daphne and Luna had a very pleasant dinner together in an Italian restaurant in Diagon Alley, and that had helped Hermione with the loneliness of missing Draco that next night.

Now, on this third night without Draco, Hermione was on call in the lab with Joe, the junior potioneer she worked with on her first call night back in May. Joe was in the middle of developing a potion for reducing Apparition nausea. It was his first big project and he was deeply invested in making it work. Knowing that Hermione had just successfully finished her first big project, he peppered her with questions about how she had developed her formula and asked for advice on his own brew. Hermione was in her element discussing theories and reviewing his raw data with him. In between brew work they brainstormed together several ideas, and Joe was thrilled to have gotten her assistance. 

They were each allowed an hour for a dinner break, but it had to be staggered. Hermione suggested Joe take his break first, but he had made plans for a later dinner break with his girlfriend, so Hermione took her dinner break first.

She went to Draco’s office, carrying her notes with her, and nodded a greeting to Mitch, the night security officer who was patrolling in the corridor outside Draco’s office. Draco’s office itself was warded, with only a few people granted access through the wards: Denise Avery, Martin Robbins the head of the custodial staff, the department heads and deputy heads, and now Hermione. She entered the office, and made her way to the couches by the fireplace, glancing briefly at the Ajax Callahan painting where the green apple she had placed for Draco now appeared to grow from a tree filled with otherwise red apples.

Tippy or Mipsy had come earlier and left her supper for her under a stasis charm on the coffee table before the fireplace. Hermione sniffed appreciatively at the food as she settled down before the coffee table where her dinner tray sat, and started to eat her meal. She ate slowly, since her attention was still on reviewing the notes for her formula. She paused her eating every once in a while to pull out a quill to revise certain instructions. 

She paused in her revisions once to look toward Draco’s desk and sighed. On nights when Draco was working late, Hermione sometimes came and kept him company. She would sit on this couch reviewing potions notes or potions texts, and sometimes, Draco would decide to take a break, which was at minimum a short session snogging on the couch and other times he’d shag her on various surfaces around the room. She missed him terribly. Since he’d left, he’d only communicated with her once to let her know he had arrived, but she hadn’t expected much. Wizarding communication was so far behind Muggle telecommunications. Before he’d left, she had gotten Draco a cell phone, and spent time with him teaching him how to use it; Draco found it highly amusing to sit next to her on the couch and call her and text her as though she was far away from him. He promised to try to use it, but cell signal was spotty around magical wards and she knew he might be someplace where there was no signal at all. Here in the offices of Malfoy Holdings, she knew the wards around the building would be too strong for any signal to reach.

Even as she was thinking of signals, a silvery jackalope bounded into Draco’s office. But it wasn’t the jackalope that startled Hermione as much as the voice accompanying the Patronus. It was Luna, but instead of her naturally dreamy, dulcet tones, Luna’s voice was desperate, panicked, even.

“Hermione! It’s urgent I speak with you! Please Floo into the St. Mungo’s Staff Room Ward 1N!”

Hermione leapt up from the sofa, every nerve ending alive as she swiftly crossed the room to Draco’s office Floo. In all the years she’d known the former Ravenclaw, Hermione had never heard Luna sound alarmed. Even captivity by Death Eaters hadn’t been enough to ruffle her placid demeanor. What had agitated Luna now? Hermione called into the address Luna had given her and found Luna alone in the staff room, looking anxious.

“What’s the matter? Are you all right?” Hermione asked.

“I wanted to ask if you were all right,” Luna said, her voice low. Her blue eyes were wide, alert in a way that made the hair stand on the back of Hermione’s neck. Luna looked quickly behind her as though she had been spooked by a noise and then, satisfied that they were still alone, she turned back to Hermione. “Our memory potion supplies were sabotaged.”

“What?” Hermione’s brow furrowed. “What happened? Sabotaged? How do you know that?”

“I was the one in charge of the potions,” Luna said. “You know we kept them in the medical cabinet at the end of the Muggle ward. But what you might not know is that I kept a counter charm on the cabinet. It was just because I wanted to be sure that I kept an accurate count of the potions doses we used. No one would be able to see the charm but me. This morning, when we did inventory, I counted seven bottles and a total of twenty six doses. We used three doses for the patients today. The last time was at three in the afternoon. I just went back to the cabinet after dinner to do a night time inventory check and my counter charm went haywire.”

“Has it ever done that before?” Hermione asked.

Luna shook her head. “Never. I’ve used this charm on medical inventory since I started my apprenticeship. I’ve found discrepancies in counts, but I’ve never had the charm completely fail before. I opened the bottles, and that’s when I knew.”

“Knew?”

Luna pulled a bottle from her pocket and uncorked it for Hermione. Hermione sniffed the bottle, and her brow furrowed. Having been the one who brewed the potion, she was intimately aware of the smell of finished potion. It smelled close to the potion she created, but something was missing.

“There’s no asphodel in the potion,” Hermione concluded. “But who would sabotage the potions?”

