The Binding

Credit: Thank you so much to the wonderful and talented Nikitajobson for this absolutely stunning image for The Binding!

A guttural scream pierced the night air, stirring the creatures in the forest outside Malfoy Manor. Narcissa Malfoy was panting and desperately gripping the hand of her sister, Andromeda; her knuckles were white and her face glistened with a sheen of exertion.

“I can see the head!” Andromeda encouraged as she propped up Narcissa’s leg. “One more push!”

Mustering the last of her strength, Narcissa released a shaky breath and gave one final push.

“He’s here!” Andromeda cried out in wonder, her eyes blurred with tears. “Cissy, he’s here.”

It had been nearly two years since Andromeda’s reunion with Narcissa. When she was disowned for marrying Edward, she thought she would never see her sisters again. It was not until Narcissa miscarried her first baby that the two reconnected, sharing in the pain of their losses.

Andromeda made quick work of cleaning off the newborn, carefully swaddling him and placing him gently in his mother’s loving arms. The small infant was crying and, to the relief of both witches, his lungs were strong and healthy. After so many losses, Narcissa was finally holding a live child in her arms.

“Oh Dromeda, he’s perfect,” her breath hitched as she gazed down into his grey eyes, stroking his chubby cheek with the back of her finger.

Nodding quickly, Andromeda brushed away her happy tears, “He is lucky to have you as a mother.”

“Draco.” Narcissa whispered, her voice thick. “We’ve decided on Draco.”

Stroking Narcissa’s hair affectionately, Andromeda gave her a watery smile. “I see you’re following the old Black tradition of constellation names.”

Eyes shining in the dimly lit room, Narcissa took her sister’s hand. “Of course, he is a Black, after all. Family is everything.”

With a gentle squeeze, Narcissa clutched Draco protectively against her chest. “Speaking of family, there is another reason that I have asked you here tonight.”

Shifting in place, Narcissa let out a soft groan of discomfort as she opened the nightstand next to the bed. Her shaky hand retrieved a tome wrapped in cloth as she balanced Draco in the crook of her arm. The blanket was worn, the gold stitching faded from time but still visible.

Andromeda’s eyes widened in recognition as she instinctively took a step back, “Cissa—” her breath caught in her throat, “I thought that book was destroyed.”

“Nonsense.” With a dismissive wave, Narcissa explained, “I simply glamoured another book before mother threw it into the Fiendfyre. I could not take the chance, not with everything at stake.”

“But—”

Interjecting, Narcissa raised her chin defiantly. “It is his birthright as a Black. I need you to do this with me. You know that it must be cast with another Black.” Their eyes met as she begged. “Please.”

A shuddered breath escaped Andromeda's chest and her pulse raced under her skin. “Cissy...you know the potential consequences of this type of magic.”

“Of course. I know what it did to Bella, but that will not happen to him. Draco will find her.” She declared confidently, focusing her attention on the infant in her arms, suckling on her breast. “He has to find her.”

“We cannot tell Lucius.” Narcissa murmured.

They went to work quickly, spreading out the faded blanket which was adorned with golden runes. A candle was placed between each rune along the edges of the worn cloth.

There was a rune for each earthly element and left to right the runes read:

Binding.

Unity.

Harmony.

Desire.

Destiny.

Soul.

With a final, tender glance, Narcissa laid Draco in the center of the blanket.

“ Nox .” The room was enveloped with the black of night.

A flick of Andromeda’s wand lit the candles surrounding the babe in quick succession as Narcissa prepared the umbilical cord from the afterbirth. Accepting the cord from Narcissa, Andromeda wound it gently around Draco’s small hand, binding it.

The Black sisters made fearful eye contact before Narcissa nodded once to Andromeda, signaling for her to begin.

With a steadying breath, the pair of witches clasped hands over Draco. Murmuring softly, they repeated from the open book below them. All at once, the air stilled, the hairs on their arms and necks raised. As their incantation continued, the flames from the candles grew taller, causing shadows to dance around the room; Draco fussed as each rune lit up and a bright glow encircled him.

The final words were spoken as the candles extinguished, the glow fading into the dark.

A gasp of relief broke the silence.

“She is alive.” Narcissa’s eyes welled with tears. “He has a match and she has already been born.”

Across the country, in a Muggle suburb of London, a baby girl lay blissfully unaware in her crib. A soft golden glow surrounded her for just a moment before waning. On the inside of her wrist, a pink mark appeared; it was nearly imperceptible, the rune symbol for binding.

Back in Wiltshire, Narcissa’s voice broke with emotion, “It is done. Now, he just has to find her.”

11 years later

The train jostled the students as they watched the countryside pass by the window. Draco Malfoy was on the Hogwarts Express for the first time. Surrounded by his childhood mates, Blaise Zabini, Theo Nott, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle, he felt his nerves calm as he feigned confidence.

A gluttonous pile of candy from the trolley was stacked between the seats as they swapped rumours and tales about their new school.

“Do you really think we have to fight a dragon during sorting?” Goyle’s pudgy eyes darted around the compartment nervously, a ring of chocolate staining his mouth.

With a roll of his eyes, Blaise bit into a licorice wand. “Don’t be thick, you know that old coot Dumbledore just uses the singing hat.”

“Well, I heard—” Crabbe was cut off by the sound of the carriage door opening.

A pile of bushy curls popped through the door, inspecting the boys inside.

“Have you seen a toad?” The girl tucked her head low to the ground as if the toad in question was hiding below their seats. “Neville’s lost his familiar already,” she informed them as she watched expectantly, waiting for a reply.

Draco studied the intrusion; she was rather short with a petite frame that drowned beneath her wild curls. Even though they were hours from arriving at the castle, she was already wearing her Hogwarts uniform. 

When her curious brown eyes skimmed the compartment and landed on his, Draco’s mouth went dry. His stomach lurched into his throat as his heart hammered against his ribs. Blinking in shock, he opened his mouth to speak. When no words came out, Theo interjected.

“We haven’t seen a toad, but if we do then we will let you know,” Theo assured her with a half grin. “Or Neville.”

With a curt nod, she smiled at Theo; Draco’s stomach gave another flip before she turned on her heel and left the compartment.

Draco’s eyes were fixed to the spot the girl had stood moments before, his mouth still open. Snapping it shut, he swallowed.

They had not even spoken and his reaction to her presence left him terrified and breathless. Somewhere in his mind, he noted that he did not even know her name.

Blaise cocked his head and eyed Draco curiously. Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his mind racing with possibilities. It seemed as though his mates were completely unaffected by the interaction, which meant it was only Draco who had felt it. Somehow, the realisation made him feel worse.

“I’m just saying, if you lose your fight to the dragon, the hat puts you in Hufflepuff!” Theo bluffed, holding back a laugh as he watched the horror in his mates’ eyes at the prospect.

Draco’s eyes drifted back to the closed carriage door, his mind completely preoccupied with the mystery girl.

The Hogwarts Express came to a stop at their destination and the students piled out of the train onto the platform below. Draco watched the trail of students, scanning the group for a poof of brown curls among them. At the tail end of the crowd, he finally spotted her; she was walking with two boys, her arms flailing as she gesticulated with enthusiasm.

“…in Hogwarts: A History ,” he read on her lips.  

A flash of jealousy stabbed at his chest and his eyes narrowed, internally sizing up the blokes. One had the distinct red hair of a Weasley—their families had feuded since before Draco’s grandparents were born. The other had jet-black hair and bright green eyes; the wind blew his fringe up, exposing a red scar.

Harry Potter , Draco identified with surprise; the mystery girl had become mates with a Weasley and Harry Potter before they even stepped foot off the train.

For some reason, this fact made his stomach turn in an uncomfortable manner; he could not quite place the feeling, but it was discomforting. Perhaps he could offer friendship to Harry Potter in order to get closer to the witch—there was no way he would try to befriend a Weasley.

“GRYFFINDOR!” the hat bellowed as the girl, Hermione Granger, hopped out from under it and started in the direction of her new house with a proud grin. Draco’s shoulders slumped forward slightly in disappointment. 

Slytherin was his family legacy as a Malfoy and Black; he had known his future Hogwarts House before he could talk. When she had sat down on the stool, he had let himself hope that the hat would declare Slytherin. Moments later, Harry Potter and the Weasley soon joined her at the Gryffindor table, taking a place on either side of her.

“You okay?” Blaise waved his hand in front of Draco’s face, interrupting his thoughts.

“I...what?” He shook the thoughts from his head. “I’m fine. Why?”

Blaise raised his brows skeptically. “I don’t know, Draco, just saying you seem a little murder-y today.”

Sneering in confusion, Draco faltered, following Blaise’s line of sight. He had not even realised he was currently clutching his supper knife tightly in his fist. Dropping it with a clatter, he turned away from the Gryffindor table and refocused on the front of the Great Hall, where Dumbledore was starting the welcome speech.

The nerves from his first day must be causing this reaction, Draco reasoned silently. Over the years, he had been exposed to witches his age that were in his parents’ social circle. In fact, his mother had pushed the daughters of her Pureblood friends on him at every given opportunity. It was most likely the excitement and freedom to interact with new peers that was making him feel this way.

After all, it was only the first day of school, and he was confident that within the week he would not even spare her a passing thought.

Draco was mistaken.

All through their first year, he continued to notice her. He found a table in the library near her favourite section and would sneak peeks over his book as she spent hours studying alone. Her face would scrunch up when reading their Transfiguration textbook and he could not help but affectionately stare at the small crinkles in her nose. The wild mane of curls would fall in front of her eyes, causing her to tie it up into a loose bun on the top of her head. It was the only time Draco saw her looking like that, and he liked to imagine it was for him.

Following Halloween, she began disappearing from the library and spending even more time with Harry Potter and the Weasley. He found he did not like that. 

By the end of the first year, the two prats she spent so much time with had nearly gotten her killed at least twice. He liked that even less.

A gravitational pull surrounded Hermione Granger and he was powerless to escape. Every day passed and the urge to be near her grew. He started watching for her in their shared lectures, during meals, and scanning the halls for her telltale hair between classes. Even worse, she seemed completely unaware of his growing fascination with her and was utterly impervious to his presence.

Unfortunately for Draco, his interest did not go unnoticed by his best mates. During their second year, Blaise and Theo sat facing the Gryffindor table for the entire week, forcing Draco to sit facing the Ravenclaw table. The two mates laughed mercilessly at Draco’s flustered expression as he struggled to explain why he wanted a seat facing the Gryffindor table and that, no, there was no particular reason why, but it was his seat and he wanted it back. Immediately.

His growing frustration was palpable when it came to Hermione Granger and the blokes in her life. Much to his dismay, she was constantly surrounded by males.

It stirred something wicked in him when he saw her hugging them, kissing their cheeks, grasping their arms; it made him want to break the body parts of every male she touched.

Draco struggled to reconcile his emotions, but they were only exacerbated by his rampant hormones. He kept lashing out, taunting and teasing her, wanting to raise any kind of reaction out of her, wanting to see her look at him because he was always looking at her.

One day, these feelings exploded during an argument about which team had the pitch for Quidditch practice. She had stuck up for the Weasley and insinuated that Draco bought his way onto the Slytherin Quidditch team. He saw red. Feeling like a man possessed, he spat vitriol at them and called her a Mudblood, wanting to hurt her like she had hurt him every single day with her apathy.

When he saw the tears build up in her eyes, he felt a wave of nausea hit him. It was so bad, in fact, that Theo spent over an hour trying to convince him to go to the Hospital Wing. Draco had refused and instead spent his night curled in the fetal position, feeling ill and indisposed.

Perhaps Weasley’s spell had not completely failed , Draco considered as he dry heaved, his already empty stomach still protesting.

It was much of the same for the rest of second year. After the ‘Mudblood’ incident, he switched sides of the table during meals, much to the confusion of Blaise and Theo who had shared a look of concern. 

Then she was Petrified.

For nearly two months, Draco dealt with daily night terrors of snakes and stone. He woke up in a pool of sweat, shaking and breathing as if he had been running. In the middle of the night, he found himself walking the long path from the dungeons to the Hospital Wing. His legs brought him there, as if drawn to her. 

For weeks, he spent each night sitting outside the locked door and curling into himself, not understanding why he had to be there but knowing that it was the only place he felt whole. 

The day she awoke, he could have sworn he felt it. 

Draco watched with a longing gaze as Hermione reunited with her best mates, her face lit up with life and happiness. He wanted to bottle up her smile and keep it for a rainy day. During her grand reunion, she did not even look at him. After spending months worrying and fighting his emotions, she did not even think to look at him. 

He resolved to forget all about that swotty Hermione Granger.

Though Draco had felt it much earlier, the first time Hermione felt the Pull was third year; it corresponded with the first time she had ever touched him. Granted, she was hitting him in the face at the time, but it was the first physical contact they had shared.

The action triggered a slight twinge in her navel, and it was so subtle that she almost missed it. When she hit him, it had been satisfying to feel her hand collide with his face, revenge for his taunts about Buckbeak. Before he could retaliate, she ducked behind Hagrid’s Hut, waiting for him to leave.

Almost instantly, she felt the world was short on air. She gasped, clutching her stomach and trying to inhale frantically. Bending over at the waist, she balanced her upper body on her knees as the world moved around her.

There was a pang in her chest before everything went dark.

Hermione woke up on the dirt path a full hour later, dirty and disoriented. Dusting off her robes, she made her way up to the castle and back to her dorm. It was several years before she made the connection that hurting Draco had hurt her too.

After that day, Hermione could not help herself; she was drawn to Malfoy like a moth to a flame. At first, she could rationalise that it was because she felt guilty about the slap. But eventually it became obvious that she was noticing him simply because he was there and she could not stop.

Guilt would not cause her to notice how soft his hair looked now that he’d stopped slicking it back or make her want to run her hands through it. It would not trigger thoughts on how nice he looked when he smiled at his mates, or what it would feel like to see that smile directed at her. It would not make her heart pound and cheeks flush during class when her mind drifted to him.

It was possible she had caught some magical malaise that induced daydreams about prats. Or perhaps she could ask Luna if there was a wickenspurgles infestation that overtook her sensibilities. She would consider almost anything before she would believe she fancied Malfoy.

The rest of third year was relatively uneventful compared to her first two years with Harry Potter. They had a werewolf for a professor, they were stalked by an escaped Azkaban prisoner, they used a time-turner, and they rescued Sirius Black and Buckbeak. It was their first year without a Voldemort appearance, which was a nice change of pace for the trio.

Hermione was confident spending the summer holiday at home with her parents would clear her mind of Draco Malfoy, and she would finally get to read the backlog of books she had on her bedside table. It would be a full mental restart after a challenging year of extra classes.

As she stepped onto the Hogwarts Express with Harry and Ron at the end of the year, she was subconsciously watching for a head of platinum blond hair. Hermione hoped that she would be able to forget all about that arrogant, annoying, adorable Draco Malfoy. 

Just then, Draco passed by her carriage with Theo and Blaise, his mouth curved into a bright smile as he talked with his mates. As if able to feel her gaze, Draco’s eyes caught on her and his smile widened at her before he disappeared from view.

The sound of blood rushing through her veins filled her ears as butterflies furiously flapped their wings in her stomach. Shifting in her carriage seat, she leaned her head back with a silent groan, her mind consumed with thoughts of that smile.

The last Triwizard Tournament had been held in 1792 and though the revival was unexpected, it was nonetheless happily embraced by the students of Hogwarts. The corridors were ablaze with rumour and speculation around the tournament challenges and the students from neighbouring schools. 

Draco was not even slightly surprised when Harry Potter’s name came out of the Goblet of Fire. Three years of watching the improbable happen to the bloke had dampened any sense of normalcy. His only regret had been not taking bets in the Slytherin commons when he had the chance.

“Mate, I’m in love,” Blaise sighed dramatically, holding his hand over his heart, eyeing a group of Beauxbaton students that passed by the Slytherin trio.

Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Draco asked, “I thought you were in love with that other Beauxbaton girl, what was her name? Marie? Sophie?”

“That was Emilie and that was yesterday. Today, my heart belongs only to Michéle.” Blaise’s eyes trailed to the backsides of the departing group.

“Yeah, mate, I’m sure it’s your heart. ” Draco coughed out a laugh, looking at Theo with a smirk.

Theo smacked Blaise upside the head, “Oi, stop ogling, you’re driving us mad. You do realise the girls talk, right? They definitely know you’re flirting with all of them.”

Grumbling unintelligibly under his breath, Blaise pouted, crossing his arms in front of him.

“Speaking of love, rumour has it that we are hosting a Ball with all the schools this winter. Best brush up on your dancing and break out your nicest dress robes if you want any hope of escorting one of those Beauxbaton girls.”

Blaise’s eyes lit up. “That’s brilliant! Girls love dances. I can finally put all those years of formal dance training to good use when I win over Michéle… or maybe even Juliette.” Looking between his friends, he gave them an impish grin. “Think I can get away with bringing more than one date?”

“Seriously, mate, I know we’re teenagers and you’re basically a raging pile of hormones, but we really need to talk about your delivery.” Theo patted Blaise’s back condescendingly.

“A ball?” Draco prompted, two steps behind in the conversation.

“Yes, keep up. I think I’ll go stag.” Theo declared thoughtfully, adjusting his tie with a grin, “Keep my options open.”

Draco’s mind flitted through a list of girls in their year. While it was true he was noticing the opposite sex more than ever before, he still had next to no experience with actual dates. The forced interactions with the daughters of his mother’s Pureblood society friends did not count.

There was always Daphne Greengrass—his father and her father were associates and had not-so-subtly hinted at their potential for a union on more than one occasion. Draco considered her for a moment, imagining her straight blonde hair styled up with her Pureblood aristocratic dress robes. 

No, he did not want to spend his night dancing stiffly with her, following Pureblood customs and rituals for formal courtship. He vowed to start paying more attention to his female peers, lest every viable date be taken before he could decide. Though he supposed he could always go stag with Theo as backup.

“…with daisies, what do you think?” Blaise’s question disrupted Draco’s inner monologue.

“Of course,” Draco agreed vehemently, to what he did not know.

Blaise seemed satisfied as they turned the corner into their classroom. The usual chairs and tables were gone; the classroom was empty except for a large phonograph which sat ominously facing the students.

Professor McGonagall strolled to the front of the classroom as students whispered conspiratorially to each other.

The hair on his arms raised as he put the pieces together. The empty room, the phonograph, the rumours of the Ball. He looked to Theo nervously, gesturing to the phonograph with his chin. Theo’s eyes widened in realisation.

“Students, I would like to address the rumours that have been circulating around Hogwarts this week. Following the tradition of the Triwizard Tournament, and to show unity between our schools, I can officially confirm that we have decided to host a Yule Ball.” 

The whispering around the room elevated in delight, an excited squeal made Draco cringe.

Professor McGonagall peered through her spectacles at the classroom of students. “It has come to our attention that Beauxbatons Academy and the Durmstrang Institute have prepared their students in traditional dancing prior to coming to Hogwarts. After many discussions with the faculty, we have decided that in lieu of Transfiguration today, I will instead instruct you in a French waltz. It would not do to embarrass Hogwarts by having students tripping over their own feet.”

The room grew eerily silent as the students nervously stared at McGonagall. Draco’s eyes moved of their own accord and he found himself scanning the room of potential dance partners, his eyes skimming past a certain brunette he refused to think about.

“Now, pair up,” McGonagall directed the students.

No one moved.

“Oh, come on, children! I said to pair up.”

There were apprehensive glances around the room but still no students stepped forward.

With an impatient flourish of her wand, McGonagall separated students into dancing partners.

A feeling prickled down Draco’s body as he felt McGonagall’s spell begin to drag him across the room. Frowning in annoyance, he conceded that it would be nice to not have to pick his own dancing partner. His annoyance was quickly replaced with panic as he realised the spell was directing him straight to Hermione Granger. 

At the same moment, Hermione seemed to recognise that they were sliding together, and her mouth dropped open to protest. She  looked to Harry frantically, but he was currently being pulled into Eloise Midgen. Harry gave Hermione an apologetic half shrug before greeting Eloise.

“I will hear none of it!” Professor McGonagall raised her hands over the students’ loud objections. “The purpose of this tournament is for interschool unity. We will not have something as frivolous as house rivalries ruining that.”

Draco finally did what he had been avoiding for months—he looked directly into Hermione’s eyes. A flutter passed through his chest and he caught himself staring at her, counting the freckles that kissed her cheeks.

McGonagall cleared her throat and with a wave of her wand, the room filled with music.

His Pureblood training kicked in; for the first time he was grateful for those lessons, and he extended a hand to her. Draco saw a flash of shock pass over her face as she accepted his hand and he guided his other hand to the small of her back. Guilt itched at the back of his mind at her surprise; it was obvious that she’d expected he would refuse to dance with her.

It was only a dance, he lied to himself. He was not choosing this—he had to hold her. Draco swallowed his anxiety as he pulled her chest up to his into the starting position.

Draco was completely unprepared for this moment. Up until this point, they had never interacted for more than a few minutes, even neutrally. Fighting the urge to pull her closer, he marveled at how soft and small her hand was in his. His skin tingled from her touch, his body hyper aware of each brush of her chest against his as they followed the steps carefully. 

Inhaling slightly, his legs felt weak; she smelled like honey and flowers. He wondered how she would taste.

Ripping his attention away from Hermione, he watched the next set of instructions from McGonagall, refusing to let go of her as he watched. This would probably be his only opportunity to hold her, and he selfishly wanted to take advantage of their time together. 

Turning back to his partner, he grasped her waist with both hands, lifting her easily into a twirl. As he set her down gently, she leaned towards him and pressed her palms against his chest, balancing herself. 

Cocking his head slightly in confusion, he studied her reactions. Hermione’s eyes were not meeting his and Draco’s gaze fell onto her pink cheeks. With confident ease, he led her through the steps; due to his training and lifetime of galas, he was well practiced in dancing. Draco had danced hundreds of waltzes before, but never had he had a partner who moved so fluidly with him.

It was as though they moved as one.

Standing this close to Hermione and holding her intimately was greatly impairing his judgement. He let himself daydream during the repetition of steps. His wandering mind imagined they were at the ball together, wearing well-cut dress robes and a long gown, perhaps in emerald green, that would complement her features well.

Slytherin green, he thought suddenly, holding back a smile; she would look lovely in Slytherin green.

The rest of the room felt like ambient noise, blurring in the background as he stared deeply into her eyes; they moved in sync to the music, stormy grey clashing against chocolate brown. A curl fell over her eyes, and he desperately wanted to tuck it behind her ear.

Before he knew it, the music stopped. Class had ended and students began trickling out. 

Hermione was looking at Draco oddly for several moments. He forgot to breathe under her stare. In the back of his mind, he wondered why she was watching him with that expression before realising that he was still holding her possessively against him, his hands claiming her waist and hand. As if her touch burned, he dropped his hands to his sides. 

“I...thanks,” he mumbled, struggling for words as he turned and practically sprinted from the classroom, leaving behind a flustered and flushed Hermione Granger.

Groaning silently, he mentally berated himself for thanking her for the dance. He knew from his training that he should have bowed or kissed her hand—the thought burned his lips.

The farther away from her he moved, the more he panicked. Running a nervous hand through his hair, he began to focus on the repercussions of his traitorous thoughts. If his father knew a single thought that had passed through Draco’s mind in the past hour while he had Hermione in his arms, he would be disowned and disgraced.

Regardless, the feeling imprinted on his memory; she had felt so comfortable in his arms, as if they had been there a hundred times before. 

As if she belonged there.

Draco shivered at the thought.

Glancing around the hallway, Draco’s heart was in his throat. He needed to squash this obsession before it grew. There was no way that he could even let himself consider Hermione Granger. The sound of Pansy Parkinson laughing loudly broke into his thoughts. 

Pansy.

Pansy would be a perfect date. She was a Pureblood Slytherin, exactly the type of girl he should be interested in dating. Certainly not a fiery Gryffindor with untamable curls and pink lips that begged to be kissed. Absolutely not.

“Pansy,” he called over to her, attracting her attention. “Do you have a minute?”

She gave a quick look to her friends before breaking away and approaching him with a practised smile. “Of course, anything for you, Draco.” Her eyelashes fluttered flirtatiously. 

“I noticed you dancing in the class,” he lied, his mind flashing back to Hermione, “and you are a beautiful dancer. I would love to be your partner. May I escort you to the Yule Ball?” He pushed the words out quickly before he could change his mind.

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Of course! I mean, yes!” She squealed, clutching a textbook to her chest. “I would love to go to the Yule Ball with you. I’m purchasing my dress this weekend with my mother. I’ll let you know what colour I’m wearing to match my flowers.”

Nodding noncommittally, Draco grew annoyed by the revelation that he would have to buy her flowers.

Turning back to the other Slytherin girls, Pansy and her friends began to chatter enthusiastically about the upcoming Ball. Draco tuned out their voices, irritated by the loud sounds.

“So.”

Draco turned toward the low voice. “Parkinson, eh?” Theo crossed his arms and studied Draco, unimpressed.

“Yes,” Draco sniffed pompously. “She’s a perfectly reasonable choice.”

“Ah yes, how romantic. Nothing says true love like a ‘reasonable’ choice.” Theo raised his eyebrows at Draco sarcastically.

“Sod off, who else would I ask?” Draco stared ahead, not wanting to play into Theo’s game.

“Oh, I don’t know, you and Hermione looked pretty comfortable in there just now. I don’t think I saw you take your eyes off her once,” he mused. “And don’t get me started on Hermione.” Draco glared at his best mate and started to stomp away as he heard, “She sure looked like a witch who wanted to be kissed.”

Hermione inspected herself in a full-length mirror while her dormmates flurried around her. After a full bottle of Sleekeazy’s hair potion and several taming spells Pavarti had taught her, Hermione’s hair was curled, tucked, and pinned into an elegant updo. At Ginny’s insistence, she had purchased a flowy periwinkle-blue gown that showed off her curves and swayed gently as she moved.

It was the first time that she felt truly beautiful.

The girls chattered about their dates and dresses, about who was going with whom and the latest house gossip.

“So, are you going to kiss him tonight?” Parvati’s eyes danced deviously towards Hermione.

“I…I haven’t given it much thought,” Hermione replied honestly, suddenly nervous that a kiss was expected after the dance.

“I’ve never…I mean I haven’t yet…” Hermione trailed off quietly.

“Oh, Hermione!” the room clamored loudly.

“I mean, I’ve read about it,” she offered feebly.

“You can’t read about kissing, it’s something you have to feel ,” Lavender insisted, applying her lipstick carefully.

“And it’s not like in your books. Well, I’m not sure what kind of books you’ve been reading but those love stories make up all sorts of stuff,” Parvati assured her matter-of-factly.

Padma nodded seriously at her sister’s words. “It’s not fireworks and magic, mostly it’s just soft lips. Sometimes wet lips.” She scrunched her nose in distaste.

Hermione’s nerves grew more with each comment; she was not even sure she wanted to be kissed tonight. She had been asked to the ball by Viktor Krum, a student from Durmstrang and a champion in the Triwizard Tournament. Letting out a shaky breath, she smoothed her dress down.

Bidding her dormmates goodbye, Hermione made her way down to the Great Hall, which had been transfigured into a ballroom for the night. As she descended the staircase, she suddenly became aware of eyes on her from all around the hall. Whispers and gasps filled the air around her as a few students openly gawked at her transformation.

It caught her off guard how much she enjoyed being viewed as a beautiful witch and not just Harry Potter’s walking textbook.

She felt a tug in her stomach as her eyes found his across the ballroom. Draco looked impossibly handsome in his dress robes, tailored to fit him perfectly. Her heart sank as she looked his date over. Pansy was stunning; her usually stick-straight hair was impeccably curled and pinned up and she was adorned in luxurious silver silk which hugged her body. A delicate pattern of snowflakes was magicked to her dress and shimmered as she moved.

Hermione pushed down the jealousy that stirred in her chest when she noticed his hand resting on Pansy’s waist, remembering how good it felt to have on her waist as they danced. When she looked back at his eyes, he was still watching her and she glared before breaking eye contact. There was a gentle tap on her shoulder, pulling her attention away. 

“Viktor!” she exclaimed happily, making a show of accepting his arm as he led her into the ballroom. 

On principle, she refused to look over at the scowling blond across the hall. Even though she could feel his eyes burning her skin as he watched her. Even though she really wanted to look back at him. Even though the jealousy was ripping her apart inside.

Viktor took her hand in his and artfully moved her across the dance floor. He was tall and broad, and he looked dashing in his red Bulgarian suit. As they danced, she could not help but compare the experience to dancing with Draco during their lesson. 

Where Draco was smooth and gentle, Viktor was hard and assertive. Viktor picked Hermione up and twirled her, but instead of that breathless flutter she felt with Draco, she just felt dizzy from the spin. Before she could stop herself, her eyes drifted over to Draco and Pansy who were dancing within her line of sight.

Draco caught her gaze and she saw something in his expression that she could not identify. A look of discomfort and annoyance filled his eyes as he moved through the steps of the waltz. When Viktor pulled her closer, Draco’s eyes tightened and a feeling of guilt washed over her.

But she didn’t let herself think about it. She was determined to have a good time.

The music shifted into a more upbeat dance and Hermione shared an excited grin with Viktor. The pair danced through the night and Hermione relished the compliments she received from her peers and from Viktor. Even Harry had called her beautiful, though Ron mostly glowered.

“Herminnony,” Viktor butchered her name with his thick accent. “Shall I escort you back?” he offered politely.

“That would be lovely,” Hermione accepted with a graceful smile and they walked through the corridors toward Gryffindor Tower together. She briefly wondered how many variations of her name Viktor would come up with when attempting the pronunciation. 

Just outside the portrait, Viktor stopped and turned towards her.

“Hermonine, I had a vonderful time with you tonight.” He stepped closer with intent. Before she could blink, he was kissing her; his lips were soft yet firm as they moved against hers. 

Padma was right—it felt mostly like lips. Thankfully, not wet lips in this case. The kiss left her feeling giddy with happiness; it had been a nearly perfect night. She spun through the portrait entrance to the Gryffindor Tower, holding her cheeks as she grinned wildly.

Inside the Gryffindor Common Room, Ron sat scowling on the sofa, still in his dress robes.

“Why do you look so happy?” he grumbled; his arms folded defensively as he slouched inward.

“I had a nice night dancing with my date, Ronald. Why are you upset?” she shot back, visibly agitated by his attitude.

“I’m only upset because you went to the Ball with Krum! I can see why you didn’t tell us that he was your date. He’s a Durmstrang. You’re fraternizing with the enemy.” Ron’s voice raised in frustration, throwing his arms out in anger.

“How dare you! I just wanted a single night to myself, is that too much to ask for?” she fumed, storming back out of the Common Room before she hexed his bollocks off.

After having her first kiss, she should be walking on air. Instead she was walking aimlessly through the corridors of Hogwarts, fighting back tears.

As soon as Hermione had left the ballroom with Krum, Draco had refused to dance again. In his lifetime, he had spent hundreds of hours dancing at his mother’s innumerable events and charming the witches with whom he danced. After dancing with Hermione, it was like he’d forgotten what it was like to dance with anyone else. 

It did not feel right; Pansy felt too stiff, too balanced and well-practiced, not at all like Hermione who followed his lead without hesitation, moulding her body to his on instinct. 

Where Pansy felt cold and forced, Hermione felt as natural as breathing. 

After the girl in the periwinkle dress disappeared from the Ball, Draco led Pansy to a nearby table that was filled with her friends to chat. He slouched down in the seat, ignoring the mental chastisement in his mother’s voice for his ungentlemanly attitude. 

“Your witch sure looks nice tonight,” Theo commented casually, his voice low as he leaned over Draco’s shoulder.

With a dismissive roll of his eyes, Draco corrected, “Pansy is not my witch.”

“Wasn’t talking about her,” Theo practically sang over his shoulder as he walked away smugly.

The music shifted into a popular song and Pansy’s mates jumped up to dance, making their way to the dance floor.

“Draco,” Pansy said, turning her attention towards him, pawing and kissing at his neck. “Let’s dance.”

Swatting her away, he growled under his breath. He had severely underestimated how painful it would feel to watch Hermione spend the night in another man’s arms, dancing their dance together. She had gazed at Krum with her beautiful brown eyes, laughing in delight as he spun her.

Even worse, they had left the ball early. Draco’s mind wandered to dark places as he thought of the pair finding an abandoned corridor, of Krum’s hands drifting down her waist and kissing her neck. The thought of his witch encouraging Krum filled Draco’s throat with the taste of bile— not his witch, he mentally corrected himself.

He stood up abruptly, almost throwing Pansy off him.

“I’ll be right back,” he nearly snarled before stalking out of the hall.

Several minutes later, he returned to the room, looking significantly more relaxed. His hair was slightly ruffled and his face tinged pink from exertion.

“Ready to go?” He held out a hand, less of a question and more of a statement.

Pansy took hold of his arm as they left the Ball. He tried to direct her attention elsewhere as they passed a group gathering outside a nearby classroom. 

“Blimey! Someone is having a hell of a night.”

“Jacob, did you break the desks?”

“It was like that when I found it!” 

Knowing her proclivity for gossip, Draco distracted Pansy as they quickly passed the classroom. He felt another twist in his stomach as he recalled his stint of accidental magic splintering the row of desks in half not even ten minutes ago. 

This obsession with Granger was going to be the death of him.

“And then I told Sophia that she is not a winter with that skin tone. Honestly, how someone can get to be our age with zero understanding of fashion is beyond me!” Pansy cackled. “She would be better off in a burlap sack, not that you could tell the difference between that and her gown tonight.”

Draco politely nodded along, not following the one-sided conversation; he increased his walking speed, trying to get back to the dungeons to say goodnight to Pansy.

Around the corner, Draco heard a familiar sniffle echo down the corridor. The last time he heard that noise was in second year and he had spent the entire night vomiting—he had not forgotten that sound.

“Pansy,” Draco turned to his date, “I forgot something I borrowed from Theo back in the Great Hall. I’ll meet you in the Common Room soon?” 

“Of course, Draco. I’ll be waiting.” She winked before merging into another group of Slytherins who were walking to the dungeons.

Slipping around the corner, Draco spotted a female figure walking slowly down the empty corridor. His lungs seized, thinking back to his vision of her and Krum earlier in the night. A rush of anger came over him and he clenched his jaw and fists at the thought. 

“Granger.” Draco lightly caught her arm and she whirled around to meet him, her eyes shining with tears.

“What did he do?” The question came out more panicked than he had intended.

Lifting her chin with his thumb, he inspected her from head to toe, looking for any injuries or signs of a struggle.

Frowning, Hermione took a distrustful step back, retracting her chin from his touch. Protectively covering her chest with her arms, her voice cracked, “Who?”

Draco faltered, eyeing the trails of tears running down her cheeks. “Krum, what did he do?” he rasped as he failed to mask his emotions.

He had hated himself for making her cry during their second year, but he found that watching her cry because of someone else felt worse; in that moment, he would do anything to see her smile again.

With a brief shake of her head, Hermione’s eyes fell to the floor. “It wasn’t Viktor.”

A surge of anger and protectiveness swept over him, his breathing growing shorter and shallower with the confirmation that someone had hurt her.

“Will you please tell me what happened?” His eyes searched hers as he tried to suppress a new wave of worry that was bubbling up inside his chest.

“Why do you care? Here to make fun of the pathetic, crying Muggleborn?” she snapped, her lower lip quivering. “Going to go back to Pansy and laugh at me?”

“No.” His voice grew low, something in his chest urged him to comfort her. “I was…worried.”

Another tear escaped as a myriad of emotions passed over her face. “Why?”

Hesitating, a thousand thoughts flashed through his mind, trying to decide how to explain his worry when he did not even understand it.

“I don’t know why,” he replied honestly, the truth lifting a weight off his chest, “but I wanted to be here if you need me.”

“If I need you,” she echoed softly with a tilt of her head, processing his words.

Her eyes flicked back down the corridor where a group of students were gathering after the Ball. Without a second thought, he offered her his hand, the same as the start of their dance. 

After several moments of contemplation, Hermione placed her hand in his and let him lead her over to the windowsill. Draco could hear his heart beating in his chest as he continued to hold her hand, prompting her to continue.

“It was Ron…” she explained, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “He was being a prat tonight.”

Relief flooded over him at her words. “You’re going to have to be more specific, Granger.” His features softened. “I’m pretty sure that ‘prat’ is his default setting.”

Hermione’s eyes fixed on their joined hands, as if silently wondering why he had not let go.

“He told me I was betraying the school by going to the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum.” She let out a bitter scoff. “I believe his exact words were that I was ‘fraternizing with the enemy’.”

Draco’s brows raised. “I wasn’t aware he knew words with so many syllables.”

Fighting back a smile, Hermione tossed him a look. “He has his moments.”

“You do realise that he was lashing out because he’s jealous, right?”

Rolling her eyes, Hermione shook her head in disbelief. “He wasn’t jealous , he was just being spiteful that I had a nice night. Ron has a habit of ruining moments for me.”

His pulse quickened as he considered his next words carefully. “He was jealous, beyond jealous. He saw you tonight, with your pinned-up curls and that gown that looks like it was made for you. He hated dancing with another witch because she wasn’t you, and it felt even worse to see you happily in the arms of another bloke because he wanted you for himself.”

Hermione’s hand tightened in his, her eyes wide in shock as she recognized his true meaning.

Thinking back to Theo’s teasing after their dance in Transfiguration, Draco’s eyes drifted down to her parted lips. In that moment, he agreed, she sure looked like a witch who wanted to be kissed.

Draco’s lips brushed against hers so softly that she ached beneath him. Hermione’s only coherent thought was that Padma was wrong.

So wrong.

It did feel like fireworks and magic.

“…you help me research it after class?”

Hermione blinked twice before nodding. “Of course I can help, Harry.”

His words had been ambient noise in the background of her mind; her attention was fixated across the hall at the Slytherin table.

“Ha-ha-ha, oh, Draco, you’re so smart and funny! I just love listening to you talk about yourself!” Hermione imagined Pansy saying, desperately flirting with him in her shrill voice.

Aggressively stabbing a potato on her plate, she watched Pansy hang off Draco’s arm. She started playing with his hair, running her fingers through it slowly as he talked to her. The longer the interaction continued without Draco moving away, the tenser Hermione grew.

It had been three weeks and four days since the Yule Ball, not that Hermione was counting. He had taken her breath away with that kiss and then disappeared like a ghost—in fact, she saw Nearly Headless Nick more frequently than she saw Draco.

Leaning in closer with her expertly painted lips, Pansy was whispering in Draco’s ear; the ringing in Hermione’s head increased as her grip on her drinking glass tightened—a loud crack echoed through the Great Hall as hundreds of drinking glasses shattered across the Slytherin table, covering the area with broken glass. 

With a shriek, Pansy jumped away from the table as the students erupted at the scene.

Hermione froze, her heart pounding loudly in her ears.

“What was that?!” Harry exclaimed, looking around the table, “Looks like a first year hasn’t quite figured out how to control their magic yet.” 

After a few quick, shallow breaths, Hermione braved a look over at Draco. He was calming a frantic Pansy and half of the Slytherins were out of their seats. One Slytherin, however, was sitting completely still; Theodore Nott was watching her with a peculiar level of interest.

“Harry, I don’t mean to run, but I really have to get started on my Charms essay,” she fibbed as she stood up from the table, her legs unsteady beneath her.

“The one that’s due next month?” Harry chortled. “Classic Hermione.”

Smiling weakly at him, she hurried out of the Great Hall behind a group of babbling third years, gossiping about who had been the cause of the glass shattering.

Hermione slowed her pace, trying to appear less frenzied, but she was becoming genuinely concerned. That was the third incident this week. These days, her magic was more volatile than ever; she had not had so many bouts of accidental magic since she was a child. 

In two years, she would be of age; it should be nearly effortless to control her magic but instead her emotions were driving all types of magical reactions, increasing in intensity as the months dragged on.

Draco brushed shards of glass off his robes as the house elves cleaned up the shattered mess around them.

“Honestly, if any Slytherin did this to another house, we would be in so much trouble,” Pansy ranted, picking pieces of glass out of her hair. “But a Slytherin would’ve thought of a much better prank than breaking some glass.”

He nodded noncommittally and left as she continued to talk with Blaise. It may have seemed like a good idea at the time, but Draco was deeply regretting taking Pansy to the Yule Ball. Ever since the ball, she fancied herself in love, hanging off him and following him around. Even though it used to be his favourite place to relax, Draco was now avoiding the Slytherin Common Room because the damn witch never seemed to leave it.

After he kissed Hermione, he completely panicked. He could not have picked a more complicated witch to fancy; his parents would send him daily howlers if they knew he had kissed a Muggleborn. 

Draco thought about that kiss every day since, longing to pull her behind a tapestry on the way to class for a repeat, to play with her curls and watch her face flush, knowing her reaction was for him. He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. That particular fantasy replayed in his mind each night as he tried to go to sleep.

Pansy had seemed a convenient cover since they had attended the Yule Ball together, but she was slowly driving him mad. After the first day, he completely lost confidence that he could even tolerate her, let alone pretend to date her for the rest of the year.

The eruption of glass had been his saving grace; he could not say with certainty that he had not caused the scene. Pansy had been in his ear, begging him to go somewhere more private, and he was getting more frustrated each second and then— crack —glasses broke all down his table.

Last month, when he had a headache, his magic tripped a group of first years outside Charms who were singing rambunctiously. He felt like a bloody 6-year-o ld, angry when his mother sent him to bed without dessert and triggering accidental magic to set the bedcovers on fire. It could be worse, he considered. At least he had not set the group of first years on fire.

People seemed to think that, because he was the “Chosen One”, Harry Potter paid little attention to other people and was mostly self-absorbed. He always believed that his closest mates knew better, but apparently not, considering Hermione seemed oblivious to the fact that Harry knew exactly what was going on between her and Draco Malfoy. 

She must think that he was ignorant of the years of longing looks she gave Malfoy, of that time in third year she had been daydreaming and accidentally called Harry ‘Malfoy’, or how she had turned beet red in front of the entire class when McGonagall had paired the two for dancing last month.

“Hey, Hermione,” Harry greeted cheerfully, snagging a seat next to her at the Gryffindor table. Mumbling something in return, she assaulted her food with a fork as she glared at the Slytherin table.

Harry stared at her curiously. “So, I’ve decided to seduce Crabbe.”

Nodding dully, she shoved a mangled potato into her mouth.

“It’s just, I’ve been thinking, and it’s not fair that one man be so attractive, you know? After years of longing for him, I’ve decided to finally make a move. Scratch the itch so to say. I was thinking perhaps doing the Erumpent mating dance for him, as that is the sexiest of all dances. Will you help me research it after class?”

She blinked at his question before nodding seriously. “Of course I can help, Harry.”

Stifling a laugh behind his hand, he began to fill his plate with pudding.

The look on her face was one that Harry was far too familiar with, and someone was about to experience the wrath of an infuriated Hermione. It was terrifying to be on the receiving end of that look, but luckily for Harry, that honour was bestowed upon a certain pair at the Slytherin table.

Spontaneously, all the glasses on the Slytherin table burst into pieces, littering the ground; Harry jumped in his seat at the noise, flicking his eyes over to Hermione.

“What was that?!” He feigned shock. “Looks like a first year hasn’t quite figured out how to control their magic yet,” he covered, mainly for the benefit of those overhearing their conversation. 

It was obvious to anyone watching that Hermione blew up the glasses in a jealous rage, but Harry was not about to point it out.

After a moment of silence, Hermione spoke, “Harry, I don’t mean to run, but I really have to get started on my Charms essay.” She stood up, excusing herself from the table.

“The one that’s due next month?” Harry smirked inwardly at her blatant lie. “Classic Hermione.” He smiled innocently as she strolled out of the hall.

Harry collected his bag and started down the corridor when a low voice caught his attention.

“Is it just me or are all of their interactions just their own odd form of foreplay?” Theo asked rhetorically, watching Hermione disappear around the corner.

“Honestly, a deaf, blind, and dull Blast-Ended Skrewt could notice the sexual tension between those two.” Harry rolled his eyes, adjusting the strap of his bag against his chest.

“I don’t know about you, but it’s been four years of this and I’m not willing to spend another three years listening to them whinge, pine, and blow more shite up.” Theo quirked a brow.

“What are you proposing?” Harry asked with a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe something to help them speed this up and force them to actually talk? For the sake of innocent glassware everywhere.”

“Yeah—” the corner of Harry’s mouth perked up “—for the glassware.” He shoved a hand in his pocket, smiling at Theo.

After the kiss, Draco spent most of his time fighting the growing urge he had to be around her. Somehow, he felt better just being in the same room as her, though it did nothing to relieve his desires to kiss her again. In an effort to reduce their interactions, he slipped in and out of their shared classes before the start and just as they ended. 

His heart was at war with his mind, trying to reconcile his feelings for Hermione—the ones he never should have had. 

It should feel wrong .

With his avoidance strategy, Draco successfully evaded talking with her for nearly a month after the Ball. This plan quickly fell apart the moment he was assigned a partner in Defense Against the Dark Arts. As the scrap of paper with his partner’s name fell on his desk, his stomach dropped.

Hermione Granger .

He would have to duel Hermione; even worse, they would be alone in the DADA classroom together.

Alone.

Having seen her perform in class, Draco knew that she was a talented duelist; they were both at the top of their class and it was logical that they would be paired together. Draco just wished he had been assigned someone else—anyone else. 

With his magic less stable every day and his history of losing his mind around her, he was apprehensive to mix the two. It seemed like a recipe for disaster.

Draco checked the time and took a deep breath, stepping into the classroom. He spotted Hermione, who was sitting with her back to the door. She was scrawling quickly in her notebook, most likely documenting details for their assignment. Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he tried to get her attention.

“Ready to duel?” she asked when she finally looked up at him,her face void of emotion.

The return of her apathy gutted him, even if he deserved it after weeks of hiding from her in his cowardice. In a twisted way, he was comforted by the fact that she seemed as distraught from their distance as Draco felt. It seemed that no matter what he did, or how much he separated himself from her, he could not get her—or her lips—out of his mind.

With a quick nod, he followed her to the cleared space across the room—a modified dueling arena for this assignment.

“One formal duel using the techniques from our latest lesson,” Hermione recited the instructions from class. “No spells that can cause permanent damage, winner is declared when the other is disarmed.”

“I know the rules, Granger,” he muttered to himself, stopping on the red X that Professor Moody had left.

From across the classroom, they bowed before taking a dueling stance, one foot in front of the other.

Her eyes lit up with fire as she waved her wand. “ Rictusempra !”

“ Protego !” Draco set a simple shield, her spell bouncing right off. “ Locomotor Mortis !”

With a grin, she dodged his spell, spinning wildly and tossing another back at him.

They continued with this dance for nearly ten minutes, casting and deflecting the spells in a high speed match.

“ Stupefy !” He could not stop the smile from spreading across his face as he watched her expertly take advantage of his change in footing with her next spell; her passion for magic left him spellbound.

“ Expelliarmus !” Hermione cried out, catching his wand as it flew across the empty classroom into her hand. Her chest was heaving from the exertion of their duel.

Grinning triumphantly, she tucked her own wand back into her pocket. His expression morphed into panic as his eye caught on a figure in the doorway, their wand raised at Hermione.

“Grang—” he started in warning.

Instinctively she turned, still grasping Draco’s wand, and pointed it at the entrance.

“ PROTEGO! ”

“ Confringo !” Greg Goyle shouted, just a millisecond after her, his blasting curse bouncing weakly off her shield.

There was a beat of silence and then the room began to shake as Goyle and everything surrounding him was thrown back violently from the sheer power of her shield.

The magic of Draco’s wand was coursing up her arm and flowing through her body. Glaring at the heap of Goyle across the room, she started toward him to tell him off. With three long strides, Draco was standing between her and Goyle.

Draco’s face contorted into pure rage as he stormed up to Goyle.

“What the fuck were you thinking!” he screamed at Goyle who was laying pitifully on the ground, clutching his head, “A blasting curse?! You could have fucking killed her!” Draco’s hands were shaking as he towered over his friend.

Goyle, who had obviously heard the commotion from their duel and incorrectly assumed Draco was actually fighting with Hermione and needed backup, was alarmed to realise his mistake.

“Draco!” Hermione gently placed a hand on his arm, diverting his attention back to her. “Stop, he’s not going to hurt me.”

His expression softened as he recognised fear in her eyes. “Do you know what that could’ve done to you?” His voice broke, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. “I didn’t even have my wand. What if that curse had hit you?”

“My wand…” He paused, looking down at her hand incredulously. “You used my wand?”

Distracted by Goyle’s injuries, Hermione had nearly forgotten. On impulse, she had used the wand in her hand at the time—Draco’s wand—which not only responded to her but overpowered her shielding spell, making it destructive. No wand had ever responded to her like that, not even her own wand.

She turned back to Goyle who was still laying on the cold floor beneath them.

“We were practicing for class, it wasn’t real,” she explained, her voice firm. “But I know you were just trying to protect your friend, so I won’t turn you in for trying to curse me with my back turned.” 

Offering him a hand, which he eyed dubiously, she helped hoist him up to a standing position while Draco fumed behind her.

“If you do it again,” she warned, “I swear on my magic that I’ll do much worse to you than hit you with a shielding spell.”

Draco inspected Goyle’s face, which was already blooming with a bruise; he was otherwise unharmed. His pride, however, was another story. Draco rested a hand on Goyle’s shoulder, and his voice lowered dangerously, “Greg, we have been mates for years. That’s the only reason you’re still able to walk right now. Get out of here before I change my mind.”

Goyle nodded furiously and hurried out of the classroom, his shoes squeaking as he retreated.

They were alone again.

Hermione spoke first. “Your wand…why did it respond to me? It didn’t fight me, if anything it feels like—” she swallowed uneasily “—mine. It feels like mine.”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like that before. It’s almost as if my wand has allegiance to both of us.”

The room settled in silence at his words.

“Draco,” Hermione hesitated before handing him her wand, “try mine.”

His heart skipped a beat. Intentionally sharing wands was incredibly intimate.

Holding hers, he inspected the vinewood pattern and tested the weight in his hand. He tried a few basic spells, swishing the wand carefully.

“ Lumos .” The room flooded with light, Hermione squinted and threw her arm over her face as a shield.

“ Nox .” The light from her wand turned off.

“ Wingardium leviosa .” The book flew up and smacked the high ceiling of the room.

They shared a nervous look.

“What does this mean?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “How can our wands react so strongly to each other?”

He thought back to years of feeling drawn to her, the compulsion to be near her, the protectiveness he felt for her.

“This sounds ridiculous,” he chided himself, trying to muster courage to continue, “but I have a theory.”

Draco paused and Hermione gestured for him to proceed.

With a steadying breath, he asked, “Does it feel different when you’re around me, compared to being around other people?” Shifting in place, he felt oddly vulnerable. “I suppose I mean to ask, how do you feel around me?”

Cocking her head, she studied him silently for a moment before responding. “It feels like I can’t stay away,” she replied honestly. “I can tell where you are in the room before I see you and I feel this pull towards you. And when you kissed me, it felt like the first time I held my wand. It was...magic.” Her cheeks flushed at her admittance.

Draco’s breath caught in his throat at her confession. “Shite, I thought I was the only one.”

Her stomach flipped, tugging towards him.

There it was again, that Pull, trying to bring them together. Hermione chewed the inside of her cheek as she tried to decipher what the Pull wanted them to do. 

“Maybe…” She held her hand up in the air, he looked at it and back at her. He tentatively raised his hand to hers, pressing their palms together.

Nothing happened.

“This was a dumb idea, I just thought perhaps—” Hermione began to pull her hand back when Draco reached for her wrist to stop her. Golden sparks appeared between his hand and her wrist, causing them both to jump back. 

Gasping, he reached forward again. This time, there were no sparks and he held her wrist gently.

Up to that point, the Pull they felt to each other was nothing more than a small tug. At this touch, the Pull felt more like a push; she was lightheaded at the sensation, like the feeling of a Portkey or the force of gravity during a fall, demanding they come together.

Stunned into silence, she could not find the words to explain the feeling in her chest.

“I think our magic is drawing us to each other,” he murmured under his breath.

“I didn’t know magic could do that,” she marveled, meeting his eye.

“Me either,” he admitted. “What do we do now?”

“I don’t know.” It panicked Hermione to not know; she had spent her entire existence in the magical world trying to learn everything she could and now her life felt like a mystery to unravel.

Her eyes caught on the clock. “I didn’t notice the time.” She hurried over to her supplies, packing the rest away into her bag. “I have to meet Dumbledore in his office. He needs something for the task tomorrow. Meet me on the seventh floor by the tapestry tomorrow night,” she instructed, swinging her book bag over her shoulder. “We’ll figure this out together.”

Pausing mid-stride, she stopped in front of him. “Oh, and Draco?” She raised to the tip of her toes, placing a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for stepping in with Goyle tonight, that was rather sweet of you. I know you two are friends.”

