Nature vs. Nurture

by FadedFaye

Summary:

After a mysterious curse steals the memories of the last four years of her life, Hermione is sent to a safe house to recover while the healer's work on figuring out what exactly happened and how to fix it.

But she wasn't the only one cursed. And won't be the only staying at the safe house.

A lot of things can happen in four years. Some of which seem downright impossible.

A story of acceptance and growth. Of redemption and most of all, of love. Of how what once seemed impossible can become probable when given the chance to really know someone.

 

Disclaimer: All characters belong to J. K. Rowling.

Chapter 1: Chapter One

Chapter One

 

It slipped away from her as she woke.. Like a dream, once so solid upon waking, it dissipates in little wisps until there is nothing left. She felt it happening. The wisps floating off like seeds of a dandelion in the wind but she didn’t think it was a dream. It felt too massive, too all encompassing. 

 

It felt like a film being rewound, the tape pulling her backwards through time, through the scenes of her life. Each one flying by as the years spin back. Flying by and away, forgotten as they pass through her mind. The transition was so seamless that she couldn’t even begin to panic before the feeling of why she ought to had slipped away as well. 

 

As she came fully awake they were gone completely, no hint of what was there before. Only that there had been something there. Something that is now gone and only the void left behind giving any indication it had ever been otherwise.  

 

She feels it immediately. The feeling of wrongness. Her eyes fly open, her pulse skyrocketing as her muscles tensed and she began looking wildly around the room. Ten seconds of panic are all she allowed herself before she forced a deep breath into her lungs. Forced herself to take stock of her surroundings. She was in a room. And on a bed for that matter. The threat of immediate danger seems highly unlikely so she forced another deep breath down. 

 

Noted the sterile whiteness of the room mixed with bland artwork, a feat that she's only ever seen mastered in hospitals and doctors offices.  

 

Her own limbs were free of any restraints and the door was cracked open. Not a prisoner then. At least not in any obvious way. 

 

The lack of imminent danger pivoted her mind back to the void. To the wrongness she felt lurking within her own head, She probed at it, straining. And came back with nothing. She can’t place what's wrong, can’t put a finger on it but feels it all the same. 

 

Logic begins to take over. Waking up in what appears to be a hospital, coupled with a lingering sense of wrongness reaffirms that she was here being treated as a patient. 

 

A quick once over shows no outward signs of injury. Her body itself felt perfectly fine. 

 

Her wand was missing but that seemed proper protocol for patients. 

 

The open door beckoned to her. If she was truly a patient then the staff would be able to answer her questions. Her feet were on the floor and first steps were taken when she noticed the copy of The Daily Prophet laying on the bedside table. Her eyes glanced over the images on the cover, moving to snag on the date. 

 

April 2, 2006. 

 

She rubbed at her eyes, blinked a few times and then looked again. As if thinking the actions would somehow help to rearrange the ink on the page. Panic, strangely enough, is not the first emotion to hit her. First came a muddled confusion. She continued staring at it, perplexed. It was obviously a misprint. A glaring misprint that one would think would be caught in editing, 

 

It wasn’t until she picked it up and began to scan the cover article about that battle of Hogwarts that a trickle of fear ran down her spine. 

 

“Preparations are underway for the gala to celebrate the nine year anniversary since the battle of Hogwarts”.

 

A battle that took place four years ago. Not eight. 

 

One spelling error can be explained. Two…

 

Her breath started to come in quick gasps as she reassessed just why she may be a patient. 

 

Hermione Granger had lost her memories. Four entire years worth.

Chapter 2: Chapter Two

Chapter Two

 

Hermione stared at the bright lime green of the St. Mungo’s healer’s robes. It was easy to get caught up in the one bright color of the otherwise bleached hospital color palette. She’d never understood why hospitals in general opted for such a lack of color imagining the sterile whiteness leeched what little happiness its patients probably possessed.

The healer was talking, murmuring sentences in a low soothing voice that Hermione couldn’t seem to focus on. Couldn’t seem to stop trying to recall years of her life that refused to come. As if sheer force of will would be sufficient to bridge the gap in her mind.

She felt a hand on her knee and blinked a few times to find the healer staring at her, a concerned expression marking her features. Being asked a question and having no clue what it was is not a feeling Hermione was familiar with.

“Ms. Granger, I know this is a lot to take in. A lot to process and your emotions have got to be a mess.”

Hermione blinked again, took a ragged breath and tried to calm down. To reach a point where she could have a civilized conversation with this healer and get all the information regarding her situation. Information was good. Vital even. It's the first step in solving a problem. Which was something Hermione prided herself in doing well.

“I’m sorry, Healer…?” Hermione cocked her head, tried to recall the healer's name from the fog of the last few minutes, “I know you told me your name but I’m afraid I was a tad too panicked to actually listen.”

“That’s quite all right, dear. You’ve had quite the shake up. It's Healer Bennet.”

Hermione nodded, “Healer Bennet, thank you. Do you think it would be possible to explain to me again what's going on?”

Healer Bennet didn't even bat an eye at having to explain everything for the second time, well practiced in the patience required in dealing with patients.

“Your friends found you unconscious in your home. Gave them quite the scare I think. You didn’t show up to lunch and they thought it strange enough that they popped over through the floo. Brought you straight here. At the moment, we believe it to be some sort of curse that either took or is blocking some of your memories,” At this, Healer Bennet was quick to put a reassuring hand on Hermione’s shoulder, as if she could sense the panic setting in at the word curse. “Now, the silver lining here is that curses tend to have counter curses. It will be a simple matter of determining what manner of curse it is''.

Hermione said nothing, just stared back at Healer Bennett as she tried to wrap her mind around the reality of what she had just been told. But there was solace, however little, in the healer’s point. There was always a counter curse.

“You had said that your memory currently cuts off in April of 2002?” the healer prompted her.

Hermione nodded but struggled to articulate just how it felt. How to come to terms that it was indeed April of 2002. Rather it was April of 2006. “Yes, but it doesn't feel like I’m missing four whole years. Something feels wrong, yes. Like a void is there. But it feels like I’m on the side of the void that's next to 2002. Not the side by 2006”.

Healer Bennet tilted her head slightly, “What do you mean by the side of the void?”

Hermione took a moment to think before glancing up again, “When you think back to 2002, I’m sure you have many memories. But by and large they have become distant. A Christmas present you received may have been in 2002 but just as easy could have been in 2003. Does that make sense?” Hermione asked and Healer Bennet was quick to nod.

She plowed on, “That is not how it feels to me. I feel like 2006 is years in the future and that it is currently 2002. I remember what I ate for dinner last week. I feel…” She faltered, frustration seeping into her voice. “I feel like it's inconceivable that it's 2006 based sheerly on my recall of 2002. Like I am living as a past version of myself that hasn’t lost her memories but rather hasn’t even lived them yet. Like the void is a day or two that I have missed rather than years worth of memories.”

Healer Bennet nodded again, a quill that Hermione hadn’t even noticed her take out moving quickly across a notepad. “Thank you, Hermione. All of this is good to know. Each and every little thing might aid in helping to find the countercurse or cure.”

“I want to send in a memory specialist and a cursebreaker to run some tests on you. Get a baseline for what we’re working with. Normally, when dealing with a curse, we would take extensive notes of the days and weeks leading up to the incident. See if there was a possibility for some kind of exposure or anything unique that occurred in the time preceding the incident. We obviously can’t do that here and that makes our job a little more difficult. I do believe we will be able to fix this but I don’t want to give you false hope that it will be a quick fix. I want you to start coming to terms with the fact that it may take a few weeks to months. We don’t want to do anything hasty or brash, especially when dealing with the delicate matter of the brain and memory.” Healer Bennet actually took Hermione’s hand in her own. “I just want to be up front with you and as transparent as possible”.

Hermione was trying to formulate a response but it appeared Healer Bennet was not done. She took a deep breath before giving her hand a squeeze. “You should also be made aware, It was not an isolated incident.”

She blinked at her, sensing an odd feeling of foreboding with the words. “You mean it wasn’t just me that lost my memories?”

“Correct, Ms Granger. It was you and one other. I am not at liberty to say who at this moment but I need to go and meet with their healer and compare notes. Before deciding how to proceed.”

Hermione nodded again but was slightly confused. “Why are you telling me about them if it's a breach of policy to say who?”

“I meant it when I said I don’t believe this will be a quick fix. And typically it is not good to tell someone with memory loss about the things they can’t recall. Someone else's account will never match your own perception and things can…get messy and get messy fast. However, your shared experiences, both in the missing years and in the current situation, may be helpful. And comforting, if it comes to isolation.”

A spike of apprehension shot through her, “Isolation?”

“To a degree, yes. Like I said, finding out about the missing years from others is not a good thing. But it will be impossible to avoid if we send you back into your old life. WIth no idea what it is or how to live it.”

“And what happens if you are unable to cure me?” The voice that came out of her is shrill even to her own ears.

Healer Bennet gave her a reassuring smile. “Hermione, you're still you. We will get those memories back, I have no doubt. But even if we don’t, this is not the end. At that point we will work on reacclimating you to your life. Try to fill in and bridge the gaps. But until we reach that point we will tread carefully. A cure works better with a clean slate. Rather than having to rewrite all of the false memories.”