Luna shook her head. “I’ve reported this to my supervising Healers, and Healer Tipton. They are investigating this, but they are also making sure that no other medical supplies have been altered or damaged or stolen, so there’s a hospital wide inventory being conducted right now. Healer Tipton asked me to notify you so you can check on your potions stores. Has anything happened in your lab?”

Hermione shook her head. “I was in the potions lab until just twenty minutes ago. I haven’t seen anything unusual, but I’m going to start investigating. I have to notify Draco and Master Bergen. Has any unusual activity been seen in the hospital?”

“We’re reviewing visitor logs and we’ve been collecting memories from the reception staff to check in the hospital Pensieve. If we see anything I’ll let you know.”

“I’m going to go check right now,” Hermione said. “Thank you so much for letting me know.” She left the Floo and looked around Draco’s vast office. A shudder passed through her. She had felt safe in Draco’s office, but was she? She cast a quick Hominem Revelio, but she was alone. She glanced down quickly at her notebook. She would have to return to the Potions lab to make sure their samples were still there. She had to notify Draco and Master Bergen of what had happened in St. Mungo’s.

But then, suddenly, as she was thinking this, Hermione stilled. She wondered who could be behind the theft of the potions at St. Mungo’s. Would it be the same people who were behind the Obliviations of the Muggles and Muggleborns? Would it be anyone from Malfoy Holdings or worse, someone in the Potions lab? The thought made Hermione’s heart ache. In the few short months she had been working in the lab, she had developed friendships with all the other potioneers, and for some of them, she had genuine affection. She couldn’t bear the idea that it was someone from the lab, but she also couldn’t ignore the very real possibility. In that case, whom in the Potions lab could she trust? Should she inform Master Bergen? But what reason would he have to sabotage his own project?

She wrote down a quick note to Draco on a scrap of parchment. “Mipsy!” she called.

The little elf materialized in front of her immediately. “Miss?” Mipsy looked very concerned. Hermione almost never asked anything of the elves.

Hermione handed the parchment to Mipsy. “Take this and find Master Draco. It’s urgent.”

“Yes, Miss! Right away!” Mipsy said, taking the parchment. She Disapparated with a pop.

Hermione’s gaze swept around the office. She bit her lip, pondering what she should do. She would have to tread carefully. She decided her next step should be to investigate in the potions lab. Joe was due to have his dinner break after her, so she would be able to do her investigation without involving him. But even as she thought this, she wondered if she should suspect Joe. He’d had no involvement in the development of the memory potion, but perhaps she should be cautious where everyone was concerned.

She returned to the lab, wand ready, and hating herself for suspecting him, but Joe was acting normally and cheerfully informed her that he had just finished the timed stirs on all the brews and that she would have at least half an hour before the next brew needed tending. She mustered a smile and sent him on his way. As soon as he left, she cast a quick Hominem Revelio on the lab. Satisfied she was alone, she added an alarm to the lab’s wards, wishing she had time to completely recast the wards. But that would take hours, and this method, she felt, would give her an alert if anyone else tried to come in. She then went to the back storage room, where her prototype memory potion samples were stored, to check those samples. She uncorked the first vial and smelled it. Just like the vial in St. Mungo’s, this one was missing the smell of asphodel. And as the realization dawned on her, she heard the ward alarm go off in the lab. She put the vial back and pulled out her wand. Should she go investigate or should she stay hidden here in the storage area and wait for the intruder to make him or herself known?

As she was thinking this, she heard Nicholas Babbington’s voice. “Hello? Is anyone there?” 

Bewildered, Hermione stepped out from the storage room, still holding her wand ready. “Nicholas?” she asked, warily. “What are you doing here?”

Nicholas gave a sheepish smile. “I came back to check my notes on my new blood replenishing brew. I have that presentation to make to Master Bergen tomorrow.”

“Your presentation isn’t until Friday,” Hermione said. “Tomorrow’s Thursday.”

“Oh—you’re right,” Nicholas said, brows furrowed.

And before Hermione could say anything more, she was hit by a stunner from behind and crumpled to the floor.

__

Hermione swam back to consciousness at the sound of the scream. She was initially completely disoriented. She didn’t know where she was, but she could feel that she had been bound tightly by ropes. Her hands were tied behind her back and she was lying on her side on a carpeted surface. She’d been gagged. She wondered where her wand was, but she was sure it had been the first thing taken. She opened her eyes to see Nicholas in front of her with a look of fear and agony on his face. He was holding out his hands before him and they were red; smoke was rising from them as though they had been burned, and she realized he had been the one screaming. He wasn’t looking at her, though. He seemed to be looking somewhere behind her. Without moving her head, she tried to figure out where she was, and as her eyes slowly swept around her, she realized she was in the Senior Potioneer’s office.

“I said for you to grab her!” Hermione heard a voice behind her in a hoarse whisper. She heard the German accent in the voice and her heart sank.

“Her skin burns!” Nicholas wailed, even as he reached for her with a look of unwillingness. He touched her skin and let out another wail of agony. There was a sizzle and now Hermione could smell the scent of burnt flesh. 