Draco’s cheek heated under her kiss and he longed to capture her lips with his. “No mate of mine would ever…” Hurt my witch, he finished the thought silently. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Granger.”

“So, what do you think the odds are that they’ve gone and killed each other?” Theo asked casually, inspecting his fingernails.

Harry paused, calculating in his head, “I’d say it’s about 60/40 right now whether they’re snogging or cursing each other.”

Theo shook his head fondly. “Oh, young love. How did you get Moody to pair them in the dueling assignment?”

Shrugging nonchalantly, Harry gave Theo a sly smirk. “Let’s just say he owes me a few favours.”

“Mr. Potter—” Theo’s eyes flashed dangerously “—you really are full of surprises.”

“Oh, Mr. Nott, you have no idea.”

When he woke up the next morning, Draco knew that something was wrong. He could just feel it, or rather the problem was that he could not feel it. When he was in the castle, he could always feel that tug towards Hermione. Now that he could identify and name the feeling, the ‘Pull’ as Hermione called it, he was more in tune to it. 

This morning, it felt off.

There was a gap in the Gryffindor table during breakfast, her usual spot empty. Every time he looked over at the vacant seat, his dread grew. He wondered if she was ill. It would be impossible to get into Gryffindor Tower to check on her; no Gryffindors would trust his motives and Harry was busy with the latest task.

“Mate, you need to calm down—stop shaking your leg—you’re making me anxious just watching you,” Theo said seriously.

Draco groaned in frustration, laying his head down on the table.

“Something is wrong, I just know it. She was there and now she’s gone. And I get that I sound mental but you’re my best mate and I’ve got to tell someone before my head explodes,” Draco spewed out like word vomit.

Theo rested a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “Blimey, you’ve got it bad.” He shook his head. “One morning without your witch and you’ve already lost it. She’s probably just helping Harry prepare for his task, you know he’s always procrastinating.”

“She’s not my—” Letting out another groan, he lifted his head and dropped it back on the table with a thud .

“Eat up,” Theo ordered, pushing a bowl of porridge in front of Draco. “Everyone is going to watch the second task today. Come with me, that should take your mind off Hermione.”

Lifting the spoon slowly and plopping it back into the bowl, Draco nodded begrudgingly. It was probably nothing, and the tournament would be a nice distraction; he needed to think about something other than Hermione, the lack of Pull this morning, and their meeting tonight.

After breakfast, Draco and Theo joined a group of Hogwarts and Durmstrang students walking down to the second task. “…was showing off the egg to us last week,” Ernie Macmillan bragged to the crowd as they continued down the path. “And Cedric believes that they are taking something important from each champion and hiding it in the Black Lake!”

Draco and Theo made tense eye-contact at Ernie’s words, already feeling uneasy about this entire day. No matter how he tried to clear his mind, he could not shake the ominous feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

When they reached the end of the path with the final stragglers, Draco and Theo saw towering stands for the audience. At the base of the platform, the four Triwizard champions were standing together in swimming suits. Draco skimmed his eyes across the crowd, looking for Hermione.

“Theo,” Draco said tersely, “doesn’t Fleur have a little sister?”

“Yeah, Gabrielle, she’s just a kid but they let her come to the tasks since her sister is the Beauxbaton champion,” Theo supplied before asking, “Why?”

“Because, Weasley isn’t here.”

“Draco, I didn’t know you and Weasley were so close,” Theo mused, giving him a teasing look.

With a huff of annoyance, Draco pulled Theo further back behind the stands and away from the eyes of the crowd.

“No, you don’t get it. Weasley is gone, when has he ever missed a chance to cheer on Potter? And Fleur’s little sister is gone, and Hermi—Granger is gone. I told you something was wrong.” 

Draco ran his hands through his hair anxiously as he paced, growing louder as he ranted, “Damn it, Theo, I told you! They didn’t take something from the champions, they took someone .”

“You’re trying to tell me that Hermione Granger is at the bottom of the Black Lake?” Theo asked incredulously, looking at Draco like he was mental.

In the distance a loud horn sounded, followed by splashing.

“I have to go get her.” Draco grew more hysterical as the seconds passed. “Oh fuck, Theo, I have to go get her!”

“Wait, Draco, stop. We are teenagers! It’s not possible that she’s in any real danger. Dumbledore would never harm students for a game ,” Theo futilely tried to reason with him.

Facing the stands, Draco’s voice grew higher. “You don’t know that! They ended this tournament before for being too dangerous; how is she breathing? She could be drowning! I’m going to get her.”

Theo stepped in front of Draco, waving a hand in front of his face to gain his attention. “You can’t just run wildly into the middle of a tournament challenge and interfere because you’re worried. You’re not even prepared to swim; do you know how many deadly creatures are in the Black Lake?”

“DEADLY CREATURES—oh Merlin, what if they eat her?!” he gesticulated wildly, his eyes filled with terror.

“Oh, mate, I’m so sorry,” Theo shook his head sympathetically. “ Stupefy .”

Theo hooked his arms under Draco’s armpits, catching him just as he collapsed.

“ Rennervate .”

Draco squinted, blinking rapidly, his eyes adjusting to the light of the room. Slowly, he recognised he was in his bedroom in the dungeons. A familiar tug pulled at his stomach and he breathed a sigh of relief. A guilty looking Theo was sitting next to him on the edge of the bed.

“Please don’t kill me. She’s okay, Draco. Krum saved her from the lake for his task. I couldn’t let you go after her! I tried to tell you she was never in any actual danger, but you were in such a frenzy you wouldn’t listen to anything I was saying,” Theo rambled, jumping up and backing away from Draco with his hands up. “I brought you back through the secret entrance to the dungeons down by the lake so no one would see us.”

Reveling in the feeling of the return of the Pull, Draco could not focus on his conversation with Theo; all he could think about was his date with Hermione on the seventh floor.

“We are talking about this later,” Draco promised, glaring at Theo. “But thanks.” 

He heard the sound of Theo exhaling as he rushed out of the room.

After arriving at the main tapestry on the seventh floor early, Draco found himself fidgeting nervously in the corridor, waiting on Hermione. Moments later, she rounded the corner and almost bumped into him mid-stride. 

His eyes drank her in from head to toe, a feeling of complete relief sweeping over him. After an entire day of worry, he could see that she was safe; he let out the breath he did not realize he had been holding.

With purposeful strides, he closed the gap between them, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her up against him. He cradled the back of her head, lacing his fingers into her curls and gently tilting her head back.

“Draco — ”

He tasted the sound of his name on her lips, refusing to come up for air as he kissed her desperately. As she returned his kiss, his soul came alive, knowing she was safe and back in his arms. Hermione’s hands looped around his neck as she pulled him closer and deepened the kiss. A small sigh escaped her lips and the sound lit a flame under his skin.

After several moments, Draco pulled away, tucking her head against his chest and pressing his nose against her hair, inhaling deeply. 

Honey and flowers.

Home.

Hermione was breathless, this kiss was so different from the one they had shared the night of the Yule Ball. Where the first kiss had been soft and tender, this kiss felt fierce and possessive. Nothing compared to the feeling she had when he held her, like she was safe and never wanted to let go.

“I was so worried when I woke up this morning and couldn’t feel the connection to you,” he confided, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I never thought I’d get the chance to do that again.”

“Well, you have my permission to do that whenever you’d like.” She smiled shyly, her cheeks burning from his affection. “And I’m sorry that you were worried,” she apologized.“Dumbledore didn’t warn us ahead of time otherwise I would have let you know. They didn’t want us to compromise the task by providing information to the champions.”

Draco messed with his hair, a habit he found himself doing with increasing frequency.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared. Merlin, I wish I understood what was happening to us.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I feel like I’m going mental.”

Hermione took his hand in hers and gave it a comforting squeeze. “I’m ready to find some answers, are you?” 

“I’m ready to try. Why did you want to meet in this corridor?”

Tossing him a cheeky wink, Hermione walked back and forth three times in front of the empty wall next to them, thinking they needed somewhere private to talk. 

A door appeared.

“The Come and Go Room.” His eyes lit up with recognition. “I’ve heard about this place in rumours.”

She wrinkled her nose. “The Room of Requirement,” she corrected.

“Oh potato, potah-to.” He loftily waved a hand as he trailed behind her into the room.

The Room of Requirement had essentially created a neutral Common Room complete with plush sofas and a roaring fireplace. Sitting on the sofa, the pair faced each other. Hermione retrieved a piece of parchment and quill, and spoke aloud as she wrote.

“Okay, things we know. One, our magic is drawing us together. Two, we can use each other’s wands. Three, there were actual sparks when you touched me.” She frowned at the list. “That’s not much to go on, honestly.”

“Well, let’s start with the sparks,” Draco suggested. “Does it happen every time?”

Giving a slight shrug, Hermione offered up her wrist to Draco, waiting expectantly for him to take it. Hesitating, he took her wrist in his hand.

The pair waited impatiently, staring at her wrist, but nothing happened.

“Wait, wasn’t it your other arm last time?” Draco asked, reaching instead for her right wrist.

Tilting her hand to inspect it, his thumb pressed against the pink mark on the inside of her wrist.

The Pull reacted violently, giving him complete sensory overload, as if the sparks were in his stomach this time. He instantly dropped her hand.

“What is that ?” He gestured to the pink blotch on the small of her wrist.

Her breath caught in her throat. “My mum told me it was a birthmark, that I have always had it. I’ve never given it much thought, to be honest.”

An odd look crossed Draco’s face as he peered closer at the mark.

“Mind if I borrow your quill?” Referencing her wrist, he traced the symbol onto Hermione’s parchment.

Holding up the parchment, Draco studied it for a moment before inhaling sharply. He slowly rotated the parchment, turning the symbol upside down.

“Pinky!” he called out, a pop rang out and a small house-elf appeared, wearing a formal 3-piece suit.

“Yes, master Malfoy?” Pinky asked, awaiting instructions.

“In the smaller library in the Manor, there is a book with this symbol on the cover—” he held up the drawing for Pinky “—please bring it to me.”

“Yes, master Malfoy.” Pinky was gone with a crack.

Hermione gaped at him. “You have your own personal house-elf coming to take orders from you at school?! Is that even allowed?”

“Elf magic works differently against the wards, so they can Apparate here.” He shrugged as Pinky returned. “That will be all, Pinky, thank you.” The elf disappeared once more.

The book in question was now sitting ominously on the table in front of them.

“Do you recognize that symbol, Granger?” Draco asked her quietly.

“I…I suppose it looks familiar? A bit like my birthmark. What’s going on?”

He swallowed hard, looking pained. “It’s an ancient rune, one we haven’t covered in class. The rune for ‘binding’.”

“Binding? You’re saying my birthmark is not a birthmark, it’s a brand ? Like I’m cattle ?” Hermione’s voice elevated with each word as she held her wrist to her chest protectively.

“I can’t say it’s a brand. I don’t know why you have it. But I remembered this from our family library; my mother had it on display a few summers ago. It might have answers.” 

He handed her the tattered tome.

Opening to the first page, Hermione’s hands were shaking with nerves. “It’s a journal,” she announced, analyzing it, “and it’s obviously been preserved with magic, but it’s still decaying, so it must be thousands of years old.” She paused, frowning. “Your mother was born a Black, right?”

Draco nodded in confirmation as Hermione continued, “Then it’s a personal journal from one of your ancestors, Ari Black, née Burke.”

With a brush of her wand, she murmured a quick translation spell on it, watching as the written script converted. Shifting closer to him on the sofa, their thighs now comfortably touching, they each held one side of the book as they read in tandem.

It began as most journals do, highlighting minute details about Ari’s day-to-day life, social calls and local gossip. Then she began to document her interactions with a particular man, Pictor Black, with increasing regularity. She wrote of a deep attraction to him that was more forceful than she had ever felt before. There were entries solely about stolen glances between the two and a gleeful retelling of the time she saw Pictor out with a woman he had been courting and how the woman’s hair had mysteriously caught fire.

Draco and Hermione shared a look; this story seemed oddly familiar.

Ari wrote of her formal courtship with Pictor, managed by her parents, and of their secret moments away from her chaperone’s watchful eye. One night, her entry was frantic, the usually deliberate script messy as if written quickly. During a late-night rendezvous with Pictor, they had walked along the old bridge by her family estate. A panel broke and she had fallen into the water below, with so many layers of petticoats on, she was dragged down with the current.

Pictor jumped in after her, like a gentleman, and saved her. In the process, however, he had touched her bare ankle. Specifically, he had touched the spot of her birthmark.

She wrote of the panic and exhilaration they felt at that touch. That their magic called to each other and they decided to listen. Ari excitedly wrote that Pictor had proposed marriage that night, dripping wet and shivering from the cold. The next morning, Pictor presented a formal engagement to her father, who negotiated the dowry before accepting.

After the engagement was recognized, they were able to spend more time together. As time went on, she began documenting sporadic moments of unintentional magic. A fire here, a broken tree there, but it finally escalated on the day Ari’s brother jumped out to scare her in their barn. Her fear had thrown him backwards and broken his arm. She was petrified that their magic was becoming uncontrollable.

With encouragement from Ari, Pictor consulted the most gifted Seer of their time, called Nostradamus, who procured two gold rings—goblin-made and enchanted to stabilize their binding—for them.

Ari’s terror at the prospect of her magic unraveling was palpable in her writing. Hermione could sympathize; she had felt a similar reaction after the Great Hall incident.

After describing the instant relief that came from wearing their rings and not having to worry about unbridled magic, Ari started speaking again of her everyday life in her entries, with a whole section dedicated to their wedding. It was not until the second to last page of the journal that anything else caught their attention.

Ari had given birth to a baby boy, named Leo, when Pictor’s mother confided in her the story of his birth. Ari made vague references to what Hermione could only call ‘the Black family curse’. His mother confessed that the family line had been cursed by a dark wizard many generations before her. The curse would befall one witch or wizard who carried the Black bloodline per generation.

His mother had acted in desperation to save her child from that fate. She used a binding ritual designed to anchor her child’s magic to another, chosen by the child’s magic, so that together they would neutralize the curse. According to her mother, finding his pair was the only way to prevent the Black family madness if he were the cursed Black of his generation.

Ari grappled with the fact that they had been destined to each other by the binding and she mourned her loss of choice. Candidly, she shared that she eventually learned that it was not how they came to be together but how they built a life together now that mattered most. She trusted in their magic which called to each other.

The last page held details of Leo’s birth and Ari’s wishes for his life.

Closing the tome, Hermione was apprehensive to see Draco’s reaction. Her mind raced with the new information; all at once, everything made sense from the first day on the train until that last kiss. The Pull, her unexplained feelings of jealousy and longing, the complete feeling of comfort in his embrace—it was all because they were connected, bound to each other.

He spoke first, breaking the silence. “I’m sorry.” His eyes met hers, looking back and forth between them, searching for something. 

Hermione was taken aback. “I don’t understand, why are you apologizing?”

“It’s my fault we’re in this mess, my blood, remember? I mean, fuck.” He ran his hands down his face, squeezing his eyes shut. “You realise what this means, right?”

Her heart pounded wildly in her chest. “It means that we are bound together, like your ancestors Ari and Pictor.” She stopped before amending, “Our magic is bound together.”

Draco blanched. “I suppose this explains how we can use each other’s wands so easily.”

“And the Pull,” she added.

“And the sparks.”

Even with years of experience in the magical world, Hermione was still amazed at the complexity of magic. Their magical cores were joined because of a family blood curse and an ancient ritual.

His family .

The walls of the massive room seemed to close in on Hermione, and she tucked her head between her knees as she inhaled through her nose and out of her mouth. His family would never accept their connection, never accept her . Their earliest interactions had been negative from his ingrained prejudice against Muggleborns—he had even called her a Mudblood.

Her shoulders dipped as she felt herself shrinking in her seat; even if he returned her feelings and kissed her like she was his lifeline, it did not change his family.

“Granger...” His hand rested tentatively on her back for a beat before he began to draw slow, soothing circles. “Are you okay?” 

“Are you disappointed that it’s me?” Hermione asked, holding her head between her hands. “I mean, I know that you kissed me but I’m still a Muggleborn. I know your family’s stance on people like me.”

Draco leaned back, exhaling a deep breath. “My family,” he muttered under his breath with disdain.

“I was raised my entire life to believe that Muggles were next to animals. That Muggleborns didn’t belong in the wizarding world and that their upbringing prevented them from contributing positively to wizarding society. That they would just dirty the bloodlines and destroy our culture.” He looked away while speaking, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

“And then I met you.” He looked at her. “Did you know, that day on the train when you asked after Longbottom’s toad was the first real interaction that I ever had with a Muggleborn?”

Hermione shook her head, unable to imagine going her first eleven years of life completely separated from Muggles and Muggle culture.

Draco continued, “It was the first time I met a Muggleborn and you were nice. You were helping. You looked and acted like nothing I had expected.” 

He smiled softly and the sight melted her heart. “I didn’t realise it then but it was the start of everything. You changed… everything for me. You defied all that I had ever been taught about Muggles and Muggleborns. You etched away every single thing that I believed, one by one, in each moment we’ve spent together.”

“Granger, you beat me every lesson, in every class, no matter how much I studied. I had always been told that my pure blood was superior—that my magic was superior. You changed everything.”

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he grimaced. “Challenging a core belief is fucking terrifying. It tore me apart for years . I wanted nothing more than for my parents to be right because I didn’t want to think about what would happen if they were wrong.”

“I would be lying if I said that I didn’t still struggle some days. It has taken years to unlearn what I blindly accepted for the first decade of my life. I mean, I didn’t ask Pansy to the Yule Ball for her glowing personality. I want to make my parents proud and I know part of that comes with the expectation of dating and marrying a Pureblood girl.” He took her hand in his, lacing his fingers with hers.

“But if making them proud means giving you up, then it’s not worth it.” He asserted confidently. “This morning, when I couldn’t feel the connection to you, I completely lost it; I think Theo almost sent me off to St. Mungo’s. It made me realise that I never want to feel that again. Our magic chose each other, and I think we should trust that.” His thumb brushed over her hand. “Honestly, I thought you felt the Pull and saw the sparks and that you ran away because it was with me.”

“I’m not perfect. I’m not even close. But, Hermione, I’m trying. I hope that’s enough for you.”

Her eyes welled and a single tear escaped, sliding down her cheek and onto the floor. Since she had uprooted her entire life when she received her Hogwarts letter, Hermione knew how discombobulating it could feel when the world changed overnight. 

For her, the fundamental shift into the magical world had been the answer she had been looking for her entire life. It seemed infinitely more difficult to imagine unlearning generations of prejudice.

He was trying for her.

“It’s enough for me,” she assured him, brushing her hand gently through his hair, the way she had wanted to for so long; it felt soft and smooth as he leaned into the touch. 

A warm feeling of happiness settled in her chest.

He felt like home.

“I want you to know I’m not going to run. I am a Gryffindor, you know.” She chuckled at his scrunched face. “We are famously loyal and stubborn, so you’re pretty much stuck with me at this point.”

Draco dropped a kiss on her forehead in response. “I can’t stop touching you,” he admitted softly.

Holding back a coy smile, her skin rippled with tingles from his kiss. “I feel the same. I can’t believe how familiar you feel.”

“As if we have always been like this,” he finished her thought.

Hermione paused, digesting all the information that they had discovered that evening. 

“So, the rings?” she prompted. “Ari and Pictor had rings made.”

“You think we should try to find the rings?”

“Well, it’s reasonable to assume that your family must have the rings available in their ancestral vaults if they kept this tome. We should start with the rings to stabilize our magic while we figure out what this means for us,” Hermione proposed, sounding more confident than she felt. “In any case, it would be nice not to break any more dinner glasses.” 

She looked away guiltily.

Draco barked out an incredulous laugh. “That was you?! Merlin, Pansy about had a hippogriff over that…Pansy…” his eyes widened in recognition as Hermione flushed pink.

“Granger...” His eyes lit up with mirth. “Was someone jealous ?”

“Shut up and get the rings.” She folded her arms haughtily.

Draco smirked.

“Pinky!” he called out, and the elf appeared again. “I need you to get something else from the Manor.”

Narcissa Malfoy perched delicately at the edge of her seat in the family study. A book floated in front of her, the pages turning with a flick of her finger as she sipped her tea. There was a crack in the room as Pinky appeared in front of her.

Smiling slyly, she directed her attention away from the book, placing a single finger on the ornately carved box on the desk in front of her. She slid it over to Pinky who nodded once and Disapparated back to Hogwarts, rings in hand.

Narcissa Malfoy had not always been an impenetrable façade of calm and elegance. As a child, she was fierce and rambunctious; she was the youngest of three sisters and, as such, demanded that her voice be heard. Her parents had enrolled her in etiquette classes by the time she could walk. 

Madame Beaumont, her instructor, was the first person to introduce Narcissa to the art of influence by subtle means rather than brashly trying to control a situation with force. The lessons from Madame Beaumont had become the guidebook to her life.

Nothing in Madame Beaumont’s lessons had prepared Narcissa for Hermione Granger.

From the first moment she laid eyes on Draco, Narcissa knew that she would use the binding ritual on him. He was so small and innocent, completely dependent on her for his every need. For nine months they had lived and breathed as one; having him in the outside world had petrified her beyond words. 

The day she brought him to King’s Cross Station for his first year at Hogwarts filled her with excitement and dread. Throughout childhood, he had met nearly every daughter of their social circle with no discernible reaction. Narcissa had never seen a proper binding match in her lifetime but she had been confident that she would know the other half of his pair when the time came.

At Hogwarts, Draco would be exposed to almost all of the eligible witches his age in Great Britain. If Draco’s match was not at Hogwarts, Narcissa had prepared several connections with other wizarding schools. After several weeks into his first year, Narcissa received a letter from Draco.

Dearest Mother,

You and father will be pleased to know that I have been sorted into the family house. I will strive to embody the traits of Slytherin during my time here. School has gone well, I received top marks on my latest exams, second in our year only to one other. Her name is Hermione Granger and I am confident I will beat her in the next round of exams. She is best mates with Harry Potter and a Weasley so she can’t be that bright. Professor Snape has been kind enough to take me under his wing. As head of Slytherin House, he has quite a bit of influence. I am excited to come home for winter holiday; I have attached a list of gifts I want. Give Father my regards.

Your son,

Draco

The letter she received from him towards the end of the year was the first to give her pause.

Dearest Mother,

Thank you for the gift of chocolates, it was nice to receive a package from home. I cannot wait to come back to the Manor for summer holiday, this school is proving itself impossible! Slytherin was in the lead to win the House Cup and that know-it-all Hermione Granger and her mates ruined it all. They are always getting into trouble with no repercussions, and it’s not fair! Just because she’s a Gryffindor doesn’t mean she can break the rules and call it bravery. Father is right, Dumbledore is going mental in his old age. Please have Pinky make those chocolate scones I love for my homecoming.

Your son,

Draco

Hermione Granger — this was the second time Draco had mentioned that name. Narcissa would ask her contact to find out more information about the girl. Granger… she pondered the surname, perhaps she is related to the Dagworth-Grangers.

It had been years since Narcissa felt panic like this; she certainly had not felt this way since before Draco was born. Collecting herself, she studied the parchment in front of her.

Name: Hermione Jean Granger

Birthday: 19 September 1979

Father: William Lee Granger

Mother: Jean Marie Granger

Blood Status: Muggleborn

The words blurred on the page as she reread that word again, black spots forming in her peripheral.

Muggleborn

Narcissa fainted.

After she came to, she had Teeney—her personal house elf—fix her tea and bring her smelling salts. When she had cast the binding ritual on her only son, she had incorrectly assumed that his magic would bind to another Pureblood’s magic. After all, from all the accounts she had read, the binding ritual was instigated by someone with Black blood but the binding itself relied on Draco’s magic. 

Somehow, for some reason, his magic had picked her and her magic had accepted his in return.

This went against everything they had raised him to believe. It was against everything Narcissa and Lucius were raised to believe. Draco’s magic was formed as a union of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black and the House of Malfoy. It was unfathomable that such pure magic would find its match in a Muggleborn, not even a half-blood! Narcissa took several short breaths before forcing herself to relax.

She decided she would not pursue anything until she had actual confirmation that Hermione Granger was really his match. Silently chiding herself for reacting so early, she reasoned that they were only children. Perhaps she was someone of no consequence and this was just a childhood rivalry that he would outgrow in time.

Narcissa meticulously collected his letters over the years, easily identifying a recurring theme.

‘ She’s doing it again, Mother! She said Father bought my way onto the Slytherin Quidditch team! She doesn’t think I’m good enough to make it on my own.’

‘Granger and the moronic Gryffindors seem to think I’m the Heir of Slytherin, not that it wouldn’t be impressive to add that to my long list of titles.’

‘I have been horribly disfigured by that vicious beast because of Hagrid, and the worst part is she took the beast’s side! I want it gone. Please talk to Father for me.’

At this point, mother’s intuition was overkill. Narcissa could see the binding working on her son in his growing infatuation with Hermione Granger.

Thirteen years ago, Narcissa had sworn she would do anything, give up anything, to save her only child. 

Would she have foregone the binding if she knew that the end result would be Hermione Granger? Narcissa spent weeks agonizing over this question, and the honest answer was that she did not know.

She thought of her sister, her confidante, who had been disowned from their family for marrying a Muggleborn. The thought of subjecting her son to the same treatment made her nauseated. Their social circle would never accept Hermione Granger; this match was setting Draco up for a life that Narcissa could no longer envision.

No, she had finally decided, nothing would be worth losing her son. She thought back to his first wobbly steps across the nursery floor, him sneaking into her bed during stormy nights or after a nightmare, that time he crashed his toy broom and broke his arm, when she and Lucius brought him to his first Quidditch match and seeing his eyes light up in delight. 

Draco was growing into a man that she was proud to have raised and she would rather watch him create a life with a Muggleborn than watch him descend into madness and lose himself in the curse.

Because of Andromeda, Narcissa knew what it was like to mourn the loss of someone still alive; she would not do the same to her son.

Peering nervously around the corner, Narcissa took a deep breath, straightened her spine, and ventured out confidently onto the streets of Muggle London. A passerby was talking into his hand, pressed up against his face. The walkways were crowded with foot traffic, and Narcissa stood frozen in place as she watched the chaos flow around her.

What peculiar clothes , she mused, taking note of the blue trousers worn by women, men, and children passing by. Self-consciously smoothing the hem of the violet Muggle dress she had borrowed from Andromeda, she continued her path. 

Narcissa did not think to convert any money into Muggle currency for this outing; in fact, she was not aware of what was even used for modern Muggle currency. Becoming wary of the crowd, most likely commuting at this time of day, Narcissa looked for somewhere to go.

A large building caught her eye — a free art museum. Summoning her confidence, she walked up the tall stairs into the gallery. Similar to wizarding galleries, the walls were lined with paintings and framed art. Dissimilar to wizarding galleries, the paintings were still. 

Narcissa paused in front of a panel painting which depicted a god, goddess, and baby satyrs. She read the plaque next to the painting; it was from 1485, created by an Italian renaissance painter.

It was slightly jarring to see the painting unmoving, but the more Narcissa watched it, the more she found herself appreciating the simplicity of the image. Behind her, an infant began to cry. She turned towards the noise, finding a young mother frantically trying to quiet her child.

The woman was sitting on the bench which faced the painting Narcissa had been viewing. She had her baby swaddled in a blanket, she was bouncing and shushing her child.  Not mollified by the movements, the baby in question became more agitated, crying louder.

“I am so sorry,” the poor woman apologized to Narcissa, looking frazzled and overwhelmed. “It’s the first time I’ve taken him out in public since he was born. I feel like I’m going stir-crazy in my flat and now he’s just crying. I don’t know why I thought I could do this alone.” Voice breaking, she blinked rapidly as she continued to rock in place.

Narcissa watched her carefully, the way she lovingly stroked her son’s head reminded Narcissa of herself and Draco. 

When Draco was a newborn, Narcissa had insisted on caring for him by herself. Lucius was appalled that she snubbed the help of their house-elves but Narcissa was adamant that she knew how to care for her baby better than anyone else would.

“You are a good mother,” Narcissa told her, joining her on the bench. “These early years are so difficult. You think you will never make it through the day, but then one by one, each day comes and goes. Before you know it, he will be grown in the blink of an eye and you will be wondering where the time went.”

The woman smiled softly at Narcissa. “Thank you, my mother lives in America and she’s so far away. Sometimes I feel lost without her. I just want to do what’s right for him. I’m petrified to make mistakes.”

“I remember that feeling well. May I?” Narcissa asked, extending her hands towards the sobbing baby boy.

“Oh, please, I’ll try anything!” The young woman placed her son in Narcissa’s arms.

Rotating the baby onto his stomach, Narcissa balanced his tummy on her forearm, cupping his head with her hand. With careful practice, she rocked him and rubbed circles into his back. The fussing slowed until it was merely small whimpers. After several minutes, he closed his eyes, enjoying the swaying motion.

His mother’s eyes filled with tears at the silence, her hand over her mouth. “Oh my god, how did you know to do that?”

Narcissa smiled kindly. “My son used to have the same problem. He would fuss and cry all night long. I finally figured out this hold when he was a few months old — after my third night in a row of no sleep.”

“You are an absolute angel, thank you.” She hugged Narcissa, who stiffened at the show of affection before patting her on the back.

“Do not doubt yourself,” Narcissa told her, handing back her baby. “You are his mother and you know what is best for him. He is lucky to have you.”

Together, in that moment, they were no longer a Muggle and a witch, but two mothers trying to do right by their sons.

Back at the Manor, Narcissa wondered how long it would take for Draco to recognise what was happening to him, if he even realised anything was amiss. After years of stories, Narcissa was quite keen to meet the brilliant, top-of-her-class, trouble-finding, best mate of Harry Potter, the Muggleborn witch who had enraptured her son.

Each year, Narcissa looked for Hermione Granger at King’s Cross, hoping to catch a glimpse of her with no success. Finally, the summer before Draco’s fourth year, Narcissa finally met the girl.

Though she was not particularly a fan of Quidditch, Narcissa did attend the occasional game as Draco loved the sport. When Lucius surprised Draco with Top Box seats for the Quidditch World Cup, gifted by the minister after a donation to St. Mungo’s, she knew she would attend just to see her son’s excitement. They sent Teeney ahead of time to save their seats.

By the time they arrived, the arena was packed with a roaring crowd. The box was full except for their seats, which were being guarded by Teeney.

She noticed Draco’s reaction to Hermione before she recognised the girl. Narcissa watched her son glare at the two boys standing close to her, crossing his arms defensively. Trying to observe them indirectly, she wondered if Draco noticed the immediate changes in his body language around her, as if he were hyper-aware of her presence.

As the crowd began to ramp up in energy and noise, Narcissa saw the two boys next to Hermione Granger trying to jump over the balcony with their arms outstretched. The Bulgarian National Team had brought Veelas for mascots, and Narcissa suppressed a laugh. Their dance was enticing the men and women in the stands to flock to them unless they were not attracted to the female form or their hearts were already taken by another.

At that thought, Narcissa looked up sharply, realising that Draco was still sitting in his seat, unfazed by the Veela. Even if he was completely unaware, at least a small part of Draco was already taken with Hermione Granger.

The girl in question was presently reprimanding the two boys for losing control around the Veela. It was obvious from the way she held herself that Hermione was a tenacious witch, self-assured with a dash of that ferocity that Narcissa herself had in her youth. 

As Madame Beaumont had done for Narcissa, so Narcissa could do for Hermione.

Narcissa smiled, secretly eyeing her future daughter-in-law. As far as Muggleborns went, Narcissa was starting to like this one.

Draco snapped the wooden box shut, holding two gold rings in his hand.

“Pictor’s mother cast the binding on her son. Do you think it was my mother who did this to us?” Draco swallowed hard, fidgeting with the rings.

“I don’t know, the journal never said it had to be the mother but it could’ve been her. Did you know about the Black curse?”

He shook his head. “No, but that’s not uncommon. Sacred Twenty-Eight families value their pure blood above almost anything else. These are people who hide away squibs and burn them off the family tree. They would never willingly admit to having a blood curse tainting the line. It doesn’t surprise me that the journal is so old; I can’t imagine anyone actually documenting a curse anymore.”

“How can a blood curse stay in a family so long?” Hermione asked. “Isn’t that something a curse breaker could fix?”

“A bloodline curse can’t be broken with a curse breaker because the original incantation usually involves loads of dark magic and more than a few human sacrifices, including that of the caster,” Draco explained. “Rumour has it the Greengrasses have a wicked blood curse on their line dated back several generations but no one speaks of it outside of whispered rumours.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise. Pureblood culture seemed so foreign to her.

“So, Granger—” Draco selected the smaller of the two bands and offered it to her “—you are the first woman to whom I have presented jewellery.”

“Oh, I’m honoured,” she quipped, taking the band from him. She started with her thumb and tried it on each finger, but it was too large, sliding right off. When she tried her ring finger, the band shrunk and adjusted to size.

Inspecting the thin gold band, she felt a sense of relief; it was dainty and exactly her usual style. If any of her friends asked why she was wearing jewellery that looked like a wedding band, she could shrug it off fairly easily as a gift from her mum. Flexing his hand, Draco stared at his own band glinting in the glow from the fireplace.

“Do you feel any different?” she asked, rolling her shoulders experimentally.

“Yeah, it actually feels quite pleasant.” Draco focused on the new sensation — where he had felt the Pull before, he could now feel their combined magic pulsing.“I’ve felt so off-kilter lately. It’s like I’ve suddenly regained my balance. I don’t feel like I’ll break any desks right now,” he joked sheepishly.

“That was you?” A laugh bubbled up from her chest and she shook her head in amusement.. “God, aren’t we a pair! These rings must be powerful to be able to stabilize magic; I wonder what the potential implications are for underage children and if we could—”

“I don’t think they stabilize magic, per se,” Draco interjected. “I think they harness our bond.”

“They act as a conduit for our bond, allowing us to directly connect with each other which, in turn, stabilizes our magic,” she finished, following his thought process.

“We haven’t really talked about how you feel about the bond.” Draco fidgeted in his seat. “Are you…I mean do you…” He fumbled over what to say next before looking at her helplessly.

Hermione shifted closer to him, taking his hand in hers, their rings clacking together.

“It’s terrifying,” she exhaled, “and exciting. Honestly, more than anything, it’s just an utter relief to put words to what I have felt for years. I’m not about to say I’m in love or anything, but if it had to be anyone, I’m glad it’s you.”

“I think it’s always been you, Granger,” he said softly.

Her heart skipped a beat.

“When you say stuff like that, I get nervous. How much of this is you and how much is it the bond making you feel this way?” she questioned, twisting her band around her finger apprehensively.

He seemed confused by her question. “Hermione,” he started, rolling her given name across his tongue as if he was savouring it. “How could this be anything but me? You are my perfect match. Out of everyone in the world, my magic picked you .”

“And mine picked you.” 

Before her mind could catch up with her body, Hermione was falling into Draco. Her lips pressed against his, hungrily capturing them. When he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing against the seam of her lips, she felt a flutter in her chest. Parting her lips, she stroked her tongue against his experimentally, trying to learn what he liked from his reactions as they kissed.

Hermione whimpered, her hand tugging his hair softly, pulling Draco closer to her. Gripping her waist, his body pressed up against hers, trying to close the gap between them. His soft lips moved down, placing a single kiss on her neck, and she arched into him, shivering from the touch.

“Granger—” he pulled back suddenly “—we should stop.” His hands tightened on her waist, as if his body disagreed with his words.

Leaning her head back on the sofa, she groaned, “You’re right. Why do you have to be right?”

“If it makes you feel any better, I hate myself,” he offered as she swatted him playfully.

“To be honest, I don’t have much experience with this kind of thing—” she gestured between them “—or any experience really. Does it always feel like this?”

“No, Granger.” He cupped her cheek and brushed his thumb across her lower lip. “It’s never like this.”

Draco was tossing and turning in bed, unable to fall asleep. Throwing his hands over his head in frustration, he lamented his actions earlier in the day. Eleven-year-old Draco would never forgive him for putting a stop to the snogging. Even now, he was angry at himself.

Tap tap.

A noise caught his attention, followed by a low knock at his door. Pushing the covers off, he wondered who would visit at this hour. Theo had stopped by on occasion but his knock was loud and distinct. Opening the door, he popped his head out into the empty corridor, looking around curiously.

A shadowed figure stood behind him in his room, and his heart rate jumped in shock.

“Granger!” Draco gaped at the figure, rubbing his blurry eyes, thinking he was dreaming the scene before him. Hermione Granger was standing in his room, nervously clutching an Invisibility Cloak. She was wearing a thin-strapped tank top, striped cotton shorts, and fuzzy slippers—obviously her Muggle pyjamas.

Hermione suddenly looked self-conscious under his stare. She shuffled in place.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted, closing her eyes in embarrassment. “I just thought that maybe you were having trouble sleeping too. This was a bad idea, I should go.”

“Granger,” Draco called as he made his way back to the bed, capturing her attention.

Pulling back the bedcovers on the opposite side of the bed, Draco climbed in and gestured for her to join him. With a shy smile, Hermione slid under the covers, sinking into the bed. She sighed deeply — his silk bedding felt like heaven.

“I couldn’t sleep either,” he assured her, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her back towards him. Her whole body moulded against him. Through her sleepy thoughts, she realised how well they fit together, like they were made to be one. 

In the dark room, her eyes slowed their blinks until she fell into a deep sleep.

When she woke, her whole body was cocooned in warmth. 

Hermione nuzzled closer to the comfortable heat. A large hand wrapped around her torso, just under the curve of her breast. Sleepily arching her back, she let out a low groan of contentment. Draco felt divine.

Draco.

She opened her eyes.

Her movement had woken Draco, who seemed to be coming out of a tired daze as well.

“Hi, sleepy,” she whispered, rotating her body to face him.

He smiled widely, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Good morning, Granger,” he whispered back.

Hermione’s stomach filled with flutters as she studied him. First thing in the morning, his hair was messy and his grey eyes slowly blinked with exhaustion. She found herself staring as he stretched but kept his arm wrapped around her. 

Morning Draco was her favourite Draco yet.   

“Draco,” Hermione started, languidly tracing a finger along his arm and shoulder. “What do you want to do after Hogwarts?”

“I haven’t given it much thought yet,” he admitted. “The plan has always been to go into the family business, I suppose.”

“What’s the family business?”

“Being outrageously rich and devastatingly handsome.” He smirked as she rolled her eyes in response. “Taking over the family business means my life will consist of attending boring investment meetings, hosting society events, and watching the interest in the Malfoy Gringotts vault grow.”

She frowned. “But what do you want to do?”

“Perhaps research, I do love research. I suppose in another life I could have lived happily as potioneer, in development or trying to improve existing processes. Or possibly take a master apprenticeship.”

Hermione sat straight up, eyes alight with excitement. “Draco, you would make a wonderful potioneer! You’ve always excelled in class and Snape loves you. Well, actually, he tolerates you more than anyone else and that’s the closest I’ve ever seen him to affection. I’m sure he would put in a reference for you for an apprenticeship.”

Draco gently pushed her shoulder back down until she tucked herself under his arm again.

“It feels nonsensical to even discuss. It’s not as if it’s ever been a choice. I don’t know anyone who has grown up with my familial obligations and was able to choose their spouse or career. I don’t think about what I would want because pursuing a want is a privilege I will never have.” He ran his fingers slowly through her hair, agitating the curls.

“That’s so sad,” she replied, her voice small.

“That, my dear Granger, is the life of a Pureblood heir,” he stated without emotion, removing his hand from her hair.

They laid in comfortable silence for several minutes before she picked his hand up and placed it back on her head, scrunching his fingers for him. With a chuckle that rumbled against her cheek, he took the hint and massaged her scalp with his fingertips. Hermione rolled her head back and forth practically purring.

Through a smile he asked, “Has anyone ever told you that you’re like a cat?”

Hermione sat up abruptly, throwing his hand off her head. “What did Harry tell you?” she demanded.

Draco’s eyes widened craftily. “Harry told me everything,” he blatantly lied in an attempt to get more information.

She glowered at him, poking a finger into his chest. “I’ll have you know that was one time in second year, Madam Pomfrey fixed it, and no, I’m not going to talk about it.”

“Okay, I’m going to save that one for later, because we are definitely going to talk about that, but as much as I hate to say it, we have class in an hour,” Draco pointed out, glancing at the time.

“I really should sneak out before your whole Common Room is awake and someone catches me,” she commented, making no move to leave the bed.

“Or we could just live here and have Pinky bring us endless food and books,” he proposed nonchalantly.

Hermione laughed. “You’re much too high maintenance for that.”  She begrudgingly separated their limbs before climbing out of the soft bed. “I’ll see you in class.” 

“Oh, Granger, the room next to us is Theo’s. He’s always up early, so try to be quiet when you are walking by his door,” Draco warned. “Theo would never leave you alone if he knew you spent the night here.”

She winked before pulling on the Invisibility Cloak, slipping silently out his door. Hermione took two steps into the hallway before sputtering to a stop, having almost collided with someone else.

With a gasp, her mouth fell open in shock. “Harry?!” She pulled the Invisibility Cloak down to expose her head.

Jumping nervously, Harry caught himself and feigned indifference. “Oh. Good morning, Hermione.”

Recoiling, she repeated, “ Good morning, Hermione? We run into each other in the Slytherin dungeons and that is how you greet me?”

Eying the door behind her, his lips spread in a self-satisfied grin. “Is that Malfoy’s room?”

Brows raised, she retorted, “Are we going to gloss over the fact that you’re sneaking out of Theo’s room before dawn?”

“It’s not sneaking , I’ll have you know that we were working on a project together and had to be up early to finish it,” he declared.

Hermione scrunched her nose. “We are in all the same classes and we don’t have any projects this week. The only upcoming work is in Charms and Theo isn’t even in our class. Also, your shirt buttons are misaligned.” 

Harry blinked. “Don’t tell Ron? Please?”

Looking to Draco’s door and back to Harry, Hermione pulled the cloak back to make room for another body.

She nodded in agreement. “Don’t tell Ron.”

The next night, Draco was sitting in his bed trying to read a book. ‘Trying’ was the operative word, because with every noise he heard outside the room, his eyes jumped up to the door. For the past ten minutes, he had been trying to read the same paragraph; he could not focus on the words, wondering if Hermione was going to come again tonight.

Just when he was about to give up and go to sleep, he heard a soft tapping on his door. His face spread into a wide smile, but he made himself wait two beats before hopping out of bed and swinging the door open. There was a swish of air around him paired with the sound of footsteps. Closing the door again, he reached out into the space in front of him, grasping at air.

There was a kiss on his right cheek, he spun to the right; he felt a kiss on his left cheek, spinning to the left he heard a voice sing out, “Over here!”

Whipping around, he hooked an arm around the space in front of him, picking up a giggling Hermione and swinging her around. The cloak slid down around her and she became visible.

“How’d you know it was me?” she teased, draping the cloak over his wardrobe.

“I’d know you anywhere, Granger.” He took her hand as she walked backwards, guiding him back into bed with her.

Sneaking into Draco’s room after hours became a nightly ritual for Hermione. Each night, she would go into her dormitory, bid her dormmates goodnight, and close the curtains to her four-poster bed. After their breathing slowed, she would slip out under the Invisibility Cloak.

The more time she spent with Draco, the more difficult it became to sleep alone. There was something comforting about the other’s presence each night; though they often stayed up too late talking, Hermione usually felt more awake after a late night with Draco than a full night’s sleep by herself.

Currently, Hermione was sitting criss-cross on Draco’s bed as they shared a large tray of breakfast food procured by Pinky.

“I still can’t believe you Slytherins get private dorms.” Hermione threw a piece of toast at him.

“We literally live in a dungeon, just give us this,” he laughed, grabbing a handful of blueberries and tossing them onto her.

Gasping in mock outrage, she shook the berries out of her hair before picking up her fruit cup and hurling pieces at him. Playfully tackling her to the bed, he knocked the tray of food across the sheets and floor as she laughed hysterically.

“Dra…Drac…DRACO!” she wheezed, clutching her torso with laughter as his hands skimmed over her sides, pinning her to the bed beneath him.

Relenting, Draco dropped a quick kiss on her lips. Hermione’s cheeks were flushed pink, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

“You realise you have to clean this up now.” She propped herself up on her elbows, pointedly staring at the breakfast that was now smashed into the duvet.

With a cocky smirk, he retorted, “You realise I have a house-elf, right?”

Hermione gaped at him. “Draco Malfoy! You will not—”

“Pinky!” Draco called. “Please clean up this mess.”

Pinky appeared with a pop and began to levitate the food.

“No,” Hermione interjected forcefully. “Pinky, stop, don’t enable him. We can clean it up.”

Pinky faltered, the food pausing in mid-air.

Looking cautiously between Hermione and Draco, he finally agreed, “Yes, Miss Hermione.” Pinky bowed to her and the food lowered back down.

“Did he just accept an instruction from me?” Hermione asked, her voice raised in panic.

“Granger,” Draco said, still staring at Pinky, “I think it’s about time we paid a visit to my mother.”

“How exactly do you know about this passageway again?” Draco asked as Hermione led him through the One-Eyed-Witch Passage out of Hogwarts.

Hermione waved a hand nonchalantly. “Harry, he has this map, it’s a long story.” She climbed out of the passage and into the cellar of Honeydukes.

“Should we get sweets while we’re here?” she asked, eyeing the sugar quills with interest.

“Let’s purchase some on the way back. There’s a fireplace nearby connected to the Floo Network that can get us to the Manor.” Draco led her out of the sweets shop and into the streets of Hogsmeade.

Wrapping the hood of her cloak around her head, she tried to avoid the attention of nearby shoppers. She and Draco both had distinct features that could break their cover and, if caught, they would have to craft excuses for why they had snuck out of school. Looping around the corner, they paused in front of a set of public fireplaces.

Draco let Hermione go in first into the rightmost fireplace. “We have wards up to prevent unwanted visitors at the Manor but since you’re coming with me, you’ll be able to pass through,” he explained under his breath.

“Malfoy Manor.” Draco tossed a pinch of Floo Powder and the pair disappeared with a puff of green smoke.

Dusting off her robes, Hermione stepped into what looked like a sitting room. The reception room was as big as the dormitory she shared with four other Gryffindors. It had a large storage area for cloaks and outerwear, two cream loveseats, a pair of bergère chairs, and a small round table holding a vase of pink camellias in full bloom.

Taking her hand in his, he gave an encouraging smile. “Ready?”

“I’m not sure,” she replied honestly. “Even if she was the one who cast the binding ritual on you, there’s no way she intended you to bind to a Muggleborn.” Fear gripped at her heart. “Honour killings aren’t a thing in Pureblood culture, right?”

“She can’t hurt you without hurting me,” Draco replied. “She would never harm you.”

With a big push, he opened the large wooden door into a brightly lit, immaculate hallway. The floors were made of a rich mahogany, decorative art and portraits lined the walls. Her mouth fell open and stayed open while she looked around, taking in the artful décor of each meticulously curated room they passed.

“Oh my god, Draco,” Hermione marveled. “I knew your family was rich, but I kind of assumed it was mostly for show. I always thought it was an empty threat, you know, the whole ‘my father will hear about this’ spiel.” She mimicked his pattern of speech from their younger years.

The corner of his lips curved into a smirk. “The Manor was a gift from William the Conqueror to Armand Malfoy in 1066.” He gave his best tour-guide impression as they rounded a corner, stating, “On your right is an original Moreau with a refurbished frame. If you’ll look to your left, you’ll see my hag of a great aunt tormenting the world from beyond the grave.”

Hermione stifled a laugh as the portrait in question shrieked in offense.

“She can move directly into the portrait in my father’s study. When I was a child, she used to spy on me and tattle to Father whenever I misbehaved,” Draco clarified, “which was practically never—I was an angel.”

The clicking of heels bounced down the hall towards the pair.

“He most certainly was no angel, Miss Granger. Do not let him fool you.” Narcissa Malfoy walked up to Hermione, surprising her with a light kiss on both cheeks. “Welcome to our home. Please, follow me, Teeney is preparing tea as we speak.”

Hermione’s mouth was still open as Narcissa turned, leading them down yet another hallway.

Draco gently leaned over, closing her mouth by pushing a finger against the bottom of her jaw. “See, that wasn’t so bad. The tea won’t be poisoned,” he assured her in a whisper. “At least I’m mostly convinced it won’t be.”

“ Mostly convinced?!” Hermione mouthed back silently, her eyes wide in horror.

There were three teacups on the table next to a sugar bowl and jug of milk. In the middle of the table, a three-tier stand stuffed with finger sandwiches and scones, jars of butter, honey, and three types of jam was on display.

“Do not worry, Miss Granger, the Malfoys stopped poisoning back in the sixteenth century; it gets much too messy,” Narcissa assured her with a coy look.

Hermione’s cheeks pinkened in embarrassment. “Please, call me Hermione.”

“Mother,” Draco spoke to Narcissa for the first time since arriving. “I assume you know why we are here.”

Narcissa’s eyes flickered down to the ring on Draco’s hand. “Yes, I do believe I owe you two some answers.”

Making her way to the far end of the room, Narcissa selected a framed image from the table near the window. It was a moving photograph of three girls holding each other and giggling with delight. Narcissa placed her hand affectionately over the girl on the far left; she had midnight black curly hair and eyes so dark they almost looked black. Her countenance looked soft, youthful, and kind; she looked carefree.

“This is Bella—” Narcissa handed the picture to Hermione “—my sister.”

Taking the frame, Hermione inspected the girls.

“She has not been Bella for quite some time. It was not until she was sixteen that we started recognising the signs of the blood curse in her. It was as if her very soul was being corrupted from the inside out.”

Tea magically filled the cups as Narcissa took a seat at the head of the small table. Narcissa stirred a single spoonful of sugar into her tea, placing her spoon down before continuing.

“Bella had such a kind soul before… She was the best of us all. She was the sister who picked wildflowers and sang along with the birds, who cried when our cat broke his leg, who would braid our hair and sneak us sweets. When I had trouble sleeping, she would stay up with me for hours and read me stories until I fell asleep. I wish I had known then how little time we had left with her as Bella.”

Draco took Hermione’s hand under the table, squeezing it lightly.

Narcissa looked mournfully at the picture. “Once the first symptom appeared, it was less than a year before she devolved into complete mania; she spent days arguing with people who were not there and had horrific nightmares. We would come home and she would be in her room screaming, pulling out her hair, and ripping the skin off her arms with her fingernails. She told me it felt as if her blood was sick.”

“One day, we found her scavenging the family archives for answers and she discovered the journal that Pinky brought you. She recognised the blood curse manifesting in herself, and she tried to bind her magic to Rodolphus to counteract it, but her magic rejected him in a horrific and painful display. We think the failed binding was the catalyst because she came apart so quickly after that.” Narcissa repressed a shudder at the memory.

“From that moment on, she was nothing like my sweet Bella — she was cold and calculating Bellatrix. We caught her torturing animals in the yard and draining their blood, convinced that bathing in it would heal her. We tried so many things, but nothing ever helped ease her torment. During an episode in which she was unusually irate, she disappeared. We searched her room the next day and she had left without a word of goodbye.” 

Narcissa sighed. “We did not see Bellatrix for years after that. By that time, she had joined the Dark Lord. She was seduced into his following because he called to her poisoned soul, her broken magic, and he promised to make her whole again.”

Hermione spoke up, “Mrs. Malfoy, why did you bind Draco as an infant if he could have done the binding ritual as an adult?”

“Please, call me Narcissa,” she insisted. “We are practically family, after all.”

Draco inhaled part of his tea in surprise, coughing loudly.

Narcissa glared at Draco as he gasped for air. “I saw what a broken binding did to Bella, but I could not sit by and just hope that Draco could find a better match himself. If I let Draco live his life unbound like Bella, he would have been able to choose his pair but then it was possible he might never have found you, never have found anyone whose magic was compatible enough to bind with his. The magic of an infant is more pliable.”

After a pause, Narcissa elaborated. “By binding him as an infant, your magic had the chance to grow together, to intertwine in a way that is not possible as an adult. Your magic pulls together because it knows the other as well as it knows itself. You have been connected for as long as you have shared this earth.”

“As your magic grew, you influenced the other’s magic, as well. You must have noticed the signs over the years. The binding does more than just anchor his magic to your healthy magic to counteract the curse. It joins you at your very essence; in each other, you will find something you could never find alone or with another.” She took a delicate sip of tea.

“Pinky listened when Hermione gave him a command, is that because of how our magic is joined?” Draco asked, sharing a look with Hermione.

Narcissa nodded. “Yes, the magic of a house-elf is bound to the magic of a family. Magic which now includes Hermione’s, due to the bond.”

“Is the binding dark magic?” Hermione asked quietly, afraid of the answer.

“It is not dark magic, but it is perhaps a bit grey,” she admitted. “Lucius and I… We struggled to stay pregnant. When I finally had Draco in my arms, I knew I would do anything to spare him the fate of my family’s curse. He was my one and only. What mother could sit idly by, knowing the odds?”