“False memories?” Hermione asked.

“That's what we call the gaps in your memory that you will fill in from the account of others. Things they will tell you or that you will find out from the news, anything really. Your mind will start to fill in all the gaps with that information. And while it may be true, it won’t be your memories. It will be a poor substitute. A secondhand account.”

“That makes sense,” Hermione agreed, “And these false memories can conflict with getting my true memories back?”

“It can. If you have a lot of false memories, when your real ones come back they will have to erase or bypass the false ones. Rather than just sliding back in with nothing in their way. That's why, in your unique situation, it might be beneficial to have the company of the one other person this happened to. But enough about that for now. I’ll go meet with the other healers, get some testing done and come up with a plan of action. Don’t you worry, dear. We will get this all fixed up.” With that Healer Bennet patted her on the hand again and left Hermione alone.

Alone with the void in her own mind and sterile white hospital walls.

—--

Over the course of the day, Hermione’s room became a train station of various witches and wizards passing through to wave their wands at her, running a plethora of unknown tests and asking endless questions. An exhausting and seemingly endless ordeal, as each one seemed to take information from her but gave very little in return.

Hermione tried to take it all in stride but the day began to wear on her patience. She could feel the emotion building in her, a tumultuous wave of anxiety and frustration drawing ever closer and forcing her to a breaking point.

It was nearing four thirty in the afternoon when she finally asked if there was any kind of update as the most recent healer to visit was making to walk out the door. The wizard paused, as if debating how much he was at liberty to tell her before he finally said he would call for Healer Bennet.

Hermione nodded and flopped back onto her bed to stare at the ceiling.

It was also white.

She had spaghetti for dinner last night. Except it wasn’t last night. It was a night in April five years ago. When she was twenty two years old. And now..now she is twenty six. With no memory of how she got here.

Four years have passed. Surely she must look different.

The thought propelled her back up off the bed and through the attached bathroom. To the mirror over the sink.

At first glance, it was the reflection she expected. Still her.

It isn’t until she looked closer that a wave of unease settled in the pit of her stomach.
There were differences. Minute but still there. Her hair was slightly more tamed. A different product perhaps? And although she didn’t notice anything so obvious as wrinkles by her eyes, she somehow just looked older. No markable detail that confirmed but just a passage of time that had left its almost minute changes. Imperceptible unless looking for them.

The Hermione of 2002 had just moved into her own flat. Had been enjoying decorating it and making it her own, filling it with bright warm colors and an abundance of books. She’d been doing well at her job at the Ministry, working in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She’d been single for just under a year, having finally broken things off with Ron. She’d even gone on a few dates. Her parents' memories were restored and she had been working on rebuilding her relationship with them.

But what of this Hermione? 2006 Hermione. She felt like a stranger in her own skin. Did she still love her job? Had she caved and gotten back with Ron? The breakup had been far from mutual and even though she had been the one to instigate it, she had had plenty of her own doubts. Or had she found someone new? That thought felt the strangest to her. To potentially have entered into another relationship with some person entirely unknown to her. Had her parents fully forgiven her?

Fear of the unknown is one of humanity's greatest fears. And currently, her own mind was the unknown. Robbed of the thing she treasured most in life. Information. Information in the form of memories.

That’s how Healer Bennet found her, gripping the sides of the sink and staring at her own reflection. “Hermione?” she said softly, “We have a plan of attack. If you’re up for hearing it.”

—--
Twenty minutes later found Hermione seated at a rectangular table across from Healer Bennet and two other healers.

One reached forward to shake her hand and introduced himself as Healer James Rottman, a thin lanky wizard with a kind smile and a twinkle in his eye. The other was a young witch, her brunette hair pulled up into a high bun on the top of her head and a vaguely familiar face. Hermione shook her hand as well before commenting, “Do I know you? I feel like I’ve seen you before.”

“I’m Vanessa La Nou,” she said, her voice further confirming that sense of familiarity. “ I'm sure you’ve seen me around Hogwarts a few times but I was quite a few years ahead of you. I was a sixth year back when you were a first year.”

Hermione smiled weakly at the witch, “Add that to the list of things I should remember today but can’t seem to recall.”

Healer Bennet saved Healer La Nou from having to respond, “Hermione, this will be your primary care team here while we work to restore your memories. Healer Rottman is primarily a cursebreaker that did his healing studies in order to better work with cursed witches and wizards. I will be working with him directly to head the research into your case. Healer La No will be your personal liaison that will be coming to do checks on you and that you can contact with any questions, comments or concerns.”

One phrase in particular stood out to Hermione, “You said you’ll be coming to do checks. Does that mean that I’m getting discharged and can go home?” A thought that both relieved and terrified her, for she very much wanted to not be at the hospital but didn’t entirely know what or where home meant anymore. She also strongly suspected that her home was not what the healer’s had in mind, regardless.

Healer Bennet nodded but slowly, with her head slightly angled to one side. Hermione assumed that she was choosing her next words wisely.

“We think it would be best for your morale if you didn’t spend your time waiting for a cure here at the hospital, yes. But you also understand the importance of not having you return to your previous life and friends prematurely. So as to not hamper or damage your recovery by creating false memories.” Hermione nodded at all of this, wondering where exactly they planned to send her and trying to keep the rising apprehension locked tight. “Many of the old safe houses from the war have been flipped and turned into patient houses for St. Mungo’s. We use them for a variety of reasons. A few cater to werewolves that need a safe place to transition, extended recoveries for those who don’t necessarily want to spend months at the hospital, some of the war victims that require a more delicate environment. A few of them are near muggle villages and towns. We think one of these would be ideal for your situation. It would allow you to spend your days as you wish and could venture into the muggle villages with minimal fear of seeing anyone from the wizarding community.”

Hermione thought it over for a few seconds, realizing it probably was the best possible option that didn’t involve her roaming the halls of St Mungo’s out of boredom. Even if it sounded like being in a house alone would bring its own kinds of boredom.

“So I’ll be at this house by myself,” she stated. “ You had mentioned another person that also lost their memories. Will I be allowed any sort of communication with them?”

“Would the two of you mind stepping out so I can have a few minutes alone with Ms. Granger?”

A look passed between the three healers before James and Vanessa nodded and stood, giving Hermione reassuring smiles as they exited the room.

Their similes did little to actually reassure her. An odd tension seemed to have permeated the room. Healer Bennet, if she had to guess, looked almost apprehensive. A tension in her shoulders and a wan smile forced on her face.

“What’s going on?” she asked the only remaining healer, the anxiety she had been working so diligently at tamping down on finally creeping into her own voice.

“It’s a bit of a delicate situation that I didn’t think you would want to find out in the presence of a wizard you just met and a witch you went to school with.”

A non answer that did little to calm her nerves or assuage her anxiety.

“Find out what, exactly?”

“Try to relax, Ms. Granger. It’s nothing bad. It just pertains to a change in your life that occurred in the missing years that we have been debating breaking protocol and informing you of. Due to the fact that it also involves the other individual cursed with memory loss. We think it would be best to have the both of you spend your isolation together. But to do that would involve at least telling you the manner of your relationship to one another. Even if you can’t recall how you got to that point.

Hermione must have looked puzzled or at least perplexed. Healer Bennet put up a hand to stop the barrage of questions that she was about to unload. “An example, if you will. Let's say you and Mr. Potter had lost your memories in your fourth year at Hogwarts. Terrible accident in one of your classes. Perhaps you would need to be isolated for a few months and we thought it would be less lonely to have to spend it together. In order to minimize memory damage, we would have told you that the two of you were best friends but not explained any of how that happened. Not how you met or any of the previous experiences that led to you being friends. Essentially, we would give you the bare minimum so as not to start creating false memories. But enough so you understood your relationship to the other person. Does that kind of make sense?”

“Yes, I think so. So I know this other person but I met them in the lost years and you can’t tell me how?”

“Of a sort. You did not meet them in the years you lost, you met them much much earlier. But the nature of your relationship drastically changed in those years.”

It was impossible not to play a potential list of candidates through her head. Background noise to the healer’s explanation. People that Hermione knew but didn’t have an established relationship with. The possibilities were endless. Her list came to a screeching halt when Healer Bennet added one last comment.

“If my information is correct, you weren’t friends in the least. Quite the opposite in fact, I am led to believe you rather disliked one another. Obviously, that has since changed. Is the name Draco Malfoy familiar to you?”

Was the name Draco Malfoy familiar to her? Her first instinct is the one that comes unbidden when something takes you by such immense surprise. When what has occurred is so strange, so perplexing and so unexpected it's as if your mind cannot process it so it simply barks out a laugh as a way to cope. And laugh she did, ripping out of her in something that might be described as a snort.

“Yes, you could say it’s familiar. He’s only hated me since the day he met me. Are you going to try and say we’ve somehow set our differences aside and become friends?”

She meant it purely as a joke, an aside to break the tension. But Healer Bennet had looked away, not quite able to hold her gaze. She sighed a heaving breath and shuffled a few of the pieces of parchment laying on the desk in front of her. A collection of small pointless actions to avoid commenting.

Confusion rippled through Hermione. A beat of disbelief. She leaned forward slightly, forcing the healer's eyes back to her own before saying, “You actually are aren’t you? Implying that we’ve somehow become friends.”