The bracelet! Hermione remembered what Draco had said about the Aquitaine Bracelet. It would repel the unwanted touch of any man. She must still be wearing it. As unobtrusively as she could, she stretched the fingers of her bound right hand toward the bracelet on the left, feeling for the rubies. She realized that without being able to see the bracelet, she couldn’t tell which protrusions were rubies and which were diamonds. She randomly pressed whatever she could, praying that she would be able to hit the right combination and alert Draco somehow. 

“Verdammt!” the voice behind her swore. “She must be wearing some kind of protection! We need to search her!”

“She’s awake,” Nicholas said, peering down at her. His face was in a rictus of agony as his hands were still on her arms and still burning, even as he tried to pull her upright.

“Then stun her again!”

Nicholas let go of her. He fumbled with his wand, clumsy from pain, but cast the spell again, and again, Hermione’s world went dark.

Chapter Text

It was five-thirty AM local time in Kuala Lumpur when Draco felt his signet ring burn. He should have been asleep, but the portkey lag was messing with his internal clock. He was up, reviewing parchments and drafted agreements with Blaise and Justin in preparation for his planned meeting with Samira Lim later that day. He had brought Blaise with him, ostensibly to serve as counsel, but also because he trusted Blaise to watch his back. Justin, having proved himself during his last visit to Malaysia was now leading the rest of the team in negotiations under Draco’s direction.

In the three days since he had come to Malaysia, not much had been accomplished. Draco sensed that Samira was deliberately dragging out discussions and negotiations, partly because she still seemed to be trying to woo Draco somehow, and partially to punish him for waiting so long before coming to negotiate in person. There were fifty-three items on the agenda for discussion, and so far, after three days of intense discussions, they had only gotten to item seven. 

So now, Draco was working with Blaise and Justin on a way to condense the rest of the talking points while Blaise also reviewed the business proposals Samira had made for any legal loopholes. They were in the Lims’ corporate guest compound, a very posh, high security facility that Samira had offered for accommodations upon their arrival. Draco would have preferred to stay at his suite in the Four Seasons, but he decided to take up Samira’s offer of hospitality to help avoid stirring up tensions between them. He had regretted it almost immediately, as the security in the compound was more stringent than anything he’d ever seen before. There were very limited points of egress from the compound, all guarded. Portkeys did not work and no one could Apparate in or out, not even house elves. Draco had never heard of another facility outside of Azkaban Prison with this type of security. He realized immediately that he was basically in another version of the prison, but without the Dementors and the damp chill, but there wasn’t much he could do at the moment, other than muddle through with the negotiations.

Draco was in the middle of dictating a memo when his signet ring suddenly burned, and he shot up from his chair.

“It’s Hermione!” Draco reached down into his briefcase and pulled out a silver wine flask. Like most wealthy wizards, when he traveled, he always kept a spare portkey for emergencies, even though unregistered international portkeys were illegal. He tapped it quickly with his wand to charge it while Blaise Accio’d all their documents and stuffed them into his briefcase.

“You stay here, Justin,” Draco ordered, “Brief the rest of the team on what’s going on. But before you do that, I need you to run interference for me.”

The three of them made their way to the nearest exit where a guard was on duty. Draco and Blaise were both hidden under disillusionment charms, while Justin, uncovered, approached the guard. Draco knew that if the guard saw him trying to leave, he would be detained until Samira or one of her lieutenants could be summoned, and he couldn’t afford to waste the time. Justin distracted the guard by feigning illness and insisting he needed to leave so he could get to a hospital. The guard suggested summoning the in-house Healer, and Justin played the part of Boorish Ignorant Colonizer to the hilt, complaining that he didn’t want a native Healer, he wanted a British man; he made a fuss about the accommodations in the facility, complaining about the Malaysian food he was sure had caused his problems, and the horrible weather and the subpar service. He irritated the guard until the man was more than happy to activate the security charm that opened the door to let Justin out, and while the door was opened, Draco and Blaise slipped out unnoticed, as well. 

Justin stumbled away from the building clutching his stomach and pretending to be in pain and as soon as the guard returned to his post and looked away from the door, he turned to Draco and Blaise, who had taken off the disillusionment charm. “I’ll handle things here, boss,” Justin said.

Draco nodded to him and then turned to Blaise. “On three,” Draco said, holding out the flask. Blaise touched the portkey, and on the count of three, it whisked them back to Draco’s office in the Malfoy Holdings building. Even though portkey travel was the fastest method of travel available for long distances, it still took over five stomach-churning, turbulent minutes to cover the distance between Kuala Lumpur and London. The two wizards landed in the middle of Draco’s office at Malfoy Holdings dizzy and nauseated. But once inside the office, before he’d even fully gotten his bearings from the portkey travel, Draco tapped his signet ring, which was linked to Hermione’s bracelet, Apparating instantly to an alley behind King’s Cross Station, where he promptly collided with a heavily tattooed and very shady-looking dark-haired and husky Muggle, who clutched the priceless antique Aquitaine Bracelet in his hand as he was trying to make his way out of the alley into whatever bolt hole he used.

“Fuck me!” the Muggle swore, stumbling and trying to right himself. “Watch where you’re goin’, you poncy shit!”