Hermione listened silently, taking in Narcissa’s words. She knew her own mum would do anything for her. Perhaps she would have done the same in Narcissa’s position.

“Not that I’m complaining, but Mother, why are you so okay right now? I thought you would be horrified and distraught that…” Draco hesitated, searching for the right words.

“That I’m Muggleborn,” Hermione supplied.

“Yes, that.” Narcissa pursed her lips into a thin line. “I struggled with it for years, candidly speaking. Above all, I want my son sane and happy. The only way he can have both is with you. I would not have picked you for my son, but by all accounts, I can see why his magic selected you.”

“Wait, you struggled for years ? When did you figure out his bond was with me?” Hermione asked, nonplussed.

“Oh, I figured that out years ago.” Narcissa waved a hand impatiently. “It was never a question. Frankly, his infatuation with you was embarrassingly obvious. My son wrote about you in every letter home from Hogwarts.”

Patches of pink tinged his pale cheeks as he looked at his mother with an expression of betrayal. “No, Mother, not every letter.”

Narcissa raised a single brow, taking another sip of tea.

Draco turned to Hermione. “It wasn’t every letter.”

With a quick, condescending pat of his hand, Hermione assured him, “I’m sure it wasn’t, dear.”

“I kept all the letters, if you are curious,” Narcissa offered.

“Please, no.” Draco hid his face in his hands.

“Please, yes!” Hermione exclaimed in delight.

“I also have a book of baby pictures and quite a few childhood stories prepared, if you are interested.”

“Narcissa,” Hermione replied, buttering a scone. “I could not possibly be more interested.”

 “This is the worst day of my life,” Draco groaned into his hands.

Of all the ways Hermione had considered the day would go, sitting with a beaming Narcissa and pouting Draco in the Manor parlour and sipping tea was not on the list.

“…and this is the time we caught Draco in the kitchens, at midnight, trying to make himself chocolate biscuits and terrorizing the poor house-elves.” Narcissa fondly smoothed the picture and turned it towards Hermione. A young Draco was sitting on the countertop of an exceptionally large kitchen, pouting at the camera and then at the floor, covered in flour and chocolate.

“Pinky wouldn’t give me any sweets,” Draco grumbled to himself, his arms folded over his chest.

“This one is my favorite. It is from a gala we hosted when he was four years old. We had put him to bed hours before, but he sneaked out and ran into the ballroom. Imagine my horror when I realised he had left his trousers in his room! Lucius paid handsomely for this picture so it would not make the gossip columns.” Narcissa chuckled at the memory, Hermione peering over her shoulder to watch the bare legs of four-year-old Draco running free through a room of horrified and amused guests.

“Why couldn’t you have just disowned me? Why this, Mother, why this?” Draco’s head was in his hands again.

“Oh, hush now, I have waited years for this moment.” Narcissa smiled slyly at Hermione. “I almost forgot, let me tell you about the time I found Draco in my wardrobe wearing my pearls and heels.” 

Draco’s gasp of horror filled the room.

After a full tier of food was consumed and the tea ran cold, Hermione and Draco realised they should return to school before their absence was noticed.

“There is another matter I need to speak with you about,” Narcissa said somberly. “Though I have recently evolved in my opinions of Muggleborns, you are well aware that is not the case for many of those in our inner circle.”

Draco and Hermione nodded, her meaning sinking in.

“You mean Father.” Draco’s brow furrowed in annoyance.

“Among others, but yes, your father would not approve. I remember what it is like to be young and in love,” Narcissa brushed over the word as Draco and Hermione blushed furiously, “but I am sorry to have to ask that you do not share the terms of your relationship with others.”

“What? You’re asking us to sneak around together and lie to everyone?” Draco’s voice raised in anger.

“Draco, you must realise that being bound to you makes her a target for those who hold less than desirable opinions about Muggleborns. You honestly think that you can just waltz into school, hand-in-hand, and not face repercussions of more radicalised Pureblood families? She would be in danger constantly. There is no way you could protect her every second of every day for the next three years.” Narcissa’s voice took on a tone of finality.

“She’s right.” Hermione swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. “It’s not just my life in danger, either. I can’t imagine you would exactly be welcomed in Slytherin with open arms after publicly claiming me as your...” her voice trailed off.

“I never wished this for you.” Narcissa’s eyes fell to her hands. “For what it is worth, I am glad that he has you, Hermione.”

The pair left the Manor in silence, absorbing the details from their visit.

Passing through Honeydukes and descending into the cellar passageway, Draco broke the silence.

“I don’t want to hide this, Granger,” he said bitterly.

“I don’t either, but your mother is right. Do you remember Goyle trying to curse me during our school assignment? He’s in the class , Draco, and his first instinct was still that we were legitimately fighting. It’s easier for people to believe that we are at odds than to accept we are working together. It will keep us safe to let people think that is still true,” Hermione reasoned.

 Draco clenched his jaw, tucking his hands in his pockets.

“Don’t be upset.” Hermione stopped mid-step, wrapping her hand around his arm. “That doesn’t change anything between us. Whatever this is, I still want it. I still want you.”

He looked her up and down, taking a step towards her as she took a step back. “You want me, Granger?” he asked, his voice suddenly low and husky as he took another step forward.

“I…” she was cut off by the feel of his lips on hers, soft and demanding.

Draco closed the space between them with a final step, holding her between him and the passage wall. He parted her thighs with his leg, pressing up against her. Whimpering into his mouth at the contact, she found herself rolling her hips towards him. His hand slowly moved up to her waist, her skin burning at the contact.

“Because I want you—all of you.” He cupped her cheek and placed a kiss on her forehead. “And I want everyone to know that you’re mine.”

Her breath hitched, caught in her throat by the word.

Mine.

“Let’s get back to school, Granger.” He turned back to their path, the rocks of the passageway crunching under his shoes.

Hermione was still bracing herself against the wall, her legs weak and her waist still heated from his touch. Pressing the back of her hands against her heated cheeks, she tried to will them to return to a normal colour.

Three more years.

She had no idea how she was supposed to spend three more years of school pretending that she was not falling in love with Draco Malfoy.

The next day, Ron was having a lie-in and uncharacteristically skipped breakfast. It was the first time Hermione and Harry had been alone together since the run-in in the Slytherin dungeons.

“So,” Hermione started, stirring berries into her morning porridge. “You and Theo.”

“So,” Harry mimicked. “You and Draco.”

“When did this happen?”

With a noncommittal shrug, he smirked. “It’s been some time.”

“Since the Yule Ball?”

“Before the Yule Ball.”

“Since before this year?”

Dramatic as ever, Harry sighed. “Yes, Hermione, since before this year. We started an informal club to commiserate after you and Malfoy were so painfully obvious in your pining. We called it the ‘complain of classmates knowingly’ club since we knew you two fancied each other, and we wanted to complain.”

“The entire foundation of your relationship with Theo came about from complaining about Draco and me?” Hermione balked.

“Yes, it turns out we are quite good at it. Among other things,” he added, taking a bite of toast.

“Wait—the name of your club is cock ?”

“Not cock,” he corrected. “It’s C.O.C.K.,”

Hermione moved her breakfast plate aside, laying her forehead on the table in defeat; it was seven in the morning and she was already ready to give up on the day.

“I’ve been doing a bit of light reading.” Hermione pulled off the Invisibility Cloak as she stepped further into Draco’s room. “And I need to borrow your ring.”

Draco fiddled with the band on his finger out of habit. He had not taken it off at all and he was not keen to see how his magic would behave without it. 

Sensing his hesitation, she gave a small smile. “You can keep it on, but I need your hand.” 

She reached out expectantly, holding his hand still.

Pulling out her wand, Hermione began, explaining as she muttered incantations.

“I was looking ahead—we are only a few years away from NEWTs after all—and I found this in the Charms section. It’s called a Protean Charm. If my theory is correct, I can use it on our rings for us to communicate with each other. When you send me a message, my ring will heat up and your message will appear.. I’ve already set mine up, and now yours is ready.” Hermione stepped back, testing it out.

“Woah, that feels weird,” Draco commented, looking down at the band which was warm to the touch.

The words Hi love were now inscribed into his band. The message faded.

Draco gave her a wicked grin. “You have to teach me how to do that!”

Moments later, Hermione’s band warmed with his first message to her.

Cute arse . She smacked his arm lightly in faux offense.

His band warmed with her reply; I know.

Laughing, he said, “This is going to be fun.”

“I haven’t told anyone about the bond. Harry assumes we just fancy each other, but I think he’s the only one,” Hermione said, thinking through a list of people she interacted with frequently. “Though I do think Ginny suspects there’s something going on with me. She’s pretty intuitive and asked me why I’ve been so happy lately.”

A smug smirk spread across his cheeks. “And just why have you been so happy lately, Granger?”

Hermione rolled her eyes in response. “Have you told anyone?”

“No, not about the bond. Theo definitely knows we are seeing each other, and Blaise has teased me about you for years so who knows what he has picked up on recently.”

“Theodore Nott is in the Sacred Twenty-Eight, isn’t he?” Hermione asked warily.

“His father is like my father, but I trust Theo with my life. He isn’t his father, and he doesn’t believe in blood purity ideals. Theo’s been trying to get me to talk to you for years, and he’s my best mate, so I know for a fact he won’t tell anyone about us,” Draco said with confidence.

“Well, that makes this easy then. I think it’s okay if our closest friends know we are together, but we shouldn’t tell them about the bond just yet. It’ll be difficult to meet in the castle without others seeing us, which means we might have to stick to meeting in your dorm for a while,” Hermione reasoned.

“Oh no,” Draco feigned disappointment. “I suppose if there’s no other way but to have a beautiful witch alone with me in my room every night, I’ll make the sacrifice.”

Hermione shook her head in amusement. “I really should cast a Notice-Me-Not Charm on the rings.” She faltered, looking down at the band. “That way our classmates don’t wonder why we are sharing a matching set of rings.”

“It's going to be okay,” he assured her, taking her hand in his. “In a few years, we can tell anyone you like, or we don’t have to tell anyone at all. We can do whatever you want. Just say the word and we can run away together, buy an island or something.”

“Only one island? I suppose I can downsize,” Hermione teased. “If you toss in a library, we’ll talk.”

“Deal.” He kissed her hand to seal it. “One island and one library coming right up.”

Hermione walked into Potions with Harry and Ron the next day, noticing Draco and Theo sitting together on the other side of the room. The two were having what appeared to be a serious discussion, Theo’s head leaned in close to Draco’s as he talked. Draco looked tense, his shoulders tight, and he was chewing on the inside of his cheek. Theo looked up at Hermione, his eyes unreadable, and turned back to Draco.

“There they are!” Pansy giggled as she thrust a magazine into Hermione’s hands. “You might find something to interest you in there, Granger!”

Hermione frowned, looking down at the publication, Witch Weekly.

Harry Potter’s Secret Heartache

Next to the article title was a picture of Harry, Hermione, and Krum, taken after the second task when Viktor pulled Hermione from the Black Lake and Harry greeted her—they had cropped Ron out.

Hermione tried to focus on the lesson, but she was infuriated by the details of the article. Rita Skeeter was accusing her of chasing after rich and famous boys, of using love potions on Harry and Viktor, and greatly exaggerating Viktor’s affections for her. 

She eyed Draco from across the room; he was staring straight ahead, his jaw clenched in annoyance.

“Did he really ask you to visit him in Bulgaria over the summer holiday?” Draco questioned her as soon as she stepped into his room that night.

“Hello to you, too.” Hermione folded the Invisibility Cloak and placed it on the trunk at the foot of his bed.

Waiting for her to reply, Draco folded his arms over his chest..

“Yes, okay, after he pulled me from the Black Lake and got rid of the shark head, he asked me to visit. I told him I appreciated the offer but that I already had plans,” Hermione disclosed with a casual shrug.

He looked annoyed with her confirmation.

“Why did the article upset you so much? Everything Rita Skeeter writes is rubbish,” Hermione asked, displeased with his demeanour.

“I just don’t like finding out that another bloke asked my girlfriend to visit him at home during the summer holidays from a gossip magazine,” Draco huffed.

“Your girlfriend ?” Hermione teased.

“ My girlfriend,” he repeated before pausing. “You are my girlfriend, right?” He suddenly sounded nervous, running his hand through his hair.

Hermione gnawed on her lip, her nerves showing. “We don’t have to just because of the bond...I mean, if you don’t want to, I understand.”

His eyes widened and he stepped closer. “No—I mean, yes—I mean, Merlin, this is difficult. No, we don’t have to because of the bond, but yes I want to.” He paused before clarifying, “Date you, that is.”

“You aren’t worried you’ll want out? Want someone else?” The questions sprang free before she realised she did not want the answers.

“I don’t want anyone else,” he replied, his voice deepening.

A wide smile bloomed across her cheeks. “In that case, yes, anything for my boyfriend.” Shifting onto the tips of her toes, she kissed his lips.

“So, do you?” He pulled away, looking uneasy.

“Do I what?”

“Have plans over the summer holiday?”

“I was just going to go home, I suppose.” Hermione shrugged her shoulders.

“Come home with me,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Come spend the summer with me at the Manor.”

Raising her eyebrows skeptically, she asked, “What about your father? I highly doubt he would be open to hosting a Muggleborn in his home for an entire summer.”

“I’ll write to Mother; we will figure it out. Say you’ll come with me, even if it’s only for a week. I can’t stand the thought of spending the entire summer without you.” He tucked a loose curl behind her ear.

Hermione nodded, thinking back to the endless hallways and large rooms of the Manor. “If you can spare the room, I’ll come.”

“We might have to rearrange a little to find the space, but we will make do. We only have thirty-three guest rooms so it might be tight,” Draco quipped.

“And a library?”

“Two libraries,” Draco amended, making her eyes light up.

“I’ll be there,” she said. “For the libraries, of course.” 

That night, Pinky delivered a tray of tea and bite-sized cakes and disappeared with a pop.

“Draco, why does Pinky have such nice clothes?” Hermione asked, staring at the corner Pinky had been standing. “The other house-elves I’ve seen have had various wardrobes, but Dobby came from your family and he wore a pillowcase.”

“Well, Dobby was a Malfoy house-elf. When the magic of two families comes together in the union of marriage, they bring their households together. Dobby came from my father’s family, Teeney and Pinky came from my mother’s family.”

He continued, “House-elves clothe themselves using items they find around a house, like a pillowcase. My mother provided fabric to her elves to make clothes for their children. She always said that house-elves are extensions of the family name and it would reflect badly on us to have them in rags when they are the first creatures a person sees in the Manor.”

“So, Dobby?” she prompted between bites.

“Yeah…Dobby. I’m not making excuses for him, but believe it or not, compared to my grandparents, my father is generous and quite lenient. My grandparents believed any creature, sentient or not, wasn’t worth their time, attention, or basic decency. Dobby had less than a pillowcase with them, literal filthy rags. It doesn’t justify his treatment—my father can be a real arse—but he’s better than his parents were.”

“You’re telling me that no one regulates the treatment of house-elves? It’s just up to the discretion of the family to decide whether they’re treated humanely or not?” Hermione’s voice raised in indignation.

“If there’s legislation around their treatment, this would be the first I’m hearing of it,” Draco admitted.

Abruptly, Hermione stood. “We have to do something about this! What about those poor house-elves that are being mistreated?”

“What, you want to storm the Ministry? Demand equal rights for elves? We are students. No one would take us seriously if we even got in the door,” Draco argued, standing up next to her.

“No, not the Ministry. Well, not yet anyway,” she amended, “though that is a future career prospect I’d never considered before.” She picked up her quill. “I’ll think of something.”

Hermione paused, deep in thought, “If house-elves transfer households after marriage, how do you get more house-elves? I’ve never seen a young house-elf before.”

Draco scoffed, “Merlin, Granger, did no one ever give you the nymphs and the hippogriffs talk?”

Her cheeks pinkened. “Of course I had that talk.”

Suddenly, her mind filled with thoughts of house-elf love trysts between rival households. How do they decide which house the baby elf lives in? What does a pregnant house-elf even look like? How are there no inbreeding issues if they are all born in the same families?

Draco stared at her expectantly.

“Stop! I know how,” she said, her face growing redder.

“Do you though?” He smirked.

She did not.

Draco awoke to the bed shifting around and reached his arm over to snuggle Hermione, but found her side of the bed empty. Disoriented from sleep, he sat up.

“Haaaappy birthday to you,” Hermione sang from across the room.

He turned towards the sound, grinning.

“Haaaappy birthday to yooou, happy birthday, dear Draco, happy birthday to you!” She was standing several feet from the bed, still in her pyjamas, holding a double layer chocolate cake with lit candles on top.

“Make a wish!” She beamed, thrusting the cake in front of him.

Pausing to think for a moment, he closed his eyes and then extinguished the candles with a sweeping blow.

“It’s not much, but I had to get you something,” she said, setting down the cake and handing him a long, wrapped package.

Draco ripped off the paper, unveiling a gold stirring rod used in potion making. He inspected it closer, reading the engraving.

I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul

“I know you probably already have one, but I just saw this in the store and it made me think of you and I engraved it with this quote because I want you to know that I don’t think it’s nonsensical to have dreams. I want you to know that your happiness is worth pursuing and that you can make choices for your life in pursuit of that happiness.” Hermione fumbled over her words as she explained the meaning behind her gift.

“I absolutely love it.” Draco leaned in to kiss her, touched. “Thank you.”

“Happy birthday, Draco.” Hermione smiled brightly, slicing into the cake and handing him a large piece. “Next year will be your best year yet.”

“How did you know to get chocolate?” He stared at the cake, eagerly accepting the plate from her.

“I’ve never met someone more obsessed with all things chocolate, so I made a triple chocolate cake, with chocolate frosting, and chocolate chips.” She smiled proudly, digging a fork into her slice.

Draco moaned as he savoured his bite. “I could eat this all day. This is the best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.” He paused. “Don’t tell Pinky I said that.”

"Your secret is safe with me," she laughed.

Later that week, Hermione and Draco sat together on his bed, books stacked around them as they worked on their latest Potions essay.

“Think they’d ever go on a double date with us?” she hummed thoughtfully, biting the tip of her quill.

“Who?”

“Harry and Theo,” she said slowly.

“What about Harry and Theo?” Draco asked, puzzled.

“Honestly, Theo’s your best mate, and you don’t know about him and Harry?” Hermione questioned, glossing over the fact that she had only learned about them recently.

“Don’t know what?”

“They have this thing together, called cock —” she began.

Draco raised his two hands in front of him, cutting her off, “Merlin, Granger! I’m a bloke—I know what cock is. Please don’t say anything more about my best mate’s cock. I don’t want to know.”

She rolled her eyes, turning back to her parchment.

“Harry, are you ready for the final task?” Hermione asked as they stepped around a group of students loitering in the corridor. “It’s only a few weeks away.”

“About as ready as I can be,” he answered honestly. “Luckily I’m really bad at dying so I see this tournament ending in my favour.” 

Pursing her lips into a tight line, she chastised, “That’s not funny, Harry.”

“Never been worse at anything in my life,” he quipped.

“We really should practice while you can. Professor McGonagall gave me permission for us to use the Transfiguration classroom during lunchtime. I have a list of spells that might come in handy in the maze.”

Adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose, Harry gave a begrudging nod. “Oh, Hermione. What would I do without you?” He paused for effect. “I’d probably spend less time in the library.”

Ruffling his already messy hair, she grinned. “That would be a travesty. Enough complaining, let’s get to work!”

Every lunch for the next month Hermione, Harry, and Ron practiced spells in preparation for the final task. Between lunches, Harry was practicing hexes at every available moment, assuring Hermione that he was prepared for anything that might come up in the maze.

“Okay, great! Now loop it around, good! Just do that about a thousand more times and we will have a hat!” Hermione encouraged.

“Honestly, Granger, this looks terrible. No self-respecting house-elf would ever wear this hat.” Draco pouted, setting down his knitting needles.

She huffed in annoyance. “When it is the difference between a lifetime of enslavement and freedom, they’ll wear the damn hat.”

“And spew , why didn’t you choose a name that sounds less like vomiting?” Draco continued, still pouting.

“It’s not spew ,” she corrected, “it’s S.P.E.W.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “You sound like Theo and cock .”

Hermione stared at him, unamused.

He paused before picking the needles back up, “Okay but let the record show, I think this is a terrible idea and I’m only doing this because you’re cute.”

“Counsel has noted it in the record, now keep knitting.”

Grumbling to himself, his needles began to click together again.

It was the night before the final task and Hermione was beyond exhausted. Between final exams and worrying about Harry, she was running on fumes. She and Ron had been up all hours preparing Harry for the final task. Most nights, she just crawled silently into Draco’s bed, snuggling up against him and falling fast asleep.

The sound of a drawer closing woke her up that morning.

Draco gently brushed her hair from her face. “Good morning, sleepy.”

She mumbled incoherently into the pillow.

“I received a letter from mother about the summer,” he said, waving it in front of her expectantly.

Hermione shot up in bed, reaching for the parchment and skimming the letter.

“Your father is really going to be away for the first half of summer?” 

“A bunch of his old associates have started reaching back out to him, and they’re planning some sort of meeting this summer and he said it will take weeks to coordinate. Not sure what it is but it’s something important which means we won’t have to worry about him showing up at the Manor.”

Elated, she asked, “This is really happening?”

“This is really happening,” he confirmed. “Mother even changed the wards on the Manor so you can Floo directly into the receiving room without me.”

“A summer at Malfoy Manor,” she mused. “Have you checked to see if pigs are flying?”

“What an odd thing to say. Of course pigs can fly,” Draco answered, laughing.

A devastated wail echoed through the stands, breaking apart the chatter of students and music from the band. Draco was frantically processing the scene in front of him. Harry Potter had tumbled out of the maze and then collapsed onto the ground, bloody and covered in dirt; he was clutching the Triwizard cup in one hand and the unmoving body of Cedric Diggory in the other.

Theo’s legs moved faster than his mind, jumping out of his seat at the sight of Harry’s blood dripping down his forearm. Grabbing his robes, Draco caught Theo and pulled him back before he could descend the stands.

“He’s okay,” Draco muttered reassuringly, trying to comfort Theo. “He’s just a little beat up but he’s okay.”

Theo did not look convinced, his frantic eyes fixed on Harry.

Across the field, Harry slumped over, his face in his hands. The spectators nearby jumped back with reaction, the ripple of Harry’s words spread through the stands.

“What did he say?!” Tracey Davis’ voice raised in panic. “Did he just say he’s back? You-Know-Who?”

Blood rushed in Draco’s ears, muffling the hysterical sounds of the crowd; he looked from the lifeless eyes of Cedric to the blood pooling out of Harry’s wound to Dumbledore’s ashen face.

“He’s back.”

Draco’s legs almost buckled beneath him and he leaned on Theo for support, feeling the colour drain from his face. Quickly searching the crowd, his eyes landed on Hermione; she was clutching her ring protectively against her chest, her eyes wide with terror.

Everything was about to change.

June-July

Year 5

“Oh, Draco, I knew it was going to be huge, but wow…it’s even bigger than the rumours. This is almost too much for me to handle all at once!” Hermione’s eyes were wide as saucers as her hands skimmed the massive bookcases that lined Malfoy Manor’s larger library.

Draco reflexively snorted at her blatant double-entendres.

The library at Malfoy Manor was severely underutilized and Draco could think of no one who would put it to better use than Hermione. They had thousands of tomes, both academic and personal, spanning across millennia. In the personal Malfoy collection, they had information that was not accessible at Hogwarts—even in the Restricted Section.

As she perused the library, caressing the books, his heart beat a little faster. They deserved each other, this library and Hermione Granger.

“Need to get a room, Granger?” He laughed as she slowly lowered the book she had been subtly sniffing.

She raised her chin haughtily. “I can’t help myself; have you seen this library?!”

“Yes.” He smirked. “I did grow up here, you know.”

“Grew up in a library, did you?” she quipped.

“Why else would your magic have picked me?” he teased, sliding a hand around to rest on her waist.

 “Prat,” she muttered under her breath, still smiling.

“What was that?” he asked, tilting an ear towards her.

“Nothing, love,” she sang over her shoulder as she slipped away from him, disappearing behind another set of shelves.

From that moment on, it was a tale of kindred spirits, that of Hermione and the Manor library. Whenever Draco was searching for her, he always started in the library. More often than not, he found her sitting in her favorite oversized chair—the one by the window with a view over the gardens—surrounded by piles of books, her curls pulled into a messy bun. He always observed her for several moments before making his presence known. This scene was his favorite, a wild Hermione in her natural habitat.

“Does your mother know that I’m staying in your room?” Hermione asked. “I was under the impression that most Pureblood families followed a strict courtship protocol that included separate living spaces.”

“Oh, that.” Draco waved a hand, dismissing the concern. “I made up a guest room for you down the hall—a respectable distance from my room. Every morning, I go in and mess up the bed covers a bit to look like you slept there.”

Hermione frowned. “Surely that’s not fooling anybody?”

“Rule number one of Pureblood society—the appearance of following Pureblood etiquette is equally if not more important than actually following etiquette,” Draco recited with a smirk.

“I have so much to learn,” she lamented. “I wish there was a Pureblood culture course at Hogwarts. Can you imagine how helpful it would be for Muggleborn students?”

“Granger, you do realise that Pureblood families keep the rules unwritten so that the knowledge stays only with other Purebloods?”

“That makes no sense,” she argued. “If the whole premise of Purebloods hating Muggleborns is based on the idea that Muggleborns will destroy wizarding culture, why keep them ignorant of the customs? The Muggleborns are in a no-win situation.”

“That’s exactly the point,” Draco replied. “They don’t want Muggleborns to win.”

“What’s rule number two of Pureblood society?”

“The honour of the family name supersedes the happiness of any individual family member. It’s a nice little rule to remind you that your wants and needs mean nothing as long as you do what your family expects of you.” Draco’s tone grew bitter.

“To be honest, I’m not seeing any culture worth preserving so far.” 

“That’s why you, my love, are exactly what they fear.” He smiled, kissing her on the temple.

One week into her stay at the Manor, Hermione stomped into his room with a look of frustration.

“Okay, if we are going to make this relationship work, I need to know you’ll be on my side,” Hermione began seriously.

Draco shot upright in his chair at her tone, nodding intently. “What happened?” 

His mind raced, did his father come home early? Did his mother offend her?

“It’s the peacocks, Draco.”

He blinked, confused. “The peacocks?”

“Yes, the peacocks! I think they have it out for me. That one with the white tail hissed at me last week, and yesterday, when I was outside reading, he pecked at my book and ripped the page!” She huffed and crossed her arms. “It was a first edition !” 

“I can buy you another first edition,” he pointed out, which only seemed to irritate Hermione more.

“It’s about the book, but it’s not about the book. It’s the principle of the matter.”

“You want to know if I’ll side with you in your conflict against Charles, the peacock,” he said, sounding amused.

“If you’ll just put in a good word—” 

Draco interrupted with a wave of his hand. “Yes, yes, I will be your ambassador to the peacocks.”

“Thank you.” She kissed him quickly on the cheek before returning to her book, placated.

The thought came to him so easily that he almost missed it. 

Merlin, I love her.

Hermione and Draco were on a tour of the grounds when they heard a shriek come from the ballroom. They followed the sound, rushing over to an obviously distressed Narcissa.

“Mother, what is it?” Draco asked, looking around for the source of her panic.

“There is a wild animal loose in the Manor!” She clutched her pearls, literally and figuratively.

Hermione reached for her wand defensively, scanning the room. A fluff of orange darted behind a serving table. She narrowed her eyes. “Crookshanks!”

“What is a crooks-hanks?” Narcissa asked, seemingly to herself.

Draco raised his hand to his face in exasperation. “Granger’s pet demon.”

“He’s a cat!” Hermione corrected, obviously offended at the misclassification of her familiar.

She scooped him up into her arms, affectionately petting his head. “And he’s just saying hello.”

Narcissa looked down her nose at the cat, which was currently purring. “Very well. Please keep it in your quarters and far away from me.” She turned on her heel and walked out of the ballroom, her head held high.

Draco’s favorite nights were the ones they spent in the library together, where they could just be two teenagers enjoying their time together; they were precious, those moments when they did not have to worry about family, friends, school, or the impending fear of Voldemort.

“No, no, no, you’re doing it all wrong.” Hermione moved Draco out of the way. “It was a valiant effort but honestly it’s not even close without the cloak. May I?” she asked, snatching Draco’s cloak from the nearby rack.

She popped behind a bookcase.

“I can teach you how to bottle fame,” she drawled in a low monotone, popping the t’s, “brew glory,” Hermione dramatically swished the cape behind her, “even…” she paused for theatrical effect, “stopper death.”

“You know he’s my godfather, right?” Draco wiped tears of mirth from his eyes.

She gave a melodramatic bow and wave of her hand at the end of her performance while he clapped.

“I knew there was a reason you were his favorite student,” she goaded Draco, who proceeded to make a face at her as she swished the cloak around her once more.

“You’re going to have to explain this plot to me again. You’re telling me that that witch, who is also part octopus, gives a Merperson legs but only in exchange for her voice? And the former mermaid only gets it back if she kisses the guy? What kind of spell does that? Where’s her wand? These Merpeople look weird—their hair is all wrong, and why are they wearing shells? They’re not even speaking Mermish.” Draco waved a hand at the portable telly that Hermione had brought with her to the Manor, picking up another handful of popcorn.

“Muggles don’t know about Merpeople. This is a children’s story,” Hermione explained. “They think mermaids are fiction.”

Draco scoffed, “Well okay , but if you think I’m going to sit back and watch this grossly inaccurate depiction of Merculture more than a dozen times, you are sorely mistaken. Now quit talking, you’re interrupting the show.”

That night, as the shower ran in the en suite to Draco’s room, Hermione swore she could hear the faint humming of ‘Under the Sea’ bouncing off the bathroom walls.

They had the balcony doors open, the cool night air filling the room. The sound of wild creatures in the night came from the nearby forest. Hermione leaned against the arm of the sofa, her legs slung over Draco’s lap and his arms resting comfortably on her knees.

“So, Granger, about that cat story from second year—” Draco began.

Hermione threw a pillow at his face. “Still no.”

The next morning, Narcissa was outside pruning her rose bushes—maintaining the flower garden was her favorite pastime. She found it therapeutic; at least, it had been therapeutic until that orange menace started following her around. It began innocently enough, with the cat occasionally basking in the sunlight next to her but quickly evolved into following Narcissa around from bush to bush. Today, she was not in the mood.

“Shoo.” Narcissa waved her hands at the cat, who stared at her with indifference, licking its paw.

She frowned and the expression felt unbecoming. “Don’t you have somewhere better to be?”

Crookshanks blinked at her.

“Well?” Narcissa put her hands on her hips, waiting.

“Look at me,” she chastised herself. “Talking to a cat as if it understands me.”

Crookshanks tilted his head, as if agreeing with her.

He stalked towards her slowly, rubbing up against her leg. She stepped away from the feline in discontent, turning back to the Manor and giving up on her rose bushes for the day.

The summer heat unbearable, Draco cast yet another cooling charm over them on the patio. Hermione had insisted on having breakfast in the gardens today. ‘ Charles and I came to an understanding,’ she had said, though Draco was afraid to know what constituted their ‘understanding’. 

He made a mental note to have Pinky check on Charles this afternoon.

The house-elf delivered a tray of iced lemonades with lemon wedges for the couple just as Draco was tucking a freshly-plucked camellia flower into Hermione’s braid.

Hermione peered over his shoulder as Draco sketched the flower onto a sheet of parchment, “That’s quite good,” she commented. “I never saw you drawing at Hogwarts.”

He shrugged. “I’ve always loved to draw, but I’m so busy at school that I usually only sketch when I’m home. Or I sketch when I have a particularly captivating subject,” he said, flipping back a few pages to a drawing of Hermione.

She took the sketchbook from him, admiring the picture. The Hermione in his drawing was enchanting. She had wild curls, some falling in front of her face, freckles smattered across her nose and cheeks, her chocolate brown eyes shone with affection at the viewer. Is this how Draco sees me? Her breath hitched.

“Are you okay?” Draco asked nervously.

When Hermione realised her eyes had filled with tears, she looked up from the picture to Draco.

“I love you.” The words just fell out of her mouth, like she had said them a hundred times before.

“Oh, Granger.” He placed a hand on each side of her face, wiping away her tears with his thumbs. “You are my everything .” He kissed her adoringly as she leaned into his embrace. “And I love you.” 

“Hermione,” Draco called over to her as he walked in the library, carrying a tray of biscuits and afternoon tea.

She did not look up from her book. “He started it. I finished it. I won’t apologize.”

“What? Who?” 

“Is this not about Charles?” she asked, innocently looking up at him through her eyelashes.

“What did you do to Charles?” Draco sighed wearily.

“Nothing, love, nothing at all.” 

“I’ll go out to the gardens today and talk with him,” he offered.

“We are beyond that. His word means nothing to me now,” she replied airily, turning a page, ending the conversation.

Narcissa carefully set down the half-complete paperwork for her latest charity auction when she heard the telltale sound of paws on the ground behind her. Pausing, she looked down at the cat that had settled at her feet.

Stepping out of the room, she returned several moments later with a saucer of milk, which she indifferently placed on the floor next to her. She smiled to herself as Crookshanks lapped up the milk. 

Leaning down, she gave him a single pet on the head.

The next Sunday morning, Hermione was fanning herself, trying to cool down in the sweltering summer heat.

“Fancy going for a swim?” Hermione asked boldly.

Draco looked at her in confusion. “Where do you want to swim?”

She stared blankly at him. “You have a full-size lake on the estate. Where else would we swim?”

“You want to go swimming in the lake ?” he repeated, uncertain.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You’re telling me you grew up here and never went swimming in this gorgeous lake?”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, Granger, I grew up in a Manor. Not a barn.” Draco scoffed and then cocked a smile. “My lovely little Gryffindor, why do you insist on always acting on whatever mad idea comes into your mind?”

“If there’s even a slight chance at getting something that will make you happy, risk it. Life’s too short, and happiness is too rare,” Hermione quoted, reaching into her luggage, pulling out clothes, and slipping into the en suite.

The door opened and Hermione walked out, carrying a towel. Draco’s eyes drifted down her body slowly, taking in what she was wearing; he ripped his eyes away from her chest, spinning around quickly away from Hermione.

“What are you wearing?!” he asked, still averting his eyes, his face bright red.

She laughed. “It’s a Muggle swimming costume. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before in your dorm. You can look, Draco. A bikini never killed anyone.”

“That’s what you think,” he mumbled under his breath as he took in the sight of her, swallowing hard. “Thank Merlin for Muggles.”

Trudging down the perfectly manicured lawn, Hermione led Draco down to the lake which bordered the forest. The lake was surrounded by grass and the water was clear with blue tint at the shallowest part, rocks littering the bottom.                

“I still can’t believe you’ve talked me into this.” Draco slipped his shirt and shoes off, wearing just his swimming trunks. Hermione unwrapped her towel, adding it to the pile of Draco’s clothes.

She threw her arms in the air and squealed in delight as she sprinted into the shallow end of the lake, the water splashing around her as her feet broke the surface. Hermione waded until the water was up to her torso.

Turning to Draco, she called out, “The water is positively divine! Come join me!”

Biting back a smile, Draco dipped a toe into the water. It did feel refreshingly cool against his hot skin. Taking a full step into the lake, he sighed at the feeling of relief from the heat. Finally, he took a full step back before sprinting full speed into the water, jumping in next to Hermione.

She giggled, splashing him with the water. “I can’t believe it took you fifteen years to swim in this lake. Aren’t you lucky you have me to rectify this travesty?”

He swept her up with one hand around her waist and another under her knees.

“I am, Granger.” He spun her around. “Lucky to have you,” he clarified with a kiss to her nose, which she promptly squished up in amusement.

After they had dried off and eaten lunch, Draco sat next to Hermione at the dining room table. She was penning a short letter to Harry while Draco read the Daily Prophet, finding nothing but the usual Ministry propaganda about the Dark Lord. Draco folded the newspaper, setting it down on the table.

“It’s nice that Rita Skeeter stopped printing those gossip articles about you,” Draco commented casually.

“Hmm.” Hermione hummed in agreement. “Funny how many problems can be solved by trapping someone in a jar.”

“What?” Draco asked, bewildered.

“What?” Hermione repeated.

“Draco,” Hermione called into their shared room, her head sticking out of the bathroom doorway.“Have you seen my pink slippers?”

“Nope, sorry, love. Not sure where they went.” Draco told her as she pouted in disappointment and disappeared back into the bathroom.

He wiggled his toes below the covers, his feet enveloped in soft pink fuzzy warmth, smiling craftily to himself.

“Mother has invited us for afternoon tea; she said she has something to discuss with us.” Draco looked at Hermione carefully.

“That sounds foreboding,” Hermione said, braiding her hair in front of the en suite mirror. “Do you know what she wants to talk about?”

“She didn’t say, but I suspect it has to do with my father. I find it rather... suspicious that he reconnects with many of his old Death Eater associates just before Potter witnessed the Dark Lord’s return and then is absent for the entire month after.” Draco frowned.

“We’ve talked about this. If Harry says Voldemort has returned, then he has returned,” Hermione insisted. “Just because Fudge is willfully ignorant doesn’t make it any less true.”

“I know, Granger.” Draco wrapped his arms around her torso from behind, lazily kissing her neck. “Are you ready for tea?”

Hermione leaned into the touch, exhaling softly. “Not if you keep kissing me like that.”

Draco smirked against the soft skin of her neck, sensually continuing his attentions.

Narcissa had tea set for three in the smallest of the tea rooms. She gracefully poured a serving into each teacup, stirring a spoonful of sugar into her own cup before beginning.

“Our fears have come to fruition. With the Dark Lord’s return, he is calling upon the houses that pledged loyalty to him over a decade ago.” Narcissa paused, gathering herself. “He has called upon the house of Malfoy.”

“No. No, Mother, we can’t,”  Draco interrupted, his eyes wide in alarm, “How can you support him knowing what we know now?”

“Do not be a fool, it does not become you,” she chastised Draco. “When you pledge loyalty to the Dark Lord, it is a life sentence. There is no escape. When he calls, we answer.”

“So, we are going to follow that monster? You realise he would kill Hermione, and probably me, if he had any idea about us? You don’t have to do this, Mother,” Draco insisted, his voice raised with panic.

“Do you know what happened to those who left the Dark Lord’s cause during the first war?” Narcissa asked, a thin brow raised. “There was hardly anything left of them when he was done. Those were the lucky ones because at least they were able to die to escape his torture.”

“But—” Draco tried to interrupt, but his mother silenced him with a look.

“What is your plan if you successfully leave? You will be ostracized by both sides, branded a traitor to your cause if you even manage to survive leaving. You think Albus Dumbledore’s side would believe that we had a change of heart? No. We would be distrusted, having already abandoned our alliance once before. We would be without any protection from either side. That simply will not do. We will do as Malfoys have always done; we will be pragmatic, we will persevere, and we will survive,” Narcissa said firmly.

“What are you saying, Mother?” he asked, his voice deadly quiet.

Narcissa pursed her lips. “Your father has written to me. They are using the Minister’s denial of the Dark Lord’s return in their favour, to have the element of surprise. I have no intimate knowledge, but I have heard rumours of upcoming plans from those in our circle.”

Narcissa turned to Hermione. “After the events of this week, I am afraid that I can no longer guarantee your safety here at the Manor. Do you have anywhere to go? Somewhere safe?”

A hundred thoughts raced through Hermione’s mind. “My parents are on a holiday for the next month, but I can go to a safe house. There’s a safe house that Ron told me about at the end of last year. Harry is staying with his uncle right now, but the Weasleys should be there for the summer. I can write to Mrs. Weasley and see if there is room for me.”

Narcissa nodded curtly, taking Hermione’s hand in hers. “Your safety is paramount to us, and when I say we will do what is best for the family, I want you to know that you are part of this family now. I am sorry to send you away, but you must understand that it is the only option. I will leave you two to discuss this further.” She dismissed herself from the table, her heels clicking against the marble floors, and closed the door quietly behind her.

“Do not look at me like that,” Narcissa sighed in defeat, looking into the sad amber eyes of Crookshanks. “I do not want this, but it is the only option. You are not safe here.” 

As Narcissa knelt down next to the cat, he promptly rolled onto his back with his paws in the air.

“You will always be welcome in my home,” she murmured, stroking the soft fur of his stomach as he purred beneath her hand.

“No,” Hermione said stubbornly. “Absolutely not! We were supposed to have the summer. We were supposed to have more time.”

Draco searched her eyes. “Granger, if it’s true that the Death Eaters are rallying to the Dark Lord, then it’s only a matter of time before they start up the old ways again.”

“The old ways?” she questioned.

“Cleansing the world of impure blood, hunting Mu…Muggleborns.” Draco grimaced at the words. “Mother is right; the last place you should be right now is next to me.”

“You want me to leave,” she accused.

“I want you to be safe ,” he corrected, interlacing his fingers with hers.

“It’s not forever. In a few weeks, we will be back at school; I bet if you asked, Harry would let you borrow his Invisibility Cloak every night again and you can stay with me in the dungeons,” he assured her, brushing the hair from her eyes.

“We think he might be able to see inside Harry’s head,” Hermione whispered, her eyes brimmed with tears.

“What? Who?” Draco asked.

“Voldemort. We think he can see into Harry’s head, into his thoughts and memories. It happened last year. It’s not safe for Harry to know about us anymore. I have to lie to him, too.” Her voice grew panicked as she processed the severity of their situation out loud. “I can’t let him know the truth about us. What if Voldemort sees it? He will kill you, he will kill your family!” Her shoulders deflated. “Even if I couldn’t tell anyone about us, it was okay because at least I had Harry, and now I have no one.”

“You have me.” He took her into his arms. “You’ll always have me,” he muttered again and again, holding her together as she fell apart beneath him.

She whispered pitifully into his chest, “I’ll write Mrs. Weasley tonight.”

July

Year 5

Hermione,

You are so welcome to join us for the remainder of the summer. Hestia Jones will meet you at The Leaky Cauldron this Saturday at noon to bring you to our location. We will explain everything when you arrive.

Safe travels,

Molly

Hermione reread the letter, folding it along the crease and tucking it back into her pocket.

One more day. She had one day left at Malfoy Manor before she spent the rest of her summer with the Weasleys at the safe house.

She tapped her fingernails on the desk impatiently. A hand reached around her and rested on top of her hand, settling it.

“How are you doing?” Draco asked, his voice laced with concern.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips. “I wish we had more time.”

“Me too, but I did get something in the post yesterday. Something I think might cheer you up.”

Her hopeful eyes met his. “What was it?”

He hesitated, his hands behind his back. “It’s supposed to be for your birthday, but I think you might like it now. Close your eyes.”

Hermione obeyed, a brush of tingles drifting down her spine as she felt him sweep her hair to one side and clasp a chain around her neck.

“Open your eyes,” he directed, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

Opening her eyes, she looked down at her chest. Resting against her skin was a beautiful gold locket, round with an antique floral etching that bordered the pendant. She held the locket in the palm of her hand, admiring the details.

“Oh, Draco, I love it!” she exclaimed. 

It even matched her band and she smiled at the thought.

“There’s something inside. I had it charmed so it will only open to your touch or mine. I hope you don’t mind that I already filled one of the spots with a picture.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and tilted his head with a curve of his lips. “I figured you could fill one side and I could fill the other.”

Hermione carefully pried open the locket, inspecting the inside. On one side, there was a moving picture — one they had taken weeks ago. In the picture, she smiled at the camera and Draco leaned in, kissing her on the cheek; she turned to him in surprise, looking up at him, and he cupped her cheek and kissed her lips gently. 

She watched the picture repeat again, biting her lip.

Hermione’s eyes watered as she fought back the feeling building in her chest.“It’s perfect.” She pulled him closer, bringing her lips to his and sinking into the kiss, trying to memorise the sensation before it was too late.

That night, Draco stepped into the formal dining room, pausing curiously at the lack of dishware and food on the table.

“I had Pinky help me out with supper,” Hermione explained, guiding him out of the Manor.“Tonight, we are dining under the stars.” 

She grinned, throwing her arms out and spinning as she gestured all around her.  

“First, we swim in the lake,. Now, we are eating supper on the ground. My father would be appalled,” he mused, following her down the stone path. They walked into the grove of trees where there was a candle-lit picnic prepared for them.

“Yes, I’m sure if he knew about our relationship, his biggest concern would be the picnic,” she joked.

There was a large checkered blanket splayed out on the grass, a wicker basket sitting atop it. Inside the basket there were sandwiches, sliced fruit, and glass jars of chocolate mousse. The blanket was surrounded by lit candles floating in the air around them, courtesy of Pinky’s magic.

“It’s our last night, and honestly I don’t know the next time I’ll be back at the Manor. I just wanted to make it memorable,” she confessed, kneeling on the blanket and distributing their supper.

“You are nothing if not memorable.” Draco smiled. “I don’t think there’s an area of the Manor I don’t look at and see you now.”

“I already told you I was sorry about breaking that antique vase…” she muttered guiltily. “I didn’t realise ‘ Reparo ’ doesn’t work well on vintage…”

Draco laughed. “I wasn’t talking about the vase, though it was honestly hideous, and you did the Manor a favour. I mean it when I say this summer has been memorable. I see you everywhere here. I see you in the gardens with a camellia flower in your hair, in the library in that oversized chair, in the lake splashing me, taking tea in the tearoom with honey and a quarter lemon, and chasing Pinky with a knitted hat in the conservatory.”

“He’s still really mad about that hat incident.” Hermione frowned, recalling Pinky’s week of silent treatment.

“He’ll get over it, but stop trying to free elves that don’t want to be freed,” Draco advised. “I do have an idea for dinner entertainment though. Pinky!”

Pinky appeared, bowing to Draco and glaring at Hermione.

“Pinky, will you please bring us the brass telescope from father’s study?”

Pinky came back several moments later and handed the telescope to Draco before disappearing.

“See? He hates me,” she groaned. “I suppose I can just be pleased that he feels safe enough expressing his opinion with me without fear of retribution.”

“Granger, please stop. Look here.” He angled the telescope to point to the sky through an opening in the treetops and directed her to the eyepiece.

Hermione complied, gazing into the telescope at the night sky.

“See that constellation? The curve around the Little Dipper? That’s my namesake.”

“Wow,” Hermione marveled, “that’s even more pretentious than being named after a Shakespeare play.” 

“Well I like your name,” Draco declared. “Even if I don’t use it much. It’s not my fault that ‘Granger’ just has a nice ring to it.”

“Have I mentioned recently that I love you? Because I do.” Hermione turned around, straddling his lap with her fingers laced behind his neck.

The corner of his mouth raised in a slight smirk. “I do recall you mentioning it, yes, but I’d love to hear it again.”

“I love you.” She leaned in, kissing his cheek. “I love you.” She kissed his forehead. “I love you—” He pulled her down against him, his lips against hers. She shifted in his lap, pressing as much of her body against him as possible, her heart beating loudly in her chest.

As her core slotted against him, she inhaled sharply, feeling him hard against her; Draco’s eyes clenched shut in embarrassment as he tried to pull away.

“Don’t you want this?” she asked quietly. “Don’t you want me?”

“Yes, Granger. There’s never been a moment when I haven’t wanted this. I just didn’t want to push you.”

“I want this,” she whispered, hooking her legs around his waist and rolling her hips against him once more, heat coursing down her spine as she felt him straining against her.

When he opened his eyes, she noticed that his pupils were blown out. He exhaled sharply at her words, his hands gripping her hips before slowly moving up under her shirt. Watching her reactions, his fingertips teased her, dancing along her lower back. Goosebumps formed across her skin at his touch. 

Lightheaded and breathless, she craved him. Over the past few months, they had continuously built up to the moment, but Draco pulled away every time.

Hermione learned back, breaking the kiss, and he dropped his hands immediately. His eyes searched hers nervously. “Everything okay?” he asked, his voice low.

Without breaking eye contact, she grasped the hem of her blouse, pulling it up and over her head. His eyes flashed as his gaze roamed over her, travelling down to her bare chest and back up to her eyes. Swallowing hard, he rested his hand just above her waist. Hermione impatiently arched her chest towards him in encouragement. Watching her eyes, his hand moved to gently cup and squeeze her breast, palming her exposed skin softly.

Her breath shuddered, and he leaned down to capture her nipple in his mouth, grazing it with his teeth. Hermione whimpered softly, leaning into his touch and grinding herself against him desperately. Draco gasped at the rocking of her hips, his eyes dark with desire. 

Deftly unbuttoning his shirt, he threw it on the ground next to hers. As she ran her hands up his chest, she marveled at how soft and hot his skin felt under her. 

Everything with Draco was as natural as breathing, like they were meant for this moment.

Hermione felt heat pool in her abdomen as she pinned him down, trailing kisses across his neck, nipping softly along his pulse. A low groan rumbled from his chest and his hands tightened their hold on her hips.

“Draco…” Hermione swallowed, struggling to form a sentence. He flipped them, ending up on top of her, his hips between her thighs. He pressed his hard length against her core and she whimpered involuntarily, her mind dizzy with want.

“Yes, Granger?” he asked, his breath hot against her skin and his bare chest pressed against hers.

“I want you,” she whispered. “I don’t want to keep waiting. I’m on the potion...”

Dropping his head, he kissed her neck, then her clavicle, down to her breasts and to her stomach. Her lungs seized when he unbuttoned the top of her Muggle jeans, the teeth of the zipper slowly parting. With a raise of her hips, he pulled them down her legs and off her, leaving her exposed with one scrap of fabric between them. Draco crawled up slowly between her parted thighs. She was aching for him.

They had moments in the Slytherin dorm where Draco had experimented, pleasing her with his fingers, but knowing that he would not stop this time lit a fire inside her.

His mouth was back on her neck, swirling his tongue against her flushed skin as she arched against him. Draco’s hand slowly inched down her torso to her leg, gently propping her knee up. Savouring the taste of her, he kissed her lips, passion intermixed with tenderness.

Moaning, her hips rotated at the anticipation of his touch. Gently thumbing the band of her lace knickers, he slipped a hand beneath them. Her hand curled against his chest at his touch, her knickers soaked with desire. Draco audibly groaned as he touched her core.

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” he asked quietly. 

Hermione whimpered and pressed herself against his hand. He stroked her slit with torturously slow strokes, her body shivering under his touch as he devoured the soft moans escaping from her lips.

Draco circled a finger around her entrance, parting her lips before pressing a single digit into her, pausing as her body adjusted to him. Her eyes fluttered shut, relishing in the familiar feeling.

“Look at me, love,” he directed softly.

She opened her eyes, focusing on the feeling of Draco’s gaze as she shifted her hips impatiently. His finger slid in and out of her slowly, teasing her.

“Pl-please,” she begged as he continued, increasing his pace. 

Adding a second finger, she gasped at the pinch, a delicious feeling of stretching, throwing her head back with her lips parted as she rocked her hips against his hand. Draco licked his lips, unable to tear his eyes away from her.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured as her body tensed in waves, continuing his pace, sucking her nipple into a hardened peak as she came apart beneath him.

“You are wearing entirely too many clothes,” she complained, tugging at his trousers, sliding them and his trunks off in one motion. Her eyes wandered down his chest to his hips down to his—and her cheeks flushed, her eyes shooting back up to his face.

“Is this okay?” His voice rasped and she nodded, coyly slipping her knickers down her legs, “You’ll tell me if it hurts?”

Nodding, she reassured him with a kiss.

His eyes traced her body, memorizing each curve; his lips parted as he admired her wearing nothing but his locket and ring. Draco was on top of her once more, this time skin to skin. Pressing his chest against her, she sighed into the feeling of their bodies touching without the barrier of clothing.

Deepening the kiss, he gently nudged her thighs apart. His body trembled above hers.

“Is this okay?” he asked again, his voice strained.

“Yes, Draco, please.” Hermione shifted her hips against him in anticipation as he lined himself against her entrance.

He pushed forward slowly, gasping at the sensation of her. Pausing, he waited for her to adjust to him before continuing to enter her.

Her face contorted in pain and he stopped immediately. “Is this—”

“I’m okay.” She kissed his worries away. “I’m okay, love.”

Kissing her, he pulled out slightly before sliding all the way into her, shuddering a breath as he pressed his forehead to hers.

She felt the Pull, the sparks,the air crackling around them as their magic danced together.

“Hermione,” he whispered like a prayer, gently pulling out of her and pushing back in. “I love you.”

She whimpered, pain mixed with pleasure, her toes curling. “And I love you.”

He moved slowly for several minutes as she adjusted to the feeling of him, making her groan in impatience.

“Draco, it's okay, please move faster,” she moaned.

His breath caught in his throat as he increased his pace, peppering kisses on her chest, shoulder, and neck.

That delicious tension began building inside her again, threatening to snap; she met his thrusts, kissing him furiously. Draco’s thumb swirled around her swollen clit, pushing her over the edge; the tension snapped and she came undone, her body clenching against him in waves as she trembled beneath him. His head tossed back as his chest rose and fell, gasping for breath; his hips rocked frantically against her, his hands gripping her hips as he groaned, pouring into her. 