Another sigh. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”

“So,” Hermione paused, the confusion spreading, “Then we aren’t friends?”

“Oh no, I would say you’re definitely friends,” Healer Bennet grimaced slightly, “Or at least friendly.” She sighed yet again before continuing on. “Hermione, considering your current opinion of Mr. Malfoy, there is no easy way to say this. Only that, in the years you're missing, your opinion of him must have changed rather drastically. Enough so that you married him.”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment. Whereas the shock of hearing his name earlier elicited a sardonic laugh this comment..this comment had robbed her of any reaction beyond a blank stare.

She finally broke out of her paralysis to utter a simple, “Pardon?”

Healer Bennet didn’t beat around the bush, didn't sugarcoat it. Stated it plain and simple.

“Draco Malfoy is your husband.”

Another beat of silence passes as Hermione sat there in mute shock, her body beginning to tingle and go numb. “That simply isn’t possible.” Her brain wouldn’t accept it. Wouldn’t even acknowledge it as a plausible possibility, however far fetched. Because nothing about it is even remotely plausible. She would have had better chances of sprouting wings and flying than marrying Draco Malfoy.

“It’s unexpected, I can imagine.”

“Unexpected!” she all but screeches, the tight seal she's kept on her emotions this entire day finally cracking. With every new revelation and horror that transpired she had kept pulling it tighter and tighter. This had blown it wide open. Laid waste to her control as if she never had any to begin with.
“Unexpected implies possibility. There is no possibility that this would happen. He is repulsed by my very existence. Of all muggleborns. But, beyond that, I have never known someone to hate me on such a personal level in the way he does. There is simply no possibility.” Hermione finishes with finality.

Healer Bennet nodded calmly at her. As if she expected this reaction and knew it would be her job to try and sooth her wayward patient. At least that’s how it appears to Hermione.

“I can imagine why you might feel that. You’ve essentially been given the end of the book but the middle is missing. I can understand that you’re frustrated, confused, upset and probably feeling a great deal more emotions. But it has been four years. A lot can happen in four years. And clearly has.” Healer Bennet leaned forward at this point and stared directly into Hermione’s eyes as she continued on. As if begging her to use logic and see reason, “ You yourself testified at his trial. Stated that he was a boy being manipulated and coerced from a young age.”

“I understand that. I really do. But that doesn’t bridge the gap between marrying someone and thinking they are a misled bully,” she choked out. Her hands shook uncontrollably as she reached up to swipe away the tears that had begun leaking from her eyes. “I’m truly married to him? This isn’t some prank or joke or-” Healer Bennet reached across the table and placed a hand on Hermione’s, cutting her off mid sentence.

“It’s not a joke, my dear. I swear it on my healer’s oath. There will certainly be some conversations to be had and things to work though between the two but everyone here at St. Mungo’s still believe it to be the best option for you both to stay together while we work on the cure. Your body will remember the sense of comfort the other offers,
even if your mind doesn’t.”

 

A universe where solace was taken from Malfoy was inconceivable. Her rational brain that still seemed to be in functioning order could recognize that the healer’s perspective on things was valid. Made perfect sense. The part of her brain that currently had the reins felt no such camaraderie. She felt like her world was crashing down around her and closing in on her in such a way that no state of panic had ever done before. Panic usually spurred her into action. If being attacked, then counterattack. If exams were approaching, then study and be prepared. If they were hunting Horcruxes, then research and look. This felt different. This felt like suffocation with no reprieve, no clear way to trudge ahead. She couldn’t come to terms that any events in her life would transpire that would lead her to marry Draco Malfoy.

And of the inverse. That he would marry her. Not even in the most distant alternate universe could she conceptualize him changing enough to willingly marry her.

A slimy feeling of self consciousness slithered into her veins and took root there. What must he have thought to wake up and find himself married to his childhood mudblood nemesis? She hated herself for feeling it. Any kind of self consciousness due to the likes of Draco Malfoy. And she hated him for making her feel this way without even trying. A latent effect from all their years of mutual disdain. From all the slurs and deprecating comments he had so viciously thrown her way. And she had always let them slide right off her back. Never let them bother her in any lasting way. But now, the thought of him realizing who he was married to and also missing all the memories of how it happened, she couldn’t deny the sense of dread that settled in her stomach.

She glanced up at Healer Bennet, grim acceptance giving her tone a bleak hopelessness, “What did he do when he found out about me? What did he say?”

“I think, perhaps, that is a good question for you to ask him. A good conversation for the two of you to have. But I can imagine he was just as shocked as you are.” Healer Bennet stood, pushed back her chair and gilded Hermione back to her room. “I’ll give you a few moments to get your things and your thoughts together and then we will take you to the safe house. Mr. Malfoy will have arrived there,” she checked a muggle watch on her wrist and Hermione felt a distant spark of surprise, “around thirty or so minutes ago.”

 

—--
Her legs moved of their own accord on the walk back to her room, mindlessly following the healer in what could only be described as a daze. Her eyes were open but processed very little, the blank white walls doing little to break into her trancelike state. They eventually fell to focus on her feet. One foot continually falling in front of the other, propelling her forward. One step, two steps, three then four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight and on and on. She felt calmed by the repetitive nature of it. At knowing what came next, even if it was something so small as a simple step forward.

She was at step one hundred and eighty two when they reached her room. So concentrated on her steps that she slightly bumped into Healer Bennet before stammering an apology and moving to head into her room.

“It will be alright, Hermione. Life as a way of working itself out, no matter how unexpected the path we find ourselves on. Think of all the things you’ve conquered and accomplished in your life. This surely won't be the one that breaks you”

She nodded at her, a small smile of genuine gratitude breaking across her face, “Thank you, Healer Bennet.”

She found herself clinging to the healer’s parting words, breathing them in and letting them expand within, bringing forth all the times in her life they rang true.

She set an alarm with her wand for five minutes and then sat on the edge of the bed, eyes becoming unfocused as she stared fixedly at a point on the wall. This would not be the thing that broke her. It felt insurmountable but the healer was right. Her life held no shortage of insurmountable moments. And all of them had been vanquished. Everything from figuring out the wizarding world as a muggleborn to the defeat of Voldemort. She had faced death more times in her twenty six years than most did in their entire life. The forbidden forest, the Hall of Mysteries, Bathilda Bagshot’s house, the drawing room at Malfoy Manor, the Battle of Hogwarts. She listed them off in her mind, a mantra of encouragement to herself. Scenarios that she faced head one and, in all honesty, should be worse than facing a temporary memory loss and one Draco Malfoy. She knew this on a rational level. But as she stared at that blank wall she couldn’t stop picturing a set of grey eyes. Grey eyes that were trained on her, brimming with loathing and disgust.

Notes:

Thanks for giving this fic a try and reading. It's my first attempt at writing and I am sure that might be abundantly clear at times. I would find myself day dreaming after reading other fics and scenes started playing out in my mind with a version of Draco that kept haunting me. MOAM and Wait and Hope Draco's are some of my favorites and I think I gravitate towards stories set in settings that are post war with adult characters. That's what this story is and I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 3: Chapter Three

Vanessa apparated her side along to land in a quaint unassuming muggle neighborhood. Rows upon rows of neat houses with manicured lawns stretched out and off into the distance. Grey skies with only a slight drizzle was far from enough to keep the inhabitants indoors. From where she stood, she could see a few people running and a few more simply walking along the sidewalks, dogs on leashes in tow.

Vanessa turned to her with a smile and motioned them in the direction of the sidewalk to their right. Hermione mentally checked herself to refer to her as Healer LaNou but something about the other witch made it difficult to do so. Be it her easy going nature or their similar ages. As if to prove the point, Vanessa linked her arm with Hermione’s and began moving them down the brick sidewalk. Casual as if they were old friends out for a walk rather than leading Hermione to a house arrest of unknown duration with a supposed husband who hated her.

The house arrest was put into more clarity and detail as they walked, Vanessa just as firm as Healer Bennet in the importance of no outside influence from the magical world.

“We are tentatively anticipating it to last three months. Healer Rottman is confident that gives him adequate time to identify the manner of curse, form its counter and also run some trials. If that timeline changes you will of course be the first to know,” she gave Hermione a reassuring squeeze on her arm, “As we said before, I’ll be your primary contact. Don’t hesitate at all to contact me by owl or patronus if you have any questions, problems or concerns. Seriously, don’t hesitate. My job is to make this transition as seamless as possible. I’ll also be dropping in on a weekly basis to check in, run progress tests and do anything else you may need or we may need.”

A recurring question flitted through Hermione’s mind. She debated asking it, wondering if it bordered on putting Vanessa in a compromising position. But curiosity, as always for her, prevailed.

“Do you remember him from school?” she asked, her anxiety bleeding into the question and making it come out pleading rather than simply inquisitive. “Was our disdain for the other obvious to even the older years?”

“Oh yes, I remember him,” Vanessa chuckled, “He was a right git and a pompous little thing at that.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise at not only Vanessa’s honesty but that she would break protocol to share it with her patient. Which Hermione kept forgetting she was. Perhaps that feeling went both ways and it was as difficult for the Healer to remember her role as it was for Hermione as the patient.