Draco’s eyes bulged when he saw the bracelet. “Where did you get that?”

“Fuck off!” the Muggle snapped, pulling out a switchblade, “Get away from me if you know what’s good for you!”

Draco was beyond caring about issues of personal safety, concerns about the Statute of Secrecy, or anything but an overwhelming terror for Hermione’s safety. One flick of his fingers and with wordless, wandless magic, he turned the switchblade into a banana. And before the flabbergasted Muggle could react to this, Draco followed up by punching him in the face. The Muggle was large and hefty, but Draco was also a big man, and he had a strong right hook, having learned during his time as a Death Eater how to fight in both magical and Muggle ways. His blow slammed the Muggle back against the brick wall behind him, making him stumble over a couple of garbage cans as he fell back. And then Draco had him pinned against the wall, his hand on the Muggle’s neck in a none-too-gentle fashion. He pulled the bracelet out of the Muggle’s grasp and enunciated very carefully, “Where. Did. You. Find. This?”

Now, suddenly realizing the precariousness of his situation, the Muggle’s earlier truculence disappeared and he blurted out, “It were right there! At th—the end of the alley! There was three people standin’ there, and then they wasn’t! They just disappeared ‘afore my eyes and this gold piece was on the ground when they was gone! I swear!”

“Was one of them a woman? With dark curly hair?” Draco demanded.

”I dunno! It were too dark to see them clearly! I just saw three people for a second and then they was gone! I swear!” By this time, the panicked Muggle’s voice had risen two octaves. “I weren’t even that stoned!”

Frustrated, Draco let out a snarl. It wasn’t that he thought the Muggle was lying, not now. But he had to be sure. Ignoring the consequences of what he was about to do, Draco pulled out his wand, pointed it at the thoroughly bewildered Muggle and said, “Legilimens.”

A very blurry image appeared before Draco. His lip curled at the Muggle’s assertion that he wasn’t that stoned, because this man’s memory was muddled and jerked around in a staticky, unfocused way. What Draco was able to make out was that the Muggle had happened to walk past the alleyway just a split second before the trio of people before him Disapparated. He couldn’t tell any characteristics beyond the fact that there were three people; two in black robes that swirled around and obscured their faces, and a third in a blue cardigan with bushy hair. As soon as they disappeared, the man had spotted the bracelet on the ground and had bent to pick it up. He straightened up and started to run and then Draco saw a blur that he knew was him, Apparating into the alleyway and colliding against the man’s side.

Draco pulled out of the man’s memory, having seen everything worth examining. It was infuriating. Whoever abducted Hermione could be anywhere by now. “Obliviate,” Draco said, wiping out the Muggle's memory of Draco’s illegal use of magic. “Get the hell out of my sight,” he gritted out, letting go of the Muggle’s neck.

The Muggle did not need to be told twice. He slipped away from Draco’s grasp and ran out of the alley as swiftly as he could. 

Alone, Draco tried to marshal his thoughts, even as a surge of rage swept through him that anyone would want to hurt Hermione. So now he knew two people had taken Hermione. But who were they, and why were they here in this alley? He walked the length of the alleyway, looking carefully for any clues, but he didn’t see anything that could help him. At the other end of the alleyway, behind two large metal garbage bins he found a Floo grate. He knew Hermione was supposed to be on call in the Potion’s lab tonight. Piecing together what the Muggle had told him, he concluded that Hermione had likely been taken from the Potion’s lab, forced through one of the Floos to this location, and then Apparated away. To where? 

“Fuck!” Draco swore, realizing he had no idea where to go or what to do. But one thing was clear. Hermione must have been abducted from Malfoy Holdings and he needed to get back there to find out what might have happened. Also, he realized, belatedly, that he had left Blaise in his office without an explanation. Blaise might have some ideas or at least be able to help. Draco took the Floo back into his office.

As expected, Blaise was in the office, but with Mitch, the night security officer. The portly man blanched when he saw Draco, but Blaise was both worried and irritated when he rounded on Draco.

“The hell, Draco! Warn a man before you disappear like that!” Blaise snapped. “What happened? Where did you go?”

”They took her!” Draco snarled, holding out the bracelet for Blaise to see.

“Who took her? Why would anyone want to hurt Hermione? And how was anyone able to get that bracelet off her? I thought it was charmed so that no one else could touch it?”

“I don’t know,” Draco said, as he looked around his office and realized that it had been ransacked. He turned to Mitch. “Miss Granger was abducted from this building. And someone was here in my office. Do you know anything about this?”

Mitch shook his head, his face contorted in distress. “Mr. Malfoy, sir! I—I’m sorry! Like I told Mr. Zabini, here, I was just making my rounds and I must have been hit by a stunner. I—I didn’t get any alerts through the wards of anything! It was quiet in here tonight! I made my rounds three times before I was hit and only saw Ms Granger, and Joe Blythe from the Potions lab and the team from the advertising floor—they said they were working on a new campaign for presentation tomorrow! I didn’t see anyone else in the building! I swear, I didn’t see anything before I was hit. And then, it wasn’t until Mr. Zabini here found me that—”

“Get your supervisor. Wake him up if you have to and tell him to get back here. You two need to round up everyone in the building and interview them and review the wards and Floos—you need to make a list of everyone who entered and exited the building in the last forty-eight hours. See if we can narrow down who shouldn’t have been here. And contact Master Bergen. He needs to be questioned!”