In an instant, the world stopped.

Draco placed one hand on either side of her face, kissing her over and over again. Stroking her hair out of her face, he stared into her chocolate brown eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair was wild and messy, her lips swollen from his kisses.

He shook his head, looking at her with reverence, “As far as memorable goes, love, I could never forget how beautiful you look right now.”

When Hermione woke up in Draco’s suite the next morning, she refused to get out of bed because getting out of bed meant acknowledging that it was time to leave.

As a result, the pair had breakfast on trays in bed and spent the morning in each other’s arms, reminiscing about the past year together.

“I still don’t understand why you just had to go to the Yule Ball with that brute.” Draco pouted.

“Viktor was a perfect gentleman,” Hermione scoffed. “And need I remind you that you went with Pansy Parkinson, kissed me , and then proceeded to ignore me for weeks .”

“In my defense, I was young and an idiot.” He shrugged.

“That was literally seven months ago,” she said, deadpan.

“…and I’m literally still young and an idiot.” He shrugged again.

Hermione shook her head in amusement. “Hey now, don’t talk about my boyfriend like that. I’ll have you know, he’s quite brilliant.”

“He’s probably just trying to keep up with his brilliant witch.” 

Leaning in, he kissed the tip of her nose.

Her smile faded. “I don’t want to go today.”

“I know, love.” 

Stepping into the receiving room together, Hermione was trying to muster the ability to say goodbye. She tucked her head against his chest and his arms wrapped around her, making her feel small.

“Granger,” he said softly, stroking her hair. “I’ll see you in a few weeks at school, okay?”

Hermione nodded into his chest, stepping back and giving him one final kiss.

“I’ll message you when I arrive.” She gestured to his band and he smiled softly.

She stepped into the fireplace, the handful of Floo Powder sifting through her fingers.

“The Leaky Cauldron,” she declared, watching Draco’s form fade away behind the green flame.

When she landed in London, Hermione coughed into the crook of her elbow — she had inhaled part of the smoke. Stepping through the fireplace, she brushed off her robes and looked around. With a glance at the time, she realised that she still had about ten minutes before Hestia would arrive. 

Making her way up to the bar, Hermione ordered a Butterbeer to pass the time and settle her nerves.

As she waited, she sipped her drink in solitude. The warmth trickled down into her chest. The next year felt so uncertain; she knew with Voldemort’s return that dark days were ahead of them. She had read books and saw images of the first war; the stories had given her nightmares for weeks — mangled bodies of murdered Muggles, children turned into werewolves, Aurors tortured into insanity. Shaking her head, she took another long sip. Her summer with the Malfoys had felt like a respite from the world and she mourned the days they’d lost.

“Miss Granger.” A woman cleared her throat, clearly all business.

Hermione turned towards the voice, finding a petite woman with straight, black shoulder-length hair standing next to her.

“I presume you are Ms. Jones?” Hermione asked, placing a coin on the counter for her drink and standing up to face the woman.

“That I am. Molly sent me.” She handed Hermione a slip of paper that read ‘ The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London ’, “Memorize that, please.” 

The woman proffered Hermione an arm, and after a moment Hermione graciously took it.

Feeling the familiar pull of Side-Along Apparition, she stumbled before regaining her balance.

“Welcome to Grimmauld Place, Miss Granger. Home to the Order of the Phoenix.”

Draco exhaled heavily, leaning back into his chair in the empty room. He heard a tap of a cane against the open door.

“Father,” he acknowledged coldly.

“I have been away for weeks and this is how my heir greets me?” Lucius sneered at Draco’s disrespect.

“Yes, Father, you have been away for weeks. Would you like to tell me what you and your Death Eater mates have been up to?” Draco stood up abruptly, head to head with Lucius.

“Perhaps in my absence you have forgotten yourself,” Lucius reprimanded, his nose turned up. “I do hope you are not under the illusion that your opinion is relevant in family matters. You are still a child.”

Draco stared back defiantly. “I’m not a child, Father.”

Lucius gestured for Draco to sit back down. “You wish to be treated like an adult? Then let us talk like men.”

Draco eyed him distrustfully before sitting down, his arms crossed in front of him.

“I recall what it is like to be your age. You think you know everything, that you are invincible. You know nothing . You were an infant during the first war, so you have no idea what this family went through to survive. I have spoken with your mother and I am appalled to hear of your desire to defect,” Lucius scoffed. “It is a child’s dream.” 

He held up a hand to silence Draco, halting his interruption.

“Your mother and I were not even of age when the Dark Lord first rose to power. We were enticed by promises of power and prestige, reigning over the new world with him. We too, thought we knew everything and that we were invincible. We aligned ourselves with his cause and carried out many unspeakable deeds in his name. When he had the… mishap with the Potter boy, we barely escaped Azkaban. There are many Ministry officials today whose coffers are filled with Malfoy gold in exchange for their silence. Others were not so lucky and, as you know, your Aunt Bellatrix has been in Azkaban for fifteen years now.”

He paused, looking down at his cane before continuing, “You cannot understand what I did in the service of the Dark Lord all those years ago. There is no absolution for me, there is no other side. Now that he is back, we must pick up the mantle.”

Lucius slowly rolled up the sleeve of his robes, revealing his Dark Mark. “When I took this mark, I believed in everything the Dark Lord was offering. Even if you do not believe in it, I cannot emphasise this enough, there is no future for our family outside of the Dark Lord. We have committed to his cause — a lifelong commitment — and to leave is to leave this life.”

Lucius ignored Draco’s flinch. “Seeing him in the flesh again after ten years…” Lucius pulled his sleeve down sharply. “I know that you do not want us aligned with the Dark Lord, but at the end of the day, you are our child and we will keep you safe. I will make whatever sacrifices are necessary for our survival. This is my duty to our family.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew,” Draco murmured under his breath.

“Knew what?” Lucius demanded.

About Hermione, about the bond, that she is family too, the words caught in his throat.

“Nothing. You wouldn’t understand.” Draco stood up abruptly and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

Draco followed the familiar path up the stairs to his room, pushing his bedroom door open and pacing in his room. His head was pounding and he felt utterly frustrated at the lack of progress in the conversation with his father. Falling backwards onto the bed, his arms splayed out around him. Something hard poked at his back, so he rolled over, looking under the bed covers.

There was a bottle of perfume and a note in her handwriting.

for when you miss me

Draco uncapped the perfume, spraying it once onto the pillow next to him. Inhaling the scent, his anxiety calmed. Hermione. He closed his eyes, hoping he would be able to sleep tonight in an empty bed, much too large for just one person.

Hermione stepped into the entryway of Grimmauld Place, remembering to send Draco a message to his band.  

Safely here.

She paused, waiting for a reply. After several moments, her band warmed with his message.  

Miss you already.

Smiling at her ring, she was startled by a loud clatter around the corner from her. She looked over to Hestia, who had a look of concern on her face.

“The others are upstairs, Miss Granger. They will fill you in, but for now, I have to investigate what that ruckus is about.” Hestia disappeared through the door in front of them and Hermione saw a glimpse of a kitchen full of adults.

Frowning, she looked around the receiving room before stepping forward to listen at the kitchen door.

“Where was Mundungus?!” an unfamiliar female voice asked furiously. “He was supposed to be watching Harry!”

“Oh, who knows! He probably went to buy another black-market trinket,” another voice growled.

“I’m going to write to Harry, let him know that Dumbledore is working on it with the Ministry and not to surrender his wand or leave the house.” Hermione recognised that voice as Mr. Weasley.

“I’ll go send this—” the door swung open, nearly smashing into Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley stepped through.

“Oh! Oh, Hermione, welcome, I didn’t notice you’d arrived. Ginny and Ron are upstairs. I know they are excited to see you.” She bustled by, stepping around Hermione and holding a sealed letter.

“What’s happened to Harry?” she asked uneasily, eyeing the letter in Molly’s hand.

“Nothing that Dumbledore isn’t going to correct,” Molly assured her. “It will all be resolved soon. Now go upstairs to see the others. I’m fixing supper and it will be ready soon.”

“Enough waiting!” a deep voice exclaimed behind Molly. Hermione peered around her and saw Mad-Eye Moody addressing the room. “We can’t just leave him to sit unguarded in that Muggle house when Dementors have already attacked him once. We are going to get him.”

Hermione gasped involuntarily, her stomach dropping. “Dementors attacked Harry?”

Molly rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Harry’s okay, Hermione. Please go upstairs. We will explain everything later.”

Hermione contemplated arguing, but without being able to Apparate or legally use magic outside of school, she was completely at the mercy of the adults at Grimmauld Place; she would have to settle for eavesdropping. “Thank you, Mrs. Weasley.”

For the first time since arriving, Hermione really studied the room around her. The house was obviously old, cluttered with portraits and antiques, and badly needed more lighting. She wandered to the staircase, inspecting the intricate carvings on the handrail. It looked as though it was a lavish house at its bones, but had not been properly cared for in the past generation. 

It had a family crest carved into various woodwork around the room, like Malfoy Manor, but she did not recognize the crest.

“’Mione!” Ron called down the stairs. “I thought I heard your voice.” He hurried down to embrace her.

“Ron! It’s so nice to see you!” She held him tight, not wanting to let go. She had missed him this past month.

Finally stepping back from the hug, she gesticulated. “Where are we?”

“It’s the Black family house. Sirius inherited it from his parents and gave it to Dumbledore for the Order,” Ron explained.

“The Order?” She crinkled her forehead.

“The Order of the Phoenix,” Ron supplied. “Let’s grab a cuppa and I’ll fill you in on everything you’ve missed this summer when you were home with your family.”

Her family. 

Hermione wilted slightly, following Ron into the dining room.

Later that night Hermione had trouble sleeping, she was not used to sleeping alone anymore. She wandered the empty floor, taking in the remnants of the Black family that once lived there. Pausing down the hall, she looked up at the Black family tapestry, which traced the Black family back to the Middle Ages.

The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black

She scanned down the tree for familiar names; Pictor and Ari were listed up towards the top around the 1500s, she saw Sirius and Andromeda—both blasted off the tree. Hermione placed her hand gently on Narcissa’s name, still fully intact next to Bellatrix.

Briefly, she wondered if Sirius knew about the Black blood curse. If Narcissa had learned from Bellatrix and a journal, she assumed it was not common knowledge in the family. 

What generation was the last one to know about the curse and lie by omission to their children?

Hermione continued down the tree and gently traced the letters D-R-A-C-O M-A-L-F-O-Y with her finger. She sent another message to his ring, hoping he was not with his father when he received it.

I miss you.

Waiting for a response, she twisted the ring on her finger in habit.

A low groan rumbled from the next room. “Oooh poor old Kreacher,” the hoarse voice rasped. “If only my Mistress knew, oh the shame of blood traitors and Mudblood scum in her house, touching her treasures.”

Hermione pressed herself against the wall, peering around the corner. There was a hunchbacked house-elf, dragging its feet slowly across the ground and muttering incoherently.

“Excuse me,” Hermione said tentatively, trying to get its attention. “Are you Sirius’ house-elf? I’m Hermione Granger.”

The elf stopped dead in its tracks, staring up at Hermione.

“A Mudblood …but…how did such filth…” the creature rambled unintelligibly under its breath. “A Mudblood has no place in the noble house of Black.”

Hermione straightened her back, offended at the slur. “I am a guest of Sirius Black. I am welcome in this house.”

The house-elf turned its head up towards her. “The Mudblood is in the noble house of Black.”

Hermione faltered, “As I told you, I am a guest here.”

“The Mudblood is in the noble house of Black,” the elf repeated yet again.

The meaning of his words sunk in; Hermione’s heart pounded in her ears. Teeny and Pinky came from Narcissa’s family, from the house of Black; they took commands from her, they knew about the bond .

“You cannot tell anyone,” Hermione whispered frantically, kneeling down to his height. “You know Narcissa and Bellatrix, right? They would be very upset with you if you told anyone about me.”

The elf shifted from side to side, appearing more lucid than before. “Mistress Cissa? Mistress Cissa was nice to Kreacher,” he grumbled, “nice to Kreacher.” He rubbed his thin arms, barely clothed by a threadbare pillowcase.

“Kreacher, look at me,” Hermione insisted, looking into his eyes. “Promise me you won’t tell anyone about me.” She swallowed down her rising guilt. “Mistress Cissa would be badly hurt if you tell.”

She did not think the bond extended to having the ability to command Kreacher so she had to try to reason with him. From Draco’s explanation of house-elf magic, the magic of an elf transfers with the family magic during unions of marriage. Though Kreacher was a Black family house-elf, Narcissa and Sirius were only cousins; he might be able to sense the magic of her bond with Draco, but he belonged only to Sirius.

Kreacher faltered, considering her words, “Oh, what my Mistress would say?” he moaned under his breath. “The Mudblood’s stolen magic…my Mistress would be so disappointed in the Noble House of Black…oh how Mistress loved Mistress Cissa…” Kreacher stumbled away. “Mistress would never forgive Kreacher if Mistress Cissa was harmed…”

Hermione let out the breath she had been holding, hoping that was confirmation that he would keep quiet about the bond. Balling up her fists, she pressed them against her forehead and shut her eyes in frustration. She had not thought to consider that her connection to this house, to this family, could potentially betray the bond.

With slow, deep breaths, she tried to relax. It was only four weeks until the next school year. Four weeks left in the house of Black.

August

Year 5

“MUDBLOOD! SCUM! FREAKS DEFOULING THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS!”

“Good morning, Walburga.” Hermione pulled her lips tight, casually strolling past the portrait of Sirius’ mother who was now even more irate since she  had been addressed by a Mudblood.

“FILTH! CREATURES OF THE DIRT!”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” she muttered sarcastically under her breath.

Hermione continued her path past the eerily mounted heads of previous family house-elves and down the hallway past Buckbeak’s room. She had not realised how bored she would feel after being in the house after a few days. Once the novelty wore off, she found herself looking for ways to pass the time. Having already read and reread her fourth-year textbooks as a refresher for the upcoming year, even she could not justify reading them a third time.

In the house itself, there was practically nothing to do; the Order members did not trust them with information due to their age, the house itself was cluttered and filthy, feeding Buckbeak dead rats made her queasy, and Hermione could only play so many games of Exploding Snap with George—or was it Fred?—before losing her mind. Plus, she was half convinced the twins cheated by using their wands now that they were of age.

With two more weeks stuck inside Grimmauld Place, Hermione began spending her days exploring the many rooms of the Black ancestral home. Initially, she had stayed in the common areas for fear that the house could have anti-Muggleborn booby-traps or blood wards set to injure intruders, but eventually boredom won out and she began exploring more of the questionable rooms of the home.

It looked as though several estates of dark witches and wizards had been consolidated into the single home, artifacts and belongings overflowing in storage.

On day one of exploration, she tried on a worn pair of shoes that made her tap dance uncontrollably and set those aside — they could come in handy when living with Fred and George. She found a monocle that was enchanted to see through clothes—she tossed that aside in disgust. For several hours, she sifted through piles of robes that were once the height of fashion but would be considered horridly antiquated now.

On day two, she sorted through tomes so old that the binding was barely holding the pages together. She was particularly interested in finding obscure books from the personal collection until a book on Hellenistic astronomy shocked her hand when she tried to open the front cover, leaving a small burn on her pinky. After that, she set aside the books for the day.

On day four, under a stack of old magazines next to a large dust-covered trunk, Hermione found her greatest treasure yet. It was an antique bookstand, bronze in color and quite heavy. It emitted a magical aura, which piqued her interest. On the bookstand, there was a small pocket-sized book, the pages curiously blank.

Removing it from the stand, she retrieved her Charms textbook and set it on the stand in place of the pocketbook. After several moments, the schoolbook pages fluttered, turning as if being scanned. The book closed itself, still once more. She frowned, inspecting the textbook, identifying no discernible changes.

She flipped open the pocketbook; it had not changed either.

“I wonder if it’s using a charm?” she murmured under her breath. Words appeared on the blank page of the pocketbook.

A charm alters an object’s qualities and abilities; it is the catalyst for changing the function of an object. For example, making a coat rack dance.

Hermione dropped the pocketbook in shock. Scrambling to pick it back up, she saw that the pages were once again blank. Jumping up from her seated position, she took a stack of books from nearby, placing them on the stand one by one, watching the pages turn.

Opening one of the books to a random page, she referenced the content of the book before asking with a half-grin, “What is a spell to shatter glass?”

Watching the pocketbook, black words began to form across the page.

Finestra

Spell Type: Charm

Wand Movement: Flick

Light: Blue

Effect: Shatters glass

Additional Details from the Author: The incantation is pronounced fi-ness-tra. This spell generates little sound by the caster, ideal for discretion.

Hermione’s mouth fell open; she had just found a single source to archive all the information she ever wanted to have in her pocket. Her mind raced with the possible implications of this type of magic. Did it have limitations on the amount of content she could store? What if she tried to add the entirety of the Hogwarts library? How long did it retain information for?

Hermione wanted to keep it, to test it out. Sirius clearly had no idea about this artifact — based on the amount of dust on its surface,it had obviously been up in the attic for decades. Would he even notice if it was gone? She carefully placed the set on the ground next to her, pondering her next move. Surely Sirius would not miss it.

On day six Hermione met her .

Hermione was wading through the back half of the attic, her wand lit up to find her way. There were heirlooms stacked into piles which had collected a thick layer of dust over time.

“My ring…you have the ring,” a melodic voice cut through the darkness.

Hermione jumped in place, searching for the source of the sound.

“Down here,” the voice called as Hermione tiptoed through the narrow makeshift path that she had cleared in front of her.

She reached a large portrait, tucked away at the edge of the room next to ornate candle holders. The portrait was obviously ancient; there were chips of paint missing from the frame. A young woman sat posed in a red velvet chair with gold trim, a bowl of fruit and decanter of wine sat next to her.

“How do you know about this ring?” Hermione asked nervously, looking over her shoulder to make sure she was not being overheard.

“Why, that is my ring.” The portrait smiled demurely, “My husband had the set made for us.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open in shock. “ You’re Ari Black? ”

“You found my journal,” Ari deducted, “as did the last girl, but I never saw her with the ring.”

“The last girl?” Hermione questioned, taking a step back in surprise. “Did she have black hair? Thick black curly hair and dark eyes?”

“Yes, her eyes were black; black and so very sad. She came to me in frantic haste. She found my journal in the family archive and requested my assistance in the binding ritual as I had performed it once before on my Leo,” Ari explained.

“Bella…” Hermione said softly, her breath escaped her chest.

“I directed her to the casting blanket and tome, but I fear I was too late, for she hid my portrait up here decades ago and did not return. Do you know what happened to her?”

Hermione hesitated. “The binding didn’t take.”

Ari nodded sadly. “I feared as much. It is a difficult undertaking, binding the magic of an adult…and you—you are wearing my band. Are you bound to one of my progeny?”

“Yes. When we were babies. Though we aren’t telling anyone about the bond, it’s…complicated.”

“I understand. It is difficult to explain how the bond feels to those without it. Are you pleased with him as your pair?” Ari asked quietly.

Hermione smiled. “Yes, I am.”

“Then no one else matters, my dear. I wish you and your beloved a lifetime of love and happiness,” Ari said, clasping her hands together in front of her.

Hermione chewed on her lip, surveying the mess around her. “Ari, how would you like to get out of this attic?”

Later that night, there was a commotion downstairs. Hermione peaked over the balcony, spotting a head of jet-black hair coming through the doorway.

“HARRY!” she exclaimed, running down the stairs two at a time and taking him in her arms.

He did not hug her back.

She pulled back, scanning him head to toe to make sure he was whole. “Dementors, Harry?!”

He shrugged. “By far the least boring day of my summer,” he turned, acknowledging Ron coldly.

“Speaking of my summer, where were you two? I wrote to you, daily, and you sent me practically nothing in return.” Harry was livid. “I spent my entire summer dying for news.”

“Harry, I’m so sorry,” Hermione apologised profusely. “Dumbledore had us swear not to disclose any information to you in case it was intercepted. We couldn’t risk compromising the Order. I’m sorry the letters were so sparse. We missed you so much. There’s so much I wanted to write to you.”

“Mate, we didn’t have a choice, the whole place is under a Fidelius Charm,” Ron insisted, “and practically as many enchantments as Gringotts. Now that you’re here, we can tell you everything. Well, everything we know, which isn’t much. Mum thinks we’re too young to be in the Order. I’m so glad you’re here.”

Harry’s countenance softened. “I really missed you,” Harry admitted as Hermione and Ron pulled him into a three-way hug. 

The trio was reunited once more.

After supper, Hermione was helping Mr. and Mrs. Weasley clean up the kitchen.

“Hermione”—Sirius walked up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder—“where is my vile hag of a mother and who is that delightful woman you replaced her with?”

Hermione finished scrubbing her plate, placing it in the sink before turning around to face Sirius. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said innocently, wiping her hands on a towel.

“We’ve been trying to remove her portrait for a month! How did you do it?” Sirius marveled, amused.

“I think whoever did it must have removed it by separating the paint under the portrait, rather than the portrait itself.” Hermione shrugged. “Just pure speculation, of course.”

Hermione had found a separation charm in her new pocketbook that had the portrait down in minutes, much to the dismay of Walburga. Offending Walburga was a popular pastime in the Black house, and Hermione found she was exceptional at it.

“You brilliant witch! Well, wherever Walburga is, I hope she’s rotting in hell.” Sirius chuckled dryly.

Hermione smiled, turning back to the dishes. “Somewhere like that.”

From two floors up, behind the closed attic door, under the loose floorboards, covered in a pile of dirty old robes, a muffled voice screeched, “ Stains of dishonour, filthy half-breeds, blood traitors! Get me out of this attic!”

“Well, if there’s anything I can do to repay you, let me know,” Sirius offered. “I still can’t believe that I won’t have to hear my mother shriek about what a disappointment I am and how I should have been like Regulus every time I walk down the hallway.”

“Actually, there is one thing…” Hermione quirked a smile, thinking back to her summer at Malfoy Manor. “Do you have any spare fabric around the house? I have an idea for Kreacher.”

“I think I can find something in the piles here. What did you have in mind?”

Early the next morning, Harry left to attend his Ministry trial for underage magic. Hermione could not sit still; the prospect of Harry losing his wand and his place at Hogwarts was terrifying. After pacing the room yet again, she decided to go speak with Ari.

Ari was slumbering in her portrait when she approached her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Hermione apologized.

“Oh, Hermione, it is quite alright. After many years of solitude, I have found the house to be quite lively and it has overwhelmed my senses.”

Hermione grimaced, lively was not the word she would have used to describe Grimmauld Place.

“I actually charmed my ring, Draco’s too, with a Notice-Me-Not Charm, but you saw it. Do you think all portraits can see my ring or is it just you?” Hermione asked, absentmindedly twisting the ring on her finger.

Ari contemplated her question. “I do not know. It was my ring so perhaps I am attuned to it. In fact, I was looking for it when I first saw you. To be honest, time moves differently for me. I had thought for a moment that you were Bella coming back for me.”

“Why didn’t you leave your portrait?” Hermione asked, confused. “I’ve seen Hogwarts portraits move from frame to frame. You could have gone for help when you were first moved.”

“I do not know why, but I cannot leave my frame anymore,” she confessed. “I suspect it was something Bella did when she hid me away in the attic all those years ago. She seemed determined not to let anyone find out about her and the blood curse. With how insistent she was, I was surprised she did not burn my portrait. Perhaps she kept me around in case she needed more assistance.” 

Hermione thought back to Draco’s statement—most Purebloods would never admit to a curse on their family line. It would make sense for Bellatrix to hide  any connection between the Black family curse and herself.

\Ari sat forward on the edge of her chair, the corner of her mouth curving up. “Tell me about your bond pair.” Hermione looked over her shoulder, checking to see if  anyone was around.  Turning back to Ari, she smiled widely, her eyes crinkling. “Let me start at the beginning. I first met him on the train ride to Hogwarts, though I didn’t know about the bond until several years after that. He said he knew right away, but I don’t know if I believe that...”

The pair talked until Harry and Mr. Weasley came back from the hearing, cleared of all charges. That night, the entire house celebrated with a feast of Mrs. Weasley’s cooking.

Ari became Hermione’s sole confidant; the pair spent hours whispering quietly each night after everyone in the house was asleep. Hermione shared how confused she’d been about Draco for years, her fears for their future, how his father would disapprove, and all her conflicting emotions about hiding this part of her life from her friends. 

Ari shared her own experiences with Pictor and Leo, and how the bond had shaped her life. Though Ari was only a portrait, Hermione looked forward to each conversation, grateful to finally share this information with someone who could understand.

After searching through piles of rubbish and antiques for Hermione’s request, Sirius gained motivation to clean up Grimmauld Place. He enlisted the help of the Order, plus the younger Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione, to sort through the piles of relics. Hermione did not mind; it was better than the time they sprayed for doxies.

She knew her way around the house from her days of exploration and offered to start in the most cluttered room first. It only took an hour before she was completely disheveled, covered in dust and sweat from cleaning. 

Having stepped out of the room to breathe fresh air, she heard a shrill scream erupt down the hall. Hermione followed the sound of gut-wrenching sobs into the drawing room where Harry was with Mrs. Weasley, standing over the body of Bill Weasley. Hermione jolted as if shocked and pulled out her wand, prepared to fight.

“ R-r-riddikulus !” Mrs. Weasley sobbed as the body morphed into Mr. Weasley, covered in blood.

Her heart pounded wildly as her eyes widened in recognition; it was not Bill, it was a Boggart, like they had seen in third year in Professor Lupin’s class.

“Mrs. Weasley, just get out of here!” Harry called, but she was hysterical, collapsed into a pile on the floor.

Hermione stepped forward with her wand raised. The Boggart began to shift, and she saw the Dark Mark and a flash of platinum blond hair. The breath left Hermione’s lungs, the room feeling like it was spinning around her. She forgot to speak, just held her wand out in front of her, unmoving.

“ Riddikulus !” She heard Remus Lupin call out firmly from the doorway, the Boggart turned into a moon before vanishing into a puff of smoke.

Remus quickly walked over to Mrs. Weasley, comforting her as she sobbed into his shoulder.

Before she could react, Harry was pulling Hermione out of the drawing room and into an empty room across the hall. Her whole body was shaking, her breath coming out in short pants as she hyperventilated.

“Breathe in through your nose and out of your mouth. Good. It’s alright, Hermione. It was just a Boggart,” Harry murmured, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

She broke down for the first time since leaving Malfoy Manor, covering her mouth with her hand, her eyes filling with tears.

“This isn’t about the Boggart, is it?” he asked, searching her tear-filled eyes. Her lip quivered as she shook her head.

“Is this about Malfoy?” he asked, stroking her hair.

Hermione hiccupped, mumbling unintelligibly into his shoulder. Nodding, her tears wet his shirt. She was crying for Draco, not because of Draco. 

She cried for the lies she told her friends, for the life Draco would give up to be with her, for the empty bed she struggled to sleep in. She cried for it all.

“Is it over between you?” Harry enquired.

Yes , she thought bitterly, so much of what they had is over now that she had to lie to Harry.

“Yes.” Her voice hoarse. “It’s over. It’s been over since I arrived at Grimmauld Place.”

“I’ll kill him,” Harry muttered. “Whatever he did, he’s a prat for hurting you.”

He continued to hold her, his hand stroking up and down her back.“Do you want to talk about it?” 

She shook her head. “I just want to have you here with me.”

Harry chuckled. “You have me, you’ll always have me.”

A sob caught in her throat at his words, wishing that she was not alone, wishing that Harry understood what he was promising, and desperately wishing that it was true.

The final week at Grimmauld Place was rather uneventful, spent cleaning and combing through old Daily Prophets with Harry. They were filled with Ministry propaganda denying Voldemort’s return and slandering Dumbledore. Those articles were the most difficult to read, incensing Harry with blatant lies.

Her happiest moment at Grimmauld Place was when she saw Kreacher stumble by, standing less hunchbacked than usual, wearing a nicer version of a hand sewn pillowcase made from sturdy and clean fabric. On the upper corner of the outfit was the Black family crest. 

Sirius had stayed true to his promise and provided fabric for Kreacher to make himself better clothes. Hermione had taken the idea from Draco’s description of Narcissa’s family elves. It was no knitted hat—she was not allowed to free Kreacher as he knew too many Order secrets—but it was something. It was logical that he used a pillowcase pattern to fit what was comfortable after all these years.

Maybe this summer at Grimmauld Place had not been all bad; between Ari’s portrait, Kreacher, and the bookstand, it felt almost meant to be.

Before Hermione knew it, the day had come to return to school.

Having separated from Harry on the train ride, Hermione and Ron made their way to the Prefects’ carriage. Ron was going on about the features of the broom he got as a reward for making Prefect and how he had clipped his Chudley Cannons insignia to it. Hermione politely nodded along to his story, not knowing or caring much about Quidditch. They slid open the carriage door, coming face to face with the two new Slytherin Prefects, Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy.

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat when she saw him. She fought back a smile. That Prefect title is going to look good on a potioneering apprenticeship application , she thought proudly.

Her eyes drifted over to the other Slytherin Prefect, frowning at Pansy. Why was it always Pansy?

Sneering at Ron and Hermione, Pansy said, “Looks like they scraped the bottom of the barrel for the Gryffindor Prefects this year.”

Ron scrunched up his face and opened his mouth to reply but Hermione cut him off, taking him by the arm. “Ronald, stop. We’re Prefects now; she’s not worth it.”

Hermione saw Draco’s eyes lingering on her hand which was still holding Ron’s arm. She dropped it. The two made tentative eye contact; Hermione swallowed and looked away. It had been over a month since they had last seen each other. 

It was physically painful for her to see him and act like he was nothing to her.

The door opened again and they were joined by Anthony Goldstein, Padma Patil, Ernie Macmillan, and Hannah Abbott. They all found their seats in the carriage, making small talk and chattering about their new Prefect status and duties. Fidgeting with her locket, Hermione tried to discreetly eavesdrop on Draco and Pansy’s conversation.

“I’m not the least bit surprised we were both selected,” Pansy boasted. “We are obviously the best in our year. Quite the power couple, if I do say so myself.” She winked at Draco. “It’ll be fun having all that alone time to patrol together.”

Draco caught Hermione’s eyes before she quickly looked down at the carriage floor, jealousy bubbling up in her stomach at Pansy’s words. 

Her boyfriend, Slytherin Prefect with Pansy Parkinson. 

Lovely.

Hermione was feeling confident she could go the whole year without breaking more glass in a jealous rage, though she did have a charm for it this time, she mused to herself. She would not use the pocketbook for her petty jealousy. Pansy leaned closer to Draco and Hermione’s hand tightened its grip on her bag. 

Probably.

Draco centered himself in the front of the room. “Here is your common room for the next seven years. This is a shared space, so be courteous of others while you are in this room. It is available to you at all hours, even past curfew.”

“If you look out the windows you will see that we are partially under the Black Lake, which causes the green glow in this room. You may be able to see the giant squid,” Draco added with a smile as the students began to talk excitedly amongst themselves at the prospect.

“Pay attention,” Pansy called out to the group of babbling first years, silencing them. “The password for the common room changes every fortnight, and you can find it posted on the noticeboard two days in advance. If you find yourself locked out without the password, you will be stuck waiting in the dungeon corridor until a fellow Slytherin can assist you.”

She continued sternly, “Under absolutely no circumstance are you allowed to share the password or bring students from other houses into the Slytherin common room. There has not been a single outsider in the Slytherin common room for more than seven centuries—do not be the student who breaks that tradition.”

Draco bit back a laugh. It was a bit late for that one, he thought, smirking to himself.

“Tomorrow, we will continue your orientation with a tour of Hogwarts; for now, we will direct you to your private dormitories where you will find your trunks have been delivered by the house-elves.” Pansy raised her voice. “Girls, follow me; boys, follow Draco.”

Draco gestured for the male students to follow him to the empty rooms to the left of the common room. Referencing the papers from Professor Snape, he divided the group into subgroups and directed them to their assigned rooms.

At the end of the night, Draco was knackered. He rubbed his temples in frustration, the first years had so many requests for the new Prefects. Asking for directions, a hundred questions about classes, already homesick students wanting to send letters about their sorting results—it was constant.

Draco was already dressed for bed when he heard a faint knock at his door. He hopped out of the bed in surprise; Hermione must have found a way to sneak the Invisibility Cloak in. Not bothering to put on a shirt, he swung the door open to greet his girlfriend.

“Oh! Draco...” Pansy’s greedy eyes trailed down his bare chest as she tried to let herself into his room. Draco stepped in front of her, blocking her in the doorway.

He sighed in exasperation. “What do you want now, Pansy? Does one of the first years need help again?”

“No, they are all in their rooms.” She reached out a hand to him. “It’s been such a long first day. I thought you might want to have a nightcap and talk about our Prefect duties together for the year.”

Draco frowned, moving away from her hand. “We can talk about Prefect duties during the weekly Prefect meetings.”

Pansy’s face fell. “Drakey, what happened to us? Is there someone else? Who is she?”

His head throbbed in annoyance. “There doesn’t have to be someone else, Pansy.”

“Well, obviously something changed. One moment we were dating and then I don’t hear from you for months and now you do nothing but push me away,” she argued. “You’re always busy and no one ever knows where you are. Who is she?”

Draco’s stomach flipped nervously. “There is no one else,” he replied, his voice growing harsher. “Can’t a bloke just change his mind? Ever think it might be because of you?”

“I’ve known you since we learned how to walk. You think I can’t tell there’s someone else? I’ll figure it out. You can’t hide her forever.” Pansy’s face flushed in embarrassment as her eyes welled with tears. “And you know, you’re the one who pursued me . You asked me to the Yule ball and now you’re acting like I’m some pathetic girl following you around. You could do a lot worse than me, Draco Malfoy.”

Pansy turned on her heel, storming away from Draco who was still standing in his doorway. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head against the door frame in frustration, guilt settling in his chest. 

Damn that Gryffindor conscience rubbing off on him . 

He would have to apologize to Pansy tomorrow. Turning back into his room, he closed the door, disheartened at the complete lack of Hermione Granger in his bed.

Draco did not sleep well that night. Between the empty bed and the incident with Pansy, his mind was difficult to settle. The next morning, he packed up his books, preparing for his first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson of the year.

He knew that Hermione was in the room before he walked through the doorway; his eyes found her at the front of the class, dead center. Navigating across the room to Blaise, who was seated several rows away from Hermione, he took a seat.

He kept thinking back to his conversation with Pansy. He would have to be careful not to give any indication that he was friendly with Hermione—especially now that Pansy was suspicious that he was seeing someone.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was exactly what Draco had expected, Ministry indoctrination from that toadlike woman with useless textbooks. Of course, his witch had to start an argument with the new Professor. He fought back a smile, he expected nothing less from his fiery Gryffindor.

“There’s nothing written up there about using defensive spells,” Hermione pointed out.

Internally, he found himself nodding in agreement, though outwardly he scowled with his housemates.

Next thing he knew, the rest of the Gryffindors chimed in to agree with her. 

Typical Gryffindors , he shook his head at the thought, no self-preservation in the whole lot . With how the conversation progressed, he was surprised when Harry Potter was the only one to receive detention by the end of class.

Draco eyed her from across the room, sending Hermione a quick message to her band.

See you tonight?

He watched as she glanced down at her ring and his heated up with her reply.

R.O.R. after curfew?

Room of Requirement. He thought about her message for a moment and then smirked, sending back a correction of the name, the Come and Go Room.

C.A.G.R.* yes

With a smirk, he checked for her reaction; she shook her head in amusement at his message before turning back to the lesson.

Impatient, Draco arrived a full half hour early for their meeting and found Hermione already there waiting. She whirled around, scanning the corridor for any person or ghost, and threw herself into his arms.

He inhaled part of her hair in their embrace. He had missed her. When she tried to step back, he kept holding on to her, unwilling to let go yet.

“Let’s go inside before someone sees us. I have so much to tell you,” she said excitedly, closing her eyes and pacing in front of the empty wall. A door appeared.

Settling into the large sofa, Draco picked Hermione up and placed her on his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist and leaning his head against her shoulder.

“It’s been so long,” he complained. “I never want to go that long without seeing you again.”

She wiggled in his lap and his hands steadied her hips, causing her to sit still.

Hermione stroked his cheek. “It’s been so long,” she repeated. “And I’ve missed my wizard.”

“ Your wizard ”—Draco’s voice grew low, a shiver running his spine at her possessive phrasing—“missed you.” His hands rested on her thighs, just below her skirt. Impatiently, she shifted in his lap again.

Draco’s stomach growled loudly, causing Hermione to let out a laugh. “Did someone forget to eat today?”

His cheeks grew pink and his thumb rubbed a circle on her thigh. “I’m so hungry. I shouldn’t have skipped supper, but those damn first years are so needy. They’ve been taking up all my time. Don’t worry, I’ll call Pinky to bring some food.”

“You know, not everyone has personal house elves bringing them food,” Hermione chastised. “Most students have to work for their extra food.”

“Then what do you propose?”

The corner of her mouth raised slyly. “Get your Prefect badge, just in case we need to be ‘on patrol’ for an alibi.”

“Alright, Granger, show me how the peasants get food after curfew,” he laughed as she stuck her tongue out at him.

“Where are you bringing me?” Draco hissed at Hermione as they crept down another dark corridor.

“You’ve gone to this school for nearly five years, your house common room is less than a three-minute walk from here, and you still don’t recognise where we are?” She shook her head in amazement.

Draco shrugged sheepishly.

Rolling her eyes in amusement, Hermione gestured to the stack of barrels to their right. “That is the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room.” “Are we stealing food from the Hufflepuffs?” he asked, obviously entertained at the idea.

Instead of replying, Hermione walked silently up to a still-life portrait of a bowl of fruit. She turned to Draco, watching his reaction as she reached out and tickled the pear.

He looked baffled as a doorway appeared and Hermione held out her hand. “Welcome to the Hogwarts kitchens.”

Five minutes later, they both stumbled out with armfuls of treats. 

“I can’t believe those ‘puffs have been holding out on us!” Draco said in offense as he shoved a chocolate muffin into his mouth.

“First off, rude; second off, you’re a Prefect . You need to resolve this weird prejudice that you have against Hufflepuffs,” she reprimanded.

Draco wrinkled his forehead in offense. “Excuse you, that is a loaded term. I’ll have you know some of my very best mates are Hufflepuffs.”

Hermione stared. “Name a single Hufflepuff.”

“Penelope Clearwater.”

“Not a Hufflepuff.”

“Susan Lovegood.”

“That is half-Hufflepuff, half-Ravenclaw.”

“Brian Cuddlemore.”

“You’re joking, right? There’s no way that you’re serious. That’s not even a real name,” Hermione insisted, her brow furrowing.

“Badger McBadgerface.” Draco smirked.

“I’m starting to grow concerned that you’re actually serious. You do know Hufflepuffs, right? We’ve shared classes with them for nearly five years, so the fact that you’re struggling to provide a single name is alarming.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” he argued. “I could have mates who are practically Hufflepuffs. You’re in Gryffindor, but the more I learn about you, the more I see your inner Slytherin.”

“Ah yes, I’m sure Slytherin would have just loved a token Muggleborn in their house.”

“You’re an honourary Slytherin at heart.” Draco shifted his snacks into one arm, wrapping the other around her waist.

“Of course I have an inner Slytherin, just as I know you have an inner Gryffindor. Why else would your magic have picked me?” She winked flirtatiously, skipping ahead. “Come along, Draco!”

“ Excuse you , I have no inner Gryffindor,” he mumbled under his breath as he followed behind her. “I’m a Malfoy and a Black , that’s generations of pure unadulterated Slytherin . Just because I snuck you into the Slytherin dorms and helped you knit house-elf hats and learned how to braid your hair this summer…and I skipped a meal to help some first years…and stood up to my father for you…”

Draco stopped dead in his tracks, dropping a muffin in the process, “Shite, I might have some Gryffindor in me after all.”

Hermione just laughed.

September

Year 5

“How was the rest of your summer?” Hermione asked impatiently as she unwrapped another treat from the kitchens. “Tell me everything from the moment I left!”

“Well, my father came home, so I’m glad you left when you did. He basically told me the same hogwash as my mother about us ‘protecting the family’ by staying within the Dark Lord’s ranks,” Draco said, frustrated. “He acts like he’s making the right choice when he’s just making the coward’s choice. Lucky for me, the Manor is big enough that I mostly avoided him outside of meals. The Death Eaters are definitely up to something, though. We had all sorts of shady visitors stopping by the Manor to speak with my father.”

Hermione’s brow creased. “I wish we knew what they were planning. Harry’s scar has been hurting since the end of the tournament. It makes me uneasy that we have no idea what they’re planning, especially since the Ministry is insisting on sticking their head in the sand on Voldemort’s return.” After a beat of thought, she added, “If you hear anything else, will you let me know? I can try to find a way to warn Harry.”

Draco nodded, taking in her words. “I will if I hear anything, but father’s not exactly been forthcoming about his plans lately.”

“He sure was proud of me making Prefect,” Draco added bitterly. “Funny how all I ever wanted was his approval, and when I finally have it, I’ve found I don’t like the sort of man he is.”

Her expression softened, reaching out to play with his hair softly as he talked.

“Well, I’m proud of you making Prefect. I can’t tell you how excited I was when I saw you in the Prefect’s carriage on the first day,” she said with a wide smile.

“Yeah, it would be great if I had a different Prefect partner though,” Draco mumbled, picking at the seam on the arm of the sofa.

“I noticed you were paired with Pansy,” she added nonchalantly, as if it had not been all she could focus on during her first day of school.

He looked up at her, “She’s suspicious. She thinks I’m hiding a secret girlfriend which isn’t off base since I am.”

Hermione gasped in faux shock. “How salacious! I can’t believe you have two secret girlfriends. Who is she?”

“Granger…” he said, his voice serious. “I’ve known Pansy all my life. She’s a huge gossip. If she even gets a hint that we are together then it’ll be all over the school before you can say ‘dance like a hippogriff’.”

“Well, let’s just make you a fake secret girlfriend then so she doesn’t find out about your real secret girlfriend,” Hermione proposed with a sly smile.

“How exactly are we going to accomplish that?” he asked. “I am not going to fake date one of your friends, like Weasley, if that’s where this is going. I’m not into redheads.”

“Ronald wouldn’t date you anyway.” She waved a hand dismissively as Draco sputtered next to her. “I have a better idea. Just leave it up to me.”

“Stop. You know I meant the girl Weasley.” He rolled his eyes. “Also, before I forget, I picked you up a little something at Honeydukes.” He smiled, rummaging through his bag and retrieving a box of sugar quills.

Hermione’s eyes lit up in excitement. “Yes! I’ve been dying for some sugar quills, I completely forgot to buy them with everything that was going on this summer. Thank you!”

She opened the front pouch of her bag, retrieving a single gold Galleon and handing it to Draco.

He blinked, staring at the coin in the palm of his hand. “You do realise I could spend a thousand Galleons and my parents wouldn’t even notice?” He tried to hand her the Galleon, but she folded her arms in front of her.

“It’s the principle of the matter. I owe you for the sugar quills, ergo you take the Galleon,” she stated, refusing to take the coin back.

Draco’s forehead crinkled in annoyance as he held out the Galleon to no avail. “Take the coin, Granger.”

She shook her head defiantly and he glared at her in indignation.

“Can we talk about this new ‘High Inquisitor of Hogwarts’?” Hermione asked, redirecting the conversation as he huffed, still holding the coin.

“You mean Professor Dumbridge?” Draco asked sarcastically. He thought for a moment. “Slumbridge?”

“Her name literally means ‘sorrows’ and ‘annoyance’,” Hermione grumbled.

“Glumbridge, then. I wonder what her parents were thinking, giving their kid a name like that,” Draco wondered out loud. A second later, he smirked.“Umbitch. Dolores Umbitch.”

“Toadlorus Umbitch,” Hermione supplied.

“…that’s very good, I like that.” Draco nodded his head in approval.

Hermione snorted.

“Anyway, it’s absolute poppycock,” Draco asserted. “How can the Ministry have so much influence over Hogwarts? They’ve changed the entire function of the class and it's essentially useless now. What kind of defence class gives absolutely no practise in defending yourself?”

“Exactly! That’s what I’ve been telling Harry. How are we supposed to prepare and learn how to fight when we have a professor like her?” Hermione muttered in annoyance.

“You can’t. There’s only so much you can learn from a textbook without a real teacher. We are shite out of luck,” Draco fumed. “The only way we would learn anything of value is if we could replace her with someone who knows what they’re doing.”

“Draco, that’s it! Who do you know that has the most experience fighting against Voldemort?” Hermione asked excitedly.

“…is this a trick question? Because I’m pretty sure you mean Potter, but the answer is obviously Dumbledore.”

She lightly whacked his shoulder. “Yes, Harry. We should get Harry to teach us!”

Draco sat up, an idea coming to him. “Why don’t you meet here? If this room can create anything you need then it can easily make a dueling arena.”

“I have to go start planning! I’m meeting with Harry and Ron first thing tomorrow—they’re going to love this idea!” Hermione jumped up, pacing in excitement.

She faltered, looking over at Draco somberly. “I wish you could come with me; this was your idea, too.”

“That’s okay, Granger, I wouldn’t want to show up Potter in his own class anyway,” he joked, though she could tell it was forced. “It’d be awfully embarrassing for him. ‘The Boy Who Lived’ defeated the Dark Lord at age one but lost a duel to Draco Malfoy.” He thought for a moment. “Actually, I take it back. I quite like that.”

Hermione cast a quick Disillusionment Charm on herself as she left the Room of Requirement that night, shaking off the eerily feeling of an egg being cracked on her head. She had become skilled at walking quietly, avoiding any patrolling Prefects or wandering ghosts. Mid-stride, she felt her cloak swing oddly against her thigh. She stopped, reaching into her pocket and pulled out the gold Galleon she had given Draco earlier. She scoffed, shaking her head in amusement at his antics. She spent the rest of the trip back to Gryffindor Tower brainstorming ways to return his coin. 

But first, she had to stop by the owlery.

Draco yawned into the crook of his elbow, still exhausted from his late night. He sat down next to Theo and Blaise at the Slytherin table for breakfast, scooping a heap of scrambled eggs onto his plate. They were discussing who had been selected for each house’s Quidditch team and debating the strengths and weaknesses of the teams..

“Definitely not, everyone knows Ravenclaw’s strength is their strategy, Hufflepuff’s strength is their Keepers, Gryffindor’s strength is their Chasers, and Slytherin’s strength is everything ,” Blaise asserted between bites.

“That’s not always true, especially when you account for wildcard Seekers,” Theo argued. “The snitch is worth so many points that if you have a good enough Seeker they can carry your team even without having a strong set of Beaters or Keepers.”

“But seekers get fouled so easily, you can’t rely on them carrying the team,” Blaise contended.

The sound of wings flapping filled the Great Hall as owls delivered post to their recipients. A bright pink envelope landed in front of Draco; his name was doodled on the front in swirly script with a heart over the ‘i’ in his middle name. He frowned at the letter, inspecting it.

“Who is that from?” he heard one of the girls down the table ask in a nosy manner.

Draco ignored the question as he ripped open the letter which was written in the same whimsical handwriting.

Mon cher Draco,

How I miss you. I had the most delightful weekend with you this summer in France. Maman and papa were enchanted by your disposition and would like to invite you back soon. Our elves have been preparing your favourites ever since you left and have quite perfected chocolate shortbread as you have shown us. My heart feels empty without you by my side; I look forward to our reunion. I wish you the best on your first week back at Hogwarts.

Mille baisers,

Adeline

Draco was about halfway through the letter when it was suddenly ripped from his hands from behind him; he turned, Millicent Bulstrode and Pansy were scanning the letter with open mouths.

“Draco Malfoy! You lied to me!” Pansy whacked him over the head with the envelope. “You told me you weren’t seeing anyone. Who is Adeline ?!”

“You caught me, Pansy,” Draco said dryly, reaching for the paper. “Give me back my letter.”

Theo eyed Draco curiously, but did not say anything. Blaise simply looked happy to have someone else be the focus of female wrath.

Pansy huffed in annoyance, dropping the letter onto the ground and stomping away. Draco leaned over, picking up the letter. He glanced over at Hermione at the Gryffindor table, who was smugly smiling into her rasher of bacon. Draco thought back to her promise; he supposed this was one way of ‘taking care of it’.

The next Friday, Draco exhaled deeply, running his hand through his wind-swept hair. He pulled off his gloves, tucking them into the pocket of his Quidditch uniform. He had just completed his first practice for the Slytherin Quidditch team and he was exhausted; practice had run late and it was well past curfew before they finally stopped playing. They were lucky that Umbridge had been in Slytherin; she had a soft spot for the house and would hopefully overlook their late practice.

He trailed in behind the rest of the team on the path to the dungeons. He felt his ring burn and glanced down to see a message.

Behind you

Circling around, Draco saw a hint of brunette hair peeking through the classroom doorway . He eyed the rest of the team, making sure no one was paying attention to him. He slipped into the classroom. The door closed behind him and suddenly a body was pressed up against him.

Pinning him against the door, Hermione wove her fingers into his hair and pulled his head down to her. His lips felt hot and pulsed with his heartbeat as she slowly worked her tongue into his mouth, teasing. As she captured his lower lip between her teeth, Draco inhaled sharply as a shiver raced down his spine.

“What happened to keeping a low profile?” Draco asked, his voice low and husky.

“Pansy’s been taken care of. Plus, this wasn’t exactly planned. I was heading back from the library,” she said, guiding him backwards into a chair. “And I happened upon you.” She straddled him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“And I didn’t know you would be in your Quidditch uniform , ” she murmured, her hands trailing down his chest to the bulge growing in his leather Quidditch trousers.

He sucked a breath in through his teeth. “You don’t even like Quidditch.” His eyes hooded as he watched her tongue dart out to lick her  lips.

“I think I’m officially a fan.” She flushed as her hands reached for the zipper on his trousers and he tilted his hips up towards her.

There was the squeak of a shoe in the corner of the room and Hermione dove off Draco’s lap, stumbling several steps before regaining her balance. She tried to look inconspicuous, straightening her shirt anxiously.

“Who’s there?!” she called, looking to the end of the room.

A timid looking first-year Hufflepuff peeked out from around the back corner. She had short strawberry-blonde hair and wide green eyes.

“I didn’t see anything, I swear.” The girl flailed her arms wildly, avoiding eye contact with Hermione and Draco.

Hermione swallowed, her eyes wide. “ Of course you didn’t see anything because nothing was happening. After all, we are Prefects…out patrolling.” She flinched at her lame alibi.

The Hufflepuff cocked her head to the side. “That’s a terrible excuse, you must know that, right? You’re in an abandoned classroom and not even wearing your Prefect badges. This one isn’t even in robes. He’s in a Quidditch uniform.”

Hermione flushed a deep red, looking to Draco for help. Draco’s gaze shifted from Hermione to the Hufflepuff. “What’s your name?”

“Amelia Williams,” she offered.

“Amelia…you do know you’re breaking curfew by being out right now?” Hermione said sternly, her hands on her hips.

Amelia’s mouth curved into the ghost of a smirk. “Well, if you weren’t here, then neither was I.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open and Draco coughed out a laugh.

“I’ll see myself out before another pair of Prefects come in for…patrolling.” Amelia shrugged innocently, skipping out of the classroom.

“Amelia Williams,” Draco said triumphantly. “I told you I could name a Hufflepuff.”

“Not funny, Draco.” Hermione pulled her hands across her face, flustered. “You do realise somewhere in the castle now there is a first year who knows about us?”

“Any chance you can stick her in a jar, too?” Draco teased as the pair stared at the corner where Amelia had been standing.

Draco walked the path to the dungeons, visibly frustrated. It had been over a week since Hermione had been able to sneak away now that she had limited access to the Invisibility Cloak. The one night they managed to get time together was ruined by that Hufflepuff. Plus, he did not mind being jumped randomly in the halls. I should wear this uniform more often , he mused, thinking of the look in Hermione’s eyes tonight. Adjusting himself, he groaned.Why did they have to be interrupted?

Draco descended the stone steps that led to the Slytherin Common Room, “Conquer,” he muttered as the stone wall shifted and the passageway revealed itself.

“...and did you see the look on his face? Potter’s absolutely pathetic and finally everyone knows it,” a male voice mocked.

Draco frowned, surveying the room. There were a dozen students ranging in years sitting on the black leather sofas and carved chairs that filled the space in front of the large mantle.

“Yeah,” a sixth-year bloke added, “I overheard his fellow Gryffindors don’t even believe him. Think he’s making it all up for attention and that old Dumbledore’s off his rocker.”

They turned as Draco entered the common room; he noticed Theo sitting at one end of the larger sofa, his arms crossed defensively and his jaw clenched in anger.