They plodded a few more paces down the sidewalk before Vanessa pulled her to a halt. “People change Hermione. He was conflicted and struggling back at the end of the war. I imagine he had more baggage and change to go through than the average person. But everyone changes. For Merlin’s sake just look at Neville Longbottom. That is not who I thought that awkward looking little boy would grow into.”

That drew a laugh out of Hermione, “How do you know Neville?” But as soon as she said it she knew. His parents lived at St. Mungo’s. How else would a healer know Neville. “Oh, of course. He must come visit them”.

Vanessa smiled sadly and inclined her head, beginning to pull Hermione back down the street. “I’m just saying, give him a chance. People tend to surprise you if you do.”

Grey eyes flashed through her mind again, angry and full of hate. But Hermione tried to envision what it might be like if they weren’t. She couldn’t capitulate what it would mean in terms of marriage. But she tried to picture what they might hold in their misty grey depths if they were gazing at her as a friend rather than an enemy. She was still trying to formulate it when Vanessa announced they had arrived.

Hermione gazed up at the brown brick exterior of the modest one story house that was to be her home for the next three months. Home and prison all in one. She wondered which would prevail.

A twisting brick path led up to the front door, painted a cream color. Potted plants framed the door, flowering large pink blossoms and adding a welcoming, “someone lives here” charm. Hermione’s forced confidence managed to get her all the way down the path, up the steps and reaching for the door before she drew in a breath. Her limbs seemed to seize up even with one hand already outstretched towards the door. Once she opened it and passed through, there would be no going back. It would solidify everything into reality.

It wasn’t as though she didn’t believe the Healers. But being told something allows for a certain suspension of reality in your belief of it. Actually seeing it and moving into the framework of it allows for no such suspension.

She turned back, finding Vanessa’s gaze as she stood a few steps down. “Will you be coming in as well?” She tried to not let the desperation leak into the question.

Vanessa seemed to falter. “I can if you truly want me to. I’ll be there in an instant. But I can’t help but think this will go better on your own rather than me making awkward introductions and pointing out the obvious. Giving an audience to things that are probably better faced without one”.

Hermione agreed with her even if she didn’t relish the idea of walking through the door on her own.

“Thank you” A simple farewell but the only one she could muster as she pushed all her strength and willpower into turning the handle, opening the door and walking into the house.

 

—--
The interior reminded her of walking into the Gryffindor common room. Obvious effort had been given to making the house cozy and inviting. All things she imagined hadn't been in the craze of the war, when people sheltered where they could and gave little to thought to creature comforts.

The entryway was painted a dusty blue and had a small bench with space for shoes underneath and a coat rack conveniently placed next to it. Past the entryway the house seemed to split in two directions, a hallway leading off to the left and a sitting room to the right. A beat of indecision where she wondered where he might be in the rooms of this unknown house and guiltily hoped it was in the opposite direction of the hallway she chose. The first door leads to a small bathroom, decorated in pale pinks and peaches. A scattering of sea shells adorned a shelf above the toilet and an immensely fluffy rug covers the floor. The decor is not what she would have personally picked but it is evident that someone took care to add the finishing touches to make it feel like a home.

She crept back into the hall and moved on to the next room. She had just taken a single step into a bedroom with pale green walls when she noticed a suitcase and mens jacket laying on the bed. Her heart jumped up her throat and before she knew it she was backpedaling into the hall.

She tried to internally scold herself for having such a visceral reaction to a jacket laying on a bed but couldn’t seem to cap her emotions. It made it real in a way that everyone's verbal accounts of her “forgotten” husband hadn’t. That there really was a man in this house in the same situation as her. There was still some small part of her brain that strained against the reality that it was Draco Malfoy. That latched on to the possibility that it was an ill landed joke and it would turn out to be someone else entirely.

She focused on returning her breathing to a rate that didn’t sound like she had just finished a jog as she came to the last two rooms in the hall. A quick peek in one showed it to be a study of sorts. A bookshelf that she refrained from currently inspecting lined one wall and a simple wooden desk ran across another, a few quills and pieces of parchment paper laying on top. The final room was another bedroom, this one painted a light lilac color with tasteful floral paintings decorating the walls.

She moved fully into the room and with a deep breath, decided that it may as well be hers. She dug through her small trusty beaded bag, a comfort that had gone with her through the years, and pulled out her shrunken suitcase. Tossing it on the bed, she returned it to its full size with a wave of her wand.

The task of finding a room done all too quickly, she forced herself back through the hall to the other side of the house. Where he must surely be and all inevitable paths must end.

 

—--

She found him in the formal living room, standing with his back to her as he faced the window. He stood completely still, hands clasped behind his back staring out through the glass. Perhaps in the same trancelike state Hermione found herself in earlier as she stared at her spot on the wall and tried to force her body and mind to process all of the events that had transpired.

His blond hair was unmistakable, in shade if not in style. Any minute speck of hope that it might not be to him that she is married evaporated the second she saw his hair. Combusted and crumbled to ask in the millisecond it took to register the white blond and confirm his identity. At Hogwarts, it had always been so perfectly styled. Slicked back in the early years and then parted primly to the side in the later years. Now his hair is longer than she has ever seen it, tucked behind his ears in a messy tousle.

She frowned slightly at the mild wave in it. Unexpected as it didn’t match up with her memory of him or with the perfectly manicured adult version of him her mind had generated.

Her shock at his appearance overrode any premeditated greetings she may have had for him and she blurted out, “Your hair is different.”

His shoulders tensed. No, his entire body tensed and she realized, with no small amount of horror, that he hadn’t known she was there. He turned slowly to face her and she noticed his face was leached of color, pale even for him.

The once over he gave her was obvious. Like he didn’t even try to hide it. He probably didn’t, knowing his arrogance. “So is yours. Seems you learned to tame it.”

The words weren’t said with his usual dripping condescension but she bristled all the same. Her hair was something she had come to love about herself, especially since she has, in his words, learned to tame it. The curls now fall in curving ringlets without the addition of the volumizing amounts of frizz.

A retort was on her lips, ready to spew back and begin the verbal sparring match when he averted his eyes and said, “It suits you,” in a low voice.

Yet again, there was no malice in his voice but there was also no inflection at all. Just distant detachment. Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, she just nodded, a faint flush creeping into her cheeks and choked out a quick “Thank you”.

After which, they stared at each other. Seconds ticked by and gazes were averted. Feet were shuffled and weight was shifted. The silence in the room seemed to grow and expand, becoming dense with their complicated past as it settled heavy on her shoulders. Malfoy looked like he would rather be anywhere else. He would probably prefer Azkaban to this, she thought dryly. Bloody hell she might give Azkaban a go rather than attempt to force out a polite conversation with memory loss, marriage and persisting feelings of dislike hanging over their heads.

She broke first. “I don’t know how to do this. I haven’t the faintest idea what to say to you or even how to proceed”. She was mildly surprised at the raw honesty that barreled past her lips. Perhaps he was as well because his eyes instantly shot back to hers, clearer than they had looked previously.

“I find that I don’t as well.”

Hermione shuffled her feet a bit before admitting defeat. “I think I’m just going to go to bed. It's been,” she paused, drawing a breath deep into her lungs,”well it's honestly been the longest day of my life. I saw you took the first bedroom so I took the other one. The lilac one”.

He inclined his head to her. “Alright. I believe that one has an in suite bathroom as well”.

Hermione simply nodded back. Officially drained from this bizarrely cordial but stilted conversation. She turned to go and was just passing through the doorway when one phrase further reached her ears. Surprising her enough to stop her in her tracks.

“Goodnight, Granger.”

Such a simple phrase to elicit such an extreme reaction. But it had.

She turned slowly to look back at him. He was looking her way, his face expressionless and arms hanging by his side.

She met his eyes, noticing for the first time how different he looked since the last time she had seen him, young and terrified while sitting for his trial before the entire Wizengamot. The fear was gone and the dread that had seemed to leech his very soul from his body. Now he just looked tired. And incredibly tense.

“Goodnight, Malfoy,” she said in what she hoped was an even voice as she turned back to the door and walked away in what she also hoped was an even walk.

 

—--

Hermione fled back to her room, closing the door and leaning against it as emotions worked her way up throat and threatened to spill over. One choked sob broke its way free and it was as if the dam was released. A single rogue sob was all it took to pave the way for the ones that followed. She quickly pulled out her wand and muttered a silencing spell before sliding down the door to crumble in a heap at the bottom.

The sobs wracked her body in short gasping bursts that made it difficult to draw breath. She suspected that if she didn’t get a grasp on her emotions soon, a full blown panic attack was waiting in the wings to swoop in and divest her of what little control she had left.

Malfoy had been the final straw. His reaction, demeanor and all the bland politeness. Every single aspect of the interaction had been so far from what she had expected. She gave him enough credit to assume that he would at least act like an adult. Withhold the slurs, direct bullying and antagonism. But she had expected, with near complete certainty, cold indifference. Perhaps haughty pride. And certainly uncontrollable disgust.

But he had been…polite. In a stiff and stilted sort of manner. And that, bizarrely, had been the tipping point for Hermione. Just one more thing she couldn’t understand or predict about her life.

Her sobs had abated and her breathing slowed. She picked herself up off the floor and moved to the bed.