“Yes, sir,” the watchman said, rushing out of the office. 

Dread warred with mounting panic in Draco’s mind and he knew he needed to corral his thoughts again. While the security in his office wasn’t as strict as the Lims’ compound, it was still considered state of the art. He knew the wards that were set in the building. He had stringent security protocols and no unauthorized person should be able to breach them. It had to have been an inside job, unless a staff member had been Imperiused. Who had taken Hermione? Why had they taken her? Where had they taken her? Why had his office been ransacked? What were they looking for? Was this related to the Muggle Obliviation cases? Was this related to his French cousins’ takeover bid of Malfoy Holdings? A wild thought came into his mind that perhaps the two things were related. As he looked about his office, he noticed the half eaten meal on the small coffee table near the fireplace. Hermione had been on call at the Potions lab that night and he guessed the food must have been her dinner. Who was on call with her tonight? Mitch had mentioned someone named Joe Blythe. Draco knew the name vaguely, but he wasn’t well acquainted with the junior potioneers. Would Joe know anything? He wrote a short memo, tapped it with his wand, which charmed the memo into the shape of a small dragon, and sent it down to the Potions lab, ordering Joe to report to his office on receipt of the memo.

As he waited for Hermione’s on-call partner to report to his office, he considered his options. He knew he was in over his head and he needed help. He cast Expecto Patronum and a huge, silvery Hebridean Black erupted from his wand. He was a little surprised he could cast it at all given his mental turmoil, but he ordered, “Go find Harry Potter and tell him Hermione’s been abducted and to Floo to my office.”

The Patronus disappeared and Draco crossed the office toward the bookcases at the back. He tapped the bookcases with his wand and they opened to reveal a hidden safe. He muttered the combination spell and the safe opened. He reached in, past the important company documents, and pulled out a vial from the back of the safe. The liquid inside was a rich gold color, and it bubbled playfully inside the vial. It was Felix Felicis, the potion Draco had brewed to earn his Mastery.

Just as he was about to uncork it, the small dragon-charmed memo he’d sent to the Potions lab returned, unopened. This could only mean that there was no one there to take the message. Draco stared at the returned memo in surprise wondering where Hermione’s partner was, before he realized that Joe must be on his dinner break. Of course, Draco thought, that’s how they got Hermione. They waited until she was alone. Another possibility crossed his mind that perhaps Joe had a hand in the abduction. He closed his eyes briefly, feeling his mind clogging with all the what-ifs out there. He had to find Hermione!

Draco uncorked the Felix Felicis and drank it down.

Just as he finished taking the potion, his Floo roared to life and Draco headed toward the Floo alcove where Harry Potter was coming through the flames. Despite the lateness of the hour, Harry was in his Auror robes and looked apprehensive. “What happened to Hermione?” Harry demanded.

Draco tried to stay calm. “She’s been abducted,” Draco said. He held out the Aquitaine Bracelet to Harry. “This—she’d been wearing it for protection and managed to signal me with it before she was taken. But somehow—whoever abducted her was able to take it off her.”

“She signaled you? Where were you?” Harry asked.

“Malaysia,” Draco said.

“How long ago did you get the signal?”

Draco glanced at the clock on the wall. “About fifteen minutes ago.”

“How were you able to get a portkey to get back so quickly?” Harry asked before he rolled his eyes realizing the answer to his question. “Of course—”

“We’re not going to start arguing about the illegality of unregistered portkeys right now, Potter,” Draco snapped. “We need to find Hermione!”

“So then, what the hell is going on? Why was Hermione taken and who would want to take her?” Harry asked.

As swiftly as possible, Draco filled Harry in on what he knew. Which, Draco had to admit, was sparse. Hermione had been on-call tonight. She had been abducted by two people and was briefly taken to the alleyway behind the King’s Cross Station Floo. The nightwatchman had not seen anything, nor had he been alerted by the wards (which, Draco realized belatedly, meant this was completely an inside job. A high level employee would have the clearance to bring a non-employee inside the wards, but the security office would definitely have gotten a report). Hermione had managed to alert him with her protective bracelet, but somehow her captors had realized it for what it was, and—Draco was still unable to understand how—they had taken the bracelet off her. He had checked to make sure this was the true bracelet, and all his diagnostic spells showed it was the real bracelet. He didn’t know who had taken her, even though he had a suspicion as to why.

“The last known place she was taken was the Floo at King’s Cross?” Harry asked.

“Yes.”

“Damn it! She could be anywhere then. Where do we even start looking? And what’s that you’ve got in your hands?” Harry asked, indicating the empty vial Draco still carried.

“Felix Felicis,” Draco said. “I took it just before you got here.”

“Oh!” Harry said, looking suddenly more hopeful. “What is Felix telling you to do? Any ideas on where to start looking?”