“Oh, Draco, we were just talking about how satisfying it is to watch the fall of the Gryffindor golden boy. Care to join us?” Marcus Flint called to him, baring his disfigured smile.

“Unlike you, I actually worked hard at practice tonight.” Draco gestured to his uniform as Marcus rolled his eyes. “And I don’t have time to stay up gossiping like little schoolgirls about Harry Potter. If I didn’t know any better, I’d wonder why you were so obsessed with him.” He raised his eyebrows at Marcus who grunted in denial.

Draco looped around the back of the seating area, clapping Theo on the shoulder who tensed from his touch. “Theo, mate, I still have to return your Potions textbook.”

Theo looked up at Draco, confused, and then realisation dawned on his face. “I’ll come get it in a moment, thanks.”

Draco nodded once and walked back to his dorm. He showered and dressed for bed, waiting for Theo to stop by his room.

There was a knock at the door; Draco opened it and stepped aside for Theo to enter.

“You looked like you were going to hex someone.” Draco watched Theo carefully. “You know you don’t have to sit out there while they bash your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my…we don’t have labels.” Theo shoved his hands in his pockets. “And I couldn’t exactly get up and leave as soon as they started talking about him. It looks suspicious.”

“Want me to call Pinky? I can have him bring us some Pad Thai?” Draco offered.

“What’s that?” Theo scrunched his face in confusion.

“Granger introduced it to me over the summer. You’ll love it. One day I’ll show you the delicacy that is Muggle takeout,” Draco raved enthusiastically.

“Who are you?” Theo mused. “And what have you done with my best mate?”

“Much has happened, young Theo. I left for the summer a boy and came back a man.”

Theo’s eyes shot open wide. “ Draco Lucius Malfoy , are you seriously telling me that you deflowered the Gryffindor princess this summer?”

“Ew, don’t use the word deflowered.” Draco grimaced, shaking his head. “In fact, erase it from your vocabulary so no one else has to suffer through that.”

“Shut up and go get that pads-Thai. I want to hear everything!” Theo pulled up a chair.

“It’s Pad Thai,” Draco grumbled. “Pinky!”

Twenty minutes later they were shoveling Pad Thai into their mouths while Draco recounted his summer.

“...then she had to leave early because Father came home from the latest resurgence gathering.” Draco stabbed a noodle with his chopstick, still working on the mechanics of eating with sticks.

“What a cockblock. It could’ve been worse, though. My father spent the summer ranting about how the old ways are coming back, how he can’t wait to torture filthy Mudbloods and how he’s counting down the days until the Dark Lord ‘ Avadas that fucking Harry Potter’ once and for all.” Theo pursed his lips, looking down at his meal, suddenly not hungry anymore.

“Look at us, two blokes in love with people our fathers can’t stand,” Draco quipped, lightly elbowing Theo who looked up quickly at him.

“Love? You told her that you love her?” he questioned, his voice quiet.

“I was going to wait but then I couldn’t stop telling her. I mean, she’s impossible but she’s also devastatingly clever and the kind of beautiful you just can’t look away from. She’s cunning like us but also ridiculously loyal. Not to mention, she packs a wicked punch.” Draco smiled to himself.

“Merlin, you have it bad,” Theo marveled. “I never thought I’d see the day. Then again, you’ve been in love with her for years. I just never thought you’d actually figure it out.”

Draco narrowed his eyes at Theo. “Thanks for the support, mate.”

“Anytime. Have I told you about C.O.C.K.?”

Draco threw a noodle at him.

The next morning, Draco sat down for breakfast at his usual spot at the Slytherin table. He turned to his left, inspecting the blokes who had been ridiculing Potter last night. Today, they were both sporting freshly bruised black eyes and busted lips. Draco turned to his right where Theo was shifting food around on his plate with his fork and humming to himself.

“Theo,” he started, eyeing his best mate.

“Hmm?” Theo hummed in response.

“What did you get up to after leaving my room last night?” Draco asked warily.

The corners of Theo’s mouth perked up. “Just went to bed.”

Draco looked at the pair who were avidly avoiding eye contact and then back to Theo. “Sure you did. And just what do you think happened to those two?”

“Huh? Oh, them, yeah they fell,” Theo stated casually.

“Both of them? Into what?” Draco asked.

“My fists.”

“Theo,” Draco warned.

“And maybe my foot.”

Over at the Gryffindor table, Hermione was carefully scanning through the crowd of Hufflepuffs, looking for Amelia. When she spotted Amelia leaving her table, Hermione hopped up from her seat and followed her out of the Great Hall.

“I won’t tell anyone,” a light voice called out from behind her, Hermione turned and found Amelia sitting in the windowsill outside the Great Hall. “Though it’s not because you’re particularly intimidating.” 

Hermione looked around her; traffic in the corridor was sparse with only a few students walking through it.

“Amelia, why were you in the classroom after curfew to begin with?” Hermione asked, walking up to the first year.

Amelia looked down at her hands. “A couple Slytherin second years were making fun of me after supper. They kept taunting me and jinxing my shoelaces to tie together.” Her voice became small. “I don’t know any real spells yet, so I just keep running from them. You two came into the classroom before I could sneak out and there was only one exit.”

Hermione’s features softened and she dropped her hands to her sides, joining Amelia on the ledge. She remembered the loneliness of that first month of school, when even Harry and Ron had joined in on teasing her.

“Why haven’t you told anybody? You could report them. They shouldn’t be harassing you like that.”

Amelia’s face flushed. “Everyone knows that’s the best way to make mates, by ratting out other students to professors.”

Hermione contemplated her words. “Well, you should know how to defend yourself at the very least. I have a few hours available after lunch today if you want to learn. Not that I’m condoning this,” she clarified, “but if you insist on continuing without school intervention then perhaps once they see you will fight back, they will stop bullying you.”

Amelia looked pleased. “Oh yes! I would love that. How about half past noon? In the same classroom as last night?”

Hermione’s cheeks tinted pink as she pulled her bag over her shoulder. “Same classroom as last night,” she confirmed.

Later that night, Hermione’s band burned.

C.A.G.R.?

She frowned, looking at the letters. She had spent several hours teaching Amelia jinxes for her arsenal and had given up valuable study time, falling behind. Excluding schoolwork for other classes, she still had twelve inches to write for her Arithmancy essay.

Quickly sending back a message, she watched the letters disappear to Draco, Tomorrow?

After several moments, her ring burned again.

Tomorrow.

His disappointment in his reply was palpable. How she wished she could have had a time-turner this year. So far, fifth year was making her third-year schedule look like a cake walk.

Draco was waiting for her the next night when she arrived at the tapestry on the seventh floor. His face widened in a grin and he proudly gestured to the doorway; he had conjured the room himself this time.

“After you.” He opened the door for Hermione and she stepped through. The room looked the same as usual, with the addition of a single wooden chair that looked identical to the classroom seat.

He shrugged. “If you were interested in picking up where we left off.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “But you’re wearing normal robes.”

Draco swore under his breath. “It was all the uniform? I never knew; it must be like me with your Muggle trousers.”

“You like my jeans?” Hermione smirked.

“Oh, Granger, you have opened my mind to so many things, but your arse in those jeans is my favourite of all.” He stalked closer to her, tangling his hands in her curls as he kissed her.

“Also, Umbridge gave Harry detention,” Hermione added. “Which means I might be able to borrow the cloak for a few nights this month without him missing it.”

Draco’s grin widened, his cheeks flushing with glee. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all year.”

“Well, not for Harry. He has detention,” Hermione pointed out, squealing as Draco picked her up and swung her around.

“Speaking of Potter, how’s the secret student dueling club going?” Draco asked curiously.

“Well, like I told you before, our first meeting was at the Hog’s Head and we have met twice since then. The coordination became a bit much and we needed some way to communicate the meetings without Umbridge finding out. I actually based it off my idea for our rings and bewitched Galleons to send meeting information between members.”

“That’s brilliant—you’re brilliant!” Draco exclaimed with pride.

“I wish you could be in Dumbledore’s Army with us,” Hermione lamented. “You are such a talented duelist—we could really use you as another teacher. It’s growing every week; in our last meeting we had twenty-five students! Twenty-five!”

“They have the brightest witch of their age, the wonder Boy Who Lived, and…whatever Weasley is. The club is well equipped with capable teachers. Well, except for Wealsey. Seriously, I saw the bloke make himself vomit up slugs. I wouldn’t trust him to teach anyone.”

“That’s not a fair example! His wand was broken from crashing a flying car into the Whomping Willow after they missed the train and—okay, I’m hearing it now—but Ron’s not really teaching anyway. It’s mostly Harry and sometimes me.” She paused for a moment, then added, “I met with Amelia yesterday. Some of your kind have been bullying her.”

“ My kind? ” Draco scoffed in offense. “Now who is holding onto house rivalries?”

“I taught her a few jinxes to help her the next time they harass her.”

“You taught a first year how to jinx other students? Prefect of the year,” he replied sarcastically, but with obvious approval.

“I just figure it wouldn’t hurt to repay her for her silence, and now hopefully she will stop hiding in abandoned classrooms. In case there’s another night of Quidditch practices…” Hermione’s voice drifted off suggestively.

Draco nodded. “Fantastic idea, really inspired.”

Hermione laughed, biting her lip as she watched him.

Draco checked the clock, as he had been every few minutes since she arrived.

“Also, I already gave you your gift early, but as it’s officially midnight…” Draco’s mouth curved into a smile as he retrieved a large red velvet cake that was sitting on a table in the corner of the room. He murmured a quick spell and lit her candles. He carried it over to her, placing it on the table in front of her.

Hermione’s face bloomed into a wide smile. “I know just what to wish for.” She blew out each candle.

“Happy birthday, love. May this year be your best year yet.” He pulled her into his lap, kissing her so thoroughly she melted into him.

For someone who was overall uninterested in Quidditch, Hermione found herself excited to attend the first match of the season. It was Gryffindor vs Slytherin, her best mates playing against her boyfriend. She was wearing her Gryffindor scarf but also wearing her Slytherin green knickers. 

Smirking to herself at her secret, she wondered if Draco would have time after the game to meet her. After seeing him in his uniform, Hermione was quite interested in breaking the latest proclamation, Educational Decree Number Thirty-One, BOYS AND GIRLS ARE NOT PERMITTED TO BE WITHIN 8 INCHES OF EACH OTHER.

From the stands, she watched as the teams flew out onto the field. Draco pulled out his gloves, slipping his hand into one and then pausing before pulling out a single gold Galleon from the glove. She stifled a laugh at the look of outrage on his face as he glared into the Gryffindor stands and tucked the Galleon into his Quidditch uniform’s pocket.

“I know you think Divination is a load of rubbish, but you should’ve seen how Umbridge treated Trelawney during class today.” Harry’s mouth contorted into a frown.

“Is she still making you fill out those dream diaries?” Hermione asked, selecting a roast beef sandwich and scooping potatoes from the tray in front of her seat.

“Yes, The Dream Oracle is the focus of the year,” Harry added.

“It was bloody awful, ‘Mione. Umbridge asked Trelawney for a prediction and she choked,” Ron said as he shoveled food into his mouth.

“The Inner Eye does not see on command,” Harry quoted in a whimsical high-pitch voice.

Hermione bit down into her sandwich, her tooth hitting something solid. She recoiled, absolutely revolted, opening the top bun to find a gold Galleon sitting on top of the beef. Eyes narrowing, she glared in silent fury at the Slytherin table where her boyfriend was happily chatting away with his mates.

Picking the coin from her meal, she discreetly wiped it down with her napkin and slipped it into her bag. 

Bugger.

Harry reached for a slice of bread and his sleeve shifted up his arm. In scarred purple-red lettering were the words ‘I must not tell lies.’

With a gasp, Hermione reached for Harry’s hand, and he immediately retracted it back into his lap.

“Harry!” she exclaimed as he looked around quickly. “What happened?”

“Not here, Hermione. It’s from my detention,” he muttered under his breath.

“WHAT?!” She felt her blood boil at his words.

“Can we talk later?” he pleaded, trying not to attract the attention of students around them.

Her face heated in anger. “Fine. But let me get you something to help ease the pain and make sure it doesn’t scar, okay?”

“A scar. Surely wouldn’t want one of those,” he joked half-heartedly, his face falling at her unamused expression.

Harry nodded silently, returning to his meal. Hermione decided to reference her pocketbook tonight—she had a medical textbook that might have information on what would be best to heal his wound.

Following supper, Hermione scanned the latest Educational Decree mounted on the main stone wall, number twenty-four; she scoffed internally at the misleading name. There was nothing ‘educational’ about these decrees. They were about power and control.

ALL STUDENT ORGANIZATIONS, SOCIETIES, TEAMS, GROUPS, AND CLUBS ARE HENCEFORTH DISBANDED. ANY STUDENT IN NONCOMPLIANCE WILL BE EXPELLED

She stared at the phrasing. If Umbridge thought she could prevent the D.A. from meeting, she was delusional. If anything, she was providing more evidence that the D.A. was necessary. With such a blatant overreach of power from the Ministry, it was imperative that the students of Hogwarts had formal training to defend against those who would cause them harm. Dark wizards, she thought, or even the Ministry itself.

It was bad enough that Umbridge was interfering with classes, passing outrageous Educational Decrees, but seeing the words carved into Harry’s skin tonight made Hermione see red. After healing Harry, she would have to consult her pocketbook and see if there was anything in there for Umbridge.

The door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was wide open, which was great news for Crookshanks who was presently on a mission. In his chubby fluffy cheeks, he held a single gold Galleon, which he was to deliver into the shoe of the boy in the far back row. Weaving through the desks, Crookshanks paused, sitting quietly until the loud lady in pink turned her back to the room. He began moving again.

“Hem-hem.” Professor Umbridge cleared her throat, directing the students’ attention towards her. “Today we will begin preparations for your Ordinary Wizarding Level examinations.” Umbridge paused her writing on the board, hiccupping and holding her chest.

Clearing her throat loudly, she continued, “Ri—Part one is the written exam which—riii….which—riiiiibit.” Umbridge’s eyes squinted as if trying to decipher what just came out of her mouth.

“Students! Order! I will have order in my classroom!” Umbridge squawked over the sound of laughter. “I will—riiiibbbbiiiiiiittt.” She gasped, holding a hand over her mouth in panic.

Her voice grew deadly quiet. “Which one of you nasty little children did this? I will— gasp— personally see to it that they—riibbbbit detention and riibit.” Umbridge covered her throat with her hands, running to the doorway.

A certain lion-like cat, who was in the process of sneaking out of the classroom, happened upon the path Umbridge was using to escape. The shock of him brushing up against her legs made her jolt up, her eyes wide in absolute horror. 

She clenched her thighs together and gasped. The look on her face was one of disgust and terror as she ran out of the classroom, tucking her robes tightly around herself. The classroom doubled down in hysterical laughter.

“Did she just…?” Draco asked incredulously, staring at the fading form of Professor Umbridge, unblinking. He glanced over at Hermione who was sitting innocently in her chair, pretending to read their textbook as the class devolved into chaos around her. 

“Someone obviously has it out for Umbridge,” Theo noted. “Did you see that last bit? It looked almost as though someone jinxed her body to react like a toad.”

“The ribbitting? I mean that was more frog, but I suppose you’re right.” Draco stifled a laugh.

“No, not that part. The part where she tripped on that cat.” Theo stared at Draco in an obvious fashion.

“So?” Draco asked, not following.

“Have you never had a toad?” Theo asked before adding with a smirk. “Toads wet themselves when they’re surprised.”

Blaise cackled at the realisation that their professor just peed herself during class.

Draco’s mouth fell open. Umbridge was going to be out for blood, and from the rumours of her detentions, it would be literal blood.

As he stood up, prepared to leave with his mates, he noticed a hard item tucked between his shoe and his sock. Lifting his foot, he inspected it and saw a glint of gold barely pushed tucked into the top of his shoe. Draco choked back a laugh, pulling out the Galleon. 

His witch was more Slytherin than she would ever admit, and how he loved her for it.

November-December

Year 5

“Ugh, stuck with Malfoy? Tough break, ‘Mione,” Ron sighed. “Looks like I’m with Padma this week. Want me to trade you so you don’t have to deal with the ferret?”

Hermione stared at the Prefect patrol list, posted just as she and Ron left the latest meeting. Her eyes were still resting on the last line.

Hermione Granger (Gryffindor) & Draco Malfoy (Slytherin) Saturday Night Patrol

“I appreciate the offer, Ronald, but you shouldn’t let the Slytherins bother you so much. I’m sure if any issues arise, I can handle them myself,” Hermione replied, tearing her eyes away from the list.

“I know you could put him in his place, just hope he’s not too much of a prat,” Ron muttered. “Ready to go back to the tower?”

Hermione nodded in confirmation, lost in her own thoughts.

She would patrol with her boyfriend this weekend. Hermione fought back a smile; they had a legitimate reason to spend the entire night together out in the open. Technically, patrol only took a couple hours, but they had no set time frame for Prefect patrols and could easily use that as an excuse for the entire night. She felt almost giddy at the prospect. 

Only two more days.

“Doesn’t this feel like a massive waste of time? Do Prefects actually find anything during these patrols?” Draco asked as they looped around another corridor.

“Usually just catching students snogging, giving directions to first years, sometimes taking away points for breaking curfew.” Hermione shrugged casually. “It’s a Saturday night so get ready for a long night of catching students snogging.”

Patrol was not turning out to be the refuge that Hermione had hoped it would be. The halls were still filled with students and they couldn’t exactly look like they were enjoying themselves; the couple had an image of contempt to maintain. As a result, they were stuck sharing nothing but bland small talk on the off chance they were overheard by a passing classmate.

“Snogging, you say?” Draco asked. “And just where do these delinquent students go to snog?”

Hermione caught onto his meaning, looking indifferent as a group of Ravenclaws passed. “The next spot to patrol is the third floor. There’s a large tapestry with a hidden room that we should inspect…to ensure students are following school rules.”

“Yes, yes, Educational Decree Thirty-One,” Draco murmured with a suggestive smirk.

She waved her wand and a ruler slid down. “Eight inches.” She wiggled her eyebrows and laughed.

A pair of nearby Hufflepuffs looked at them curiously and the smile dropped from Hermione’s face.

“Hurry up, Malfoy,” she demanded, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“You’re insufferable. Just my luck that of all the Prefects I get stuck with you.” He sneered for extra effect, stalking past the Hufflepuffs who had turned back to their conversation.

They quickly walked to the third floor for their ‘inspection.’

Hermione ceremoniously pulled back the tapestry, hearing a girl call out, “The room is already taken!”

“Hear that, Malfoy?” Hermione called loudly as he snickered behind his hand. “The room is taken, suppose we should take a detour of our Prefect rounds and see who is in the room.”

She heard swearing and shuffling around before two red faced sixth years stumbled out, their clothes slightly askew. They practically sprinted away, obviously hoping to avoid losing points and dignity.

“After you.” Draco gestured in front of him.

“Such a gentleman.” Hermione winked, walking into the tapestry room.

The hidden room was no larger than a Quidditch shed and just as cluttered. It must be a storage space; she assumed a snog closet was not the intentional design.

“Hey, Granger, look what they left behind.” Draco smirked, holding up a bag of instant darkness powder from the Zonko’s joke shop.

“That is technically against school rules,” Hermione thought aloud. “It would only be right of us as Prefects to confiscate it.”

“I like the way you think, Granger.” He smiled mischievously. “Bet we could find some use for this with that old toad.”

Draco placed his hands on her waist, pulling her up against him as her breath left her chest. He gently placed his thumb under her chin, tilting it up towards him. Leaning down slowly, Draco kissed her, savouring the feeling of her plump lips beneath his. Hermione groaned softly; his hand rested on her waist, he thumbed the hem of her skirt, sliding his hand underneath to palm her bare skin.

They heard a rustling noise from outside. “The tapestry is usually clear this time of night,” Pansy’s voice drifted into the room.

Hermione mouthed ‘ Pansy?!’ to Draco, frantically trying to think up an excuse for why they were hiding in a notorious snogging spot instead of completing their rounds.

“Excuse me, you’re a Prefect, right?” a small voice asked, and the tapestry stopped moving.

“Yes, of course I am,” Pansy said. “Why?”

“I saw some third-year Gryffindors in front of the Great Hall trying to enchant the hourglasses to add extra gems and get Gryffindor house more points, something about wanting to humiliate Slytherin house,” the voice added.

“What!” Pansy shrieked. “Absolutely not, if those Gryffindors think they can get away with…” Her voice trailed off with her footsteps.

The tapestry swung open, standing in the doorway was a smug looking Amelia Williams with her arms crossed in front of her body.

“Honestly, you two really need to get better at this if you expect to keep it a secret,” she admonished them as Hermione’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “I’m astounded you haven’t been caught yet.”

“But I—but we—" Hermione stumbled over her words as she faced the petite silhouette of the first year.

Amelia held up a hand to stop her, “You’re lucky I saw you two sneaking into the tapestry and covered for you tonight.”

“But we really are patrolling this time!” Hermione insisted, pointing to the Prefect badge clipped to her robe for extra measure.

Amelia’s eyebrows raised in disbelief, “Of course you are, lots to patrol in the snogging tapestry. And you”—she looked at Draco, shaking her head—“I expected more from a Slytherin! This is typical Gryffindor recklessness.”

Draco looked quickly between Hermione and Amelia, completely flustered, “You can’t—I don’t—”

“I better not catch you two again,” Amelia warned. “And I’m taking this because I’m running low.” Plucking the bag of instant darkness from the ground, she closed the tapestry behind her.

“What in the bloody hell is up with the Hufflepuffs this year?” Draco wondered aloud, turning back to Hermione in bewilderment.

“I don’t know, but she’s right, we need to get better at this—imagine if Pansy really found us?” Hermione shuddered in a visceral reaction.

“I doubt she would’ve believed the patrolling excuse, either. It would’ve made more sense to peek into the room and leave if we really were checking the area… Now that I think about it, we should leave before anyone else stops by. Shall we finish our rounds?” Draco asked, extending an arm to her.

“We shall,” she replied with a smile, taking his arm.

They walked up to the tapestry before she dropped his arm and raised her voice as they stepped through. “You were wrong —there were no students in there—I told you so!”

“Whatever, Granger.” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “Let’s just get the rest of this patrol over with so I don’t have to be with you any longer than necessary.”

“With pleasure.” She turned up her nose, walking away from him.

“Hey, not so fast!” he mumbled under his breath, jogging to catch up to her as she hid a smile.

The pair trailed through each level, pausing to stage a fake argument in front of some fourth year Slytherins on the second floor—really committing to the part. When they arrived at the end of their patrol in the dungeons, they did a quick sweep through the classrooms.

Draco paused, reaching out an arm to stop Hermione mid-stride. He made a face and pointed at the potions classroom to the right of them, she nodded, and they listened in at the door.

“Very good, Mr. Potter,” they heard through the door. “I give you an O for Outstanding.”

They shared a look, that was not Snape’s voice… In fact, it sounded familiar. Was that Theo ?

Draco cracked open the door, took a single glance, stumbled backwards and quickly shut it.

“No, nope , absolutely not.” His eyes were wide, and he was frantically shaking his head. Grabbing Hermione by the shoulders, he turned her around.

“What was that?” Hermione demanded, looking back over her shoulder as he dragged her away.

“No, we will never speak of this moment again. In fact, Obliviate me. I beg you.” Draco pleaded, walking away more quickly now.

“Draco…” She struggled to keep up with his frantic pace. “What, are they breaking Educational Decree Thirty-One?” she joked weakly. “I suppose being two boys they’re technically not…”

“You don’t get it, Granger,” Draco whispered in a tortured voice. “There are some things you can never unsee.”

Hermione was sitting in the library at a table, sketching notes onto her parchment. She was documenting her latest ideas for Harry’s curriculum in the D.A. She was incredibly proud of the progress her peers were making in their lessons. Harry was a natural at teaching; they could not have selected a better leader.

Confringo

Deprimo

Oppugno

Relashio

Incarcerous

She tapped her quill on the list, brainstorming other spells that they could cover in upcoming sessions. She wondered if she could incorporate some new spells from her Black pocketbook…

“Excuse me?” A male voice caught her attention.

Hermione turned around in her chair, facing a timid looking first-year Hufflepuff.

“You’re Hermione Granger, right?” he asked, fiddling with his hands in front of him.

Hermione tilted her head, looking at him curiously. “Yes?”

“Professor McGonagall was looking for you down by the knight statue. Thought you’d want to know.” He turned around and walked out quickly, leaving behind a baffled Hermione.

That was odd , she thought to herself.

Hermione packed up her parchment and schoolwork, leaving the library in search of Professor McGonagall. She wandered down the corridor to the armoured knight, finding nothing but an empty corner. Frowning, she inspected the area; McGonagall was nowhere to be seen.

A glint of gold caught her eye and she whirled around quickly; her hair smacked against her face from the movement.

“No…” she murmured under her breath. “He didn’t.” Her groan of frustration echoed through the empty corridor.

Tucked in the hand of the knight was a shiny gold Galleon.

It was difficult to have Prefect meetings and nearly every class with Draco but still have to wait until the weekend to actually talk to him. They had a recurring date night every Friday in the Room of Requirement, and it was Hermione’s favourite day of the week. Harry and Ron thought she spent every Friday in the library preparing for the next week of classes and, lucky for her, they never came to check her alibi.

Hermione and Draco found many ways to keep themselves entertained in the magical room. They had game nights where they played wizarding or Muggle board games, reading dates where they shared favourite books, nights where all they did was cuddle in the silence, and everything between. It was their safe space together.

That Friday, they were working on essays for Transfiguration.

“What was the fifth variable in Transfiguration?” Hermione muttered under her breath, biting at her quill. “Weight, viciousness, wand power, concentration and…”

Draco set down his book and looked at her, “I had an interesting conversation today.”

“Hmm?” She looked up. “And?”

“And I’m wondering why Umbridge asked the Slytherin Prefects to figure out who filled her office with toads wearing pink dresses?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Someone filled her office with toads?”

“Oh, come off it, I know it was you,” Draco insisted. “She’s furious.”

“Could’ve been anyone.” She shrugged, pausing to write down a thought in her essay.

“Granger.”

She turned towards him impatiently. “I’m offended you think it was me, utterly baffled, in fact. I’ll have you know I’m a Prefect . That kind of debauchery is completely out of my character.”

“The toads keep screaming ‘ORDER’ and hopping around the room, peeing everywhere.”

“You sure someone didn’t just fill her office with mirrors?” Hermione asked, finally setting aside the parchment she was working on. “I can see how that might confuse her.”

“She’s going to kill you if she figures out that this was you.”

“I’d like to see her try. Won’t end well for her.” She gave a small shrug, obviously undeterred.

Draco stared. “You’re bloody terrifying sometimes, you know that, right?”

“Oh, my love, you don’t know the half of it.” She smiled demurely, pulling his head down into her lap and running her fingers through his hair.

“You think you can just distract me with… Well that’s actually quite nice.” He tilted his head into her touch as she massaged his scalp. “Oh… do continue.”

Hermione smirked as she dragged her fingers lightly through his hair, kissing him once on the head. Draco was more like her cat than he would ever admit. 

When in doubt, play with his hair.

Umbridge had grown increasingly rabid against the students with each passing week. Due to Hermione alone, several new Educational Decrees were added to the wall. It was only mid-November and a third of the massive stone wall was already covered in decrees.

Educational Decree Number Forty-One was added after Harry’s outburst in class, All Students are Hereby Banned from Discussing the Upsetting Events of Last Year

Educational Decree Number Seventy-Five was added after the Crookshanks incident, All Pets Must be Confined to Common Rooms and Dormitories, All Owls Must be Confined to the Owlery

Educational Decree Number Forty-Eight was added after she overheard a student complaining about her detention methods and another student ‘ribbitted’ at her in the crowded corridor following the ‘DADA toad incident’, All Complaints about Hogwarts or its Staff are to be Made in Writing to the High Inquisitor

The list went on and on; Umbridge now had supreme authority over all punishments and privileges, overreaching that authority whenever possible. In the past month, she imposed restrictions on the usage of the library and common rooms and prohibited Zonko’s and Weasley joke products. There were not many decrees she could add at this point. It was contemptible and unnerving to see her slowly take control over all aspects of Hogwarts.

It was growing increasingly difficult for Hermione to find time to meet with Draco. Between classes, Prefect duties, the D.A. meetings, and homework she felt like she was constantly running around the castle. Her Prefect status helped her move freely around the castle for Friday dates to a point, but Umbridge was taking away what little power the Prefects had and transferring it to herself.

Students in Dumbledore’s Army were still meeting biweekly to learn defense from Harry. Hermione spent her Fridays with Draco, Saturdays on homework, and Sundays preparing new material for upcoming lessons. Some days these blurred and she brainstormed lesson ideas with Draco, practicing with him in their Room of Requirement arena. 

This week, the D.A. focused on a binding spell that Hermione had referenced from her list of dueling spells, Incarcerous .

Harry stood in front of the Room of Requirement, designed to look like a dueling arena today.

“Listen up, everyone. This week we are going to try a challenge. This spell is a conjuring spell, and it’s a branch of Transfiguration. Technically, this is N.E.W.T. level spell work, so by no means do we expect you to accomplish this on your first try, or even your twentieth,” Harry announced, gaining the attention of the D.A. members.

Harry continued, “I have seen this spell used in combat and it can be the difference between life and death. It is a great defensive spell to neutralize your attacker without permanently harming them, along with other spells we have already covered like Stupefy and Petrificus Totalus .”

“The incantation is ‘ Incarcerous ’ and it conjures thick ropes that bind your enemy, rendering them immobile and unable to use their wand. The movement is a simple point. Please face your partners and repeat after me. ‘In-KAR-ser-us’.” Harry directed with a nod.

The D.A. members, totaling nearly 30 these days, practiced late into the evening with little success.

“Excellent work, really, you are doing great,” Harry encouraged as he walked between the students.

“Here, Luna try holding your wand steady when you gesture to a point,” Harry directed, watching as Luna repeated his actions and a small thin rope fell out of the tip of her wand.

“That was absolutely fantastic! You’ll have it in no time!” Harry grinned at her, moving on to Neville.

Katie Bell turned to Hermione, who had managed to wrap a single rope around Ron’s calf. “I overheard Umbridge asking students about any illicit societies meeting in secret,” she shared nervously.

“You don’t think she knows about Dumbledore’s Army, does she?” Lavender Brown asked.

“Of course not,” Hermione readily dismissed the thought. “If Umbridge had any idea what was going on, she would have interfered weeks ago. We have the charmed Galleons as means of communication and there is no way to trace us in the Room of Requirement.”

Katie and Lavender shared a look before Katie spoke. “I don’t know, Hermione. She was pulling students into her office during class. You heard about her black quill. Who is to say she isn’t using veritaserum during her questioning?”

“She’s not authorized to do that…right? Surely the Ministry wouldn’t allow…” Hermione stopped, considering Umbridge’s current level of authority at Hogwarts. “Well, either way, if someone tells Umbridge, we will know.”

She thought about the jinx she’d added to the parchment everyone signed at the start of the year. If anyone told about Dumbledore’s Army, they would have ‘SNEAK’ on their forehead in boils.

“Let’s not worry until there is something to worry about. Would you like to try Incarcerous again?” Hermione asked, distracting the girls and turning back to Ron.

“I would not,” Ron mumbled, not quite sure how he ended up with Hermione for a partner; he had not successfully cast the spell yet and by the minute was feeling more like a live dummy for Hermione’s practice than a partner.

“ Incarcerous !” she called out with a firm point of her wand.

Ron fell to the floor, bound by her conjured ropes.

“Great job with the new spell today, Luna.” Hermione smiled encouragingly as the class dispersed. “You were one of the first students to successfully bind your partner today!”

Luna tilted her head towards Hermione, a soft smile dancing on her lips. “Yes, though I do believe you were the first to accomplish that feat. Not that I’m much surprised, given your background in magical binding.”

The smile slowly faded from Hermione’s lips. “What do you mean, Luna?”

Luna shrugged and in her melodic voice asked, “Just that you have experience, do you not?”

Hermione’s pulse quickened. “I have not tried that spell before today, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Curious, I thought I spotted Blibbering Humdingers around you and Draco Malfoy, but perhaps I am mistaken,” she added whimsically, spinning around as she danced through the doorway of the Room of Requirement into the corridor.

Hermione stood in place, unable to move. For the first time, Hermione began to wonder if there was more to Luna “Looney” Lovegood than nonsensical theories and odd clothes. 

The following weekend, Hermione was able to sneak away to meet with Draco.

“I thought it would blow over eventually, but thanks to your constant letters, everyone keeps asking me about my French girlfriend.” Draco gave her the side-eye in annoyance.

“You’re welcome.” She shrugged. “Pansy was suspicious and now you have a cover story.”

“Yeah, but now I have to come up with all these details about her on the spot, which is difficult since she doesn’t exist.”

Hermione scoffed in faux offense. “I developed a thorough backstory to Adeline, thank you very much.”

“What’s her last name?” he inquired skeptically.

“I didn’t get that far yet.”

“Well, you didn’t tell me your plan, so now everyone thinks she’s the pureblood cousin of a Beauxbaton girl I met during the tournament last year and we spent the summer together in a torrid love affair,” Draco said.

“My story was that you met when she was brutally attacked by a manticore outside the Eiffel Tower during your family vacation to Paris,” Hermione began.

“What?”

“She was running from it when you heroically swept her away on your broom, flying her to safety. Obviously, you couldn’t have used a spell as the manticore’s skin repels all known charms.”

“Granger.”

“It ate her brother—tragic of course, but what can you do—and you saved her just in the nick of time.”

“Hermione.”

“As manticores are capable of human speech, when you flew her away, he screamed, ‘you and your sexy broom skills bested me this time, Draco Malfoy!’ and then—”

“Hermione!” Draco interrupted. “That is the most ridiculous story I’ve ever heard. Literally no one would believe that.”

She huffed. “I didn’t even get to the part about the scorpion tail, but fine . The Beauxbaton story works too, I suppose .” She paused before adding, “Adeline is also very attractive in my origin story, if you were curious.”

“Obviously,” Draco smirked. “I do have great taste in witches, if I do say so myself.”

“Now there’s something we can agree on,” Hermione teased.

“So, what exactly do your mates think you’re doing when you’re with me?” Draco asked as he lazily played with her hair while they snuggled on the sofa later that night.

“The library. They think I practically live there. In fact, I actually was in the library before I came here, and I almost couldn’t leave on time because Ron wouldn’t go away. He wanted help on his Astronomy analysis.”

“Really? How’d you get rid of him?” he questioned.

Hermione smiled slyly. “I asked him to help me knit some hats for S.P.E.W. and he couldn’t leave quickly enough.”

“Can you blame him? Knitting’s hard work and the elves don’t even take the time to admire your efforts. They just scream and run away,” Draco mumbled. “It’s a thankless job.”

“I’m starting to feel like S.P.E.W. isn’t making the impact I was hoping it would. I haven’t been able to free a single house-elf and I think I traumatized Pinky this past summer,” Hermione admitted.

“Well, why don’t you try calling Pinky and apologize?” Draco asked, cocking an eyebrow at her.

She frowned. “I don’t know. I’ve never summoned him before—it feels weird. Does he even have to respond to me?”

“He listened before, though I know you consciously didn’t ask him for anything this summer. I guess I don’t know if he has to obey like he does with the rest of the family. Just try it and see if he comes,” he insisted. “If Pinky comes when you call, you’re always free to call him, even if I’m not with you.”

“Okay…” She paused. “Pinky?”

Pinky appeared with a pop, his hands over his ears and his eyes squeezed shut. “PINKY IS NOT TAKING THE HAT FROM MISS HERMIONE!” he yelled, shaking his head back and forth as if the refusal was hurting him.

“Pinky!” Hermione called, exasperated. “I promise I won’t make you take a hat. Please calm down.”

Pinky opened his eyes, looking nervously between Draco and Hermione. “Pinky does not have to take the hideous hat?”

“I am sorry I tried to free you. I will never ever try to give you a hat again, or any clothes for that matter,” Hermione conceded in defeat, “You are a good house-elf and if you are well-treated and happy in your position, then who am I to argue?”

Pinky’s face lit up, he hugged Hermione’s leg. “Pinky thanks Miss Hermione! Pinky will be the best elf for Miss!”

Hermione gave a small smile, patting Pinky on the head as he stepped back and straightened his uniform. “What did Miss Hermione need from Pinky?”

“Nothing, Pinky. I just wanted to apologize. You can go back to the Manor now.”

Pinky smiled and nodded before disappearing with a crack.

“Feel better?” Draco asked, smoothing down her stubborn hair.

“Better and worse. Also, I lied to Harry and Ron again,” she confessed.

“What about?”

“I told them I was going skiing with my parents over the holiday break.” Hermione turned to him with a coy smile. “I’m not going skiing with my parents over the holiday break.”

“Oh? And what are you doing for your holiday break?” he asked, his interest piqued.

“I thought I might be able to stay at school with you, if you want, that is.” 

“Oh, Granger, I don’t know what it is, but I’m suddenly feeling quite festive,” Draco informed her with a growing smile. “I’ll owl my mother in the morning to let her know I won’t be home for Christmas—there’s no way I’m missing a whole week of just you.”

December came and went in the blink of an eye, between classes, end of term exams, D.A. meetings, and trying to make Umbridge as miserable as she made everyone else, Hermione was beyond busy. She was counting down the days until the winter holiday where she would stay at Hogwarts with Draco.

The following morning Hermione, Ron, and Harry were attending a Hogsmeade trip; Hermione was using the day to finish up her Christmas shopping.

“How many gifts do you still have to buy?” Hermione asked, mentally ticking through the remaining items on her own list.

“Um…well, all of them,” Ron admitted, “but I’m going to Honeydukes later today and stock up on sweets for everyone. Ginny wants an Ever-Bashing Boomerang from Zonko’s to get the twins back for filling her room with caroling mice last year.”

“My mum and dad want non-magical gifts, so I already mailed them knitted scarves, books, and framed pictures from our last holiday in the Muggle post. That just leaves you two, and I can’t very well shop for your gifts with you next to me,” she reasoned. “Mind if we split up and meet at Scrivenshaft’s at half ten?”

“Sure, Hermione,” Harry nodded, distracted by the latest display in the window of Dervish and Banges.

Hermione’s first stop was Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop where she picked up two journals for Harry and Ron’s Christmas gifts, selecting matching quills and ink pots to go along with the journals.

Next, she went to Honeydukes and purchased a container of fudge and a box of chocoballs for Draco. She selected a variety of toffees for Pinky from the shelf. Hopefully Pinky would accept a Christmas gift from her this year without suspicion that she hid knitwear in the wrapping.

She had finished her shopping early and wandered into the nearby bookstore to look around before meeting back up with Harry and Ron. Hermione stopped in her tracks when she realised Draco, Theo, and Blaise were standing up at the register.

“Is this gift for ‘Adeline’?” Theo teased Draco with a smirk.

“What kind of girl wants a book for Christmas? I think you’re making a mistake, mate,” Blaise said. “It’s like when your girl says she doesn’t want anything for Valentine’s Day but then you show up with nothing and she’s mad at you. Get her jewelry, not a book.”

“Yes, this is for Adeline. And Blaise, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Nothing would make her happier than a good book. I’ll have you know I special ordered this book months ago, so I can’t change it now,” Draco replied.

“She sounds like a swot. I still can’t believe you had a girlfriend for months and didn’t even tell your best mates!” Blaise exclaimed. “I’ve told you every detail about all of my girlfriends.”

“Too many details, in fact. I wish you had told me fewer.” Draco raised his eyebrows at Blaise.

“We barely know anything about her. Is she coming to visit for the holidays? When can we meet her?” Blaise asked, packing his purchases into his own bag.

“Yeah, Draco, when can we meet her?” Theo enquired cheekily. “I’m dying to see the witch who has captivated our elusive Draco.”  

Draco mumbled unintelligibly, looking over to Hermione in the doorway, startled to see her.

Hermione opened her mouth and then closed it. Theo and Blaise followed Draco’s eyes to the doorway, and she turned out of the store, walking as quickly as she could without looking too conspicuous.

She mentally scolded herself for leaving so abruptly. It had been obvious that she left directly after seeing the trio. Hopefully Blaise, or nearby shoppers, were oblivious to the exchange. Groaning internally, Hermione resolved to wait at Scrivenshaft’s until Harry and Ron finished shopping. Unable to resist, she smiled to herself, wondering what Draco was picking up for her at the bookstore.

That Friday, Draco conjured the Come-and-Go Room and waited inside for Hermione. He kept checking the clock; she was later than she had ever been before. It made him nervous. Finally, Draco heard the sound of a sniffle and saw her walking into the room and shutting the door behind her.

The breath was punched out of his chest at the sight.

“Hermione?” Draco jumped out of his seat in alarm, his legs moving faster than his brain as he rushed over to her. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? What happened? Are you hurt?” he asked in a rapid fire.

Her face was deathly pale, and her eyes shone with unshed tears. “Arthur Weasley was attacked last night.”

“Is he okay?” Draco sighed, feeling guilty for his relief. He pulled her into his arms, squeezing her tightly into a comforting hug.

“He’s at St. Mungos. They said he’s stable, but the family is still worried. I need to be there for them. Dumbledore arranged for me to take the Knight Bus late tomorrow night to go join the Weasleys and Harry.” Her voice grew small against his chest.

“You’re already leaving?” Draco sounded dejected; his shoulders slumped forward in disappointment.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t want to leave; I never want to leave.” 

“It’s alright, love. I suppose that just means you have to stay the night with me and then tomorrow morning will be fake Christmas.” He gave her a small smile, thumbing away the tear that escaped down her cheek.

“I love fake Christmas,” she stated with a watery smile.

“Draaaaco, time to wake up! It’s fake Christmas!” Hermione tackled Draco, who until that moment had been slumbering peacefully in his bed.

“What the hell?” he mumbled, throwing his arm over his face and turning back towards his pillow.

“Wake up!”

“Granger, it’ll still be fake Christmas in an hour when I’ve had sufficient beauty rest,” he grumbled into the pillow, his voice muffled.

“You’re beautiful enough. In fact, if anything, I’m doing the world a favour—you’re making the rest of us look bad. Now wake up! Let’s open presents!” she sang the last word of her sentence, pulling the covers off Draco.

“Seriously, where do you get all this energy first thing in the morning?” he complained.

“Cocaine,” she quipped.

“What? What’s a cocaine?”

“It’s—it’s a Muggle thing. Honestly, you’ve just got to trust me on this one. It was very funny,” she assured him. “Let’s go to the Room of Requirement, I have a surprise for you.”

“Is the surprise more sleep?”

She turned to him, glaring daggers.

He ran both hands over his face and through his hair. “I’m up, I’m up.”

Draco stepped cautiously into the Come-and-Go Room, or as Hermione incorrectly called it, the Room of Requirement. Every time they had used it before, it had either been set up as a general common room area or a dueling arena for the D.A. lesson preparations. 

Today, it looked like a small living room—small compared to Malfoy Manor. Perhaps it was sizable by regular standards. It was decked out with Christmas decorations, complete with three stockings above the fireplace and a massive fir tree adorned with ornaments in the corner of the room.

The floor was made of dark wood. A large grey sofa and two matching sitting chairs on either side were positioned in front of a wide coffee table. The walls were lined with bookcases, filled with titles Draco did not recognize; there was a chest stuffed with soft blankets and pillows behind the sofa. Set upon the mantle there were still pictures of a family, two adults and a young brunette girl with frizzy hair and a big smile. He smiled, recalling that same poof of brunette curls in his train carriage on that first day to Hogwarts.

Draco’s heart stilled in his chest and he turned to Hermione. “Granger…where are we?”

She smiled widely. “I set up my home, my childhood Christmas. I wanted to show you what my house looked like since I was able to see the Manor this summer. We have all the fixings for a Granger Christmas. We have eggnog, sugar cookies, Christmas carols, and I wanted to play ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ for you but tellies don’t work at Hogwarts, so we will just have to forego it this year.”

He picked up the picture frame, looking at the smiling couple behind Hermione.

“I’ve never seen a picture of your parents before,” he thought aloud. “What are they like?”

Hermione smiled. “They are the best parents I could’ve ever asked for and I had an amazing childhood. They’re dentists—Muggle teeth healers—and they’re the reason I love to read. Some of my earliest memories are of them cuddling up to me at the end of the night and reading a bedtime story.”

Draco watched her as she spoke, her smile infectious.

“They met when they took a university literature class together. They were studying Shakespeare—which, as you know, is where they found my name—and kept arguing their opinions back and forth during the lesson. Apparently, it got so bad that the professor just gave up and sat down at her desk while they continued. My mum’s best friend said the tension was palpable—they were married less than a year later.”

“I want to meet them,” he declared, setting the picture back down. “They sound wonderful.”

Hermione looked up at him in surprise. “You want to go to Muggle London with me and meet my parents?”

Draco nodded. “I really would. That wouldn’t be a problem, right? It should be safe for them to know about us because they’re Muggles.”

She paused, considering his point. “You’re absolutely right… Yes, I really would love that! I’ll write to them after I see the Weasleys and see if we can arrange a visit.”

“Parents usually love me,” he added with a cocky smile.

“I have no doubt about that. Draco Malfoy, officially introduced to my parents as my boyfriend, sitting in their home in Muggle London. Honestly, I can’t wait to see this.”

Hermione unwrapped the carefully folded gold wrapping on her Christmas present from Draco.

She gasped, “You didn’t! AH! You did!” She clutched the book to her chest. “You bought me my own copy?!”

Draco grinned. “You were so upset about Charles damaging the Manor version that I thought you’d like a first edition of your own—stored in a peacock-free environment.”

Hermione dove into his lap, kissing his cheeks in excitement. They turned pink under her attention.

“I can’t believe I own my own first edition of Hogwarts: A History. Oh my god, Draco, this must have cost a fortune. There’s no way I can take it!”

He held out both his hands in front of her. “If there’s anyone in this world who can appreciate this book like it deserves, it’s you.”

She faltered. “Now I feel really guilty that I only got you chocolate.”

“Then you, my love, severely underestimate how much I love chocolate.”

Several eggnogs later, Hermione had fallen asleep on the sofa for an afternoon nap, snoring softly into the throw pillow. Draco transfigured his cloak into a blanket for her, cocooning her body. He loved seeing her like this; she looked so peaceful while she slept. Selfishly, he wished she would stay the rest of holiday break instead of leaving to visit the Weasleys.

“Psst,” Draco hissed, trying to get Crookshanks’ attention without waking her.

Crookshanks rolled lazily onto his back, flicking a paw into the air. Draco reached into his bag and turned back to Crookshanks.

“Happy fake Christmas,” he whispered, tossing a fake bird stuffed with catnip to the cat. “Mother says she misses you and to remember your promise to take care of our Hermione.”

Crookshanks purred in response, swatting at the toy in delight. Draco smiled, looking at Hermione with a warm feeling blooming in his chest as the music lulled in the background—he loved fake Christmas.

January-February

Year 5

After her Christmas with the Weasleys, Hermione was physically rested but emotionally exhausted. As an only child, she often became overwhelmed after staying with the large Weasley clan for extended periods of time.

"How was St. Mungo’s?" Draco inquired, sensing Hermione's quiet distress.

Draco gestured for her to sit, pulled off her shoes, and started to rub her feet, hoping it was a comforting motion.

"You don't have to—I take it back—keep going. Oh, that feels really nice," Hermione groaned in appreciation at the foot rub.

"I had never been to St. Mungo’s before this visit. I had heard it mentioned before but I suppose I never thought much about it until Mr. Weasley was there." She sighed. "I wasn't sure what to expect but it was worse than I thought it would be… It was sort of like a Muggle hospital, but the maladies were much worse, mental and physical. The Healers were kind and the hospital did decorate for Christmas, which was quite nice for the patients and families who had to be there over the holidays."

"My grandfather had dragon pox and was at St. Mungo’s nearly a month. I remember visiting him when I was a boy, but I don't remember much about the hospital anymore. I do remember the Healers gave me sweets when we visited. My grandfather ended up passing from complications of the illness," Draco offered with a sympathetic look. "How's Mr. Weasley's recovery going?"

"He's obsessed with Muggles—have I mentioned that before? Anyway, he let a Healer try Muggle stitches on him basically sewing the wounds shut—and Mrs. Weasley had a complete fit. After they resolved that, they said he was able to go home, but Draco, he had lost so much blood. Honestly, he's lucky to be alive after Nagini bit him so deeply, if it weren't for Harry…" she trailed off in thought.

"What about Harry?" Draco questioned, pressing his thumb firmly into her arch.

"Harry actually dreamt the attack. That's how they knew about it in the first place—he said he saw it like he was the snake biting Mr. Weasley." Hermione looked at him with fear in her eyes. "It was pure luck that McGonagall and Dumbledore took Harry seriously and sent a portrait to check on Mr. Weasley."

"Merlin! That's fucking terrifying." Draco sucked in a gasp and his hands stopped in shock. "So, it's true then? He and the Dark Lord are really sharing thoughts? Is it getting more frequent?"

Hermione nodded with a solemn expression. "Snape's supposed to be teaching him Occlumency so he can block it out better, but from what I've read, it's really complicated magic."

"My mother is a skilled Occlumens. Though hers is more of a natural-born talent. Said it came from her Black-Rosier blood,” Draco mentioned. “I hope Snape is able to teach Harry, but the Dark Lord is one of the most skilled Legilimens of our age. I'm not sure Harry will be able to do anything but perhaps slow him down."

"I was worried about that, but I'm still encouraging him to take his lessons seriously. He has a history of defying the odds and anything is better than nothing," She hesitated before continuing. "We also saw Lockhart, he snuck out of the spell damage ward. He hasn't changed a bit." She smiled despite herself. "Though he doesn't really remember who he is anymore, he still insisted on giving us his autographs."

"Did you take the autograph? If I recall correctly from our second year, someone had a bit of a crush on him," Draco teased.

She glared at him. "Excuse you. That was a long time ago. I made many questionable choices back then. I have since grown into a mature woman with decent taste in men."

"Hey…" he frowned, still holding her foot. “Didn't you like me back then, too?"

Hermione waved her hand, dismissing him. "You know what you were like."

She looked to her foot expectantly as he continued rubbing.

"There's something else," she added quietly. "We saw Neville Longbottom's parents there."

Draco's heart fell into his stomach; he knew where this was going.

"Did you know?" she asked. "What Bellatrix did to them?"

He fidgeted uncomfortably under her stare. "My mother pulled me aside and told me about it before we started first year, in case Longbottom ever brought them up. I had always known that she was in Azkaban, but my parents were vague about why. I know that my mother is ashamed of her sister, even though she still loves her. Or at least, she loves who Bellatrix was."

"I don't care who she was," Hermione contended, her voice shook with emotion. "I care about who she is now. She's a monster. Do you realise how much effort the Cruciatus Curse takes out of a person to cast? I can't imagine having enough hate and anger to torture someone into insanity."

Hermione's voice broke, "Oh, and poor Neville, he looked destroyed when he was talking with his mum. I saw pictures of his parents last summer at the safe house and I barely recognised them in St. Mungo’s. They were shells of their former selves. And his mum—his mum kept giving him gum wrappers like they were gifts. It just broke my heart."

"I hope you know that Bellatrix is no family of mine," Draco emphasised, his tone absolute. "That crazy bitch can rot in Azkaban for the rest of her life for what she's done, and it still will never be enough for what she deserves."

It was the first day of the new term, and a swarm of owls delivering post flew through the Great Hall. The Daily Prophet landed in front of Hermione. Dread spread through her body as she reached out a shaky hand, the front cover images flashing before her eyes. She felt the color drain from her face.

"Hermione? What is it?" Ron asked, concerned by her reaction.

She turned the cover of the newspaper to Ron and Harry, unable to vocalize it.

MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN

MINISTRY FEARS BLACK IS "RALLYING POINT"

FOR OLD DEATH EATERS

Below the title were ten images of the escaped Death Eaters. Hermione's eyes trained on Bellatrix's picture. Her hair was greasy and unmaintained, and her eyes looked crazed. She jeered at the camera, baring her teeth and snarling as she clawed at her own face, laughing maniacally. Hermione pushed away her meal, her stomach turning—she was no longer hungry.

She read and reread the caption under Bellatrix's picture.

' Bellatrix Lestrange, convicted of the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom.'

On instinct, she looked over to Draco and met his eyes. She could see they were filled with worry. Few students took The Daily Prophet and, as a result, the Great Hall was filled with regular happy conversation. They were completely oblivious to the chaos that had been unleashed back into the wizarding world overnight.

Hermione was unable to tear her eyes from Draco's as they watched each other from across the hall. She wondered if Bellatrix would try to reach out to the Malfoys now that she was out of prison. Where would she hide? Was she back with Voldemort?

"This explains why Voldemort was so happy last night," Harry muttered with disgust, tossing his toast back onto his plate.

Hermione’s attention turned to Harry. "You've been feeling more of his emotions?" she asked, her voice laced with concern.