She would try again with Malfoy in the morning. The passing of time, especially if those hours are unwaking, has a way of resetting the mind. Of offering perspective and a fresh start to whatever horrors the previous day held. Hermione held no false expectations that the day would bring with it her lost memories. That horror would persist. But Malfoy was a problem and anomaly that she could focus on. Work on unraveling and resolving.

And so, at only eight o’clock in the evening, Hermione climbed into bed with the hopes of a new day and a renewed grip on her emotions.
—--

“I thought we’d go to the burrow again.”

Hermione glanced up from her tea towards where Ron was seated. He had a copy of The Daily Prophet spread out in front of him, eyes glued to the column of stats and predictions of which teams would be making it to the quidditch world cup this year. It wasn’t that he was avoiding her eyes and any discussion that might ensue. He simply didn’t realize.

He was wholly unaware of the tension and frustration building silently within her. Of course they would go to the burrow for dinner. It was Friday night and that was simply what they did. An easy habit to fall into when one party is loath to cook and the other is exhausted from a week full of long days at the Ministry. Days that sometimes bled into evenings if her passions got the better of her. They would show up to a welcoming Molly Weasley, who never tired of having a full house, and more often than not, a few stray other members of the Weasley clan. A home cooked meal would always be waiting and they inevitably would end up staying well into the night.

It wasn’t even that she disliked going. She loved the Weasley’s like her own family. Always enjoyed going and her time there.

For the most part. The marriage questions geared towards her and Ron were coming more and more frequently and she found she could rather do without them. “When are you going to get married?” An Innocuous question that was easy to talk her way around had turned into “Why aren’t the two of you married yet?” How do you answer a question when you don’t even know the answer yourself?

“Maybe we could have a date night?”

Ron looked genuinely baffled by her suggestion that they even consider breaking habit. She almost felt sorry for him but her annoyance was clouding her vision. Annoyance that she could objectively tell was irrational but couldn’t stop herself from feeling it.

She cut him off before he could utter the rebuke she knew was coming.

“Yes, I know it's Friday and we typically go to the burrow. But it's not set in stone. And as it's my only night with some free time scheduled in, I thought it might be nice to have a date night.”

His reluctance was palpable. But Ron wasn’t vindictive. He may want to go to the burrow but she had phrased it in a way that made it hard to refuse. He would have to state he would rather go to the burrow than a date with his girlfriend.

She felt oily with the manipulation. She hadn’t even realized she had done it until he acquiesced. But she thought she might scream if she had to tik away the hours of her only free night at the burrow again. Sit and wait for the questions that she knew would be coming.

Questions that burned through her own mind when she questioned her own reluctance.

They had just arrived at the restaurant when Hermione woke from her dream. From the memory.

She blinked against the blinding sunlight streaming through a slot in the curtains and falling across her face. Perfecting bisecting her eyes.

She huffed at the irony of it and rolled over, pulling the blankets up to shield her eyes. It had rained the last two weeks straight and now, her first day in this new hell, it was sunny.

Her mind instantly corrected her mental error. It had rained the last two weeks in April of 2002. She had no idea what the weather had been like in April of 2006.

She felt her emotions begin to crowd in again, each vying for dominance. But it was like they were exhausted and couldn’t come with the vengeance of the previous day. She could think around them, breathe around them. Hopefully hold a conversation around them. She took a deep breath and felt in control.

Not quite acceptance of her situation but a determination to do better.

Figuring she may as well meet the day head on, she rolled out of bed and stretched her arms over head. Normally, she would venture to her kitchen in her sleep shorts and tank top to make a cup of tea to carry about with her while she got ready for the day. Setting it on the counter while she showered, moving it to the vanity while she did her make up. And finally ending at the kitchen table with her breakfast and The Daily Prophet.

As she doubted she would be wandering the house in her sleep shorts or any state of undress any time soon, tea would have to wait.

She moved to the closet, opening it in surprise to find a collection of familiar blouses and jumpers. Some of the items she didn’t recognize but many were favorites that she had kept year after year. And apparently continued to do so. She vaguely remembered signing off to allow some of her clothes and possessions to be relocated to the safe house. It felt strange to her knowing someone had been in her house. Had the job of deciding which things she might like or want. Sighing, she chose a simple pair of denims and a soft cream sweater for the day.

She showered longer than she normally would have, letting the hot water roll over her and ease some of the tension that had built up in her muscles. By the time she finally forced herself to turn the faucet off, her fingers were starting to prune and she was beginning to feel antsy.

With her hair wrapped up in a towel, she slipped into the clothing. Her clothing. Now that it was on her body, she appreciated the effort. Hadn’t realized the calming effect of simply putting on her own clothing would have. It felt like a lifejacket of normalcy.

She pulled the towel off her head and stared at her wet curls, debating. In the comfort of her own home, she would traipse around with her hair wet, letting it air dry as she got ready.

Even fully clothed, that felt too intimate. She set about applying drying spells and smoothing cream, trying to tame it as best she could.

Makeup provided another unexpected obstacle. Any other day lounging around the house, she wouldn’t even consider putting it on. Certainly hadn’t had it on last night when arriving from her stay at St. Mungo’s.

But she did normally wear a small amount when going out in public. A dusting of eyeshadow and a quick brush of mascara. And this felt very much like going out in public in the sense that Malfoy was essentially a stranger to her.

She put the makeup on. Wondered if the weeks to come would offer any sort of comfortable companionship in which she would choose to go without it.

—--
It was eight thirty in the morning when Hermione deemed herself presentable. And deemed that to delay any longer would pass the threshold of acceptable. She eyed her bedroom door for a few seconds before sighing and pushing through it.

The hallway was empty. Which was what she expected. People didn’t tend to linger in hallways. But the desire for tea, maybe even a stronger coffee, drew her towards the kitchen. A room where the chances of finding it deserted greatly decreased. But, alas, Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and busied herself making a pot of coffee.

The kitchen was very straightforward. Neatly organized in such a way that she had no difficulties finding the various things she needed. Bagels, bread, butter, jams, eggs, coffee beans and tea bags. Everything was stocked and ready for use.She opted for simple this morning, toast and coffee. Was just buttering said toast when she heard a throat clear behind her.

She whirled around to find Malfoy standing in the doorway. He inclined his head to her and offered a simple “Good morning”.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t exactly look happy. But there was also no malice in the statement.

“Umm hi. Good morning I mean,” she stammered back to him.

He actually grimaced slightly. “I don’t remember you being so timid and awkward, Granger.”

It was her turn to grimace now. This entire thing was awkward. “Yes, well, I don’t remember ever having to play nice before when interacting with you”.

He chuckled grimly and moved towards the coffee cups hanging along the wall and selecting a floral patterned one. Odd choice. “Touche to that. I see you made coffee?”

Hermione nodded, taking a sip of her own cup. “Yes. I typically have tea but went for something a little stronger this morning.” Her heart was racing in her chest from the strange effect of having a conversation with Malfoy. She honestly thought it may have been the first they had ever had that didn’t consist of hurling insults at one another.

Malfoy moved to the pot and poured himself a cup. She noted that he took it black. Or at least didn’t feel like looking or asking for cream and sugar. He turned, holding the cup in his hands and met her eyes. Again, his face was expressionless. She heard inflection when he spoke, and could pick up inferred meaning. But she garnered nothing from his face. She didn’t have much experience with occulmency but the thought that he might be occulding crossed her mind.

His movements were stilted and stiff. Even the way he held his cup, white knuckles in a vice around the handle, spoke of a cornered animal about to snap.

She looked down and found her own knuckles just as white.

He glanced at her once more, grey eyes dull and emotionless as they met hers, before inclining his head in a slight nod and turning on his heel to leave.

Hermione drew a breath in through her nose and told herself to simply accept it. If he needed to occlude to tolerate her presence, then that was fine. That was better than open disgust and insults.
—--

The house was too quiet. A stillness seemed to settle in and sink its claws into all the rooms. The small noises one makes simply moving throughout the day clang through the silence, breaking it in oppressive waves that shriek through its walls. Hermione can’t help but be aware of him. A simple cabinet opening tells her that he is in the kitchen. A toilet flushing says he's moved to the bathroom. A chair scraping back from the desk is surely the library.

She wondered if he is as aware of her as she is of him. Is he using the noises in an all but silent house to avoid her? To avoid stilted conversations with a witch that you hated throughout your school years and now somehow to have to come to terms with the fact that you ended up marrying her? Her and her dirty blood.

She had come to the library room to try and brainstorm. Get some ideas on parchment for how the curse had happened and how to break it. But all that occupies her mind is how she could have ended up married to Malfoy.

The thoughts began creeping in at breakfast that morning when she finally got a good look at him. The night before was a blur of stress and emotion and the single detail she walked away with was that he was taller than she remembered. But at breakfast, standing across the kitchen island from him with a steaming cup of coffee in her hands, she had analyzed his appearance.

He was, indeed, tall. Taller even than Ron, who was six feet. Malfoy had to be at least six two or six three. But he seemed subdued about it. The Malfoy in her memory was haughty, standing tall and proud and making use of every inch of his height. But this version was different. Not quite slouching but more turned in on himself, shoulders curved forward and leaning slightly. Not standing to his full height unless to walk.