Draco hesitated. He’d been getting the strangest urge to go to the back of his office near the Floo alcove. He couldn’t understand why, but now at Harry’s urging, he followed the instinct and headed toward the row of portraits on the wall near the alcove. Harry and Blaise followed him. Three portraits hung there: Draco’s grandfather Abraxas, his father, and Draco himself, all CEOs of Malfoy Holdings. 

Wizarding portraits had interesting characteristics. Portraits of dead people tended to retain some characteristics and knowledge that the original subjects had, while portraits of the still living both had characteristics and knowledge of their subjects, and also kept an emotional connection to their subject. As such, the portrait of Abraxas Malfoy appeared disdainful, that his grandson was wasting his time on a Mudblood, while the portrait of Draco was as agitated as the real wizard.

“Took you long enough to get here! She got a Patronus from Luna Lovegood,” portrait Draco informed him, “I’ve never seen Lovegood agitated like that before. Stop wasting time and find Hermione!”

Harry swiftly dispatched a message to his deputy in the Auror office to have Luna interviewed. 

But Draco turned his attention to Lucius’ portrait. He had the strangest sensation that Lucius had important information. 

Portrait Lucius sneered the way Abraxas had, but there was an undercurrent of anger and resentment in his voice that was unmistakably reminiscent of the way Lucius had spoken to him when Draco had visited him in Azkaban. “You think you’re capable enough to be the head of the family?” Portrait Lucius drawled. “Then prove it! Act better than the rabble you’ve been associating with!”

Something about the way portrait Lucius was speaking sparked a memory of what the real Lucius had said when Draco had visited him in Azkaban over the summer. “Even the Flints, McNairs and Rookwoods wouldn’t stoop this low.” Lucius had been sneering about his relationship with Hermione when he said that, but now Draco wondered at his choice of names. None of these wizarding families were in the top tier of wizarding society; in fact, only the Flints were even in the Sacred 28, but neither were they the dregs. Why would Lucius choose these names? Draco had gone to the prison to ask his father about his Malfoy cousins’ takeover bid and Lucius had refused to answer his questions, but now, Draco wondered if his father had been trying to give him a hint. What if his cousins’ takeover attempt had something to do with Hermione’s abduction and the rash of Muggle and now Muggleborn Obliviations that had been taking place this past year?

“I need a map,” Draco muttered, speaking mostly to himself.

“A map of what?” Harry asked.

“England.”

“Here,” Harry drew out his wand and with a quick incantation created a map of England that he superimposed on the nearest wall. “We use this spell a lot for field work,” Harry explained.

“Brilliant,” Draco said, as he took out his own wand and studied the map. “The Rookwood estate is here,” Draco tapped his wand near a village in the Cotswolds creating a small X. “McNair Manor is here—” Draco tapped an area in Wales. “—and Flint Tower is up in the Hebrides, here—” Draco tapped a third area in the far north. 

“Wait,” Harry said, looking thunderstruck. “I’ve been to all those places. All those Oblivated Muggles—they were all found in those locations! What made you decide to choose those places?”

“Something my father said to me last time I saw him. I was asking him—never mind,” Draco said, studying the map. “Now which one of you bastards has her?” he muttered to himself, waiting for Felix Felicis to give him the answer. His eye was drawn up north to the Hebrides. “Flint Tower,” he concluded.

“Are you sure?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Draco said. “At least Felix is.”

“That’s not an easy place to get to,” Blaise interjected, speaking for the first time since Harry had arrived.

“What do you mean?” Draco and Harry both turned to Blaise.

“Have you ever been there before?” Blaise asked.

Draco shook his head.

“The tower itself sits on a small peninsula surrounded by water, a very slippery, very rocky shoal and some very dangerous tide pools. It’s heavily warded in every direction. The only reliable approach starts from a farm house at the edge of the estate and goes through a path through some woods that comes out to a clearing five hundred meters from the house itself.”

“Only reliable approach?” Harry asked.

Blaise grimaced. “My mother’s third husband had an estate nearby and I used to visit when I was a kid. Marcus and his brother Nigel knew all the ways along the shore that would reach the estate, including one that went down into a cove that led to a cave under the tower where they kept their sea dungeons. But those shore paths were treacherous and you had to know the tide patterns or you could get swept to sea and drowned.”

“How long does it take to get from the farmhouse to the tower on foot?” Draco asked.

Blaise shook his head. “I was ten the last time I went. I—I’m not sure but I’d think a good twenty minutes to half an hour on foot. You can’t Apparate through that area. You have to—”

“What about flying?” Draco asked.

Blaise considered it, “Possibly. But then they could see you from the main tower.”

“I’ll take my chances tonight,” Draco said. “Mipsy!”

It took slightly longer than usual for Mipsy to arrive, but when she did, her large tennis ball eyes swam with tears of relief. She had a large and nasty bruise on her forehead that looked to be bleeding. “Master! We thought you was supposed to be in Malaysia! Miss Hermione gave Mipsy this note to give to you! Mipsy went to find you but Mipsy couldn’t enter the building where Master was. Mipsy tried everything, and Mipsy couldn’t get in!”