"I have my first Occlumency lesson tonight," Harry replied. "I'm meeting with Snape after supper."

She frowned, watching his expression. "You didn't answer my question, Harry…"

"I'm working on it, Hermione," Harry said, disgruntled, effectively ending the conversation.

Hermione shared a look with Ron as they finished breakfast in uncomfortable silence.

Draco's band burned from across the Great Hall at the Slytherin table. He looked down in concern, reading Hermione's message.

R.O.R.? Please

He made eye contact with her across the hall, nodding once before gathering his bag.

Minutes later, Draco stood impatiently in the Room of Requirement, waiting for Hermione to join him. The door creaked open, and without a word, Draco took Hermione into his arms. She clung to him, hooking her arms under his armpits and tucking her head into the crook of his neck.

Hermione spoke, her voice muffled against his chest.

"You're going to have to repeat that," Draco said as he leaned back, brushing her hair out of her face.

"Do you think she will reach out to your family?" she asked, her voice small.

"I doubt it. According to my mother, she's had minimal contact with the family since she left my grandparents' house. She's been in Azkaban for nearly fifteen years and my parents have never visited her.” Draco grimaced. “I don't even know anything about her, to be honest, outside of the stories I've heard and pictures my mother has shown me. It's not as if I have any memories of her. Bellatrix has been in Azkaban since I was a baby." 

"I don't like this, Draco. These are the most vicious and fanatical Death Eaters from the first war. Now that they're free, who knows what they will do? My parents are Muggles—they're completely defenceless against someone like her. Didn't they attack Muggle cities? In the first war?" she asked, panicked.

"Hey, love. It's okay, nothing has happened yet. They're still trying to keep a low profile since the wizarding world is actively denying the Dark Lord's return. They wouldn't just attack a Muggle suburb out of nowhere. Plus, there are so few of them right now, they wouldn't risk losing anyone," he tried to reassure her.

Unconvinced, she added, "There are so few of them right now, but their numbers just grew by ten last night."

Unfortunately, Draco did not know how to placate her in her anxieties and he felt helpless. Though he would never admit it out loud, it was reasonable to fear for her parents' long-term safety. She was the Muggleborn best mate of Harry Potter—the epitome of everything the Death Eaters despised.

"Can we talk about something else?" she asked. "I'm so worried about my parents and about Harry and Ron, I just want to think about something else right now."

"Of course, we can talk about anything you'd like.” He thought for a moment before saying, “In other news, Blaise keeps asking for pictures of my 'super beautiful makes-Veelas-envious French girlfriend' Adeline and I don't know what to tell him. What kind of bloke doesn't have a single picture of his girlfriend who he supposedly spent an entire summer with?"

"Eek. I could always get you pictures, but then again, maybe this has gone on long enough." Hermione conceded, fiddling with her locket. "Either way, it won't do to have Blaise asking questions. I'll figure something out."

"What are you going to do?" Draco asked, looking nervous.

"Best let me just take care of it. Your reaction will be more authentic if you don't know what's coming," she assured him.

"I don't like the sounds of that," Draco stated with suspicion. "What are you scheming?"

"Don't you worry a hair on your pretty little head. It'll all be resolved soon," Hermione declared with a confident smile.

The ominous sound of owls echoed through the Great Hall. Draco looked up nervously, wondering what Hermione had planned. A standard barn owl flew directly to Draco, carrying a bright red envelope.

"No. She didn't. She wouldn't." Draco's eyes widened in panic. "No, no, no!"

Blaise and Theo burst into laughter, as Blaise exclaimed, "Oh, mate, Adeline sent you a Howler?! You messed up bad. What did you do?"

"What do I do with it?! Can I throw it out?" Draco asked, frantic. The red envelope floated into the air, hovering just in front of him. Splitting open as a loud voice erupted from it.

Hermione had obviously used a voice altering spell to create this Howler as it did not sound like her at all. It also had a completely ridiculous over-the-top French accent.

"DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY 'OW DARE YOU! I DO NOT GET DUMPED! I'LL 'AVE YOU KNOW ZAT I AM DESCENDED FROM FRENCH NOBILITY! MY PAPA IS A DUKE! YOU CANNOT BREAK MY 'EART AND TOSS ME ASIDE!" Draco laid his head down on the table in horror, unable to watch as the Howler continued.

"YOU VERE ZE BEST AND MOST GENEROUS LOVER ZAT I EVER 'AD! I VILL NEVER FORGET ZE LONG NIGHTS VE SPENT TOGEZER! I VILL ALVAYS LOVE YOU AND I VILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU FOR RUINING ALL ZE OZER MEN FOR ME!" The Howler burst into flames in front of him.

The entire Slytherin table was silent, staring at Draco in shock with the exception of his best mates. Blaise was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes and Theo was doubled over, gasping for air between laughs.

Without saying a word, Draco stood up and walked away from the table with as much dignity as he could muster. The sound of his own footsteps echoed in his ears as he quickly walked past the Gryffindor table where a few students jeered at him, mimicking the words of the Howler. He resisted the growing urge to glare at Hermione as he passed by.

He sent her a single message to her band, Seriously?

That week Draco was on rotation to patrol with Ernie Macmillan, the fifth year Hufflepuff Prefect. Draco had known Ernie before Hogwarts; he was a fellow pureblood from the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Though Draco had always known of him as Ernest before school, he had picked up the nickname Ernie during their first year—Draco thought it suited him nicely.

The pair walked mostly in silence, occasionally discussing their shared classes or Quidditch. They rounded a corner towards the end of their shift when there was a commotion down by the Hufflepuff common room.

"Stop! Give it back!" a voice demanded in anger.

There was taunting laughter followed by an assertive, " Tarantallegra !"

The sound of scuffs and steps filled the corridor.

"What did you do to us?! Stop it!"

Ernie and Draco shared a look before sprinting to the source of the sound.

Standing two corridors away from the common room entrance was Amelia Williams, standing a meter away from two wildly dancing Slytherins. They were flailing about, their feet moving uncontrollably while their arms swung around trying to fight the jinx.

Amelia turned to the approaching Prefects with tear-filled eyes. She looked carefully at Draco and then back to Ernie. Her cheeks were flushed pink with embarrassment.

"What's going on here?" Ernie demanded. " Finite incantatem ." The Slytherin boys stopped dancing abruptly.

"She attacked us!" One of the boys pointed to Amelia who was scowling at him.

"Self-defense," she clarified. "They've been harassing me all school year! They just stole my essay that I've spent the better part of the month working on. Go on, check his bag." She nodded to the satchel which had been dropped mid-dance.

Ernie opened the bag, pulling out parchment with Amelia's name and handwriting on the top for first-year History of Magic homework. Ernie turned and showed it to Draco who felt rage boil beneath his skin.

"Fifteen points from Slytherin, each," Draco asserted, trying to keep his emotions in check. "For bullying and lying to Prefects."

The two Slytherin boys interjected in outrage at losing points.

"But what about her?" one of them asked. "She jinxed us!"

"Yes, I almost forgot." Draco turned to Amelia who was looking nervously between the Prefects. "Twenty points," Draco began, and the Slytherin boys jeered at Amelia's dismayed expression. “To Hufflepuff for an exceptionally executed jinx. The wand movement is particularly difficult for that spell and you were able to use it on two people, no less; that is advanced spellwork for your year."

The boys sputtered in shock; even Ernie looked startled but if he took issue with the ruling, he did not say anything.

A smile crept up on Amelia's face as she took her assignment back from Ernie.

"Now all of you, get back to your common rooms. It's nearing curfew." Draco ushered them away with a wave of his hand.

"Draco Malfoy," Ernie ruminated, "never thought I'd see the day when you'd take points from your own house and award some to a Muggleborn Hufflepuff."

Draco shrugged in nonchalance. "We are Prefects now, have to be impartial," he said as he considered all the ways he could abuse his Prefect status to make the little prats' lives miserable.

" What the hell, Hermione ?!" Draco asked incredulously as she stepped through the doorway in the Room of Requirement.

"Hi love," Hermione greeted him cheerfully.

"You just had to send me a Howler? Really? You couldn't think of any other reasonable course of action other than a screeching Howler during my breakfast?"

"I wanted to make sure that word of your breakup spread efficiently and accurately; a Howler did the job well," she reasoned.

"And the accent?"

"I had to sell it! It would be odd for your French girlfriend to have an English accent." She shrugged.

Draco put his hands on his hips. "Well I hope you're happy. People are calling me the Slytherin Sex God after that stunt you pulled."

Hermione stifled a laugh at the unsexy gesture. Slytherin Sex God, indeed.

"I'm failing to see the negatives for you. Why is it a problem for people to believe you're 'a generous lover'?" She smirked.

"Maybe because I've been propositioned half a dozen times since breakfast alone," he informed her, raising his eyebrows. "Sexually propositioned."

"Oh." Hermione sat quietly for a moment, looking uneasy. "Who?"

"I'm not telling you that," Draco stated.

"I'm not going to hurt them," she assured him, but the look in her eye gave him pause, "Who. Propositioned. You?"

"I obviously turned them all down," he promised. "Just in case you had any doubts."

"Hmm." She hummed noncommittally.

"Every time, no matter what, I'd always choose you. I hope you know that."

She looked at him from the corner of her eye.

"I've just been redirecting them to Blaise, because you see, I've found I'm already quite smitten with a witch," he added.

She bit her lip, watching him. "Quite smitten?"

"Quite smitten," he confirmed.

"The Gryffindor sex goddess to your Slytherin sex god?" she prompted with a smirk.

He laughed. "Merlin, help me. Yes."

"Speaking of, next week is our first real Valentine's Day together," Hermione commented, gauging his reaction.

"Is it? I don't usually keep track of that sort of thing." He shrugged nonchalantly. "Are you the type to want to celebrate it?"

She frowned. "Aren't you?"

"I mean, it's just a made-up holiday," he insisted.

"Oh, yes, I forgot, unlike all the other holidays which are naturally occurring," she mocked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Draco turned to her and she stared back at him. Somehow it became a staring contest, where both refused to blink first.

After several moments, Draco's eyes twitched shut. "Fine. But I want chocolate," he grumbled.

"Deal."

The next morning Hermione saw a new Educational Decree added to the wall. Educational Decree Number Eighty-One, RED HOWLERS ARE FORBIDDEN ON THE PREMISES.  

Hermione grinned as she passed by.

It had been worth it.

"So, what are you getting Hermione for Valentine's Day?" Theo asked Draco as the pair walked to class together.

"Oh, Theo." Draco shook his head in disappointment. "Not you too? I didn't peg you for the romantic."

"It's not me. It's those bloody Gryffindors! They're just so soft with this kind of thing," Theo mumbled.

"That's why we love them, isn't it?" Draco gave him a knowing look. "Why do you care what I'm getting Hermione?"

"I figure whatever you get Hermione, I can get Harry," Theo reasoned.

"Hey! Why don't you think of your own gift?" Draco chided, giving him a look of disapproval.

"If you're making me lie to my…to Harry about dating his best mate, the least you can do is let me recycle your gift ideas," Theo complained. "On that note, it's getting more difficult to lie to him, you know. He's weirdly perceptive. He suspects that I'm hiding something from him. I mean, he's not wrong."

Draco felt guilt twist in his stomach for having put his best mate in that position. "Fine. You can borrow my gift idea. I can't guarantee he will like it though. How do you think he’d feel about you and Quidditch pants?"

"What are the five signs of a werewolf?" Umbridge quizzed the class as she twirled her wand between her hands.

Hermione's arm shot up, eager to share the answer. Umbridge looked right past Hermione.

"Ms. Abbott," she called.

Hannah recited the signs as Umbridge wrote them down on the board and turned back to face the class.

"Very good, Hannah. It is important for you to be able to recognize the signs of these filthy half-breeds. My werewolf legislative work with the Ministry is helping protect you and your families," she stated proudly.

There was a small cracking noise from Hermione's desk; she had been gripping her quill tightly as Umbridge spoke and it had snapped in half from the pressure.

The classroom watched in silent terror as the words behind Umbridge morphed on the board. She continued their lecture, oblivious to the changes in her list.

Toads are usually nocturnal

A group of toads is called a knot

Toads are cold-blooded amphibians

There are around 230 known species of toads in the world

Toads are found on all continents except Antarctica

Their natural habitat is teaching Ministry-regulated defence classes

Umbridge looked curiously at the students' expressions, their gazes fixed on the board behind her. She turned; her face twitched as she tried to maintain her composure. An angry red flush rose up her neck as she stared down the faces of her petrified students.

"Who. Did. This?" she spat out as the twitches in her pudgy cheeks grew stronger with each word.

"So help me Merlin, if no one admits to this, then I will go around this classroom and test every single wand to see who jinxed my board!" Umbridge threatened.

True to her word, the rest of the class was wasted as Umbridge went row by row, testing each wand with a wave and a quick " Priori incantatem ."

Draco tensed as Umbridge picked up Hermione's wand and waved it. " Priori incantatem ."

Umbridge looked to Hermione. "A feather-light charm?"

"For my bag," Hermione offered with a polite smile. "I have many books."

"Hmm." Umbridge moved to test Ron Weasley's wand, the final check for the class. 

In the end, Umbridge decided the board must have been jinxed before class by someone not in their year. Draco exhaled a sigh of relief, trying not to stare at Hermione who looked just a little too innocent at that moment.

For Valentine's Day, Hermione felt she had outdone herself in the sneaky long-distance secret girlfriend department. She sliced up her omelet carefully, watching Draco from her peripheral. Owls were dropping off flowers, boxes of chocolates, and Valentines' cards to students all over the Great Hall. There were excited squeals and happy hugs as gifts were delivered.

A small, discreet package landed in front of Draco; Hermione knew he could tell it was from her. He pulled off the strings, starting to unwrap the paper when he stopped abruptly and began folding it back up quickly. Hermione bit back a laugh at his flushed cheeks and flustered demeanor. He pushed the package into his bag before tucking it under his arm and heading out of the Great Hall immediately.

She doubted Draco was expecting to unwrap a package of her Slytherin green knickers during his breakfast—a preview for their date tonight. Hermione ate another piece of her orange, smirking quietly to herself, crossing her legs to avoid the breeze beneath her skirt.

"Are you sure you don't want to tag along with us tonight, 'Mione?" Ron asked sympathetically, directing her attention back to the Gryffindor table.

"Oh, I'm sure, I'll find some way to occupy my time. I hope you have a lovely date with Lavender." She smiled stirring her food around on her plate.

Ron turned to Harry, shook his head sadly and mumbled under his breath, "Poor girl, probably going to spend the night with her cat."

Hermione resisted the urge to correct Ron, though he would never believe her even if she tried.

That night, Hermione waited quietly in the corridor outside the Slytherin Common Room, Disillusioned. She waited impatiently for a student to trigger the entrance; she wrapped her arms firmly around her torso, the corridor was chilly, and she was wearing fewer layers than usual.

Finally, a pair of Slytherin seventh years who looked quite tipsy stumbled up to the stone wall and sang out, "Puuuuure blood," before dissolving into laughter as the entryway opened. Hermione scowled as she slipped in behind them.

The Slytherin Common Room was more crowded than usual, with couples paired off around the room. There were drinks, blatant flirting, and more than a few couples snogging. Raising her eyebrows as she looked around the room, she decided they certainly did things differently in Slytherin House than in Gryffindor House.

Walking on the balls of her feet, she attempted to muffle her steps as best she could. Nevertheless, the students looked too distracted to notice her even if she had walked loudly. Hermione slipped down the corridor to Draco's room, peeking around before knocking gently. She waited, butthere was no answer. Crinkling her forehead, she knocked again. Finally, she just pushed the door open, letting herself into his room.

Her mouth fell open in shock; Draco was laying on his bed, his head propped up by his arm and he was wearing his Slytherin Quidditch uniform with the shirt undone. There were flower petals thrown around the bed.

Hermione tripped over her feet and her cheeks heated.

At the sound of her stumble, Draco smirked at the air in front of him. "Hello, Granger."

Removing the Disillusionment Charm, she set her wand on his desk.

Draco's eyes grew dark and his breath came as a slight gasp while he scanned down her body, she was wearing her school uniform but with some slight alterations. Her skirt was much too short for regulation code, he had her knickers, and she was wearing the Slytherin green tie that she had snagged from his room during their last visit.

"Fuck me," Draco murmured under his breath.

Her lips quirked into a smirk. "Yeah, that's the idea."

The next morning, Draco snuck a look at Hermione's parchment which was covered in bits of information for future D.A. lessons.

"Granger, are my eyes charmed or do I see a Patronus on the curriculum for your defence club?"

"A corporeal Patronus," Hermione corrected with excitement. “Most witches and wizards can only manage an incorporeal Patronuses, but we are going to spend weeks teaching it and I am confident we can manage it."

"You're really going to teach fifth year Gryffindors how to cast a corporeal Patronus in a week?" he questioned in disbelief.

"Not until April—we are building up to it right now. It's a complicated spell and they need a better foundation before we try to teach them how to conjure it. Also, the D.A. is not only fifth years, and we have students from three of the four houses." She added, "The first lessons were rather simple, the Incarcerous spell, a Stunning Spell, the Reductor Curse, but we are really pushing with the Patronus Charm. Last summer Harry was attacked by a Dementor and he would have been given the kiss if he hadn't been able to cast his Patronus."

"A Dementor, outside Azkaban?! Seriously, how is that bloke still alive? He hasn't gone a year without something trying to kill him." Draco shook his head in amazement.

"He says he's just really bad at dying." Hermione shrugged.

"I'll say. And you know how to cast a Patronus?" he asked, impressed.

Hermione smiled before closing her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she brandished her wand. " Expecto Patronum !"

A silvery otter shot out of the tip of her wand, spinning around her and Draco. He watched in amazement as it darted all over the room.

"You realise how difficult that spell is, right? You're so nonchalant about it, I feel like you don't understand the gravity of what you've accomplished. There are full-fledged witches and wizards who can't do what you just did." Draco stared in admiration.

"Would you like to learn?" she asked with a clever smile.

"Absolutely. I can think of no better teacher." He reached for his wand.

"Oh, I don't know, I can always go check if Ronald is available," she quipped.

"Not funny, Granger." He narrowed his eyes at her.

"Oh, I'm kind of funny."

"So, explain to me again why we are doing this?" Theo grumbled in annoyance as they snuck out of their rooms after curfew.

"Because, I need an alibi if we get caught. You felt ill and needed an escort to the hospital wing and I'm your house Prefect."

"Not that part," Theo corrected. "Why are we targeting two second-years?"

Draco glared. "Because they fucked with the wrong Hufflepuff."

Theo blinked. "I don't even know who you are anymore."

March

Year 5

“Um, mate, why is there a Galleon stuck to the side of your cauldron?” Theo asked, staring at Draco.

Draco groaned as he smacked his hand against his forehead in exasperation.

“ Finite incantatem ,” he muttered, catching the Galleon as the sticking charm was nullified.

“I’ll take it if it’s bothering you that much,” Theo quipped in amusement. “I knew you were loaded, but I’ve never seen money-sticks-to-you level of rich before. What are you, a Niffler?”

Draco lowered his voice so as to not be overheard. “It’s nothing, just Granger being Granger. It’s maddening. She’s trying to pay me back and I told her I don’t need her money, but she won’t take the damn coin! This has been going on for months.”

Theo smirked, his eyes lingering on her table. “I like her.”

“You’d better. Speaking of, I’m meeting her parents this weekend,” Draco commented.

Theo dropped his stirring rod, startled. “What?! Have you lost your mind? You’re going to sneak out of school to go to Muggle London to meet your girlfriend’s Muggle parents?”

“Yep.”

“Well, I did not see that coming. Have you ever even had a full conversation with a Muggle before?”

“…No, but if they’re anything like Hermione, I feel like it won’t be that bad,” Draco said, dropping his carefully measured portion of chizpurfle fang into his cauldron before looking at Theo anxiously. “Right?”

“Hell if I know, but whatever you do—do not fuck it up. A nice girl like Hermione will care what her parents think of you,” Theo warned.

“You think I don’t know that? She talks about them all the time. She couldn’t think more highly of them; I’m hoping that Muggle parents are enough like pureblood parents that I can just up the Malfoy charm and hope for the best.” Draco brushed a bit of hair from his eyes as he bent over his textbook.

“After this, all that’s left is to introduce her to old Lucius,” Theo joked.

The pair fell silent as Seamus Finnigan walked past their station, headed to fetch more ingredients.

Draco lowered his voice until it was barely audible as he turned to Theo. “You know what my father thinks about witches like her. If it were up to me, she’d never have to meet him. Whatever I do, I’m going to avoid that introduction as long as possible. I don’t know what he would do to her and I’m not above committing patricide if he hurts her.”

Theo made a face and turned back to his pile of ingredients. “Somehow I don’t doubt that.”

The organized effort it took to get to the Grangers’ house without appearing together was extremely taxing on Hermione and Draco. They could not take the Floo out of Hogwarts as the Foo Network was being monitored by Umbridge and the Ministry. As a result, Draco took the Knight Bus from Hogwarts under the guise of visiting his family—being a well-connected Slytherin had its perks—and Hermione took the secret passage to Hogsmeade, Flooed to the Leaky Cauldron, and then took a taxi through Muggle London to her parents’ suburb.

Hermione staggered the times so she would arrive via taxi a few minutes before Draco would step off the Knight Bus. She hid behind the cluster of tall bushes next to her parents’ house as the Knight Bus dropped Draco off and sped away.

“Well, don’t you look nice?” Hermione looked Draco up and down in admiration as she walked up to greet him.

He was wearing Muggle clothes that Hermione had picked out for him the week before. It was a flattering ensemble, a light grey jumper over a blue button up—which accented his grey eyes nicely—and navy blue trousers. Hermione had paired her outfit to his, wearing a simple cream dress with a pale blue floral pattern. It cinched at her waist and landed just below her knees.

“Do I? I feel positively green. Did anyone even teach that guy on the Knight Bus how to drive or did they just toss him the keys and say good luck?” Draco grumbled, making a face of discomfort.

“What are those?” Hermione asked, staring at what looked like a wildly expensive bouquet of flowers in his hand.

“Flowers? Don’t tell me you’ve never seen flowers,” he teased. “I’m clearly failing as a boyfriend if you don’t recognise them.”

“Obviously I know what they are, but why did you bring flowers with you tonight?”

Draco stared as if she grew a second head. “Granger, I can’t very well go to my girlfriend’s parents’ house without bringing a gift. It goes against the gentl—”

“—eman’s code, blah blah blah, I know. Well, let me just tell you my mother is going to absolutely love you for those,” Hermione finished his sentence with a sly smile.

He wiggled his shoulders a bit, as if shaking off his nerves. He was repeating Theo’s words in his head like a mantra, ‘do not fuck it up’.

“It’s going to be fine; they’re going to love you just as much as I do. Also, please try not to talk too much about magic. Especially the bond. I haven’t told them anything about that. As far as they know, you’re just my regular boyfriend and not my magically-bound soulmate. They might freak out a bit if they knew that part.”

Draco gave her a small smirk. “Soulmate, eh?”

“Oh, shut it, you know what you are,” she admonished. “My parents will be okay with some conversation about magic as I’ve explained quite a bit over the years, but they still aren’t too familiar with it. Try talking about common interests.”

Draco scoffed. “Obviously, Granger. I already knew that; I was planning to talk about…Muggle things with them.”

“You think you know enough about ‘Muggle things’ to talk with them?” she asked, raising her eyebrows curiously.

“Yeah, I know Muggle things ,” he insisted. “I’m insulted that you think I don’t.”

“Okay, I’m excited to hear all about them. Now, I’m freezing so let’s go inside. Ready?”

Hermione gave him a comforting smile and rang the doorbell to the house. Several moments later, the door swung wide open and her father and mother rushed out to pull her into a hug. They looked just like the still picture that Draco had seen in the Room of Requirement, with the addition of a few extra gray hairs and hints of smile lines around their eyes.

Jean Granger looked just like an older version of her daughter. She was short with kind brown eyes; her hair was darker than Hermione’s hair but equally as curly. William Granger had sandy blond hair with a slight wave to it, was clean shaven, and had striking hazel eyes hidden behind spectacles. He looked amused when taking in Draco’s appearance.

While Hermione hugged her mother, Draco offered a hand to her father, shaking it in greeting.

“Mum, dad, this is my boyfriend—Draco Malfoy,” Hermione introduced with a proud grin.

Draco waited until Hermione released her mother from a hug before stepping forward.

He took her mother’s hand in his and bowed down, kissing it politely. “Enchanté. It is an absolute delight to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Granger. Thank you for having me in your home; I have heard wonderful stories about you and cannot wait to learn more about the couple who raised such a lovely daughter.”

“For the hostess.” He presented the bouquet of flowers to Mrs. Granger who, instead of responding to Draco, promptly turned to Hermione with a hand to her chest and a look of delight. “ Oh my god .”

Hermione looked at her knowingly. “I know .”

“And he?”

“Yes.”

“ Wow .”

“Right?”

“But you?”

“ Exactly .”

“I can’t.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Yes…”

“Mum!”

(A/N—For anyone who is interested in the full dialogue from Hermione and her mother it roughly translates as follows

“ Oh my god he is charming —did he really just do that?”

“I know, and yes—he did.”

“And he is just like this? All the time?”

“Yes. He’s just like this. All the time. ”

“ Wow, where did he come from?”

“Right? I never stood a chance.”

“But you know it’s obvious from the way he looks at you that he adores you.”

“ Exactly. It’s that look that just kills me.”

“I can’t handle this, when did you grow up and become a woman?”

“Isn’t it fast though?”

“Yes…but some people just find love young. Just look at you two—my future grandbabies are going to be positively adorable.”

“Mum!”)

Draco looked between mother and daughter, his eyes flicking back and forth as if watching a high-speed tennis match; he tried to decipher their unspoken communication as they shared an entire conversation in single phrases and shared looks.

Hermione’s father placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “Don’t even bother, sixteen years of this and I still have no idea half the time. Come on in—no use waiting outside in the cold.”

The Granger home looked exactly as Hermione had designed the Come-and-Go Room, minus the Christmas decorations. It was tastefully decorated, filled with books, and without a speck of dust. The entire house felt warm, inviting, and comforting from the moment he stepped through the door. He looked around, wondering what it would be like to grow up in a house like this one.

“Welcome to our home, Draco. We are excited to meet you after hearing so much about you from Hermione. Is this your first time in Hampstead?” Mrs. Granger asked.

“Yes, ma’am, I have not had the pleasure until today. Truth be told, I had a rather conservative upbringing. I have not spent much time outside of wizarding cities, but I’m looking forward to changing that.” Draco turned to Hermione with a smile.

“Interesting way you phrased that.” Mr. Granger looked between the pair. “And how do your parents feel about you dating our daughter considering your ‘conservative upbringing’?”

Draco hesitated and Hermione cut him off. “Daddy. Stop. I already told you his mother is lovely—I think you would love her, actually— and his father is still working on it. No need to grill Draco; he can’t exactly control the opinions of his parents.”

“Well, you can’t blame a father for asking. He’s your first real boyfriend and I want to make sure you’ll be treated with the respect you deserve. Especially after those stories you told us from your first years at Hogwarts. It’s appalling that you had to deal with those kids calling you names for having us as parents,” Mr. Granger asserted.

Draco winced, knowing full well that some of the stories Hermione had shared would have been about him; he was hoping she had not mentioned him by name.

“It’s okay. I’m glad you asked so I have the opportunity to explain my family. My mother has had a recent change of heart in the past few years, due in part to your daughter. My father… He still retains many old ideals, antiquated beliefs that my mother and I have since rejected. I want you to know that no matter what he believes, I will always advocate for Hermione and defend her whenever possible,” Draco promised, meeting Mr. Granger's eyes confidently. “It would have been easy to follow in the path of my parents, my grandparents, my great-grandparents and so on, but that was not the path for me.” He looked to Hermione who watched him with wide eyes. “Because that path would not have led me to Hermione.”

Mr. Granger nodded in agreement, satisfied. “A fine answer. True morality consists not in following the beaten track, but in finding the true path for ourselves, and fearlessly following it.”

“Gandhi,” Hermione offered to Draco. “It was a Muggle named Gandhi who said that.”

“Merlin, it’s like there’s three of you here.” Draco bit back a laugh as he looked between Hermione and her parents.

“ ’Merlin’ ? Oh, aren’t you adorable?” Mrs. Granger mused. “Though I’ve always personally liked Morgana better.”

“Morgana le Fay? She’s my ancestor actually,” Draco mentioned. “Mother has her old ring in the family vault—thinks it’s cursed, though.”

Mrs. Granger let out an incredulous laugh. “Oh my god, you’re serious, aren’t you? Wow. Hermione failed to mention your extensive family history. Speaking of, what do your parents do for work?”

“My mother maintains the…family home with help of the… servants and manages charity foundations. My father mostly invests in companies with his associates,” Draco replied vaguely.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger shared a look. “That’s a polite way of saying you come from old money.”

Draco floundered slightly. “But I have my own aspirations outside of my family, I’d like to be a…” He looked to Hermione helplessly. “What’s the Muggle version of a potioneer?”

“A chemist, of sorts. Research and development for a type of pharmaceuticals, for wizard healing,” Hermione explained to her parents. “It’s an esteemed position in the wizarding world, you have to have the equivalent of a PhD to pursue it professionally.”

“That sounds like an admirable career path, Draco. William and I pursued a specialty of healing teeth. I’m sure Hermione must have mentioned that to you before. We can relate to the desire to learn and help others. Now, I know you’ve come a long way and I bet you’re famished; I’ve prepared supper and it’s in the dining room.” Mrs. Granger indicated for them to follow her to the next room where place settings and sides were already on the table.

There was a beat of silence as Mrs. Granger left the room to get the main course from the kitchen. Draco looked to Hermione who nodded at him in encouragement.

Draco turned very seriously to her father. “So, Mr. Granger, I can’t help but notice how similar you and your daughter are with your interests. Do you also like cocaine?”

Hermione choked on her drink.

Draco’s expression turned to alarm as he looked between Hermione’s frantic coughs and the mirth on her father’s face. “What? You said cocaine is a Muggle thing!”

“It’s an illicit drug, Draco! It’s a Muggle drug!” she wheezed out between gasps for air.

“You took drugs?!” Draco exclaimed, his voice unusually high as a nervous reflex.

Hermione’s mother walked into the room with a large covered dish just in time to hear Draco, she gasped in false shock. “Hermione Jean! You’re doing drugs and you didn’t bring enough to share with the hosts? We raised you better than this, young lady.”

“Oh my god.” Hermione put her face in her hands.

Draco looked frantically around the room in horror. “No—no! Not cocaine—I meant to ask, do you like Pad-Thai? What about jean trousers?” He turned hopelessly to Mrs. Granger. “The Little Mermaid?”

Theo’s voice came back to his head—he was fucking it up.

Hermione’s parents dissolved into laughter as her mother looked at Draco affectionately. “Draco, dear, you are welcome over anytime. You are by far the most interesting house guest we have had in quite a while. For the record, yes, we love all of those—well, except the cocaine. Though the 70s were a wild time…”

“Mum!” Hermione closed her eyes. “You’re making this so much worse.”

Draco’s cheeks and neck flushed in embarrassment as Hermione patted his leg and whispered, “It’s okay, love. That was a great Muggle conversation.”

“We are so sorry, Draco. We didn’t mean to laugh,” Mr. Granger interjected.

Draco took a deep breath and tried to will himself back to a normal color as he looked across the table to her parents.

“I am so out of my depth here.” He ran a hand over his face in weariness. He swallowed. “I think it’s obvious that I’m not familiar with many of your customs or really anything with Muggle culture, but I would like to learn if you have patience. I can’t promise I won’t do or say something ignorant. In fact, I can absolutely guarantee it’ll happen again, but I…” He looked over at Hermione. “I really love your daughter and I’m trying my best to do right by her. I know I’m probably not who you’d imagined her dating but—”

“Son,” Mr. Granger cut Draco off. “You seem like a nice young man and we can see that you genuinely care about our daughter. As parents, that’s all we can ask for in a partner for her. You can relax. You’re doing much better than I did when I met Jean’s parents for the first time; I actually spilled a cup of scalding hot tea on her mother—I was mortified.”

Draco’s mouth fell open as he looked to Mrs. Granger, who laughed and nodded in confirmation. “Yes he did. In fact, she had a burn in her lap for weeks after that incident. Don’t forget our first Christmas where I set your parents’ oven on fire.”

Mr. Granger made a face. “That one was bad. That was when Jean was pregnant with this one over here”—he gestured towards Hermione—“and woke up at midnight craving sweets. Naturally, she thought she should make some sugar cookies, but fell back asleep after putting them in the oven.”

“Hey, no one warns you how exhausting the first trimester is,” Mrs. Granger argued in self-defense. “I was knackered 24/7. If you’ve forgotten—I made an entire human from scratch!”

“So, as long as you don’t burn us or the house down, I’d say you’re doing just fine,” Mr. Granger assured Draco.

“Enough of that. Now, who wants supper?” Mrs. Granger asked, removing the lid to her covered dish.

Hermione suddenly erupted into laughter, tears building in her eyes as she clutched her stomach.

“Um…Hermione?” her father asked, visibly confused. “What’s so funny?”

“It’s…it’s…oh my god, Draco,” Hermione choked out the words before cackling. “She made Toad in a Hole!”

Draco barked out a laugh of surprise, before covering his mouth with his hand and clearing his throat. “Please, excuse me.”

“It’s not you, Grang—Hermione has this thing about toads this year,” Draco explained over the sound of Hermione’s guffawing. 

Hermione looked at him with tears of laughter in her eyes and he struggled to keep it together. 

“This is a lovely meal choice. May I?” Draco asked, taking the dish from a baffled Mrs. Granger and setting it down in the center of the table.

During supper, Draco felt a twinge of envy hit him as he watched the way her parents interacted. Her father would tease her mother, who would swat playfully at him and tease back. When her father cleared the dishes from the table, her mother leaned over and gave him a kiss as thanks.

Draco thought of all the moments he had with his witch and it was as if all the pieces suddenly fit together. It made sense that she acted the way she did, having had this as her example. It made him feel uneasy as he thought of the cold, large rooms of the manor he grew up in, with expensive art and nothing sentimental on the walls outside of ancestral portraits. The formal meals with house elves serving dishes in order of household plates. Of his parents who loved him but showed little physical affection. What had she thought of his family? Of him? Would he ever be able to provide this kind of life for her?

“…like when she was a child.” Mrs. Granger shook her head affectionately at Hermione who looked to the ceiling and shook her head.

“Speaking of, Mrs. Granger,” Draco interjected with an innocent look. “If it’s not too much hassle, I would love to hear all about Hermione from her pre-Hogwarts years.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed at Draco in suspicion.

“Oh! I would love to show you her baby book. Hermione being an only child, I did go a bit overboard scrapbooking—though you probably know all about that from your own mother.” Mrs. Granger left the room and came back with a large photo album.

“You sure you want to see these, Draco? I can’t see how they would be interesting,” Hermione stated in an accusatory tone, through gritted teeth.

He smiled maliciously at Hermione. “I think you’ll find that I could not possibly be more interested.”

“Here’s Hermione when she was in primary school.” Mrs. Granger smiled fondly at the still image, pointing to Hermione who looked around six and was sitting in a corner surrounded by picture books. “She’s always loved to read,” she added. “In fact, whenever she was in trouble as a child, we used to take away her books as punishment!”

Draco raised his eyebrows, looking at Hermione. “Tell me more about Hermione getting into trouble. I can’t even imagine that. She’s just such an angel at school; she’s never one to get into pranks or any trouble,” he said, his voice sweet like honey.

“That’s our Hermione, the Prefect,” Mr. Granger chuckled as Hermione glared at Draco from out of her parents’ line of sight.

“You know, Draco’s a Prefect too,” Hermione offered.

Mr. Granger turned to Draco. “Is he now? That’s wonderful, good for you,” he said with approval. “Are you in the same house as Hermione at school?”

Draco’s eyes flicked nervously to Hermione. “No, sir, I’m in a different house than Hermione.”

“Is that common? Dating between houses?” he asked.

“It happens.” Draco’s voice felt higher than normal.

“Which house are you in? Is it the one with the nice kids and the badger? What did you say it was, Hermione, a Bufflepuff?”

Draco felt his eye twitch.

“No, Mum, you’re thinking about Hufflepuff. He’s not in Hufflepuff, though sometimes I wonder.” She smirked as she watched Draco.

“I’m in Slytherin House,” he mentioned.

Hermione’s parents paused before her mother broke the silence. “Isn’t that the one with the kids you told us about?”

Clearing her throat, Hermione said, “Every house has them, it’s not just Slytherins. Plus, I haven’t had issues in years. I feel like we are sidetracked. Aren’t we supposed to be sharing embarrassing pictures from my childhood right about now?”

Mrs. Granger turned her attention back to the scrapbook and flipped the page to an image of Hermione surrounded by a group of kids, frowning and flipping the page to the next set of images. Draco looked curiously at Hermione who was looking down at the floor. Who were the kids in that picture?

“Oh, William, remember this? This was her first-time skiing with us! Look at her in her little purple skis,” Mrs. Granger cooed, looking at the picture of a young Hermione with her parents on either side of her, all grinning at the camera.

“Do you ski often?” Draco asked. “I’ve never been.”

Mrs. Granger exclaimed, “How have you never been skiing?! Oh, we usually go every winter—well, excluding this year. We should bring you with us! Shouldn’t we, Hermione? I’m sure your parents—” A look of discomfort flashed over her face. “Perhaps one year you’ll be able to join us. William is an excellent teacher.” 

They flipped through dozens of pictures of Hermione at all ages and, in almost every single picture, her parents smiling next to her. Draco had only a few pictures with his parents; most were just pictures of him alone. For a moment, he was overwhelmed with a feeling he could not define. It was a mixture of happiness, belonging and envy.

He looked around the room, nursing his cuppa from Mrs. Granger as they fawned over memories of their daughter, and he realised this was what he wanted. How had he ever thought Muggles were beneath Purebloods? This family was pure love, something he had never seen from a Pureblood family.

“I hope you left room for dessert. I made Hermione’s favourite,” Mrs. Granger said with delight as she disappeared into the kitchen.

“I’ll go help with the dishes, see you kids in a minute.” Mr. Granger trailed behind her.

“Granger,” Draco began. “What was with that picture of those kids?”

Hermione looked for a moment as if she was considering how to answer the question.

“They were my best mates before Hogwarts,” she answered, her eyes unfocusing over his shoulder.

“Oh. I suppose I never thought much about your life before Hogwarts.” His brow furrowed. “Do you still talk with them?”

“No.”

He watched her expression carefully, waiting for her to elaborate.

“We all grew up on this block—they were my neighbors growing up and we spent every day together from diapers until primary school. That is, until my magic kicked in.” She looked solemn. “You remember what it was like having uncontrolled magic as a kid? Imagine that but not understanding what was happening to you. They were my closest friends and then one day they weren’t my anything. It was devastating to see them playing without me. Then when they saw me, they would run away like they were afraid of me. Like I was a freak.”

Draco’s stomach fell at her words; he had never considered what it would be like, feel like, to have magic and not know when the signs came. He had always assumed that anyone would be ecstatic to find out they were magical. He had not considered the loss that could come from magic. He reached for her hand, grasping it in his as he listened.

“Anyway, when I got my Hogwarts letter, I was so excited. I could not believe my luck—I wasn’t a freak, I was magical! I picked up my books and I read everything I could to integrate myself into the wizarding world where I could finally be normal. Then…” she faltered; her eyes grew misty.

“Then you had to deal with people like me,” he supplied.

She turned to him. “Like you used to be,” she amended. “But yes. It turns out I was a freak in both worlds. That’s when I learned it was not the world I was in, Muggle or wizarding, it was just me.”

“Hermione…” Draco squeezed her hand. “Look at me.”

Hermione looked up, blinking away her tears.

“In no world are you a freak. I’m sorry. I am so sorry. I know that part of your suffering was caused by me and I hate myself for it.”

“You were just saying what others were thinking. Not Muggle enough for the Muggle world, not witch enough for the wizarding world,” Hermione stated bitterly.

“Merlin, I can’t believe you had to go through all that. Is that what happens to all Muggleborns?”

She shrugged. “It’s pretty much the same story underneath the details—finding out you have magic when your parents have no clue that magic really exists is scary for any kid. Eleven is so young—too young to enter an unknown world with so little guidance. That’s why I keep telling you there should be a way for Muggleborns to learn about wizarding culture. You felt lost talking with my parents tonight, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Draco conceded. “They used so many words I had never heard of. It felt a bit like a new language to be honest. It didn’t feel great when I tried to relate to them and they laughed at me, that’s for sure.”

“Imagine that, but you’re only eleven, you have no idea of even fundamentals in the new world that you’re thrown into without your family and you’re expected to just pick it up alongside peers who have grown up in that world their entire life. Imagine people laughing at you for asking questions that they think are ridiculous because they’ve known the answer for as long as they could talk.”

Draco exhaled deeply. “I can’t. I can’t even imagine,” he said. “When did you—"

The door to the dining room opened back up, and her parents returned carrying a cake stand.

“Who wants cake?” Mr. Granger smiled widely.

“ Wow , Mrs. Granger, I cannot believe that you made something this delicious without magic,” Draco marveled as he finished his serving of dessert. “What did you say this is called again?”

“Mocha chocolate icebox cake.” Mrs. Granger smiled, cutting Draco another slice. “It’s my gran’s recipe, and please, I think we know each other well enough that you can call me Jean.”

“Well Jean, it tastes like magic.” Draco nodded seriously, accepting another serving. “And I should know.”

“Draco has quite the sweet tooth, he loves anything and everything chocolate,” Hermione added thoughtfully as she took another bite of her slice.

Mrs. Granger beamed under the praise. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

Draco fought back a smile at the thought, next time, they wanted him back for a next time. He thought back to Theo’s words smugly, he did not fuck it up.

“Sweet tooth? And you’re dating the daughter of dentists?” Mr. Granger drawled in a teasing fashion. “Bad form, Draco, bad form.”

“I’ve missed you so much,” Hermione lamented as she hugged her parents. “I wish we could stay longer.”

“Well, you’re welcome back any time. If it wasn’t obvious, we absolutely adored having you, Draco.” Hermione’s mother pulled him into an all-encompassing hug. Draco stiffened before returning the embrace—even his own parents did not hug him. He found that he could get used to receiving so many hugs.

“It was great to meet you, Draco. Be good to Hermione,” her father chuckled, hugging him as well. This time, Draco did not stiffen before hugging back.

“For the road.” Mrs. Granger handed Draco a glass container filled with leftover cake. “Come back soon!”

Hermione looked to the street where her taxi was waiting as her parents closed the door behind them. They stood alone on the porch in silence.

“I think that went rather well—"

His words were cut off by Hermione’s lips as she threw her arms around his neck; he held on to his container of cake with one hand and put the other around her waist to steady himself.

Hermione kissed him enthusiastically. “I cannot believe how well that went. They loved you! You made my mum blush . My dad hugged you.”

“I know.” Draco gave a slight smirk. “I was there. Can we please talk about what a complete joke ‘Muggle Studies’ was as a course? I feel like that did absolutely nothing to prepare me for tonight. Also, not that I’m complaining about this kiss, but I don’t think they’ll continue to love me if they catch me snogging their daughter in front of their house. What is it you always say…rain check?”

“Rain check.” Hermione grinned, rubbing part of her lipstick off his lip with her thumb.

The taxi honked impatiently from the road and Hermione looked back to Draco. “That’s me, I’ll see you back at school?”

Draco leaned in for one more quick kiss. “See you back at school.”

He watched as the taxi departed before pulling out his wand, the Knight Bus appeared to pick him up. Draco took one last look at the Granger home before boarding.

“You were so close last week, I even saw vapors; you just need a bit more practice,” Hermione urged Draco with an encouraging smile.

“This is bloody frustrating,” Draco complained. “I’m not going to get it. We have been doing this for weeks and the best I’ve been able to conjure is a little blotch of silver.”

“You’re overthinking it. You need to think less and focus more on feeling. Come here.” Hermione beckoned with a wave of her hand.

She placed her hands on his shoulders and faced him. “Close your eyes,” she instructed. “Take a deep slow inhale…and exhale. Good. Try a different memory this time. Bring yourself back into your happiest moment—relive the emotions, remember the smells, the tastes, the feelings.”

Draco’s eyes squeezed shut, he leaned into the feel of Hermione’s hands on him, inhaling her perfume; he felt a stirring in his chest as he focused on his memory, as vivid as the day it happened. “ Expecto Patronum !”

Silver vapor poured out of the tip of his wand, billowing around them and slowly taking shape.

“Draco…” Hermione’s voice thickened with emotion. She swallowed. “ Expecto Patronum ,” she whispered as her Patronus took shape, soaring out of the tip of her wand.

He wrapped his arms around her torso from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder and kissing her neck gently. She placed her hands on his arms, holding him. The two stood together in silence, watching as a pair of silvery otters danced around the room together.

March-April

Year 5

Draco dipped a quill into the inkpot next to him, scratching out the previous line from his parchment. He was only halfway done and already sick of writing his essay for Charms. It was the last assignment due in the course before he had to begin studying for his upcoming O.W.L.s.

Suddenly, a newspaper was thrust into his peripheral, completely derailing his train of thought. He looked up at the source of the intrusion with a glare. Luna Lovegood stood in front of his table, wearing a bright purple jumper, navy blue skirt, striped purple leggings, and earrings shaped like plums.

He leaned back in his chair, baffled. Luna was obviously offering the newspaper to him. Though Hermione had told him stories about Luna, he could not remember a single time when he ever spoke to her directly; to say he was surprised to see her in front of him was an understatement.

“Yes?” he asked, unsure of how to interact with her.

“You may be interested in page eight,” Luna added with a knowing smile, her voice light and airy. “I think it’s all rather romantic, though I’m not the least bit surprised. She said I was mistaken, but I knew I saw them.”

She?

Draco inspected the newspaper in his hands. It was the March edition of a magazine called The Quibbler . He had heard of this publication from his father; according to him, it was nothing but rubbish and conspiracy theories.

On the front page in large bold letters it read:

HARRY POTTER SPEAKS OUT AT LAST: THE TRUTH ABOUT HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED AND THE NIGHT I SAW HIM RETURN

Neither Hermione or Theo had mentioned that Harry was going to sit down for an interview with the newspaper. Draco made a mental note to ask her about it later.

Glancing up at Luna, who nodded encouragingly, Draco flipped through the pages until he found page eight.

Blibbering Humdingers and You

What You Need to Know About Soulmate Bonds

Draco froze, rereading the title before looking at Luna, “Why do you think I care about…”—he looked back at the newspaper—“Blibbering Humdingers?”

Luna tilted her head curiously, her light voice declaring, “I saw them, of course, in the Great Hall. Around you and Hermione Granger. Like I said, it’s all rather romantic; I haven’t seen them in person before you two—Daddy was quite excited when I told him. That was his inspiration for the article.”

He sucked in a breath at her words. “Me? And that annoying swot?” he tried to sneer. “You really are loony, aren’t you?”

She studied him, undeterred by his words. “Curious, she pretended to be confused, as well. You don’t have to worry. I won’t tell anyone, but you should really get them under control unless you want others to find out. It’s rather obvious when you have the right tools.” She shrugged, lowering a pair of square blue and green lensed glasses onto her nose and adjusting them.

Draco watched as she danced away from his table, humming quietly to herself. His heart pounded nervously in his chest as he looked back down at the article, skimming the contents.

Throughout the history of wizardkind, there have been legends and myths around the bond of two souls, more commonly known as soulmates.

Thousands of years ago, Greek witches and wizards believed that magical beings were born with four arms, four legs, one head with two faces, and one core source of magic. These beings were then split into two by ancient powers who feared their combined magical ability. The halves were condemned to spend the rest of their lives in search of the other. When reunited, they create a force of unimaginable power. Blibbering Humdingers flock to these halves when they are reunited, feasting on their combined energy.

“She immediately felt like home to me, as if we had known each other for years. It felt like we belonged to each other.” –Barwick Thontan

Draco closed the paper, eyeing around the library to ensure that he and Luna had not been overheard. He promptly packed away his quill, ink, and parchment, deciding to go to the Come-and-Go Room for his meeting with Hermione early.

Along his path, he passed the stone wall which held nearly a hundred Educational Decrees; Filch was presently nailing a new posting onto the wall.

Any student found in possession of the magazine The Quibbler will be expelled.

Draco made a face, quickly folding his copy and shoving it into his bag as he hurried to the seventh floor.

“So, The Quibbler .” Draco looked to Hermione seriously as she entered the room.

“Hello to you, too,” she mused, dropping her bag onto the floor next to the door.

Her face lit up. “You saw the article? I wasn’t sure at first but I’m glad Harry did it—even though Umbridge was furious . The bad news is that he has another week of detention from it, and he’s banned from future Hogsmeade trips. That hag.” Hermione scowled. “Either way, you wouldn’t believe the number of letters he received this morning from readers. I think he swayed some minds with it! One reader even said they canceled their Daily Prophet subscription after reading his interview.”

“Did you happen to read page eight?” he inquired, raising an eyebrow.

“Page eight?” Hermione’s brow creased. “No, I only read Harry’s interview. I don’t believe I’m the target audience for the usual content of The Quibbler. ”

“You might want to read page eight.” Draco unfolded the newspaper and handed it to Hermione, watching as she scanned the contents.

“Blibbering Humdingers?” She let out a small gasp of recognition. “Luna told me about these after the D.A. a few months back, said she saw them around us. I thought she was on her usual ramblings, but after reading this, I feel like there is more to it than that…soulmate bonds? Do you think she knows?”

Draco sighed. “I think she might, or at least knows a part of it. It’s pure luck that no one takes her seriously because of rubbish like this.” He gestured to the paper. “She gave it to me in the library, said she saw them flying around us and that it’s ‘quite romantic’.”

Hermione nervously chewed her lip. “I’ll talk with her, set the record straight.”

“Are you going to tell her about the Black family bond?” he asked. “She said in the library that she wouldn’t tell anyone about our…Blibbering Humdingers.” He shook his head at the absurdity of this conversation.

“I mean… I might, is that alright? It might be nice to have someone to talk with…and like you said, no one really takes her seriously so even if she did tell, I can’t see anyone believing her,” Hermione reasoned.

Draco smirked. “Yeah, not sure many people would believe that one-third of the Golden Trio is magically soulbonded to me.”

She rolled her eyes. “That name is really ridiculous. I should have kept Rita in the jar for an extra week for that one. Don’t worry about this, I’ll talk with Luna.”

“I would say this has been an odd year for us, but honestly, I don’t think I know what normal is anymore,” he joked.

“Speaking of oddities, how much do you know about the Department of Mysteries?” Hermione asked.

“Why do you always have to do this?” 

Hermione looked offended, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Do what?”

“Ask questions that stress me out.”

She glowered at him, waiting for him to answer her original question.

“Well,” Draco began thoughtfully. “The people who work in it are called Unspeakables, and the department has the word ‘mysteries’ in the title, so no, I don’t know much about it. Why do you ask?”

Hermione huffed. “I was hoping for a bit more than that. I couldn’t find any information in the school library.”

Draco smirked. “Well, my family is well-connected within the Ministry. I don’t know much, but I might still know more than most. My father told me that department operates independently from the others. There was a Minister for Magic in the 1800s who tried to shut down the department and the Unspeakables just ignored him because they didn’t answer to him.”

“Wow,” Hermione marveled. “I can’t imagine what kind of work they must have that they can supersede direct orders from the Minister. Do you have any idea about what they have in there?” 

“I don’t have any details; that’s highly classified—even more classified than money can buy. I just know that the department includes sub-departments for love, space, thought, time, and death. The naming is incredibly vague for a reason, and I have no idea about specifics. Do I even want to know why you’re asking questions about a Ministry department known for holding the biggest secrets of the wizarding world?”

Hermione sighed, fidgeting uncomfortably in place under his stare.

“Granger, don’t tell me you’re going to go and do something stupid with Harry again, are you?” Draco crinkled his forehead in concern.

“Of course not, but Harry’s been having more dreams,” she mumbled. “He’s been seeing the Department of Mysteries.”

Draco sucked in a breath. “Then you should be asking him and not me. If he’s seen the inside of that place, even in a dream, then he’s probably one of a hundred people alive who knows what the department holds. Are these memories from the Dark Lord?”

She nodded, still thinking aloud. “After Arthur Weasley was saved, Voldemort has to know that he and Harry are connected—right? I can’t imagine that a student could figure out their connection without Voldemort at least having suspicions that Harry can see his memories.”

“Oh, he knows,” he confirmed. “He has to know. You can’t command an army of thousands without having at least a bit of wit. From the stories my parents have told me, their connection should terrify Harry if he knows what’s good for him. How are his Occlumency lessons going with Snape?”

“Ehh,” Hermione groaned. “Not well. Harry and Snape don’t get along to begin with because of some sort of childhood rivalry between Snape and Harry’s father, James.”