The early morning light had streamed in through the window behind him and set his white blond hair aglow. Everything about him was pale. His hair was the whitest blond she had ever seen. Skin was porcelain white and flawless. Not a single blemish seemed to mar it. Even his eyes were a bright blue grey, strung through with a silvery hue that sometimes took on an inhuman glow when the light hit them.

Every single thing about him was in stark contrast to her. Full grown at five three, a head full of unruly brown curls, hazel eyes that looked brown from a distance, a spatter of freckles across her skin and a muggleborn to top it all off. She had gotten an odd sense of grim satisfaction at the thought of how odd the two of them must look together.

With an air of clinical detachment, she analyzed what she saw. And was horrified to come to the conclusion that Malfoy was beautiful. Breathtakingly so. She supposed she had never once given it any thought before. Just thought of him as an arrogant pureblood, bred into his cold aristocratic features. Had never once stopped to think if she found him attractive. It had never mattered before and so she had never considered it. Her dislike of him had never allowed her to consider it. But in the cold light of this new day, she couldn’t do anything but consider it.

And so she stared down at the blank sheet of parchment before putting her head in her hands and giving up on any actual progress on that front. Gave in to analyzing where her life was and where she had thought she was heading compared to where she actually ended up.

In April of 2002 she had been single for only a few short months since ending things with Ron. After having been together a little over three years, she had been the one to finally pull the plug on their failing relationship. And what was shocking was that apparently it had only seemed to be failing to her. Shocking that if she hadn’t ended things, Ron probably never would have. A perpetuity of stagnation that he was absolutely content in. Did it matter that neither of them challenged the other? Probably not. That would require him to notice he was not being challenged.

But then again, maybe Ron didn’t want to be challenged. Perhaps what Ron really wanted was someone to coast through life with and enjoy its creature comforts.

And there was absolutely nothing wrong with that. But Hermione could not be that person.
She had always thought that he had never proposed because he too knew that things weren’t quite right. That there were things needing resolving before such a monumental step could be taken.

She couldn’t have been more wrong. Beyond wanting her to work less and maybe desire a family more, he had been perfectly happy. Assumed those things would come in time and assumed it with complete assurance. He had the golden girl. And his best friend was with his sister. After years of fighting Voldemort, things had worked out as they always should.

She hadn’t once thought of it that way. As some predestined dream that ended with the good guys winning and all things working out. A cookie cutter like that they would all simply fall into.

To her, she had developed a crush on one of her best friends and he had reciprocated. So they gave it a shot. And it never really took to flame the way she had hoped and maybe even expected.

And so what she thought would be an amicable breakup with mutual understanding had, in fact, been a colossal disaster.

She felt a pang in her chest when she remembered how distraught Ron had been. Distraught and completely blindsided. She had told him that they needed to talk. They had sat down in their living room and Hermione had tried to choose an armchair next to the couch. To force some separation between them for what was sure to be a difficult conversation. But Ron had corralled her to the couch with him, his manner light and jovial. Looking back, that should have been the first of many glaring clues that he was not picking up on the tension and unhappiness that she felt. Had been feeling for quite some time.

She had held his hand as she explained that she wanted to end things and go back to just being friends. In true Hermione fashion, she had laid out her thoughts and reasonings, everything she had considered in order to come to the conclusion.

Ron had been uncharacteristically quiet. That should have been her second clue. He was so utterly shocked that she had rendered him temporarily speechless.

The tear that tracked down his cheek was the third clue. When she had finally added all the clues together and realized that things would not go as smoothly as she had assumed.

What followed was the worst breakup Hermione could have ever envisioned. Ron had pleaded with her to give him another try, to work on the things she was unhappy about. Didn’t she understand that they were perfect together? That she was perfect for him?

It had culminated when Ron had disappeared into the bedroom for a moment. Only to return with a small red velvet box in his trembling hands. They shook so badly that he almost dropped it as he thrust it at her.

The softness of the velvet had felt offensive in her hands. That anything could feel so soft when everything else about the moment felt so sharp and jagged. Ron’s pain, his heartbreak.

She opened the box without really thinking if she was supposed to. Did one look at the engagement ring intended for them when it would never get a chance to be used?

She stared at it, trying to formulate words. A sentence that could somehow, miraculously mend the moment. But there was nothing. Only an empty void that offered her nothing.

Because there was nothing she could say that could fix this. Because she couldn’t do the one thing he wanted. To give him another chance.

Couldn’t do it. Because, at the root of it all, she didn’t want to.

Because, for each reason she had laid out for why they would be better off as friends, she had felt a little bit freer. A little less trapped by a relationship she didn’t want to be in. By the time she had concluded her monologue, she had felt like she could breathe again for the first time in years.

The thought of stepping willingly back into those constraints was incomprehensible.

And so she had cried a few tears of her own, for a friendship that was surely breaking. For becoming the villain in their own story. For surely the villain would be the one that broke what everyone assumed was beautiful and perfect.

But she had snapped the box closed, the red of it now looking like blood in her hands and gave it back to him. Uttered the only thing she could possibly say.

“I’m sorry”

And then she had left, her belongings already packed away and shrank down in her beaded bag. A move that had surely twisted the knife deeper into his broken heart.

She had stayed in Neville’s guest room that night. Harry and Ginny would have been the natural choice but then she ran the risk of Ron showing up to seek solace with them.

And he deserved the chance to go to them for comfort. His sister and best friend.

The weeks and then months that followed had been strange. Finding her footing in a solitary way that she hadn’t had to do since first year at Hogwarts. After that it had always been her, Ron and Harry. And then the past three years had been her and Ron. Her choices and decisions had always been made with them in mind. A package deal.

Now it was just her. It felt imposing yet exhilarating.

She found a new flat, Chose it for the vaulted ceilings that seemed to demand to be made into a library. Added a more feminine flair to the decor, opting for cozy colors and pieces that felt inviting and warm.

She had found other hobbies. Tried her hand at baking, Took up running.

She still went to work but became a bit of a hermit outside of that. In short, in the months that followed, Hermione had focused on herself. Had just recently begun to go on a few dates with some muggle guys. Anything in the wizarding world would be too public. It would be all over the papers before the date was even over.

And it all felt like it had just happened. Should still be happening rather than four years gone.

She took her head out of her hands and pulled her thoughts from the past. Stared around the current library she was sitting in. Was her own library with the vaulted ceilings still there? She can’t imagine Malfoy had moved into her place. But she would be damned before moving into the manor. Perhaps they found a new place together. Would he have been more involved in crafting a personal library than Ron had been, not adding a single book of his own. She had to assume he would. Enjoying reading was one of the few things she could attribute to him.

Because when it came down to it, she knew very little about him. Even in school, she had not known him well. He had obviously upheld the antiquated blood purity view of his family. He had played quidditch, Hermione vaguely recalled some claims about his father buying his spot on the team one year. And he was smart, coming in only second to her in marks. That was literally all the information she could grudge up about him from their school days.

And a certain level of reluctance that had seemed to develop in the last few years of school. Whether or not she interpreted the changes in him accurately was beyond her, she hadn’t known him well enough to judge. But to her he had seemed to be struggling since the return of Voldemort at the end of their fourth year. Becoming more and more withdrawn, a certain sallow and pallor taking what little color his skin had to give.

Harry’s own account of Malfoy’s reluctance to kill Dumbledore.

Her own account of Malfoy’s refusal to identify them at the manor.

His actions before the final battle. She remembered with perfect clarity how he had stood with the rest of the Hogwarts students when Voldemort had declared Harry was dead. Stood with them until Voldemort had called him by name and held his hand out, demanding Draco join the Death Eaters. Remembers staring at Harry’s body and the visceral feeling of her breaking heart breaking a little more as she turned and watched him stiltedly walk to the other side. She had had the oddest impulse to reach out and grab his hand as he passed, an anchor to keep him on their side.

And finally his actions during the battle itself. The one thing she never told anyone. Never uttered to a single soul because she isn’t even positive what she saw with her own eyes. Near the end, when so many had already fallen and all that was left was to fell Voldemort himself. Spells and curses were flying in all directions, the sparks dancing before her eyes and making it hard to see. Hard to focus. The smell of blood and death were rising to such magnitudes that she could taste it in the back of her throat. It was chaos incarnate and she could picture flashes of it in her mind perfectly whilst simultaneously not able to grasp others.

It's for that very reason that she doesn’t fully trust what her memory tells her. That coupled with the absurdity of the memory itself.

She had been fighting back to back with Ginny, each covering the other while firing off curses at the Death Eaters waging war all around them. Hermione had just been about to pull Ginny away, to keep moving before someone realized just who they were and chose them as a target.

But she had been too late. The gleam that had come into Dolohov’s eyes as they had landed on her across the hall had been unmistakable. Dread had sunk into the pit of her stomach as she watched his feet instantly pivot. The dread deepened and horror bloomed as he thumped Fenir Greyback on the shoulder as he passed, inclining his head towards her with a sickening smirk.

The gleam on Dolohov’s face was nothing compared to the hunger that came into Greyback’s as he began slinking towards her.

She began firing off curses at them, elbowing Ginny and motioning her to run.