“Is that why you have that bruise? You’ve been punishing yourself?” Harry asked. 

Mipsy nodded and handed the note to Draco

Draco groaned, taking the note and quickly perusing the contents, “Mipsy, I told you that you’re not allowed to punish yourself any more!”

Mipsy drew herself up to her full height. “Mipsy is a free elf, Master, and she will punish herself for failure as she sees fit!”

“Never mind that,” Blaise interjected, having read the note over Draco’s shoulder. “When did Hermione give you this note?”

Mipsy considered, “An hour ago? Miss Hermione said it was urgent.”

”Luna tipped Hermione off to the sabotage of the Memory potions stores at St. Mungos,” Draco said, handing the note to Harry. He turned back to Mipsy, “Mipsy, have Tippy fetch my new broom and two of the Firebolt Sevens from the flat and bring them here, right now. And then I want you to heal those bruises on your head and get some rest.”

“Yes, Master!” Mipsy Disapparated.

While they waited for Tippy to come with the brooms, Harry dispatched another message to his deputy. “I’m having him send a team to each of the locations on your map, a backup team to Flint Tower and another team here to your office to do some investigative work. This last team will liaise with your security team and question everyone still left in the building. They also need to find Hermione’s on-call potions partner, and then talk to Luna, and anyone at St. Mungo’s who might have seen anything,” Harry said.

Tippy arrived with the broomsticks, and Draco distributed his extra brooms to Blaise and Harry.

“Blaise, we need you to take us to the farmhouse and we’ll start from there,” Draco said.

“Side-along, it is,” Blaise said, taking his companions to the estate outside Flint Tower.

—

They landed in a small copse of trees near the farmhouse Blaise had mentioned. Through the cover of the trees they could see in a clearing before them a large, ramshackle wooden and stone building that looked abandoned. There were missing panes of glass in the windows and even a few boards appeared to be missing. Unlike London, where the skies had been cloudless, there were thick clouds in the skies above, obscuring the waning gibbous moon that had risen that night. It was very dark and it was hard to make out anything of their surroundings. They couldn’t even see Flint Tower from where they stood, although Blaise said in better lighting, the Tower could be seen from miles away.

“Looks like the Felix is working,” Harry muttered, “It looks dark enough for us to have cover to fly.”

Harry sent a quick Hominem Revelio at the farmhouse which revealed that no one was there. “We should still check it out and see if anyone’s been there recently.”

It was so dark they needed to cast Lumos to see clearly, but they waited until they reached the cover of the farmhouse walls before they dared light their wands. With the lighting they could see that Harry’s instincts were right; someone or some people had been there recently. There were footprints on the dusty floor, and in the dirt just outside the front porch, and Harry was sure that they could only have been made in the last day or two. “This doesn’t mean that Hermione was here, just that someone was here,” Harry cautioned.

Harry and Blaise entered the building, looking around. The front room had a few pieces of broken furniture that lay scattered on the floor. Through the tattered upholstery in one chair there were the remnants of a bird’s nest. Droppings and cracked nutshells could be seen scattered on the floor.

The next room was the kitchen, which appeared moderately better. A battered table and two rickety chairs still stood in the center of the kitchen. Some cracked dishes with the ancient remains of food sat in the sink unwashed under layers of grime and dust. 

“Those same dishes were here the last time I was here,” Blaise said.

“How long ago was that?”

“Fourteen years ago,” Blaise said. “I came the summer after second year. No one ever comes in here because it's spelled to repel Muggles. Any wizarding visitors never come inside because they know there’s nothing here. It used to be a caretakers’ house, but I don’t think anyone’s actually lived in here in decades. The boys and I used to play hide and seek in here.”

They went next into one of the bedrooms. The bedclothes on the bed had long disintegrated from disuse and the elements and generations of rodents and birds who had made their home here. There was a large wardrobe in the corner, and when Blaise opened the door, he shook his head. “The last time we came and played hide and seek, Marcus had been trying to levitate to the ceiling to hide from me, but I hit him with a stunner and he fell and smashed his lip against the mirror here. Even lost a tooth. The blood is still on this mirror,” Blaise pointed to the dark stain coating the bottom corner of the mirror. His mother banned us from coming here after that.”

Harry sighed. “I think we’ve seen enough. There’s nothing here to prove one way or another that Hermione might ever have been here.”

Outside, Draco, who had not entered the farmhouse, was looking at the ground near the front porch. There was dirt mixed with gravel and some straggly weeds. He used his cloak to cover his wand and partially hide the light he was using as he examined the ground where he could see footprints in the dirt. The ground was damp and Draco didn’t think the footprints could be very old. There were a jumble of footprints of different sizes and he couldn’t make out any particular set of shoes. But then, Draco noticed something that made his heart still momentarily. Just near the worn wooden steps that lead to the front porch, and nestled among the weeds, was a clump of bright green pebbles. They looked like malachite. He remembered the pebbles Hermione was able to conjure with wandless magic that day he showed her the Ajax Callahan painting. He picked up a small handful of the pebbles and studied them. This had to be Hermione’s handiwork.