“Wow.” Draco raised his eyebrows. “Remind me never to get on Snape’s bad side. That’s a long time to hold a grudge.”

“It’s been nearly two decades—I’d say that’s an understatement.”

Though Hermione was a firm believer that Divination was a ridiculous class with no merit, she still felt awful when Harry recounted the story of Umbridge and Trelawney to her while they sat in the Gryffindor Common Room later that week.

“It was pitiful, Hermione, just awful. Trelawney was sobbing—barely able to speak and she was begging to stay. She said Hogwarts is her home and that Umbridge could not sack her. Then Umbridge mocked her for not being able to foresee that coming.” Harry rubbed a hand over his weary face.

Hermione’s face fell in sympathy for Trelawney and the way she’d been treated by Umbridge. “How could that toad do that? I know she has been reaching for more authority at Hogwarts, but even she can’t just unilaterally decide to fire a professor… Can she?”

“She can! Umbridge said the Minister countersigned the order for Trelawney’s dismissal, effective immediately. None of the professors are safe anymore with Umbridge here,” Harry emphasized, a shudder passing through him.

Harry paused. “Thank god Professor McGonagall was there to intercept her. Umbridge apparently didn’t have the authority to ban Trelawney from the grounds, just to sack her from her post. McGonagall brought Dumbledore with her and he said the ability to house or ban from the castle resides with the Headmaster.”

She felt slightly smug listening to Harry; at least Dumbledore could still supersede Umbridge’s authority, if only on a technicality. She wished he could get her to leave Hogwarts completely.

“Who do you think will replace Trelawney? I hope it’s not another Ministry-appointed professor. The last thing we need is another one of those,” Hermione added.

“Well, Dumbledore came with a replacement; he must have known that Trelawney was going to be sacked. Would’ve been nice for him to give her a heads up, though. Either way, do you remember Firenze?” Harry questioned, a glint of mischief in his eye.

“The centaur? From the Forbidden Forest?”

Harry nodded. “That very one. He’s the new Divination professor.”

Hermione’s face lit up with mirth. “Dumbledore appointed a half-human creature as the new Divination professor? Not that Firenze isn’t qualified, but I’m sure Dumbledore had to have known how furious Firenze will make Umbridge when he filled the post. She regularly calls anything not fully human a ‘filthy half-breed’ or a ‘savage animal’ in Defence Against the Dark Arts. I can’t imagine what’s going through her head right now.”

“What a shame that you won’t be there to see it, betcha wish you hadn’t dropped the course now,” Harry teased.

Hermione shrugged. “Still a made-up class.” 

The D.A. was on their third straight week of learning how to cast a Patronus. Hermione offered to help assist Harry in the lesson; she was feeling confident in her abilities after teaching Draco the previous month.

Cho Chang was the first in the D.A. outside of Harry and Hermione to successfully cast a corporeal Patronus. Her Patronus came in the form of a delicate silver swan which swam gently in the air throughout the practicing students.

“Oh, Neville, you’re trying too hard. You need to take a quick breather and then try again,” Hermione encouraged. “Sometimes taking a break can be just what you need to come back with a fresh mind.”

Neville’s shoulders slumped; he had been trying unsuccessfully for the past hour to cast smoke, vapor, anything really.

“I think I’ve got it! I think—oh…” Lavender’s voice called out, suddenly disappointed. “Never mind, I thought I saw something there for a moment.”

“You should try—” Hermione was cut off by a frantic set of burns on her ring, over and over again.

Run

Umbridge

Coming

She gasped, looking over to Harry who was mid-instruction to Seamus Finnigan.

“Harry!” she yelled, not quite sure how to explain why she was so panicked.

His green eyes met hers from across the hall. A crack rang out in the room as Dobby appeared, running over to Harry as quickly as his legs could manage.

“Harry Potter! Harry Potter! She is coming!” he squeaked, his whole body trembling. “Dobby has to warn Harry Potter!”

Harry’s eyes widened in shock and the class around him began to exclaim in fear.

“Who? Umbridge?!” Harry asked anxiously. “Dobby, is it Umbridge? Does she know about us?”

“Yes!” Dobby confirmed, hitting his head with his small fists.

“Harry! We have to go!” Hermione ran up to him, grabbing his arm and tugging. “NOW!”

“Everybody! Run!” Harry bellowed as the students began to sprint to the door of the Room of Requirement and out into the corridor.

Hermione quickly processed their surroundings. They were close enough to run to the Owlery or the library which would provide a better alibi than wandering the corridors aimlessly.

“Come on, Harry!” Hermione called as they slipped through the doorway and into the corridor.

Harry turned back. “Wait, I have to make sure everyone is out before she gets here.” He slipped out of Hermione’s eyesight.

Hermione darted back around the corner to retrieve Harry but stopped dead in her tracks at the sound of a high pitch clearing of a throat. She hid behind a nearby statue, taking quiet shallow breaths and trying not to make any noise. Hermione saw a flash of pink. 

Umbridge had found Harry.

“Stand up, Potter!” Umbridge demanded gleefully. “You won’t get away this time. I know exactly what you’ve been up to! Time to go to the Headmaster’s office. I have someone waiting for you.”

Their footsteps retreated down the corridor in the direction of Dumbledore’s office. Hermione’s heart pounded in her chest, and she tried to control her heavy breathing from the combination of exertion and panic. How had Umbridge found out about Dumbledore’s Army? Did someone betray them?

She looked down to her ring; was Draco nearby? He had been able to warn them, but it was too late for Harry. She hoped Dumbledore would be able to help him; according to the Ministry Decree, their actions  would result in expulsion. Hermione could think of no worse outcome than to be expelled from Hogwarts. Especially now, with Harry’s connection to Voldemort. Having his wand snapped would be a death sentence.

After the footsteps retreated, Hermione sprinted down to the Owlery, hoping to find other members of Dumbledore’s Army. She passed several students on her way, but no one she recognised from their meeting tonight. Finally, she reached the Owlery, her nose wrinkling at the smell of droppings.

“Ron!” Hermione called as spotted him in the corner of the room, feeding a treat to his owl, Pigwidgeon.

“Ron, she caught Harry,” Hermione stated breathlessly.

Ron’s eyes grew wide. “Bloody hell, what do you think she’s going to do to him?”

“I don’t know, but I think they’re with Dumbledore. Let’s get back before she finds us too.”

Together, Ron and Hermione made their way back to Gryffindor Tower. They waited impatiently in the common room, watching the portrait entrance for Harry’s return.

Finally, nearly an hour after he had been caught, Harry stumbled through the opening, looking stunned. Hermione and Ron jumped up from their seats, making their way over to Harry.

“Harry, what happened?” Ron asked. “Everyone else in the D.A. was able to get away, but we couldn’t find you. Hermione said she saw Umbridge take you to Dumbledore’s office.”

Harry collapsed onto the common room sofa, as if his knees had given out beneath him; he looked seconds from tears.

“Dumbledore…” Harry mumbled. “Dumbledore’s gone. The Minister was in his office, and they blamed him for our group. It was because of us that he was sacked. They tried to bring him to Azkaban for conspiring to overturn the Ministry!” He dropped his head between his knees as guilt washed over him. “Dumbledore’s Army. We were fools to name it that.”

“What?! They arrested Dumbledore?” Hermione’s voice raised in alarm.

Harry lifted his head slightly. “They tried to arrest Dumbledore. He and Fawkes burst into a flash of fire and he was gone. Fudge and Umbridge were beyond furious. McGonagall let me leave once they decided it was all Dumbledore’s doing.”

Hermione sat in shocked silence.

“How did they even know where we were?” Ron wondered, his face and neck red with anger. “Does this mean McGonagall is the new headmistress?”

“I doubt they would trust McGonagall after tonight.”

“It was Marietta,” Harry spat bitterly. “Marietta Edgecombe sold us out to Umbridge.”

Hermione gasped. “I knew we shouldn’t have trusted her! Her mother works for the Ministry, but Cho insisted she should join. She told me that Marietta could be trusted.”

“At least she can never hide what sort of person she is, considering she has a rather nice set of boils on her face,” Harry said. “Nice jinx, by the way.”

“Please, ‘Mione, tell me it’s permanent,” Ron pled.

She nodded curtly. “It’s as good as permanent considering I’m not sharing the counter-curse. After what she did to Dumbledore, she deserves worse,” Hermione asserted.

Hermione was so overwhelmed with the outcome of the night she did not even notice her ring burning rapidly.

You okay?

Granger?

Hermione?

Educational Decree Number Twenty-Eight, Dolores Jane Umbridge (High Inquisitor) has replaced Albus Dumbledore as Head of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Draco eyed the latest decree uneasily. He had heard the rumours; they were all over school. Dumbledore had disappeared with Fawkes the phoenix just as the Minister and two Aurors were attempting to arrest him for planning to overthrow the Ministry.

He had heard Pansy bragging about joining Umbridge for the search party to catch members of an illegal club and sprung into action. Draco had sent Hermione messages to her band and then ran up to the seventh floor to try and cover for her if needed. By the time he arrived, the Come-and-Go Room was empty and Harry was halfway to the headmaster’s office with Umbridge. He never heard back from Hermione which left him restless all night.

At breakfast the next morning, everyone was talking about what had happened the night before.

“All I’m saying is that we best stay on her good side,” Pansy said matter-of-factly. “Now that she is the head of the school, she will finally fix everything that decrepit Dumbledore has been mismanaging for years.”

“Head of the school?” Daphne Greengrass scoffed. “I heard that Dumbledore’s office locked itself and won’t let her in. She may be head of Hogwarts in name, but she is obviously being rejected by the castle itself.”

Pansy glared at Daphne. “I wouldn’t let her hear you say that, if I were you. I’d hate for anything…unfortunate to happen to you by disrespecting our new Headmistress.”

“Is that a threat?” Daphne reached for her wand, her fingers holding it tightly against her thigh.

“It’s more of a promise. She’s forming an Inquisitorial Squad made up of a select group of students. I know because she’s invited me to join,” Pansy replied, her nose in the air.

“How about we all just calm down and move along?” Theo suggested in exasperation. “This is way too much drama this early in the morning and it’s about time for class anyway.”

Theo looked to Draco who nodded curtly. “I forgot my essay back in my room, I have to grab it before the lecture begins.”

Draco’s eyes wandered back over to the Gryffindor table, looking for Hermione. She was not in her usual seat at breakfast, but he had not heard anything about her being caught with Harry. Hopefully she was with him right now.

When Hermione saw Draco, she was immediately overcome with guilt. She had been so immersed with Harry that she had neglected to thank Draco for his warning. He looked exhausted and had bags under his eyes. Hermione guessed he had not been sleeping well.

“Where have you been?” Draco rushed over to Hermione.

“ I’m so sorry , ever since the whole thing with Dumbledore, Harry has been an absolute wreck. Ron and I have been with him in Gryffindor Tower. He’s blaming himself because we named the club after Dumbledore. He thinks it’s his fault that Dumbledore is gone and that Umbridge has taken over. Plus, he can’t go anywhere without people hounding him for details,” Hermione explained.

“Thank you so much for your warning. We were able to get everyone out and away from Umbridge. Harry was the only exception, and at least he wasn’t expelled for it. Without you, I don’t know if we would have reacted as quickly. How did you know she was coming?”

Draco looked relieved that she had not been purposefully ignoring him.

“I overheard Pansy bragging about the raid. I was so worried the message wouldn’t get to you in time. You realise that Umbridge would have made an example out of you, right?” Draco pointed out.

Hermione nodded solemnly. “I think the only reason Harry was able to leave was because Dumbledore took the blame. I still can’t believe that Dumbledore just accepted responsibility for the club in order to save Harry. Now he’s in hiding, Godric knows where. I’m just grateful you overheard Pansy—and that she’s such a loud gossip.”

Draco made a face. “Speaking of Pansy, she told me Umbridge is starting an Inquisitorial Squad made up of students. Sort of like her own little network of spies running around the castle, ratting on other students and following her orders.”

Hermione’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Draco, that’s perfect!”

He stared. “That’s…not the reaction I was expecting.”

She looked at him. “You have to join! She’s going to give all her information to members of the squad. It’s the perfect way to get firsthand information about her plans and raids!”

His face settled into a sour expression. “I’d really rather not. It sounds like only the worst parts of being a Prefect. Plus, I think I’d rather fight the giant squid than have to spend more time with Umbridge.”

“I understand.” Hermione’s face fell in disappointment. “I know she’s a terror even if she likes you.”

“I mean”— he paused, contemplating silently— “it wouldn’t be the worst , I suppose. It would basically be my regular Prefect duties…”

Hermione squealed in delight, throwing her arms around his neck. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I will take everything you’re able to tell me back to Harry. With any luck, we will get that toad out of Hogwarts before the month is up.”

He hid a smile. “Yeah, yeah, this is obviously all for Potter’s benefit.”

Hermione teased flirtatiously. “Obviously. Don’t think I haven’t seen the chemistry between you, perhaps even a Blibbering Humdinger or two.”

Draco adjusted the new pin on his robes, a shiny silver ‘I’ for the Inquisitorial Squad, feeling uncomfortable. He briefly wondered how Hermione always managed to pull him into her antics. Hopefully he would be able to provide meaningful information to her, otherwise he would be suffering for nothing under the reign of Umbridge—which was feeling more like a dictatorship lately.

He was assigned to patrol, similar to Prefect patrol but without a partner. He was not always fond of his assigned partner for Prefect rounds, but at least he had someone to talk with to pass the time. It was significantly more boring to wander the halls by himself than it was with another student.

The sound of giggling came echoing down the corridor. Draco sighed, mentally preparing himself to break up more teenage snogging. It was by far his least favourite part of patrol and simultaneously the most common part of patrol.

Draco fought back the urge to gasp in outrage—it was Amelia and one of the Slytherin boys who had been bothering her the week prior. His eyes drifted down, they were holding hands and leaning in close as they whispered.

Before he could think twice, Draco was stomping up to the pair, his eyes narrowed in disbelief as he took in the scene before him. They looked up to him in surprise.

“Excuse you! Just what do you think you are doing, young lady?” he asked, cringing inwardly at how much he reminded himself of his father in that moment.

Amelia turned to the confused and slightly frightened Slytherin boy. “It’s okay, Tomas, I’ve got this. I’ll find you later?”

Tomas looked to Draco and back to Amelia before nodding.  He narrowed his eyes in suspicion at Draco as he left the corridor.

“Oh my god, you’re worse than my dad,” Amelia complained, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“That boy is no good,” Draco asserted, pointing at the empty space where Tomas had been. “He just made you cry last week !”

Amelia huffed. “I think you saw it firsthand that I can handle myself if he gets out of line. He’s since apologised for last week, and the month before that. Tomas has never had a girlfriend before and said he was apparently just trying to get my attention—albeit in a moronic way.”

He scoffed. “What type of bloke is rude to a girl to get her attention? You deserve better than that.”

She raised her eyebrows at him. “I don’t know, Draco ,” she replied, stressing his name. “I’ve heard many stories of you and Hermione when you two were my age. From my recollection, you weren’t exactly the nicest to your girlfriend.”

Draco grumbled. “That was different…”

“Hmm. I’m sure it was. Do you know how Tomas and I started talking?” she asked dryly. “Every morning after breakfast, he sits in the same windowsill by the Great Hall to read. It just so happened that someone placed a sticking charm on it this week. Would you happen to know anything about that?”

He looked away. “I’m a Prefect and on the Inquisitorial Squad now. I can neither confirm nor deny my involvement.”

“You’re saying it wasn’t you who stuck him to the windowsill and charmed a bucket to drop honey and catnip on him just as Mrs. Norris was doing her rounds with Filch?”

“I can neither—”

“—confirm nor deny, got it.” She let a small smile creep onto her face. “Either way, thank you. I helped clean him up, scratches at all, and we got to talking. Turns out we have quite a bit in common.”

He shrugged, mumbling, “Kid was being a prat. I hope he made it up to you. And he better not hurt you again—there are worse things that could happen to him than being attacked by a cat.”

“He has apologised many times, though I have to admit the catnip idea was brilliant. I may have to use that someday. It’s nice that you stuck up for me. I won’t forget that.” Amelia smiled, giving him a friendly kiss on the cheek. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to go find my boyfriend. He’s quite jumpy around Prefects these days—I wonder why.”

Draco shuddered at the word boyfriend ; kids these days grew up so quickly.

Hermione had cancelled their previously scheduled date night for some unknown reason. She had sent Draco two messages to his ring.

Busy tonight

Sorry

Draco had not heard of anything big happening with the Gryffindor trio and hoped that meant she was staying out of trouble. After her line of questioning about the Department of Mysteries, his mind raced whenever she was off with Harry and Ron. He impatiently waited for the weekend to meet with her.

“How was your week?” Draco asked, trying to seem disinterested.

“It was fine, I had class, some homework, Harry had a few more dreams, and we met Hagrid’s giant brother in the forest. Oh, I had a new set of quills delivered from Scrivenshaft's via owl.” She glossed over the list.

“I think I went momentarily deaf; would you like to repeat that? You met a giant?” Draco asked, aghast. “ Hagrid has a giant for a brother, and he lives in the Forbidden Forest?”

“Stop, don’t be so judgmental. He’s quite shy, actually, and even though he’s a giant, he was really gentle when he picked me up.”

“I can just tell being with you is going to age me so quickly,” Draco muttered, pulling a hand through his hair. “I have so many questions, but can I start by asking why you let him pick you up?”

She waved a hand dismissively. “It wasn’t intentional. He didn’t know any better. Don’t worry, he put me down as soon as I asked; plus, he’s not exactly the first large creature I’ve encountered. In first year, there was this troll… Ugh he was the worst. I would take Grawp any day. At least I could reason with him.”

“What. The hell. Hermione.”

She sniffed haughtily. “I’ll have you know I live a full and exciting life outside of my relationship with you.”

A plain barn owl swooped down in front of Hermione, waving its leg at her. She untied the envelope, spearing a sausage onto her fork and offering it to the owl who accepted it with a happy hoot before flying away.

Hermione looked at the envelope, perplexed; it was labeled like it had been sent by her parents, but the handwriting was completely different. The handwriting did look familiar, it looked almost like—she paused that thought, realising the envelope had a hard piece of metal in it. She glowered over at the Slytherin table; why was her boyfriend so impossibly stubborn?

Ripping the envelope, she withdrew the coin, slipping it back into her pocket.

“What’d ya get?” Ron asked, his mouth stuffed with pie.

“A Galleon mailed by my parents,” she said through clenched teeth. “I must have forgotten it at home during my last visit.”

Ron grumbled, “Wish my mum would just randomly send me money.”

“Are we going to form any study groups this year?” Harry asked, looking worried as he glanced over his schedule, “Surely even Umbridge can’t prevent us from congregating in the library at the same time to study for a class. Astronomy is going to be the death of me with that star chart.”

Ron agreed eagerly. “These are the only tests that matter. O.W.L.s are coming up and if we want to be Aurors, we have to make sure to do well so we qualify for the right classes next year.”

“ You two want to be Aurors, not me,” Hermione corrected. “But yes, we should make study groups. In fact, Professor Babbling specifically recommended them during class last month.”

“If Umbridge gets her knickers in a twist, we can tell her that we have permission from Babbling,” Harry muttered.

“Can we not talk about Umbridge’s knickers?” Ron asked, making a face of disgust.

“I can create an itinerary and schedule tonight!” Hermione added.

“Well, I’m not sure I want you creating the schedule or we’ll be doing nothing but studying. I’m surprised that Madam Pince isn’t charging you rent based on how much time you spend in the library on the weekends!” Ron chortled at his own joke.

Hermione cleared her throat, thinking back to her days and nights with Draco where she was most certainly not studying. “Yep, you know me…always in the library.”

As she was leaving the library after the first session of their O.W.L. study group, Hermione heard a faint hissing sound nearby.

She paused before announcing, “I’ll be there shortly. I forgot that there was a book I needed to pick up for Ancient Runes.”

Breaking from the rest of the group, Hermione found her way to a rarely used corner of the library where a smirking Draco Malfoy was waiting for her.

“Hi, love,” he murmured, pulling her into a kiss.

“Draco, what are you doing here?” she asked, looking around anxiously.

“Just wanted to give you this,” he announced, pulling out a basket from behind him.

She smiled widely, looking down in his hand. “And what is that?”

“It’s a ‘ my girlfriend gets immersed in studying and I probably won’t see her for weeks ’ bag of study treats. Sugar quills, chocolate fudge—I may have taken a bite or two from it—extra parchment, and enchanted ear plugs to cancel out noise, along with some other goodies.”

Hermione took the basket gratefully. “You are the best boyfriend ever. But I really need to go. What if someone catches us? You have to admit that we have a really bad track record with this kind of thing.”

“It’ll be fine. No one uses this part of the library anyway.” He frowned.

“That’s not true,” she corrected. “I’ve seen—”

“I think it’s back here. McGonagall said we would be awarded house points if we finished the chapter before class,” a high voice announced, two rows away.

Hermione looked to Draco, whispering, “Told you so!”

As the footsteps grew closer, she panicked, waving her wand and muttering, “ Finestra .”

The wall at the end of the library was suddenly littered with pieces of falling glass; she could hear the sound of confusion near the shattered window.

Draco turned to Hermione, looking incredulous. “Are you kidding me? We talked about this!”

“I had to find a way to distract them!”

“You said no more broken glass.”

She corrected, “I said I would try not to break any more glass. No one is bleeding.” She paused as she listened to the increasing chaos. “I think.”

He glared.

“Hey, I went a lot longer than last year! Don’t be mad at me.f I really did try,” she said quietly, her lower lip protruding.

“Do or do not, there is no try,” Draco said matter-of-factly, giving her a knowing look.

She gasped, pulling a hand to her chest in shock. “Did…did you just quote Star Wars to me?”

Draco suddenly looked self-conscious. “That depends, did I quote it correctly?”

“Yes, you did. I’m just wondering where you heard about Star Wars considering we never watched it together.”

“Well I…I’ve been doing research,” he grumbled, his cheeks turning pink against his pale skin. “Just a bit about Muggle culture since the visit with your parents.”

She looked confused. “Research?”

“Yeah…for next time.”

Hermione’s face broke into a wide smile. “My mum loves Star Wars , especially Han Solo. I think you’ll be ready—for next time.”

He smiled proudly. “Good. Now let’s get out of here before my witch goes crazy and breaks the rest of the glass in the castle.”

“That’s an exaggeration! It’s only happened twice. Also, you’re welcome, because it worked in our favour this time,” she pointed out.

“Great, kid, don’t get cocky,” he teased.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I take it back. I’m already sick of the Star Wars quotes.”

Draco smirked. “I love you.”

She scrunched her nose in delight. “I know.”

May-June

Year 5

As Hermione left her second to last exam, she felt a wave of relief crash over her. Part of her could not help but obsessively wonder what score she would receive in the examination, but there was something comforting in the fact that it was complete and she had no more control over the outcome. Having spent months preparing and the past couple weeks studying, Hermione felt confident that she had done well during the written and practical exams so far. She only had one O.W.L. left and she was not nervous. It was for History of Magic which was one of her best classes.

Hermione unfolded the message she had received from Draco in her study basket, quickly rereading it with a smile.

You’re brilliant, you’re amazing, you’re going to receive an O in every O.W.L.

Please don’t study too hard, make sure to take breaks and eat. I’ll send Pinky after you if I have to—and stop rolling your eyes at this message. It was written with love.

PS- Sorry I ate some of the fudge.

She folded the paper, slipped it into her pocket, and turned towards the empty doorway before her with a quill in her hand. Hermione took a deep breath and exhaled determinedly; she was ready to take her final exam of fifth year.

Draco fiddled with his quill from the back of the Great Hall, staring at the massive hourglass behind Professor Marchbanks.

“I can’t believe they saved History of Magic for last,” Blaise grumbled. “They scheduled the most boring exam for after lunch—they’re just asking us to fall asleep.”

Theo made a face. “I’m just glad for this to be over. I’m sick of studying. What do you even do with the information you learn from History of Magic?”

“Quiet down! Examinations will begin shortly,” Professor Marchbanks declared, his voice echoing through the Great Hall as he amplified his words.

“Use it to teach History of Magic,” Blaise whispered, answering Theo’s question with a smirk.

Marchbanks waved his wand. “You may begin.”

The blank parchment in front of Draco filled with words, and he scanned through the questions. His stomach settled when he realised that he knew all the answers for the first page. Half of the questions he had heard Hermione talk about during their study dates. In fact, he distinctly remembered Hermione mumbling about number three in her sleep last month.

He dipped his quill in the ink pot on his desk before scribbling his first answer.

The International Confederation of Wizards was founded by Pierre Bonaccord in the 1600s. He was the first appointed Supreme Mugwump and famous for his stance on Troll rights. The warlocks of Liechtenstien had a long history of conflict with the Troll communities adjacent to their city and did not support Bonaccord’s platform.

Draco paused before continuing, thinking back to Hermione’s story about how she, Ron, and Harry fought a troll in their first year. A small smile pulled at his lips at the thought of Hermione in their first year, with her frizzy hair and big attitude. That first day on the train when she stormed into his life. He blinked, checking the hourglass; he needed to focus—he dipped his quill again.

When he was about halfway through with his exam, there was the sound of a grunt and the scraping of a chair on the stone floor; Draco tore his eyes away from the parchment in front of him and looked to the commotion behind him.

Harry Potter had fallen out of his exam chair, clutching his head and groaning. Draco immediately looked to Theo, whose face had drained of all colour.

Theo was halfway out of his seat before anyone else could react, rushing past several desks and kneeling on the hard floor next to Harry, whispering inaudibly to him. Harry held his own head with both hands.

Suddenly, Professor Tofty appeared next to Harry and Theo. The old wizard dismissed Theo with a pat on the back as he swept Harry out of the Great Hall. The students erupted in chatter as Theo slowly walked back to his seat, looking shaken.

“Told you they were just asking someone to fall asleep,” Blaise chuckled. “Never schedule an exam after lunch.”

Theo snarled, “He wasn’t asleep —"

“Silence!” Professor Marchbanks exclaimed, “You must stay in your seat without talking. If you do not complete your examination during the allotted time period, you will be forced to retake the exam or risk failure of the course!”

The students quieted down, looking nervously between each other—no one was interested in retaking this class.

Draco tried to turn his attention back to his parchment but his mind kept wandering. Harry had been holding his head—or was it his scar? Draco’s stomach flipped anxiously; he hoped it was unrelated to Hermione’s stories about Harry’s mental connection to the Dark Lord.

“And that is time,” Professor Marchbanks announced, referencing the giant hourglass before him.

With a quick wave of his wand, the parchment flew out of Hermione’s hands and into a neat pile at the front of the Great Hall. She looked nervously at Harry’s empty desk, wondering what had caused his outburst.

Professor Tofty had returned after escorting Harry out of the Great Hall and had quietly assured Hermione and Ron that Harry was simply feeling ill from the stress of examinations. She was skeptical that exams were the reason that Harry had collapsed. They had spent the entire morning and lunch together with nothing out of the ordinary. It seemed unlikely he would suddenly fall ill so quickly.

She strode into the corridor, looking around for Ron as she overheard bits and pieces of conversations.

“…hospital wing…”

“—scar!”

“—heard he collapsed—”

“ Harry Potter .”

Increasing her pace, she pushed through the clusters of students who were discussing the recently completed exams and Harry’s disruption in the Great Hall. Ron found her at the exact moment she noticed him.

“Hermione!” Ron jogged up to her. “I don’t believe for a minute what old Tofty said about Harry.”

“Neither do I, it just doesn’t make sense—have you seen him yet?” she questioned, looking around the busy hall.

“Ron! Hermione!” Harry called, sprinting through the crowd, bumping into shoulders and nearly knocking over an unsuspecting third year.

Hermione rushed forward first. “Harry! What happened? Are you actually ill? Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?”

“No—I actually came from the Hospital Wing. Come with me.” He gestured and led them along the corridor to an open classroom.

Shutting the door behind him, he turned to Ron and Hermione. “I had another vision. Voldemort has Sirius in the Department of Mysteries. I saw it.”

Hermione felt the walls of the classroom close in on her as she inhaled sharply. “What?” she asked, trying to process his words.

“He’s going to kill him.” Harry’s face was grave as he continued. “We have to go save him.”

“What is with you two today?” Blaise complained loudly. “We just finished exams! You should be excited! Why do you look like someone spit in your morning tea?”

Theo shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away.

“It’s been a long week, Blaise. I think we are just going to go back to the dungeons to relax. Don’t let us stop you from having a good time, though. I heard there’s an end of year party going on in the Slytherin Common Room tonight.” Draco added, “You should go have fun.”

“I’m not going without my best mates; I need some wingmen!”

“I don’t think we would make good wingmen tonight,” Draco muttered, placing a hand on Blaise’s shoulder. “We will make it up to you, I promise.”

Blaise frowned. “You’re serious?”

Looking to Theo whose face was stone cold, Blaise raised his eyebrows. “Okay, but you owe me one!”

As he walked backwards away from the pair, Blaise called out, “I’m cashing in on that next year, one party owed to Blaise Zabini.”

“What do you think is going on?” Draco asked Theo worriedly, lowering his voice.

“I couldn’t make out much, but when I went to Harry, he said ‘my scar’ and ‘Voldemort’.” Theo hesitated. “Did Hermione tell you about his visions?”

“She did,” he confirmed. “Do you think it happened again?”

“I’ve been with him, during some of those moments when he’s seeing the Department of Mysteries,” Theo sighed. “It looked exactly the same; he had that look in his eye but he was more panicked than usual. I don’t know what he saw.”

“Let me see if Granger responds.”

Draco sent Hermione a message to her band, then a second, third, fifth. When he received no response, he turned to Theo.

Draco hesitated. “I don’t know how to tell you this, mate, but do you remember the second Triwizard task? How I could tell that Granger was far away because of our binding?”

Theo eyed Draco uneasily. “Yes…”

“I think they’ve left the castle.”

Theo and Draco decided to camp out in Theo’s room in the dungeons until Harry and Hermione returned. They commiserated over their shared anxiety.

“Do we go to dinner?” Draco asked, eyeing the time.

“Do you have an appetite?” Theo retorted.

“No.”

“Me either.”

Several tense moments passed. “This was much easier last time,” Theo bemoaned. “We barely had to wait an hour while they were in the second task last year. It’s been, what, four hours now?”

“Four hours and we have no idea where they went. At least they were supervised for the tournament. Where do you think they’re at?”

“I’m not sure. But if they left the castle immediately after our exam then it must be somewhere important, right?” Theo speculated.

“Merlin, if they went and decided to—"

There was a rapid knocking on the door to Theo’s room. He looked to Draco who shrugged in confusion. “Expecting company?”

Theo swung open the door and found Blaise standing there with a giant grin.

“I brought firewhisky!” Blaise declared, holding out a large bottle of Ogden’s Finest.

Theo looked down at the bottle, took it from Blaise, and proceeded to shut the door in his face.

Draco could faintly hear Blaise’s protests from behind the closed door.

“Can’t you Stupefy me again?” Draco pleaded. “I barely had to wait through it last time because I was unconscious.”

Theo was opening the bottle of Ogden’s and paused, glaring at Draco who quickly shut up. He poured two large glasses, handing one to Draco silently.

“Why couldn’t we have taken to some nice Slytherins who wouldn’t put us through this shite?” Draco asked, raising a trembling glass to his lips.

Theo looked down as he took a large swig, grimacing at the taste. “I wonder that every day.”

Draco suddenly bent over, feeling as though his chest was on fire. He dropped the glass and it shattered on the hard dungeon floor.

“What the hell, Draco?” Theo muttered, cleaning up the spill and casting a quick Reparo on the broken glass.

“Something’s wrong,” he wheezed out, using his hands to balance his weight onto his knees.

“Not this again.” Theo tilted his head back in frustration. “Obviously, she’s gone. We know they’re both gone.”

“No,” Draco argued. “It’s different; after we got our rings, I could always feel her. It’s just faint when she’s far away—but right now it feels weak, like it’s damaged. Do you think she’s hurt?”

Theo swore under his breath. “I don’t know. There’s no telling what they’d do, but you must admit they have a penchant for danger. Damn Gryffindors.”

Several glasses of whisky later, Theo and Draco were anything but subdued. In fact, the alcohol was fueling their anxiety.

“I’m just saying, what if we just go find them? You know? Go find them and bring their arses back to the castle?” Draco proposed, his drink sloshing as he gesticulated with the glass in his hand. “We should put trackers on them one of these days.That way when they do shite like this we can at least find them.”

“ Yes, ” Theo agreed enthusiastically. “They need Slytherins to break this habit of almost dying every year. Who ever thought to put all the kids with zero self-preservation in the same house? That’s j-just”—he hiccupped—“just asking for trouble.”

“Merlin knows how they’ve survived this far—did Harry ever tell you about the troll?” Draco asked, his words slurring slightly.

Theo stared, his eyes lidded. “No, he didn’t. I couldn’t be less surprised, though.”

“They—” Draco paused, either he was drunker than he thought, or his band just burned.

We’re safe

So sorry

H&H

Closing his eyes, Draco fell back against the back of the chair. “Granger just sent me a message. Said they’re safe. Said sorry.”

Theo sucked a breath in through his teeth.“What a way to spend a night. Should we take some Pepper-Up Potion and try to get some sleep before our wayward Gryffindors return?”

Draco let out a dry laugh. “Yeah. Sleep. Sure. I’m going to wait in the Room of Req—the Come-and-Go Room for her.”

“Cheers, mate.” Theo raised his glass to Draco, draining the rest of his whisky.

Draco was unable to calm down enough to sleep. Instead, he laid on the sofa in the Come-and-Go-room and waited for Hermione to show up. He jumped at every noise, looking to the door every few minutes.

Finally, just after dawn, the door creaked open. Draco’s legs moved quicker than his consciousness; he was on his way to the door before it was completely open.

“Granger,” he breathed out, relief overwhelming his senses.

She looked at him with wide eyes. His gaze caught on a sliver of irritated skin visible on her chest.

Draco’s hand reached up to touch it, his eyes met hers. “What is this?” His voice was deadly quiet.

“I’m okay. I’ve been healed and I’m completely healthy, it’s okay.” She touched the healing wound.

“Hermione.” Draco’s eyes did not move from the spot, now covered by her hand.

He lifted her hand away, carefully pulling aside her blouse to reveal a deep purple red mark across her chest. He stumbled back, the wind knocked out of him.

“Hermione,” he repeated, his eyes shining as he looked at her, the vein in his jaw protruded.

“It doesn’t even hurt anymore, and it’s going to go away. It won’t scar,” she assured him.

“Are you kidding me? I don’t care about a scar,” he whispered. “ What happened last night ?”

“Dolohov—a curse—the Department of Mysteries,” she mumbled the fragments, unwilling to look him in the eye.

He knew it the moment he felt their bond weaken; she had been hurt—she had been cursed . She could have died. He sucked in a shaky breath.

“After the exam, Harry and I tricked Umbridge into the Forbidden Forest where the centaurs took her away. Then Harry, Luna, Neville, Ginny, Ron, and I went to the Department of Mysteries last night. The vision he had during History of Magic was a false memory—a trap set by Voldemort.”

The cadence of his breathing increased with every word.

“You broke into the Ministry ? Not just that—the Department of Mysteries?! What would ever possess you to do something so utterly moronic?” he questioned, his eyes ablaze. “I don’t know whether to be relieved that you didn’t die or furious you were there to begin with! Do you know what the past day has been like for me? Theo and I have been an absolute mess! We spent the entire night wondering if you two were dead or alive!”

Hermione crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I understand that you were worried, I do, but I don’t appreciate your tone. I had to go, I had to be there for Harry. We had backup—”

“—Fucking Longbottom and Lovegood is not backup! It’s a suicide mission,” he spat.

She blinked quickly as her eyes filled with tears. “But I had—” her voice broke.

Draco faltered; his arms fell to his sides. He took a deep breath, the air expanding his lungs.

“I know, I know, you and that Gryffindor loyalty I’ll never understand.” He looked to the ground. “I’ve never been so fucking terrified in my entire life.”

Her lip quivered.

“Granger.” He wrapped his arms around her. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

She nodded into his shoulder.

“Did you miss the part where I told you the centaurs took Umbridge in the Forbidden Forest?” she mumbled. “I’m pretty proud of that part. It was a really satisfying end to the year.”

He kissed her curls, resting his chin on the top of her head. “Just stop talking for a moment and let me hold you, okay? I just really need this right now.”

They embraced in silence for several minutes; the only audible sounds were their breathing and the crackle of the fireplace. 

Finally, Draco led her over to the sofa where they sat down. He pulled her legs across his lap, his hands resting on her thighs.

He sighed, his eyes closed. “I’m ready. Tell me the whole story. What happened?”

Hermione picked at her nails nervously as she retold the story of her night. “Well, remember how we talked about the Department of Mysteries and Harry’s visions? The rooms were always empty until his last vision. He saw his godfather, Sirius Black, being tortured by Voldemort in the Department of Mysteries. I told him it had to have been a trap, but he didn’t listen to me. I tried to get him to listen to me.”

“It was obviously a trap,” he grumbled, his hand tightening on her leg.

“He tried to Floo call Sirius from Umbridge’s office and she caught us.”

“She thought we were trying to call Dumbledore and then she tried to use Veritaserum and the Cruciatus Curse on Harry.”

“Fucking Umbridge.”

“I lied and told her we had a secret weapon in the Forbidden Forest, which is how we lured her out there. The centaurs did the rest of the work. Honestly, I have no idea where she is right now. We rode thestrals to the Ministry and broke into the Department of Mysteries. I can finally tell you what’s in there,” she added uncomfortably. “Though we mostly spent our time in the Hall of Prophecy. That’s where we found the Death Eaters.”

Draco held his breath as she continued. His chest felt heavy at the words, Death Eaters.

“Your aunt was there,” her voice cracked. “She—” Hermione swallowed. “She murdered Sirius Black.”

He slowly rubbed circles into her leg as she spoke, his eyes crinkling at the corners in concern.

She hesitated. “Your father was there, too. I saw him. I could recognize his voice and hair behind the mask.”

Draco inhaled sharply, feeling as though he was hit in the gut. She just confirmed his suspicions that his father was actively taking orders from the Dark Lord. His father could have killed Hermione. He felt a rage boil under his skin at the thought, the feeling second only to his desire to protectively take Hermione in his arms and never let her leave his sight again.

“There’s something else,” she whispered, her voice almost inaudible. “When everyone was battling in the Hall of Prophecy, I found an old prophecy, tucked near the back. It felt like it called to me. I didn’t know how or why but I was drawn to it. The prophecy was marked for the fifth of June.”

His breath caught in his throat. “My birthday?”

“The exact night of your birth—1980,” she added quietly.

“What did it say?” Draco asked uneasily, not convinced that he wanted to know the answer.

She closed her eyes as she recited the eerie words that haunted her thoughts. “ A bond forged of blood and desperation will forever change hearts and minds—the final blow at the last hour to the one who has never known love, twice befallen by the love of a mother. ”

Draco felt the air leave his lungs all at once.

Hermione opened her eyes, they were filled with fear. “It was unmarked, unidentified, but I think it’s about us.”

“The final blow at the last hour to the one who has never known love,” Draco repeated, mulling over the words. “What do you think that means?”

“I have no idea,” she admitted. “The one who has never known love ? That could mean so many forms of love. Does it mean romantic love? Familial love? Brotherly love? How could our bond be a final blow to anything?”

After a pause, she turned to him. “Draco, your father was there. He saw me holding the prophecy. I dropped it and ran; it was glass and the fall destroyed it, but he saw me and the date of the plaque.”

“You and glass,” Draco quipped.

Hermione sighed. “Love, he saw that the prophecy was for your birthday. I think we have kept this secret long enough.”

He turned away from her; his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“Draco,” Hermione started.

“No.” He shook his head quickly. “Absolutely not.”

“We have to tell him.”

Draco felt the rushing sound of his blood echoing in his ears at her words and swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat.

She gently caressed his cheek with her thumb. “We can’t hide it forever. Love, it’s time.”

He covered her hand with his, closing his eyes; he paused for several moments before nodding.

“You said Umbridge is gone, right?”

“Yes,” Hermione confirmed.

“Her office is empty? The one with a fireplace connected to the Floo Network?”

“Yes.” The corner of Hermione’s mouth perked up. “Astute observation, my love. Shall we?”

“Malfoy Manor.” Draco wrapped one arm protectively around Hermione as he threw the Floo Powder down; green flame enveloped the couple as they disappeared from the fireplace in Umbridge’s office.

Narcissa’s heels clicked on the wooden floor as she quickly approached the receiving room. The familial blood wards triggered upon Draco’s arrival. If Narcissa could sense Draco, so could Lucius, and she had an inkling that Draco was not alone.

She opened the door to the receiving room just as Draco and Hermione were patting off soot that stuck to their clothes from the trip. She let out a breath of relief that she found the pair before her husband.

“Draco, Hermione, what are you doing here?” Narcissa asked sharply, looking over her shoulder. “Your father is home.”

“Hermione told me about the Department of Mysteries, Mother,” Draco said, his tone accusatory. “She told me about Father.”

Narcissa looked to Hermione remorsefully. “I am so sorry about that. They should be ashamed, attacking children like that—no matter what the mission was from the Dark Lord.”

“We need to tell Father,” Draco asserted. “What if this happens again? What if Father…” He looked to Hermione and back to Narcissa. “What if he doesn’t know about the bond and he hurts her? I would never forgive him.”

Narcissa waited a beat, weighing the options in her head.

A low voice drawled from behind Narcissa, stepping into view. “Would somebody like to explain to me exactly what is going on in my home?”

Lucius Malfoy looked at Draco who stepped protectively in front of Hermione, one arm reaching behind him to hold her and the other grasping his wand defensively. Lucius tilted his head as he surveyed his son and Hermione with a scathing look.

His eyes focused on the hand that Hermione had placed on Draco’s arm and his mouth tightened into a straight line. “Narcissa. A word?”

Narcissa looked to Draco and Hermione, giving them a small nod. “Take her into the parlour. We will join you shortly.”

“What the hell is going on, Narcissa? Why is she in our home?” Lucius paused. “Even better question, why do you not look surprised that our son is touching the Mudblood ?” he spat, his tone seething vitriol.

“I knew this day would come but I had hoped it would be under more ideal circumstances,” Narcissa admitted. “Will you please sit?”

“Absolutely not. You will tell me what is going on before I curse it out of our son myself.”

Narcissa sighed deeply. “Very well, you deserve to know. After all, you are one of the few people who knew Bella before…who truly knows what happened to her.”

Lucius’ entire body tensed, his eyes narrowed. “Narcissa. You didn’t.”

She straightened her posture. “I did. Andromeda and I did,” she amended. “The night he was born.”

“You’re telling me that you took our heir, our only child, and cast the binding on him without telling me?!” His voice rose uncharacteristically in outrage as he began to pace. “You lied to me! Of all the idiotic, bullheaded things you could have done… the girl...” Lucius stopped abruptly. “It is the girl?”

Narcissa looked away, unwilling to make eye contact.

Lucius slammed his cane down in frustration. “ How ? How is it her ? How do you know?”

“Lucius, there is no doubt in my mind. It is her. It has always been her.”

“But she is a Mud—”

“Muggleborn,” Narcissa interjected. “Yes. I am aware.”

He bristled at the correction. “You have put me in a terrible position, I hope you know that. I will write to Yaxley, and he will have this little problem resolved by morning.”

“Resolved? What do you intend to do?” she asked, alarmed at his suddenly calm demeanor.

“He will dispose of the girl; it is of little matter. That school is a death trap waiting to happen. Yaxley is skilled at creating ‘accidents’ and no one will be the wiser. She will simply be the victim of a tragic accident while celebrating the end of the school year. Then Draco can go on to marry a pureblood wife of our choosing and he will continue the family line as was always the plan.”

“No, Lucius, absolutely not!” Narcissa contended. “You cannot do that to him. He will never forgive you.” She paused. “He loves the girl. I have seen it myself.”

“ Love ? We have no room for love ; you do realise we are at war? She is not only the opposing side—she is the best friend of Harry fucking Potter and quite possibly the most famous Mudblood at Hogwarts because of it . ” He threw his cane down in anger. “I am trying to save us. I can still fix this before it is too late.”

“It is already too late,” Narcissa murmured. “They are connected as I have never seen before. They have become one. Lucius, you cannot hurt her without destroying any relationship you have with your son.”

Lucius finally sat down, closing his eyes. “Narcissa, how could you have let it get this far? How could you let them entertain the idea that they could be anything ? You and I know they can never be and to pretend otherwise is a fool’s dream.” Lucius’ voice filled with wrath. “You have ruined his life.”

“How dare you?” Her voice shook with rage. “ I have saved his life. ”

“You realise his connection to her is diametrically opposed to everything we believe in? Everything we have ever known? Against our entire mission with the Dark Lord? The position you have put me in is impossible. How am I supposed to carry out his will knowing that my own wife and son are off cavorting with Mudbloods? That my own wife and son are Blood Traitors? ” He spat the words.

A slap cut through the air. Narcissa stood with her hand out as Lucius’ cheek grew red from impact.

“I would rather be a Blood Traitor than continue down this path you have brought us on.” Her voice dripped with disdain. “If you cannot move past this, then you will lose us both.”

Several moments passed.

He finally broke the silence. “I have been in talks with the Greengrass family for Draco’s marriage after Hogwarts. I fully intend to bring this courtship to fruition. Though it is not ideal, given the circumstances, I feel I could be moved to look past it. Draco would not be the first Lord Malfoy to have a mistress on the side while still doing his duty to provide pureblood heirs,” Lucius conceded. “Though precautions would have to be taken to ensure he does not sire filthy bastards with the Mudblood.”

“I am going to let this momentary lapse of sanity go because I know that you are in shock, but you must never mention that asinine idea to our son. Or to Hermione, for that matter,” she said coolly.

He inhaled sharply at Narcissa’s words as his lips contorted in revulsion. “ Hermione? Since when do we address Mudbloods as equals?”

“Lucius…If it were not for her blood, I truly believe you would come to like her,” Narcissa argued. “She is top of her class, brilliant actually, despite her upbringing.”

Lucius scoffed in disbelief. “Do not try to sway me when you know what this has done to us. I cannot believe you lied to me for years . I will never forgive you—or Draco—for keeping this from me. I do not care what she has accomplished. She could be the fucking Minister for Magic and she would still be the absolute worst thing to ever happen to this family.”

Narcissa watched him silently as he fumed.

He stood up decisively. “He is not yet of age. We still have time. We can change his mind; he is still impressionable.”

Narcissa bluffed, “He has expressed to me that he would rather give up the family name and inheritance than agree to marry another. He will not leave her, certainly not for the Greengrass girl.”

He closed his eyes in irritation, mulling over the concept of disowning his only heir. “Oh, Cissa. There are many things I have done that I am not proud of, but at least they were all done for the good of the family. What good is it all if there is no family anymore?” Lucius turned to her seriously. “How will we ever survive this?”

She reached for his hand, gently stroking his sore cheek. “We are Malfoys. We always survive. We will survive this as Malfoys always have, as a family.”

Draco paced the parlour for the hundredth time since his parents left. Hermione hesitantly reached for his arm.

“It’s going to be okay,” she mumbled into his chest, feeling the rapid pounding of his heart against her cheek.

“You know what? Fuck him,” Draco growled, his voice low. “I know what he’s saying to my mother right now. I saw the look of disgust in his eyes when he looked at you.”

He tapped his hand anxiously against his thigh as he shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“If he asks me to pick, him or you, you know that I would pick you, right?” Draco muttered.

Hermione tightened her arms around him. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. He’s still your father.”

The doorknob to the room clicked as it twisted open, the door creaking softly.

She stepped away from Draco, but he wrapped his arm back around her waist, tugging her against him. Hermione felt his fingers tighten against her hip possessively as he watched the doorway.

Narcissa Malfoy stepped through, looking as if she had aged several years since they saw her in the receiving room.

“Pinky is bringing tea, if you would like to stay.” Narcissa gestured politely to the table. “Your father will not be joining us.”

Hermione chewed the inside of her cheek. “Did you tell him?”

Narcissa flicked her eyes to Hermione. “Yes. He is not speaking to me at the moment, but we have been through worse.”

“I want to talk with him,” Draco insisted. “I need him to understand.”

“Oh, Draco,” Narcissa tutted softly. “My sweet son. I know you mean well, but your father needs time to process. He is not ready to talk with you. You must understand, I have known about Hermione for years and you have—in a way—always known. Your father has known less than twenty minutes. He needs time.”

“His entire worldview just shifted,” Hermione agreed, feeling woozy at the thought. “Was he furious?”

Narcissa pursed her lips. “He will take time. You two were correct. After recent events he should know the full picture. I do believe this complicates family matters significantly. Were you aware that he was in the midst of a marriage contract for you?”

Hermione felt Draco’s body harden as he tensed against her. “No,” he said, his voice strained. “I was unaware of any pre-marital discussions.”

His hand dug into her side and she shifted uncomfortably in place. She suddenly felt lightheaded; his father was arranging Draco’s marriage ? Ever since she found out about the bond, about his feelings, she had never even considered a future where they did not end up together.

All at once, she realised how completely naive she had been—a child, really. Between their secret meetings, playing house last summer, and dinner with her parents, somewhere along the line she had forgotten that this was his past, present, and future. He was a Pureblood of noble birth, of titles and fortune.

Sacred Twenty-Eight.

His entire existence up to this point had been preparation for a future that Hermione did not fit into. She was the triangle piece to the square hole of his life. He was destined to graduate Hogwarts, to marry a beautiful and refined Pureblood wife, to have Pureblood babies that he would raise in their society; he would take over the family business and eventually become Lord of Malfoy Manor. He and his Pureblood wife would host galas and charity auctions together, Sunday tea with their families.

Where was there room for Hermione? Where did she fit in their plan? There was no room for her advocacy, her aspirations to work at the Ministry, for her Muggle parents or her love of reading and quiet Sundays by the lake. 

There was no room in his future for her.

She felt the room spin around her as Narcissa and Draco talked, their words becoming ambient noise that blurred together as she blinked slowly, trying to balance herself.

Narcissa’s voice called out as Hermione felt herself tipping backwards. Draco guided her to the small sitting chair next to them. She placed her head between her knees as she gasped for air.

“Hermione?!” Draco’s voice sounded panicked and broke through the buzzing in her ears.

“I’m okay,” she declared. “I just need a moment to breathe, I’m okay—I promise.”

She felt her stomach turn, she was going to be sick.

Out of her peripheral, Hermione saw Draco and his mother share a worried look.

He said something to his mother. His words were fuzzy in her mind.

“…panic attack…cursed…”

She pinpointed the words, squeezing her eyes shut as she shook her head.

Hermione felt the pressure of Draco’s arm wrapping around her shoulder, the other under her knees as he carried her back to the receiving room.

“I’m going to take you home,” he murmured softly. She tucked her head against his chest, her lip shivering at his words.

That was impossible, of course, to bring her home when she was in his arms. 

She was already there.

It was the last day of school, and Hermione and Draco had designated a time to meet before the train arrived to bring students home for the summer.

“I wish I could go to the Manor with you again this year,” she lamented. “I bet Charles is getting cocky in my absence.”

Draco fought back a smile. “Can’t have a peacock getting cocky. I’ll keep him in his place, just for you. We can handle a summer apart, knowing that we will be back together next year.”

Hermione’s eyes began to sting as they filled with tears, she looked up at Draco. “I’m going to miss you.”

He wrapped his arms around her fully.

“I got you a surprise.” She gave him a watery smile as she reached into her bag. “I found a way to enchant these notebooks. That way we can have full conversations instead of just a few words on our bands.”

Draco grinned, his eyes lighting up with pride. “Have I ever told you that you’re brilliant? I should tell you that more often.”

“When you write in it, the words will disappear from your side once I open it on my end. Then you will know when I’ve read your letters and I will know when you’ve read mine,” she explained. “It’s like being a quill pal but without owls having to transport the letters back and forth.”

“I’ll write in it every day,” he promised with a kiss to her forehead. “But you, my love, have to go. We are going to be late for the train otherwise.”

Hermione’s shoulders slumped forward. “I know, you’re right. One more kiss before I go?”

“Of course, and a thousand kisses when you’re back,” he promised softly, his lips brushing against hers.

Hermione finished packing the last of her trunk before looking around her empty dorm. Another year had come and gone so quickly. Next year they would be sixth years and taking N.E.W.T. level courses, and she would turn seventeen. She would be a legal adult—no more trace—and she could apparate freely outside of Hogwarts.

She wondered if Draco had found the Galleon that she had slipped into the back pocket of his trousers during their goodbye kiss yet. She was going to win this Galleon war.

“’Mione, you ready?” Ron asked, checking the time.

He and Harry stood up from the common room sofa as she made her way down the stairs from the girls’ dorm with her trunk.

“Ready.” She nodded with a smile.

The night Hermione arrived home, she cracked open her notebook. It was blank. She wrote a couple quick sentences.