Two things had happened in very quick succession. One of her curses had hit Greyback at the exact same time as someone else’s. The combined force of the spells had done what one alone couldn’t. The hulking brute of a werewolf took another halting step before beginning to sway on his feet. His consciousness wasn’t ripped from him, like any normal person hit with a stunner would react. Hermione watched him fight it, continuing to take increasingly staggering steps before finally falling to his knees. The last thing he did was look up, locking eyes with Hermione’s. The look in them promised death. Death and so much more. She had felt goosebumps prickle across her skin.

Dolohov looked at Greyback in obvious disgust, glancing around briefly for the perpetrator. Apparently finding nothing ,he had looked back up at Hermione and mouthed, “You’re mine, mudblood’, before running directly for her.

She began backing up immediately, not caring what was behind her. It couldn’t possibly be worse than what was coming for her. Spell after spell fell from her lips and he shielded or deflected each one of them.

He didn’t throw a single spell her way, only kept charging.

He was close enough that when the blinding green light entered her periphery, she thought it was aimed at her. Was thankful for a quick death rather than at the mercy of whatever Dolohov had in mind. But it wasn’t coming for her. It hit Dolohov on the side of his face, the aim exquisite as it collided with his temple. Hermione watched the light instantly snuffed out of his eyes as he fell. She barely had time to dive out of the way as his momentum carried him through the exact spot she had been standing.

Sprawled out on the floor, her breath heaving out of her in wild gasps, Hermione barely had the energy to glance up at her unknown savior.

All she saw was Malfoy backing away into the fray of battle, a bit of a shocked expression marring his face as his eyes met hers ever so briefly. And then he was gone.

He had saved her. Killed one of his own to do so. At least she thinks he did. He was standing precisely where the green light had come from. But in the fray of battle, a cacophony of noise and lights flying all around her, she didn’t actually hear him yell out the curse. Didn’t see the spell fly from his wand.

And so she can’t be sure. And, truly, it doesn’t make sense for it to have been him. She may have her theories of his crumbling allegiance to Voldemort but stepping in to save her is quite the decisive action. And Malfoy is very much a man of inaction. Not killing Dumbledore, not identifying them, not stepping over to the side of the Death Eater’s until called.

She never voiced what she thought may have occurred to Ginny when she caught up with her at the battle. Or to Harry or Ron. Not even in the years that followed. They would never believe her anyway.

She twirled a piece of hair around her finger as she vacantly stared at the books on one of the library's shelves as she tried to remember what had become of Malfoy after the war.

She and Harry had testified on his behalf, even with Ron vehemently against it. His hatred of Malfoy ran so deep that it biased him completely.

Hermione had privately disclosed what she had thought had occurred at the battle. Asking for the information source to remain anonymous in the records.

He had gotten off with only having to spend six months in Azkaban for his crimes, a fate that Hermione thought much too severe for a seventeen year old boy. Afterwards, his whereabouts became murky, something the papers loved to speculate on. It wasn’t until he returned to wizarding London in June of 2001 that Hermione learned where he had been.

America, studying to become an auror. Not a career choice she would have expected from him. The papers had a bit of a hay day with it, even though he didn’t seek employment in London. At least to her knowledge. She supposed he could have been refused. She hadn’t heard of him taking employment anywhere.

She had only seen him once in the years that followed his trial. In a bookstore of all places. Sometime in the fall of 2001. She had been perfusing the aisles, hoping that something might tempt her fancy, when her eyes had fallen on him across the aisle. He hadn’t looked well and it was instantly apparent. She’d felt an odd sense of deja vu, where the Malfoy of the bookstore was transposed with the Malfoy of sixth year, a child tasked with killing Dumbledore. The same pasty skin and sunken cheeks. The bags that made the pale skin under his eyes appear bruised.

He had seen her at the same moment she noticed him. But his eyes paused only briefly, intentionally moving on and away.

Had he not moved to walk past her, she probably never would have rationalized to speak with him. But impulsivity won out and she touched his elbow as he passed.

His moments were sharp as he halted and snapped his head to look at her, surprise briefly crossing his features.

“Malfoy, are you-” she faltered, unsure how to speak to someone she had never managed to have a civilized conversation with. “I just… are you okay?”

Malfoys brows rose, a questioning yet somehow condescending look settling in.

“Am I okay? Just peachy, Granger.” His voice was as it always was when he spoke to her. Dripping with disdain. He had gone to move past her after the brief interaction but had only gone a few steps when he had halted just as severely as she had and gave a brief shake of his head.

And then he had turned back to her, the discomfort evident on his face as he nodded down to the book in her hands.

“I’ve read that one and it’s quite good. You should get it”.

Her mouth had fallen open as she glanced down at the copy of Hyperion by Dan Simmons she held.

“And let's skip the part about how you're shocked and appalled that I, of all people, read muggle fiction, shall we? ”

She shook her head, cheeks turning the faintest pink, “I wasn’t going to say that”.

“Granger, we both know you were”.

Now he did move to walk away but she felt strange leaving it at such an impasse.

“Malfoy, wait,”

He turned back to her, one brown raised. She quickly darted back to the muggle fiction section and hastily grabbed one of her favorites.

She walked back to him, the book gripped tightly in her hand. He stood with his hands in his pockets and a slight frown in the downturn of his lips. Perhaps he felt just as uncomfortable as she did at the unexpected conversation.

Keeping Hyperion tucked against her chest, she held out a copy of Dune by Frank Herbert to him. “This is one of my favorites, if you enjoy muggle science fiction you should give it a go”.

Malfoy rolled his eyes at her. The look was so reminiscent of his classic sneer that Hermione felt her rackles rising.

“This wasn’t a tit for tat, Granger. You don’t have to give a recommendation just because I gave you one”.

“Just take the stupid book, Malfoy.” Hermione was becoming flustered, unsure herself why she had felt the need to offer a recommendation when none had been requested.

But he did eventually take the book from her still outstretched hand, his face remaining cold and impassive.

She didn’t stop him as he turned and walked away. Not toward the door this time but rather the counter to pay for the book.

He left the shop without a backward glance before her. The interaction hadn’t been warm or even pleasant. But he hadn’t insulted her. Not really. Not in the way he had before. It was unsettling.

And it had never amounted to anything. She had never run into him again.

His name would occasionally pop up in the papers, whether him personally or the Malfoy name in general, and she always found herself wondering what he had thought of the book.

Hermione sat up straight in her chair, a detail that had evaded her clicking into place as she thought of the times she had read his name in papers.

The last thing she remembered about Malfoy was that he was tied to Astoria Greengrass. The pair of them occasionally floating about London in their pristine arrogance and a picture always ending up in The Prophet the following day. Their families had been working to draw up a marriage contract, if Rita Skeeter was to be believed.

Hermione glanced at her left hand. Bare but still feeling the weight of a phantom ring.

She, yet again, wondered what must have transpired for him to end up married to her.

Notes:

Thanks again for reading. I have already failed in my weekly update schedule. The holidays tend to get in the way of all good intentions. And the editing process is much more intensive than I had envisioned. It makes me appreciate all my favorite authors on here so much more. I hope you enjoy. Sorry for any mistakes you find. I don't have a beta or anything and I know sometimes it is difficult to catch stuff in your own writing.

Chapter 4: Chapter Four

Day Five.

Does it count as avoiding someone if you still see each other multiple times a day? But only in passing. A polite incline of the head as acknowledgement. Otherwise, where one is, the other finds a way to be elsewhere. If she is watching television in the living room then he is keeping busy in the library. If he is making a cup of tea then she is reading in her room.

Hermione thought it probably does count as avoiding.

Day Six.

The sun had barely risen when she entered the kitchen to get a pot of coffee brewing. Somehow, he was already there, steaming cup in hand as he sat at the table and poured over the Prophet.

It was barely six o’clock in the morning and she was relatively certain she would have at least an hour before he rose.

Too late to change her destination without it being obvious, she walked into the kitchen and offered Malfoy what she hoped was a smile.

“Good morning”.

He didn’t quite stiffen at the words but the tension was there. Glancing up at her, his face expressionless, he at least managed to say it back. Even without the reciprocated smile.

“Good morning, Granger”.

Without another word or explanation, he rose, nodded in her direction and left the room.

Apparently she didn’t need to veil her attempts at avoiding him. Malfoy held no such reservations and did it blatantly in front of her.

She had just trudged over to the counter when she noticed the cup of coffee on the counter.

Completely full and with a stasis charm to keep it warm.

Hermione felt her annoyance and frustration melt away and uneasy discomfort settle in.

She had absolutely no idea how to feel about Draco Malfoy intentionally doing something thoughtful and nice for her.

Day Seven.

And just like that a week had passed.

A routine was already forming.

Hermione woke up. Went to the kitchen for coffee and breakfast. Attempted to research various curses that could cause memory loss. Read for enjoyment. Ate lunch. Read some more. Tried to work out in the privacy of her room. Ended up staring at the ceiling and pondering it all. Ate dinner. Read more. Watched muggle television. Showered and went to bed.

All the while her and Malfoy skirted one another.

Always polite, never lingering.
Almost painfully polite.

It wore on her. The tension coupled with the monotony of it all. The utter lack of stimulation that came from simply talking and engaging with another person.

She wondered when she would break.

Day Eight.

The answer was not long.

She yet again finds him in the kitchen in the early morning, having beaten her there.

She decided to venture past a perfunctory nod and simple “good morning”.