Draco went up the porch steps swiftly and entered the farmhouse. Harry and Blaise had finished their sweep of the farmhouse and concluded that if anyone had been inside, they hadn’t been there for long, and there was no way to tell if Hermione had ever been there. Draco showed them the pebbles. 

Harry’s eyes widened. “Hermione used to make those all the time the year that we were on the run! She was trying to practice wandless magic and she would always charm out those pebbles as a warmup!”

“So they were here,” Draco said.

“Well, I’m not surprised. Felix is usually pretty reliable,” Harry said.

“We need to get to the Tower,” Blaise said. “But we need to map out the wards first.”

“That’s my speciality,” Harry said. “We always have to dismantle wards, especially when we’re doing raids. Which way to Flint Tower?”

—

When Hermione swam to consciousness again, she found she had been bound to a rickety wooden chair in what looked like an abandoned farmhouse. Her two captors from the Potions lab were there: Nicholas Babbington—and Alana Achen. At that moment they were not aware she had awakened. Alana was reading something on a piece of parchment and Nicholas was watching Alana. Hermione’s chest ached from the sense of betrayal. How could these two colleagues, with whom she had always had a friendly and congenial work relationship, do this to her? And why would they want to abduct her? What did they have to do with the sabotage of the prototype Memory Potion?

She had no idea where she was, or what her captors planned to do with her, but she could tell that somehow her captors had managed to touch her long enough to Apparate her to this location. She felt for the Aquitaine Bracelet and realized it was gone. Shocked, she tried to make sense of things. Draco had told her that the bracelet was protective. That if she could press both rubies she could send a message to him anywhere. She didn’t know if that part had worked, but then Draco had also told her that the bracelet protected her from the unwanted touch of any man, and clearly, that had not stopped—

Hermione paused her thinking here. Draco had said the bracelet would protect her from the unwanted touch of any man. What about women? Wizarding society was so intensely patriarchal, she knew it would be possible that none of the wizards who had woven protective charms into the bracelet had ever considered a woman to be a threat. Even with great and powerful witches who had done much to shape wizarding culture like Selina Starkiss or Rowena Ravenclaw, too many wizards still disregarded women as potential threats or assets.

So, just like the prophecy of the Witch King of Angmar in the Lord of the Rings, it was possible that all of the Malfoy ancestors’ best laid plans had been foiled by a woman.

A woman could touch her. Of course. Women were often friends and sisters, or ladies’ maids. People who would help a lady get dressed and put on adornments. It was natural that a woman should be allowed to touch the lady who possessed the bracelet. She almost wanted to laugh at the chauvinistic absurdity of it all. She also wanted to conjure up the Ghosts of Malfoys Past and give them a good piece of her mind. 

But before she could do that, Hermione needed to take stock of her situation. She was in unfamiliar territory. She didn’t know how many accomplices her two abductors had. She didn’t know what they planned to do with her, or even what they wanted from her. It couldn't just be that she was Muggleborn, or else why would Nicholas be party to her abduction? He was Muggleborn, too.

But no matter what they planned, Hermione had to consider ways to escape. She didn’t know where she was; this farmhouse could be anywhere. She hoped she was still in Britain. She didn’t have a wand on her, but she had some ability to perform wandless magic. She knew she could loosen the bonds on her hands. Both hands had been tied behind her back, and it was quite uncomfortable having her arms in that position. The bonds that held her hands together were also unreasonably tight. She tried to calm her breathing down and then she carefully chanted, in her mind, the incantation that would loosen the bonds on her wrists. After a moment, she could feel the bond loosen slightly. 

Just at that moment, both Alana and Nicholas turned their attention to her, realizing that she was awake. “Get her on her feet,” Alana ordered. “We have to get to the tower and we have to walk. We cannot Apparate from here, and they are waiting for us.”

Nicholas pulled Hermione to her feet. Still gagged, Hermione grunted in response, a thousand questions swirling through her mind. Nicholas held his wand pointed at her as though he didn’t trust her, even bound as she was. She saw that her wand had been stashed in his pocket. If only there was a way for her to get her wand back, she’d have a fighting chance to get away. But she was propelled forward through the house toward the front door and across a rickety porch and down the steps to a small gravel-lined clearing. There were straggly weeds everywhere and it was clear this was not an oft-traveled place. A waning moon hung overhead, but she saw that it was swiftly being covered by gathering clouds. 

Hermione’s abductors cast Lumos on their wands to better see through the increasing darkness and Hermione took the opportunity to cast a wordless charm that conjured up several pebbles, which fell into the weeds with a soft patter.

”What was that?” Alana turned sharply. She peered at Hermione with a look of distrust. “Did you do something, Mudblood?”

Hermione said nothing, but Alana remained suspicious. “Check her bonds,” she ordered.

Nicholas went to tug on the ropes binding Hermione’s hands together and she grimaced. She had managed to loosen them a little, but not enough for her to slip the bonds. But Alana had seen the looseness of the ropes. She frowned. “Either you are terrible at tying knots or she has more powerful magic than I gave her credit for. Stun her again!”

And for the third time that day, Hermione felt her world go dark.