Hi love!

I’m excited to have this notebook to talk with you this summer. I wish I could come back to the Manor and we could spend the summer together again. I miss our days in the garden and our nights in the library. Hopefully Pinky makes those chocolate scones for your homecoming, my mouth is watering just thinking about them! I love you and I miss you already. I hope you’re still able to have a great summer, I can’t wait to hear all about it. Tell your mother I say hello!

Love,

H

Before falling asleep, she sent Draco a message to his band with a sad smile, miss you.

She woke up in the morning and opened the notebook with anticipation. It quickly faded, her note from the night before was still on the page. Draco must not have had time to read it on his side, she reasoned, planning to check it again after an outing with her parents.

Hermione tapped her quill impatiently, opening the notebook once more. She was three weeks into summer, and she had nothing. No messages in her notebook from Draco; her messages to him spanned several pages now but were still unread. He had not opened his notebook even once. She glanced down at her ring accusingly; it had not burned since before school ended. She had sent him nearly a dozen messages over the weeks.

You okay? she sent his band. I’m worried about you

She waited several minutes before sending, talk to me?

Hermione sent him another plea, the last message she would send him that summer.

Please 

Silence.

September-October

Year 6

Hermione's summer had been rather ordinary. She spent the first month with her parents and then stayed with the Weasleys and Harry. She still brought her notebook with her to the Burrow in case she received word from Draco, but there had been nothing but silence.

Then there were the nightmares. She had been plagued by night terrors of darkness filled with the sound of Draco crying out in pain. Hermione shivered, the hair on her arms raising at the thought. Her mind had been playing sinister tricks on her all summer.

Fidgeting in her seat on the carriage, she was unable to sit still. She glanced out the window, watching the students pass by. Her eyes were searching for a certain blond Prefect that should be joining her carriage.

"Someone's eager to get back to school," Ron joked, mistaking Hermione's nerves for excitement. "I never would've guessed. How many times have you read the textbooks for this year?"

She smiled with a small shrug. "Only once. You know me, always ready for class."

Harry peeped his head into the carriage, holding two envelopes in his hand.

"No need to be in the Prefects' carriage today, Hermione," Harry stated, his voice smug."This year you and I have the Slug Club."

Hermione stood up from her seat, looking at Harry with curiosity. "The Slug Club? "

"Snape is taking over Defence Against the Dark Arts this year, so Professor Slughorn is taking over Potions. I met him this summer with Dumbledore," Harry informed her matter-of-factly. "And we both have exclusive invitations to his compartment for an introduction."

"Well, I'll still be here in the Prefects' carriage if anyone needs me," Ron mumbled, slouching in his seat. "I wouldn't want to go anyway. He sounds like a tosser."

Pausing, she turned to Ron with an apologetic look. "See you at the welcome feast?"

"Yep," Ron sighed, reaching into his bag and pulling out a semi-squished sandwich that his mother had packed for the journey. "Have fun with 'the Slug Club'."

Hermione slid the carriage door shut firmly behind her.

"Basically, this means Slughorn sees potential in us," Harry explained, his voice low as they walked down the train. "According to Dumbledore, Slughorn is known for handpicking students who go on to do outstanding work in various fields. It's his own way of creating connections with powerful people—before they have any influence. Once they establish their careers, he reaps a variety of rewards. Honestly, I'm not sure if we should be flattered or insulted."

"Curious, I wonder who else he selected for the club?" she wondered aloud, running her mind through a list of students. "I suppose there isn't much of a gamble on you considering you've been famous for over a decade already. He's a bit late to the game on that one."

Harry made a face. "Dumbledore practically used me as live bait to lure him back to Hogwarts this past summer. I suspect that I'm the reason Slughorn's coming out of retirement in the first place."

"If anyone else said that, it would sound egotistical, but from you it sounds perfectly reasonable," Hermione teased.

He shrugged.

With each step she took towards Slughorn's carriage, Hermione's anxieties and excitement increased. Draco was a Prefect and a high performer in Potions; surely he would be waiting in the carriage already. It would be difficult for her to sit next to him for the entirety of the train ride and not talk to him.

The door opened with a squeak and Hermione felt disappointment trickle through her as she looked around the carriage. No Draco. Perhaps he would join later? She put on a friendly smile as an older wizard approached them with a wide grin.

"Harry Potter! Lovely to see you again, and this must be Hermione Granger! I have heard many wonderful things about you," Professor Slughorn added with a flourish. "Miss Granger, 'the Brightest Witch of her Age'."

Hermione's cheeks heated under his attention; she really did hate that title.

"Well, I have drinks on the table, as well as a pheasant dinner if you are hungry. Oh! You must know Miss Weasley here." He gestured to a baffled looking Ginny, who was nursing a drink. "I found her casting the most marvelous Bat-Bogey Hex near the front of the train on my way in!"

Harry choked back a laugh, quickly covering it with a cough.

"Ah! Melinda Bobbin!" Slughorn turned to face the newest arrival. "I was at your family's apothecary just last month. I could not believe how they have expanded the chain into France! I was wondering…" his voice trailed off as Hermione and Harry found a seat next to Ginny.

Hermione made a face at Harry, who shrugged. They settled in for the rest of the train ride.

Once they arrived in the Great Hall, Hermione eagerly scanned the Slytherin table, her eye catching on Draco. Her heart dropped. His shoulders were slumped forward, and he was staring quietly at the wood of the table in front of him. Dark shadows were painted under his eyes and he looked as if he had not slept since leaving school. Inspecting him closer, she could see his band still encircling his ring finger.

Hermione stilled as she watched him carefully, trying to make eye contact. His eyes never left the table as he slowly dragged a single digit across the groove in the wood, picking at it with his nail. Blaise leaned over and whispered something in his ear. Draco nodded slightly without looking up.

"Merlin, I've missed these feasts—don't tell my mum," Ron instructed as he piled his plate high with chicken legs and chips.

Harry helped himself to a treacle tart, sighing in satisfaction as he bit into the pastry.

Hermione found she had no appetite; she looked down at her filled plate and felt nothing but nausea.

"Blimey, look at the Slytherin table. They sure are quiet today," Ron mentioned as he bit into a chicken leg. "Malfoy looks bloody awful, though not any worse than I'd expect given what he's been up to lately."

Glaring at Ron, she asked,. "What do you mean ‘up to lately’? What are you implying?"

"I don't know, Hermione, I just have a bad feeling about him. I don't trust him after what Harry told me." Ron shrugged.

Hermione looked at Harry, her voice dripping with accusation. "What is he talking about?"

Harry grimaced; it was obvious that he had intentionally kept this information from Hermione.

"I saw him at Borgin and Burkes when we were picking up school supplies. You know what type of clientele they serve there, all the dark artifacts they have in the shop. He had something reserved at the front. It was the way Borgin was reacting to him that made me suspicious; he gave Malfoy the same level of respect as his father. I think he might be following in his Lucius’ footsteps," Harry speculated, keeping his voice low.

"No!" The word was out of Hermione's mouth before she could stop herself and she tried to calm the panic in her tone. "That could never happen! He's just a student. Why would they want a student? It's not possible—He would never."

Harry eyed her with sympathy, likely because he knew her history with Draco. However, they could not speak freely about it in front of Ron.

"How would you know that? I wouldn't put it past him, the prat," Ron muttered in anger.

"I know you want to give him the benefit of the doubt, Hermione, but—" Harry insisted before she interjected.

"I don't want to talk about it right now. This isn't the place. Either way, I don't believe it; it's not true. He is too young," Hermione stated firmly, her mind racing. She pushed her plate away, a lump forming in her throat. There was no way she could eat now.

Even though she did not believe Draco was involved with Voldemort, she found herself asking why he was at Borgin and Burkes. What had he reserved? She would have to find out first thing Friday. Hermione was positive there would be a reasonable explanation for everything.

After registering for classes with Professor McGonagall, Hermione found herself rushing back to Gryffindor Tower. Though she was ecstatic about her upcoming set of classes—she had received all Outstandings and one Exceeds Expectations in her O.W.L.s last year—she was more excited to catch up with Draco.

Harry's suspicion of Draco was also making her uneasy, especially when coupled with the fact that she had not heard from Draco once during the entire summer. Hermione was both curious and nervous to hear about his summer with his parents at the Manor.

She greeted her dormmates before pulling the curtain of her four-poster shut for privacy. She hoped that she would be able to sneak out of her bed undetected, but she was so excited to finally see Draco that, if caught, she was sure that she could come up with an excuse to leave. She was still a Prefect, after all.

She sent his band a message.

R.O.R.?

Several moments later, she sat down on her bed as she waited impatiently. She thought back to his constant corrections last year, how he insisted on calling the Room of Requirement the Come-and-Go Room.

C.A.G.R.? she amended with the ghost of a smile.

Ten minutes passed with no response. He had his ring on during the welcoming feast. Unless the enchantment had worn off, he should be receiving her messages right now.

The only remaining explanation was that he was ignoring them.

Ignoring her.

Hermione's stomach flipped. All along, she had been concerned that his ring and notebook had been taken away while he was at the Manor, but it was quickly becoming apparent that he’d had access the entire time.

Her band felt cold and hard against her skin. What had happened? They were in such a good place at the end of last year. ' And a thousand kisses when you're back ', he had promised before leaving.

She laid down on her bed in the quiet, fully clothed, staring up at the ceiling overhead. For once, Hermione wished she could quiet her brain; she closed her eyes, pacing her breathing as she silently wished for sleep.

On the first day of classes, Hermione arrived even earlier than usual, hoping to catch Draco before the lesson began. Once she had him face to face, he would talk to her. It would be impossible to avoid her when they shared so many classes. The pair had studied together for exams last year so he had to have done well on his O.W.L.s. Honestly, she would not be surprised if he had done equally as well as she had in all subjects.

Draco was probably just hesitant from the summer with his father. She could only imagine the type of venom Lucius Malfoy had spewed at his son after their visit to the Manor. Recalling the look in Lucius' eyes when he saw Draco standing in front of her protectively gave Hermione chills.

It would make sense that Draco was being more cautious this school year than in previous years; she would simply have to assure him that it was safe to see her. They would be extra vigilant about meeting in secret.

The students piled in one by one, filling in the seats around her. With each arrival that was not Draco, her frustration grew. Finally, with less than a minute until the class began, Draco and Theo entered the room and snagged the final two seats in the back row.

Hermione could not help herself; she turned and blatantly stared at the pair of Slytherins. Up close, Draco looked even more exhausted than he had during the welcoming feast. His hair was uncharacteristically messy, his tie askew as if he had not looked in the mirror this morning, and he was even paler than usual with a greyish tinge to his cheeks. Thumbing through the pages of their textbook absentmindedly, his eyes were fixated on a single spot, unmoving.

After a moment, she caught Theo's gaze. Theo gave Hermione a pitiful look and shook his head once. A sigh of disappointment escaped her lips as she turned back to the front of the room. No use trying to talk before class; she would have to catch him as he left when there were fewer witnesses nearby.

As class finished up, she glanced over her shoulder. Draco and Theo were sharing a look as they packed up their parchment and books. Why did it seem that Draco was looking anywhere but at her? Her stomach turned uncomfortably.

" Psst, Hermione." Harry waved a hand in front of her face as she turned back towards him. "McGonagall told us that Slughorn allows Exceeds Expectations for N.E.W.T.-level Potions. That means Ron and I are going to take Potions with you this year after all!"

Hermione's face lit up at the news. "I'm thrilled for you! You'll be able to pursue the Auror program now!"

Ron and Harry both grinned ear-to-ear.

"We just might get you to join us," Harry teased.

She shook her head. "Best of luck with that."

"I still can't believe that we get to take Potions without Snape," Ron marveled. "I heard Slughorn used to be head of Slytherin before he retired. Hopefully he doesn't favour them."

Hermione shrugged in a non-committal fashion. "He seemed rather friendly to students of all houses on the train, like he’s more of an opportunist than anything. I can't see him giving preferential treatment based solely on house affiliation."

Pulling her attention away from Ron, she looked back at the newly empty seats behind her. Her heart sank in her chest. She had missed her opportunity. 

He was gone.

The following day, Hermione sat with Harry behind Draco and Theo in double Potions; the class was preparing the Draught of Living Death and competing for Slughorn's coveted Felix Felicis.

"You have to slice the sopophorous bean, not crush it," Hermione corrected Harry as she focused on chopping her own beans into even slices.

Harry shrugged as he referenced his tattered copy of Advanced Potion-Making , crushing his beans with the side of his blade and releasing the juice into his cauldron.

Hermione's eyes drifted over to the table in front of her. The pair of Slytherins were both bent over their cauldrons, meticulously following the instructions from their books. Draco held a single bean with his left hand, the blade with his right; he trembled as he moved to cut the bean and he stopped—trying unsuccessfully to steady himself. 

Without looking up from his station, Theo pushed his pile of neatly sliced beans in front of Draco, taking Draco's uncut beans and working on them next. Draco added the juice from Theo's sliced beans to his cauldron with a quick nod of gratitude, the visible tremors subsiding as he stirred the potion seven times anti-clockwise.

Hermione could not help but notice that Draco was using his old stirring rod and not the gold one that she had given him for his birthday last year.

Turning back to Harry, she mentally counted the beans in front of him. "Harry, you have too many. The book says twelve beans, not thirteen."

"Hermione, I'm just following my textbook."

Letting out a groan of annoyance, Hermione observed her cauldron. The result of her diligent work was a murky brown potion—not even close to the ideal shade of pale lilac that Harry had achieved.

Harry won the Felix Felicis.

She should have been more annoyed that he defied the instructions and somehow created a perfect potion, but Hermione barely noticed; instead, she watched Draco's shaky hands as he packed up his workstation. A series of twitches ran through his fingers, the tips curling as he clenched his hands into fists.

"Time for lunch?" Harry asked quietly, looking at her with pity.

It was obvious that he had noticed her longing expression directed towards Draco.

"Sure," she mumbled in embarrassment, the strap of her bag settling over her chest. "Let's go."

Mustering all her remaining willpower, she did not look back as they exited the classroom.

As tempting as it was to send Draco more messages, Hermione refrained as he had yet to respond to anything from the summer or her messages on the first day. She half considered sending him another Howler, this time without the faux accent, just to show him how upset she was with him. Honestly, how long did it take to write a single message?

She decided to spend her night in the library for once, rather than just using it as an excuse. Not that she had anywhere else to go. Hermione flipped through her textbook pages, finding herself unable to focus. There was the sound of a faint cough nearby and she looked up curiously; not many people spent their Friday nights in a library this early into the school year.

Theo Nott was sitting alone at a large table at the edge of the room, surrounded by several open books. Indignation rose in her chest as she watched him reference a page, and then turn back to a separate book, rotating between the two. Theo and Draco were best mates. If Draco wouldn’t speak to her, maybe Theo could provide some clarity.

Strolling with purpose to Theo Nott's library table, she dared to pull out the chair next to him and sit in the vacant seat.

Theo looked up. "Just what do you think you're doing, Hermione?" He closed his books with a sequence of thuds.

"Theo, what's going on? He won't talk to me, he won't look at me, I haven't had a single word since before the summer." Hermione internally cringed at how pathetic she sounded.

Theo stood up, packing away his many tomes into his bag. "I'm sorry. I am truly sorry, but I can't say anything. I've given my word. It's just not up to me to have this conversation."

"Well, who is it up to then? Certainly not him if he won't even talk to me!" Her voice raised in resentment as Theo shook his head, retreating without another word.

A few stray students looked at her with curiosity.

"Oh, sod off," she snarled at them, turning on her heel as she exited the library. A fire burned in her chest.

It was a Friday, their old date night. Not only was it a Friday, but it was her birthday. September 19th. She was officially seventeen, an adult. There was no more trace on her; she could legally use magic and Apparate outside of Hogwarts.

Draco and Hermione had spent their last birthdays together, and she had never considered that he would not be there for her seventeenth. She knew that no matter what was going on between them that he would show up. He would be there for her when she needed him.

"Happy birthday, dear Hermione!" Harry and Ron sang in unison.

She shook her head fondly, smiling as they sang off-key and with great enthusiasm.

"Bet you thought we forgot." Harry winked, handing her a wrapped present. "But luckily for us, we have two journals with calendars in them from last Christmas."

The gift had clearly been wrapped by Ron; the wrapping had the classic lumps and bumps with excessive amounts of tape that came from a Ronald Weasley gift.

She beamed, tearing off the wrapping. "You two didn't have to get me anything!"

It was a box full of raspberry sugar quills—her favourite flavour, a container of bath salts, and a bottle of scented body lotion that changed colours and scents with each season.

"I love it!" she exclaimed, pulling them into a group hug. "It's perfect. I've just run out of sugar quills."

Her heart twisted; her last sugar quills were from the study basket that Draco had given her at the end of fifth year.

"Are you absolutely sure that you don't want to do anything for your birthday tonight? We can always raid the kitchens and see if they have any cake." Ron wiggled his eyebrows. "It's been forever since we last tickled the pear together."

Harry made a face, mumbling, "That's what she said."

She hesitated. "I'm sure, I just want a quiet night in with a good book. When you get to be my age, you'll understand," she joked weakly.

Following her conversation with Harry and Ron, Hermione made her way to the seventh floor and to the wall that housed the Room of Requirement. It was the first time that she had been back since the previous year. She thought back to the many Fridays that she spent with Draco in the room, the days of training with Dumbledore's Army. There were countless memories here.

Pacing in the hall, the door appeared, and she stepped inside impatiently. Scanning the room, Hermione felt her heart fall into her stomach. He was not here. She walked over to the large sofa and sat down. The room was eerily quiet except for the sound of the fireplace crackling.

She unclasped her bag, pulling out a book to read while she waited. Thumbing the title, Little Women , she smiled nostalgically, remembering when she and her mother read it together for the first time. She cracked the book open to her marked page, continuing to read where she had left off.

Nearly an hour later, Hermione checked the clock; there was still no sign of Draco. For the first time, she began to doubt that he would visit. It was her birthday. He was her boyfriend. Draco knew how important this day was for her, he had to show…right?

After she read the final page of her book, she closed it with a soft thud. Her chest felt like it was filled with concrete. Hermione looked back to the door wistfully, trying to will it to open with Draco behind it, but even the Room of Requirement had limits on its magic. With a look to the clock, Hermione realised it was now past midnight.

It was no longer her birthday.

She sat in the silence for several beats, white noise filling her ears as she tucked her novel back into her bag.

There was no use waiting. If he had not shown up by now, he was not coming.

Pulling herself off of the large sofa and picking up her bag, Hermione felt her heart crack. She had wasted her entire birthday night sitting alone in the Room of Requirement, naively believing Draco would spend it with her. Her eyes were stinging with tears. She slowly walked to the door; her blurry vision obscured the room before her as she began to exit in defeat.

Hermione passed by the table at the back of the room, completely oblivious to the mocha chocolate icebox cake that sat waiting for her with a single unlit candle in the center.

"Happy birthday, Hermione," she muttered bitterly to herself. "This year will be your best year yet."

She had tried to be patient, she had tried to be strong, and she found that could be neither anymore. Tears burned at Hermione's eyes as she tried to hold herself together long enough to reach the privacy of her four-poster bed. Attempting to steady her breathing, she hoped to return it to a normal cadence before her dormmates noticed her distress.

Hermione crept into the already dark dormitory, pulling the curtains around her bed for privacy. Curling into a ball, her hands covered her face as she wept. Silent sobs wracked her body, shaking the mattress beneath her. This was not how she had expected to spend her birthday.

The curtain on her bed pulled back and she held her breath as she squinted her swollen eyes into the darkness. She saw the outline of a body pulling the curtain shut, the mattress dipped with a sudden addition in weight. An arm swung around her waist, holding her tightly.

"It's okay, Hermione. It's going to be okay," the voice murmured softly.

"Lavender?" Hermione's voice cracked into the air around them.

Lavender ran a hand through Hermione's hair, trying to comfort her. "It's just me; it's okay, Hermione. I remember the pain of my first love," she whispered.

"Oh, no, I didn't—I mean, I don't—"

"Save your excuses," Lavender insisted. "You may be able to fool those oblivious boys of yours, but you can't fool me. You're not as sneaky as you think, slipping out of the dorm all the time. Don't worry, I promise not to tell anyone. I know the pain of a broken heart when I see it. I just want you to know you're not alone."

A muffled sob threatened to leave Hermione's chest, burning her from the inside out. She gave up trying to argue; at that moment, she needed nothing more than to be held. Leaning back against Lavender, she closed her eyes. Hermione focused on the feeling of Lavender rubbing soft circles into her back and humming.

"Thank you," she whispered into the night air.

One month into school and Hermione was miserable. Draco stepped into every class at the last moment and snuck out just as they ended. He skipped almost every meal in the Great Hall and the ones he attended, he would always leave with Blaise and Theo directly after finishing his food.

He had not looked at her once the entire school year; she knew because she was watching him almost constantly—she physically could not help herself. Draco's eyes looked anywhere but at her, completely unrecognizable to the eyes she had spent the previous year staring into. They were corpse-like and unfeeling, as if he were emotionless. She doubted he was sleeping.

Hermione was growing more despondent by the day. He was all she could think about and it seemed like he did not give her a second thought. How could he not even bother to look at her?

Eyeing the Prefect patrol list for the week, Hermione stopped in her tracks.

Ronald Weasley (Gryffindor) & Draco Malfoy (Slytherin), Friday Night Patrol

Her heart pounded against her ribcage.

Should she even try?

She took a breath. "Ron, would you be able to swap me patrols this Friday?" Hermione asked, her voice higher than usual, trying to act disinterested in his response.

Ron made a face. "You sure, 'Mione? I'm assigned with Malfoy this week, and he's not exactly the easiest patrol partner. Plus, if Harry's theory is correct and he's a—"

"I'm sure." She shrugged, cutting him off from finishing his sentence. "I just need to use the Astronomy Tower during the night I was assigned and hoped you could swap me."

He looked at her skeptically. "What do you have for Astronomy?"

She paused, trying to think of an excuse. "Venus. Venus is in a really great spot on Sunday and I wouldn't want to miss the chance for a higher score on my star chart."

"I wouldn't dare stand between you and your grades," Ron chuckled. "Hopefully he won't be too much of a git to you."

Hermione nodded, lost in her thoughts. She would be spending her first Friday of the school year with Draco. They would have several hours together for patrol and he would have to give her some answers.

As Hermione approached the corridor where Prefects met for patrol, she saw a shadow in the distance. It was shorter than her, with soft curves. It was clearly not Draco.

Her mouth went dry.

Stumbling over her own feet, she caught herself at the last second, almost falling onto the stone floor.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione blurted out before thinking.

Pansy scowled, crossing her arms. "What are you talking about? We have Prefect patrol tonight."

"No," Hermione argued. "I have Prefect patrol with Malfoy tonight."

"Yeah." Pansy rolled her eyes. "He traded with me. When he found out that you swapped patrol with Weasley, he couldn't trade it away fast enough. Owes me a big favour for this one, if you know what I mean."

Pansy continued talking but Hermione could not hear her—white noise filled her ears. Draco knew she was going to be his partner and he purposefully traded away his spot. After weeks of lying to herself, Hermione finally conceded defeat.

The Pull settled into her chest like a dull ache, consistent and throbbing. She did not know how to tell it to stop yearning for Draco, how to tell it that he could talk to her but did not want to talk to her, that he did not want her.

Hermione felt as if she was losing her mind. She could understand why he was limited in communication during the summer while home with his father, but this was ridiculous. There was no one monitoring him at school. They had plenty of ways to sneak around without professors or students catching them.

What was his long-term plan? To just ice her out until she went away and never spoke to him again? What would even happen to their bond if they decided not to be together? Would she be forever connected to him, but unable to be with him? 

She could not imagine wanting anyone else.

He unilaterally decided to end their relationship and did not have the decency to tell her to her face. This was a thousand times worse than break-up by owl. After stewing, she decided that she would make him face the repercussions of his actions. Hermione was going to force him to talk to her after class by catching him off guard and approaching him directly.

After Potions, she turned in her vials and walked out of the classroom with several minutes left in the class, much to the confusion of Professor Slughorn. Luckily, she was in the Slug Club and he was lenient with his club members. He waved her off quickly.

Hermione waited outside the classroom door, her arms crossed, counting down the minutes until the class would end. Finally, Slughorn dismissed the rest of the students. Her heart pounded in her ears as her classmates walked out, giving her an odd look for standing in front of the doorway.

In the back of the dispersing class, the Slytherins walked out in a group. Theo nudged Draco and gestured towards Hermione with a jut of his chin. Draco's eyes finally caught hers; she held her breath. His eyes looked cold and detached as he looked through her, turning back to Theo. Her cheeks flushed in anger as she stood her ground.

Draco fixed his eyes on the ground as he walked past, and she impulsively reached out a hand and grabbed his arm roughly. "Dr—Malfoy."

He looked up at her, a flicker of pain passed behind his eyes as he flinched, retracting as if her touch had burned her.

"UGH!" Pansy shrieked, grabbing Draco's other arm and pulling him away, "I can't believe that she touched you. You'd better burn those robes."

Hermione's mouth opened, a retort dying on her lips as she watched Draco walk away. Her mind went blank as she forgot anything she had planned. She hadn’t known what to expect, but she had not expected that. Their forms blurred away with her tears.

It was really over.

Something in her snapped, weeks of sorrow and confusion replaced with frustration and anger. It filled her chest until she saw red. She absolutely refused to spend any more of her time following him around like a lost puppy, begging for scraps of attention.

It was a Saturday and their first Hogsmeade trip of the year; Hermione pulled on her tightest jeans , her favourite green blouse, and finished by braiding her hair. She faltered for a moment, realising that this was the outfit she wore the first day Draco told her he loved her. She looked in the mirror, straightening her locket.

Hermione was sick and tired of spending her days pining after Draco. This morning, she had resolved to stop moping around and to enjoy her day with Harry. They would go for ice cream, out to the shops, and she would buy at least two new books. She was determined to have a good day. Just before the carriages began departing for Hogsmeade, she met Harry at the front of the school.

"You look happy today," Harry commented with a smile. "Do you have a hot date?"

She laughed freely, taking his arm in hers. "Why yes, in fact, I do; you might have heard of him—he's handsome, famous, the youngest Hogwarts seeker in a century—I think you'd quite like him."

Harry grinned. "He sounds like a tosser."

Opening the door to their carriage, Harry helped her as she stepped inside. Hermione caught a glimpse of Blaise and Theo just as Harry shut their carriage door. It took all her self-control to look away from the window and not watch for Draco.

They had the carriage to themselves. Hermione looked over at Harry who was distractedly staring out the window at Theo.

"I haven't heard much from you two lately," she started, hoping she sounded casual. "How have you been?"

Harry waited a moment, then two before responding. "We're fine," he said unconvincingly. "I mean, if you ignore the fact that his father is a Death Eater who wants me dead and that Theo thinks we should break up because he wants to 'protect me' from his family."

Hermione reached over and took his hand in hers.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, stroking his hand with her thumb as she listened.

"And he's been my happiest moment through all of this, you know? I've lost so many people in my life; I can't stand to lose him, too. I get it, he thinks that I will be safer without him, but I don't know how to make him understand that I've never been safe. Even before I was born, there was the prophecy and I've been in danger ever since. Theo thinks that he is helping me, but all he's doing is breaking my heart." Harry sighed deeply, as if he carried a great weight on his shoulders. "Listen to me, I sound ridiculous."

"You love him." She smiled.

Harry's striking green eyes shone as he gave her a curious look. "Of course I do."

"Have you told him?"

"After two years, he doesn't even want to label us. He's practically allergic to the words." Harry chuckled dryly. "You really think he's going to be okay with me saying 'love' when he won't even say 'boyfriend'?"

Hermione nodded; she did think he would like to know.

"I don't even know if I can consider this a break-up when we weren't even 'official', but it sure feels like we are heading to a break-up." Harry chewed the inside of his cheek anxiously. "He's a bit freaked out after last year, finding out his…whatever we are, is sharing memories with Voldemort when his father is a Death Eater is apparently prime breakup material."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione murmured, she could relate to Theo's fear. That was the entire reason she had lied to Harry about her relationship with Draco—to protect him.

"Enough about me and my sad love life. Let me live vicariously through you. How are you doing? I know it's been a year since you and Malfoy broke up, but you haven't even looked at another bloke since then. Should we find you a real date this weekend instead of that tosser Harry Potter?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"I'm not interested in anyone else. I'm perfectly content being alone." The lie twisted in her chest.

"Well at least you're taking the news alright." Harry added, "I thought you would've been more upset."

"The news?"

"Draco and Pansy," Harry clarified as Hermione's pulse quickened. "Apparently she spent the summer with him at Malfoy Manor; it sounds like they're pretty serious. She wouldn't stop talking about it in Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Hermione inhaled sharply, feeling as if the air was sucked out of the carriage and she was gasping for one final breath.

"Oh yes, that, of course, I heard about them." She feigned nonchalance, her heart pounding in her ears.

Hermione thought back to Draco's words the year before. 'I don't want Pansy', 'every time, no matter what, I'd always choose you. I hope you know that.'

"They deserve each other," Harry grumbled in annoyance.

She swallowed hard, nodding slowly as she fought back the tears that pricked at her eyes. "They sure do."

November-December

Year 6

Hermione’s eyes centered on the flash of gold under Pansy’s sleeve as her quill moved across her parchment during Charms. The bracelet dangled off Pansy’s dainty wrist, moving back and forth as it brushed against the desk. She tried not to fixate on it, but the longer class went on, the more she found herself wondering about the bracelet.

How long had Pansy had that bracelet? Hermione tried to remember if she had seen her wear it before this year.

If it was new, was it from Draco? It looked expensive.

Did they really spend the summer together at the Manor?

Hermione’s anxiety increased at the thought. She imagined them in the library together, on the patio sipping Pinky’s lemonade, laughing, touching… She pushed the image out of her mind.

Pansy was a known gossip; Hermione would not put it past her to stretch the truth. The Draco that Hermione fell in love with would never leave her for Pansy.

Then again, the Draco that Hermione fell in love with would never have iced her out for months.

Today, she was thankful for the ring to help stabilize her magic. Otherwise, she could not guarantee that Pansy’s hair would not be on fire right now —h owever satisfying that would be to watch. Hermione pulled her eyes away from the bracelet and tried to focus on the lecture.

After her conversation with Harry on their way to Hogsmeade, she was beginning to feel like the Gryffindor curmudgeon; she could not seem to shake her bad mood. A few months ago, she never would have given the gossip a second thought, and now it was all she could think about. After the seed of doubt had been planted in her mind, she did not know what to believe. When Hermione woke the next day, she decided that she was done moping around. She had a life to live and she would not waste it pining after Draco Malfoy. After spending months solely going between her dorm, class, and the library, she decided that enough was enough; she would go outside her comfort zone and learn to say yes to new experiences. She deserved to be happy.

Step one was to leave the library, step two was… Well, she was not quite sure about step two yet.

Hermione paused, pondering the question, what was step two?

“I love a lassie, a bonnie bonnie lassie, she’s as pure as a lily in the dell.” A melody echoed down the empty corridor. “She’s as sweet as the heather, the bonnie bloomin’ heather.”

After a beat, she realised that she recognised the ethereal voice.

Luna Lovegood skipped into view, wearing all shades of orange from head to toe with a butterbeer cork necklace around her neck. In her hand was a long stick, the end of which was covered with bright blue and purple feathers.

“Luna?” Hermione called, attracting Luna’s attention. “What are you doing?”

“Why, I’m singing of course,” Luna replied, her eyes scanning the floor.

“I can hear that, it sounds lovely. Mind if I ask why you are singing?”

“I was just taking a break, actually.” Luna rested for a moment. “I’m on the hunt to capture a Sprategus. There was frozen dew on the grounds this morning; it is the perfect time to catch a Sprategus as it prepares for hibernation. Would you like to join me?”

What in the world was a Sprategus ?

At the moment, Hermione was regretting her earlier commitment to stepping outside her comfort zone. Though, her alternative was another night alone in the library or listening to Ron and Harry talk about the Gryffindor Quidditch team strategy for hours in the Common Room.

 “Luna, I have to be honest, I have absolutely nothing better to do. Let’s catch us a Spragus!”

“Sprategus,” Luna corrected politely, offering Hermione a net from her pocket.

“Am I doing this correctly?” Hermione asked, feeling skeptical as she laid on the stone floor, her head tilted backwards with the net in front of her face.

“Yes,” Luna answered on her back with her legs propped against the wall. “But you have to warble. A Sprategus will never be lured out of hiding unless they hear you warble, especially this close to hibernation. It’s their primary form of communication to signal that predators are gone and that it is safe to roll again.”

“…Warble?” Hermione repeated in confusion. “Roll?”

Luna turned her tongue in her mouth, making a warbling sound as she swept the long stick with a set of feathers across the ground in a figure eight pattern.

“Hermione? Luna?” Harry’s confused voice pulled her out of her thoughts. “What…what are you two doing?”

Hermione turned her head; Harry was standing upside down in front of them.

Or Hermione was upside down.

“What does it look like, Harry? Hunting for Sprateguses.” Hermione paused, looking to Luna. “Sprategi?”

“Sprategi.” Luna confirmed, her blonde hair splayed out on the ground.

The blue and purple feathers smacked against the stone floor as Luna warbled loudly.

Harry blinked. “I don’t know why I even asked. What’s a Sprategus?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “ Come on , Harry, we have been in the magical world for nearly six years now. How do you not even know what a Sprategus is?”

She swept the net across the floor as she stood up, pulling Luna up with her. “Let’s go, Luna, we might have better luck down the corridor. The floor is smoother and easier to roll across.”

“I—But you— What? ” Harry sputtered, watching the pair of witches link arms and turn out of sight.

After an unsuccessful afternoon of hunting for Sprategi, Hermione made her way back to the Gryffindor Common Room. She found that she quite enjoyed spending time with Luna, though she did not always find the use of their time productive. It was nice to talk with someone who knew about her bond with Draco.

“Hermione,” a pair of voices sang her name behind her in the corridor, she fought the smile that bloomed across her cheeks.

“We are kidnapping you for the night,” Harry informed her, with his hands behind his back.

“No arguing against it—this is happening.” Ron nodded, mirroring Harry’s stance.

She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “What are you two up to?”

Harry and Ron shared a look.

“We kind of noticed that you’ve been not feeling yourself lately,” Ron explained.

“—And we, as your best mates, need to do better,” Harry added. “I know we’ve been really busy with the whole Quidditch thing lately and you might be feeling a little neglected…”

“So.” Ron thrust a book under her nose.

“You thought I was neglected so you bought me a new book? Is this because of the Sprategi?”

Ron looked to Harry who shrugged noncommittally.

“I don’t know what that is. But this is no ordinary book. It’s the one in that series that you told us about, about the vampire colony in Africa. It came out last week.” Ron passed it into her hands. “I hope you didn’t already have it.”

“I didn’t have the chance to purchase it yet. Godric, I’ve been waiting for nearly a year for this book!” Hermione felt a rush of affection for her boys; it was sweet of them to worry about her. “I can’t believe you remembered and purchased it for me.”

“Not just the book. We also have a night planned of exploding snap, ice cream, sweets, and—if you feel like risking death—we can always swim in the Black Lake.” Harry grinned, showcasing the pile of goodies he was hiding.

Hermione gasped with delight. “You even got the mocha flavoured ice cream! I’ve never seen that at Hogwarts before. Where did you find this?”

Harry and Ron answered at the same time, their voices overlapped.

“We stole it from Snape.”

“We bought it from Seamus.”

She raised her brows, unconvinced. “What really happened?”

“We may or may not have most certainly bribed Dobby to make it in the Hogwarts kitchens.”

“What could you possibly bribe a house-elf with?” she wondered aloud.

“Dobby is a very complex being. Did you know he collects antique spoons?” Harry informed her.

Hermione looked from Harry to Ron who nodded in confirmation.

Ron tossed an arm around Hermione; she wrapped her hand around his waist and tucked her head closer to him. Being held by Harry and Ron always felt like second nature to her.

“Thank you, I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you—” Hermione paused.

There was a gut-wrenching tug at her stomach and she nearly felt breathless. Draco and Theo were walking past, the pair looking pale and shaken. Draco’s gaze seemed to latch on to where Ron’s arm was around Hermione and her hand on his waist.

She caught a glint of gold in the light, coming from his palm. Hermione forgot to breathe for a moment.

He was playing with their Galleon, rolling it between his fingers as he rubbed the ridged edge.

As if sensing her thoughts, he slipped it back into his pocket, leaving Hermione to wonder if it was ever in his hand in the first place.

Her chest weighed down with guilt.

Hermione was annoyed at her own reaction, but she refused to step away from Ron on principle. There was no reason to feel guilty. She had long accepted that Draco had chosen to leave her. If he cared even the slightest, he would have offered at least an explanation. Instead, he ignored her when she needed him most. Hermione found herself pushing up closer against Ron, smiling up at him to spite Draco.

Just like that, the two Slytherins were gone.

“So, I take it this means that you’re ready to lose to me in Exploding Snap again?” Hermione asked, a sly smile spread across her lips.

“Not on your life! You know that you cheated last time. I’ve been playing this since I was a baby! There’s no way you could beat me this consistently without cheating,” Ron grumbled, the tips of his ears pink.

Harry chuckled. “I don’t think you’re doing this ‘cheering her up’ thing correctly.”

Hermione interjected, “No, this is exactly what I need.” She reached for Harry’s hand. “A day with my best mates… A baby would have terrible reflexes for Exploding Snap; also, it explodes. Honestly, what were your parents thinking?”

“I was the sixth kid.” He shrugged. “I think they were just happy to keep me alive by that point.”

“Huh.”

“To the Common Room?” Harry gestured towards the portrait of the Fat Lady.

“To the Common Room!” Ron called out like a rallying cry.

“What do you think we should do?” Harry whispered, looking mischievously at Dean Thomas who was peacefully slumbering on the Common Room sofa. “Should we let him sleep…or…?” He left the question open.

“I have an idea,” Hermione muttered, a small smile on her face. “Harmless, really. Should make for a good show.”

“Hermione Jean Granger, are you joining in on a prank?!” Ron gasped in faux shock. “You’re not going to steal his homework or charm his textbooks, are you?”

She rolled her eyes. If Ron only knew what she had been up to last year with Umbridge… 

“I’ll be right back.”

Hermione returned several minutes later, holding a pair of old shoes.

Ron frowned. “It’s not much of a prank as much as it’s a bad fashion choice. Makes my old dress robes look in style.”

“Let’s not go that far,” Harry quipped.

“Just help me put them on,” she insisted.

They slowly pried Dean’s shoes off his feet; he grumbled and rolled to his side but did not wake up. Hermione slipped them on his feet, whispering a quick charm to replicate the look of his usual shoes.

“What do we do now?” Harry asked, glancing at Hermione.

“Now, we wait.”

Hermione pushed another spoonful of mocha ice cream into her waiting mouth. She pursed her lips together, relishing in the cold as it spread across her tongue.

“This was the best idea ever; exactly what I needed to feel better. Thank you so much,” she said with appreciation, noticing a pair on the table and tapping the card with her wand.

“Nice play.” Harry marked a point on her board.

The score was now fifteen to three, with Hermione in the lead. The cards shuffled around the table.

“I almost had that one,” Ron grumbled, hovering his wand over the cards as another pair appeared.

Hermione smacked the card with her wand. Ron attempted to do the same, a fraction of a second behind her.

“Bloody hell!” Ron exclaimed as the pile of cards exploded in a dramatic show.

The sound seemed to have stirred Dean. He yawned from the sofa, stretching his arms out at his sides.

Ron eyed him curiously, looking back at Hermione.

It began the moment Dean’s feet hit the floor. He stood in place, his hips jutted to the side, then to the other side, then they rotated around in place.

Harry let out a snort, the trio’s attention was solely focused on Dean.

“What the...?” Dean mumbled, he looked around in bewilderment as his arms flung into the air of their own accord.

He swayed into a circle, swishing his hips suggestively, his feet following a silent rhythm.

Harry and Ron doubled over in laughter as Dean continued to dance. Harry looked to her with tears of mirth in his eyes. “Did you know they would do this?!”

She held back a laugh. “Last time it was tap dancing. I had no idea that the style of dance changed each time you wear the shoes. I found these at the old Black house the summer before fifth year.”

“I think he needs a partner,” Hermione suggested, watching with amusement as Dean completed one half of a pair dance routine.

“And some music,” Harry added with a wave of his wand.

The room filled with lively music, the beat thumping in sync with Dean.

“I don’t know what you did,” Dean called over to the trio, “but I think I’m into it.” He enthusiastically moved his hips. “Anyone want to join me?”

Harry, Hermione, and Ron burst into laughter.

“Ron?” Hermione sniggered.

He shook his head. “I learned my lesson last time I tried to dance; I think Padma still has bruises on her feet from the Yule Ball.”

“Go ahead, Hermione,” Harry encouraged with a wave of his hand. “Dean looks pitiful dancing by himself.”

“Hey! I take offense to that,” Dean objected as he led an imaginary partner across the floor.

Say yes to new experiences , she reminded herself.

Hermione looked to Dean who stuck out a hand to her. Dean took her hand in his and pulled her up to him, lowering her into a dip and curving her back up to him. She giggled as he twirled her.

“What are we even doing?” Dean asked, his lips twitching in amusement as he completed a set of intricate steps, leading her into another spin.

“Salsa,” she laughed, throwing her head back and rolling her neck with the beat.

“Are we really?” He grinned. “These shoes are amazing. I’ve never danced salsa before, never danced much of anything to be honest. Except fourth year, but this is way better than that French waltz.”

She faltered, missing a step before quickly recovering. Her mind flashed to periwinkle blue, a dark corridor, soft lips. Magic.

“Yes.” She put on a wide smile that did not quite reach her eyes. “Much better than fourth year.”

Following Dean’s dancing performance, which received thunderous applause from the trio, Hermione and Ron were the only two left on the sofa as Dean and Harry fell into a comfortable conversation about the previous Quidditch match.

Ron’s gaze followed Lavender as she walked through the Gryffindor Common Room and up to the girls’ dormitory.

Hermione held back a smile as she watched him. “So…Lavender?”

He looked to her with wide eyes, as if he believed that she was suddenly a Legilimens and could read his mind. “No—What? Lavender who?”

“Did you really just ask Lavender who ?” She laughed. “Wow, you are a worse liar than Harry. She’s not seeing anyone, you know. I think she fancies you.”

Ron swallowed, eyeing where Lavender had been moments before. “You think so?”

“I mean, I’m no expert but I do live with her. Girls talk.”

He exhaled in disbelief. “Wow.”

Hermione smoothed his messy hair down. “You should try talking to her sometime. She’s rather nice when you get to know her.”

Ron gave her a lopsided smile. “Thanks, ‘Mione.”

If there was one thing that Hermione Granger was bad at, it was leaving a question unanswered. At this point, she could not tell if she was obsessing over Draco simply because she missed him, or  because his silence was a giant mystery that she had yet to solve.

She had briefly considered sneaking down to the Slytherin Common Room and going to his room, but Harry was obsessively watching him on the Marauder’s Map to prove his wild Death Eater theory. Hermione also thought she could reach out to Narcissa, but that was risky, especially if they had any of Lucius’ Death Eater acquaintances visiting. Finally, she decided she would try calling Pinky in the privacy of the Room of Requirement.

Pacing in front of the stone wall, she waited for the door to appear before walking inside. She faltered for a moment, staring blankly at their Common Room. She was in it alone again.

“Pinky?” she called out hesitantly, unsure if he would respond.

Pinky appeared with a pop. He looked tired.

“Miss Hermione called for Pinky?” he asked, wringing his hands nervously as he watched her.

“Pinky!” she exclaimed, pulling him into a hug. “How are you doing? It’s been ages.”

The elf hesitated before returning Hermione’s hug. “Miss Hermione is doing well?”

Hermione hesitated. “Well enough. Pinky, I’m going mad here. I’m just trying to get some answers. Do you know what’s going on with Draco? He won’t talk with me and it’s been months. Is he okay?”

Pinky looked uncomfortable at her line of questioning. “Pinky is not permitted to tell Miss Hermione. Pinky will be in trouble.”

She chewed on her lip anxiously. “Please, Pinky,” she begged. “He looks miserable. Is he ill? Do you know why he won’t talk to me?”

Struggling for a moment, Pinky quickly mumbled under his breath, “The bad people will hurt Master Malfoy again.”

“What? Who? Pinky, who will hurt him?” Hermione demanded as Pinky’s face contorted into panic.

He gasped. “Pinky has said too much!”

The elf moved to hit himself on the head in punishment; Hermione caught his arms and pulled him into another hug. “I’m so sorry, Pinky. Please don’t hurt yourself. I won’t ask anything else of you.”

Pinky’s large eyes filled with tears. “Pinky is very sorry. Goodbye, Miss Hermione.” He disappeared with a crack.

Hermione fell back onto the sofa, feeling completely hopeless.

Her heart thumped loudly in her chest. Bad people in the Manor. Bad people hurting Draco. She thought about his pale skin and haunted eyes.

What had happened this summer? Did it have anything to do with Pansy?

She made her way back to the Gryffindor Common Room, dragging her feet in fatigue. Laying on her bed she opened her locket, watching the picture move over and over again until she fell asleep, clutching the pendent between her fingers.

Hermione was exhausted from the weekend. It had been the biggest match of the Quidditch season and Gryffindor won due to Ron’s talent—though he had been under the false impression that Harry had given him a dose of Felix Felicis. Much to Lavender’s excitement, Ron had kissed her at the end of the night. Hermione heard every detail of the kiss later that night before bed. Though she was happy for her friends, it was difficult to watch their relationship growing while hers was stagnant.

It was heartwarming to see all of Gryffindor House come together to celebrate the big win. Even if Hermione was not particularly interested in Quidditch, she did love to support her friends and the atmosphere of excitement brightened her mood. That is, until she missed out on hours of sleep and had to try to focus the next day. She hid in a quiet corner of the library, attempting to make progress on her latest Charms assignment.

“Hermione Granger!”

Hermione turned her head, spying Amelia Williams walking towards her table in the library.

“How’s my favourite Hufflepuff?” Hermione asked with a smile. It had been a while since she last saw Amelia.

“Don’t ‘how’s my favourite Hufflepuff’ me, acting like everything is normal,” Amelia replied in annoyance, her hands on her hips. “What is going on with you two this year?”

Hermione played ignorant. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well, something obviously happened because the two of you look positively wretched—”

Hermione scoffed.

“—and I haven’t found you snogging in an abandoned corridor once.”

“Would you like to?” Hermione asked with her eyebrows raised curiously.

“Obviously not, ew, it’s like seeing your parents snog.” Amelia made a face. “But the question still stands. What happened?”

“You’ll have to ask Draco,” she answered, her tone icy. “He’s the one ignoring me. I’ve been trying to talk to him since last summer.”

Amelia frowned. “He’s been ignoring you since summer?”

“Yes.”

“It’s nearing Christmas,” Amelia stated.

“I’m aware.”

Amelia studied her for a moment before sighing deeply.

“Well, the last thing you need to be doing is sitting around moping. You’re not doing yourself any favours by waiting around for him. You need to get out there. Go on a date! There are so many cute boys in your year,” Amelia asserted, sitting in the empty chair next to Hermione.

“No, I couldn’t,” Hermione disputed. “Because…Well, because…” 

She struggled to find the words.

“Because you’d rather pine for the rest of the school year, hoping he will get over himself and stop being a prat?” Amelia supplied.

Hermione stared blankly at Amelia before exhaling; first Harry, now Amelia. Maybe she really should try just one date? If anything, it might help her to forget her troubles for a night.

She thought about her heart to heart with Harry the other day. Even Harry had invited Luna as his date to the upcoming party, though Hermione suspected that had more to do with making Theo jealous than anything else.

“I was invited to the Slug Club Christmas party; it seems most students are bringing a plus one. I hadn’t considered it, but…perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to invite a date?” Hermione thought aloud.

“Yes! Exactly, that’s a perfect idea. What about him?” Amelia jerked her head in the direction of the table behind them.

“Cormac McLaggen?” Hermione paused, thinking to herself. “I mean, he’s in Gryffindor one year above me and he’s nice enough, I suppose. I haven’t talked with him much, but he’s already in the Slug Club. I’m not sure he would want to go with me.”

“You never know unless you ask! Go now!” Amelia practically shoved Hermione out of her seat.

Hermione glared at Amelia before straightening herself and walking over to his table with what she hoped looked like confidence.

“Hi, Cormac.” She gave him a friendly smile.

She relaxed her face, suddenly nervous that she was showing too many teeth. How in the world did people flirt?

Cormac looked up at Hermione curiously. “Hey, Hermione, how are you?”

“Good, good, thanks for asking.”

There was a beat of silence. Cormac raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to continue.

“I was just wondering... Do you have a date to Slughorn’s party yet?” she asked so quickly that the phrases blurred together into one long word.

“I don’t, not yet anyway.” He flashed a charming smile. “Is this your way of asking me to be your escort? Because if so, I’d love to bring a pretty witch like you to the party.”

Hermione watched his mouth, lost in thought about how her parents would appreciate his perfect teeth. She realised she was staring, and she felt her cheeks turn pink under his gaze. “Yes, actually, I would like that very much if you’re available.”

“It’s a date.” He reached out and kissed her hand, making her face heat.

“See you then,” she replied, walking back to her table where Amelia was watching her smugly.

“Blush any harder?” she asked with a smirk.

“Oh, hush, I did what you asked. I hope you’re happy with yourself.”

“I am,” Amelia said, looking quite pleased. “You have no idea.”

“Hey!” Amelia chased after Draco in the hallway, trying to keep up with his long strides. “Earth to Draco Malfoy!”

“What do you want?” he snipped, not bothering to look over to her.

She snapped her fingers in front of his face until he turned to glare at her.

Amelia held her stance. “I don’t know what you’re doing this year, and I don’t know what you have going on, but you need to get it together because if you don’t then you’re going to lose her forever.”

“Just what do you know?” Draco matched her insolent glare with a sneer.

“I know that when a pretty witch like her is treated like rubbish by her boyfriend, she tends to move on and find someone who will treat her better. She’s not going to sit around until you figure yourself out. You and I both know that,” Amelia stated matter-of-factly. “Speaking of her moving on, I overheard the most interesting conversation today about the Slug Club party next weekend.”

Draco looked at her, dumbfounded.

She added, “Then I just saw a devastatingly handsome Gryffindor flirting with her in the library. He kissed her hand and she was blushing . It was extremely romantic; you know how she looks when she’s all flushed pink. He’s escorting her to the party next weekend. I’m just saying, if he’s kissing her in public, who knows what’s going to happen between them once they’re alone?”

When he didn’t answer, she continued her speculation, obviously trying to incite jealousy, “They even share a Common Room. I bet it would be all too easy for her to sneak into his room late at night. I’ve heard stories of the Gryffindor boys and how they can bypass the rules for romance .”

Draco clenched his jaw, the vein in his neck protruding. “You came and found me just to share your fabricated stories and manipulate me into going back to Herm—Gran—back to her, didn’t you? I know your strategy.”

“It’s sad that you think so because all of that was true. I’ll even take Veritaserum if you have any. But if you really think that I’m making this up, then why don’t you look around Slughorn’s office Friday night? Just a warning, though, you might not like what you see,” she replied smugly, leaving Draco seething in the corridor.

“Those two are so exhausting sometimes,” Amelia murmured to herself as she walked to the owlery. “What would they do without me?”

Hermione tugged at the hem of the violet dress that Ginny selected for her; it was adorned with lace and felt much too short for the occasion. She pulled out a pair of nude heels, second guessing every part of her outfit as she put them on. Was this too dressy? It was a date, but did she want it to be that kind of a date?

Cormac was nice and all, but Hermione would not have asked him to the Christmas party if Amelia hadn’t pressured her.

Groaning internally, she wondered for the hundredth time that hour why she was going on a date with Cormac McLaggen. She was not exactly the casual dating type. Outside of her date with Viktor for the Yule Ball, she had never been on a public date before. All her moments with Draco had been secluded, just the two of them.

God, she really needed to read a book on flirting techniques. How many teeth do you show when you smile?

She paused in front of the mirror, her eyes catching on her locket; she had not taken it off since Draco gave it to her over a year ago. It felt disingenuous to wear on a date with someone else, though. Somberly, she watched herself, observing her eyes that she had glamoured to hide the residual redness from tears.

Taking a deep breath for strength, she unclasped the necklace and placed it gently in her nightstand. She shut the drawer; without the locket, her neck felt cold and bare. Pangs of guilt engulfed her as she walked to meet her date.

The party itself was no different than a regular Slug Club meeting; the only additions were formal clothes and dates. Professor Slughorn even invited some of his famous contacts to meet the students. It made Hermione wonder if she would receive a call from Slughorn in a decade to attend a meeting like this, to be paraded around like a show pony for her future accomplishments. She was not fond of the idea.