“Morning Malfoy, how did you sleep?”

A simple enough question. Innocuous.

“Fine, thank you. And yourself?”

“I slept well, the bed here may be even softer than my own.”

A simple enough offering for conversation but Malfoy only nodded at her and walked out of the room.

A few seconds later she heard what could only be his bedroom door closing.

Day Nine.

The next day she tried again. Figured menial conversation would be the way to do it. Start small and break the ice. Ease the tension. Then build up even the smallest sense of being comfortable around each other. Progress to actually getting to know each other.

Something. Anything to break up the days that had already become stagnant and stale.

“It’s actually supposed to be sunny out today” she said by way of greeting as she walked in the kitchen to find him at the table with the Prophet again.

He glanced up at her, one quizzical brow lifting.

“Is it? I hadn’t heard.”

And that was it. No further inquiry or feeble attempt at small talk.
Coffee in hand he left the kitchen and returned to his room.

Again.

Two full hours passed while Hermione stewed. The emotion rolling through her isn’t quite anger. It's hard to be angry at someone when they have been nothing but polite to you. It’s frustration. Frustration at trying to start a conversation each day that goes absolutely nowhere. Frustration at being stuck in this continuum.

With a virtual stranger who was doing nothing to mediate that.

Hermione typically prided herself on her rational behavior. On keeping a level head in situations that cause others to fly off the handle. Probably has Harry and Ron to thank for a great deal of it. For constantly testing her patience with their aversion to studying and schoolwork and their tendency to get themselves in dire situations.

This feels different. This feels like she is adrift at sea and Malfoy is her only hope. Not as a lifeline but someone to tread water with. To make the going a little easier and hopefully find their way back together.

The fact that he would rather sink to the bottom without even trying set her blood boiling.

She hesitated outside his door only a brief second before trying the handle. She was mildly surprised to find it unlocked but it's his own fault for leaving it as such if he truly didn’t want to be bothered. With that justification in mind, she pushed it open and strode into the room.

Malfoy was sitting at his desk, bent over a piece of parchment with a white feather quill in hand. His posture was relaxed for only a moment before he registered her presence, going rigid as he turned to face her, his eyes widening in surprise.

She chalked it up to her extreme frustration that the first words out of her mouth were, “What’s your deal, Malfoy? Is your plan to ignore me for the entirety of the three months?”

She had skidded to a stop a few feet from him. With her standing and him sitting, she's actually taller than him for once. The feeling, however circumstantial, brings with it a sense of power and confidence that she doesn’t often feel in his presence.

Malfoy remained sitting as he stared up at her, still looking shocked at finding her suddenly in his room but also starting to look a bit annoyed at it.

“Granger, you can’t just barge into someone's room.”

“Answer the question, Malfoy,” she ground out,” Are you planning on ignoring me the entire time we are here?”

His brow furrowed slightly but his lip curled up slightly on one side, a look reminiscent of many of the childhood sneers he had given her. “I’ve never ignored you”.

The sneer ought to have enraged Hermione further but she took comfort in its familiarity. If he goes this route, it's a facet of Malfoy she is infinitely familiar with. And one she knows how to deal with and respond to.

“So glad you’re finally showing some emotion. Would avoiding me be a more factual way to describe it?”

Malfoy appeared to be attempting to get a grip on his emotions. He pulled the sneer back into a more placidly neutral expression and let his shoulders release some of the tension. If Hermione was gearing up for a fight then he was clearly doing the opposite.

“I’m just trying to be respectful. Give you space.”

“Space? As in the whole bloody house?” Hermione deadpanned.

Draco’s attempt at shying away from a fight was short lived. “Yes Granger, space! Something you clearly know very little of considering you just came barging into my room without so much as a knock.”

She felt her eyes widen at the first true emotion he had thrown her way. The first spark of a personality in the husk of a person she had been cohabitating with for the past week. The irony that it had been derision was not lost on her. Rather it felt like the most normal thing that had occurred thus far. Malfoy being annoyed by the likes of her. She was oddly elated by the minor return to normalcy and therefore hadn’t realized she had moved much closer to him. So much so that when she spoke again she was close enough that she had to look down in order to see him properly.

“Yes, Malfoy. I just barged into my so-called husband’s room to try and make him talk to me.”

She had managed to lower her voice so that she wasn’t yelling directly into his face but the end result came out closer to a whisper.

Coupled with the close proximity, the whispered words had an oddly sensual tone and she felt herself go a bit red.

It was also the first time either of them had referred to the situation at hand. And she had done so by addressing him directly as her husband.

She felt herself flush further.

Malfoy, for his part, visibly paled as he stared up at her.

She can’t place the emotion that came over his features. But as he turned his head away and mumbled, “I don’t know how to do this”, in a broken voice, she thought he might be just as lost as she was.

He looked utterly defeated.

Her frustration deflated at seeing his distress and she tried not to second guess herself as she reached out and placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Me either, but I would like to try.”

His shoulder tensed under her touch, light as it was, but he didn’t jerk away. Slowly, his head swiveled back to hers and his eyes, when they met hers, were clearer. It felt like the first time he had really looked at her. She wondered if he was forcing himself out of a fog of occlusion in order to have this conversation with her.

“Try?” he asked.

She took a deep breath and nodded, opting for complete honesty.

“I bound my life to my childhood bully.To you. I would like to try and figure out why.”

Malfoy cringed a bit but didn’t break her stare. Held it as he nodded stiffly back.

Notes:

Just a short chapter that gets the ball rolling. Thanks for reading!

Chapter 5: Chapter Five

If Hermione had hoped for a one eighty flip in their interactions, she would have been disappointed. A flip where the ease of conversation would be instantaneous and a true friendship would begin to blossom of its own volition. But a shift that large was implausible. And they had too much unresolved baggage between them to even make it remotely possible.

She knew that but her dreamer’s heart had still hoped.

But small changes did occur and for that she was grateful. Even if the changes did bring with them their own increased level of awkwardness. Now when they met in common areas of the house, they exchanged polite but sustained conversations and pleasantries. She refused to think forced.

They commented on the weather, the failsafe of all smalltalk topics. They tried to talk about the news in the Prophet but once Hermione discovered they were being sent copies from 2002, she lost interest in things so far in the past.

She learned how he took his coffee. Just a touch of milk with no sugar. And his tea. Black with a smidge of honey.

They inquired after one another’s family and friends but the answers did not extend much past “oh they are fine”.

On Hermione’s part it was because she got a sick feeling in her stomach when she thought about how she had no idea if they were fine in 2006. Only that they were in 2002.

Two days passed in such a manner and Hermione was pleased that they had made progress but had no idea how to further break the mold with a man that she had such a personal tumultuous history with.

But after spending a little over a week with only him for company, a certain level of comfort did set in. She no longer tiptoed around or dreaded bumping into him. Humanity's ability to assimilate was incredible and she found she was no different.

In a surprising turn of events, it was actually him that shattered their fragile existance of surface level pleasantries.

It was the morning of their twelfth day at the safe house. Upon walking into the kitchen and pouring herself a cup of coffee, Hermione had sat down across from him at the table.

She was ruminating over the fact that he had only responded to her “Good Morning” with a stiff nod, wondering if they were regressing into their habits of old as she buttered her toast. She glanced up at him as she took a bite. He was gripping his coffee cup with one hand, the other lying in a fist on the table. The cup looked full and she wondered if he had even taken a sip yet. Judging by the stiff set of his shoulders, she guessed not.

She was still staring at him when he lifted his own gaze and caught her in it. If he was surprised to find her eyes already on him he did nothing to show it.

“Why did you testify for me?”

The question startled her. Shocked her clear out of her reverie.

She frowned at him, thinking the answer obvious. “It was the right thing to do.”

Malfoy snorted, a bit of the gleam of times past coming into his eyes that she remembered all too well. “The right thing to do would have been to let me rot in Azkaban”.

He didn’t give her the chance to rebuke anything as he stalked out of the kitchen, leaving his coffee still untouched.

Hermione sat stunned. After taking a few moments to sort through his question and his reaction, she wondered just how many pieces the war and his family had shattered him into. Enough that perhaps he thought of himself as the villain in his own story.

 

—---

Approaching him immediately felt like the last thing she should do, seeing as she couldn’t imagine it ending in anything other than a screaming match in his current state of mind. Too much of the old Malfoy had bled through his eyes at the end. With one stark difference. The loathing that usually seeped out and came at her like daggers was directed within. Self-loathing that had literally seemed to drip from him.

So she waited. A full day that she spent researching and going about her usual routine.
Waited clear until the next morning. She had hoped to continue their conversation over breakfast and coffee again. But, for the first time, she beat Malfoy to the kitchen.

This time, standing outside his bedroom door armed with two cups of coffee, she knocked. Had to actually use her foot to bang against the door while her hands were occupied with the steaming cups.

He opened the door with a concerned expression, no doubt from the foot banging.

“I brought you coffee.” she said, thrusting one cup forward.

He glanced at it for a second before taking the proffered cup with a curt “Thank you”.

Hermione took a deep breath and then stepped inside without invitation, slipping past and turning to face him once again before he could shut the door. She wasted no time before announcing the real reason she came.

“I testified because I thought then as I think now. That the real Draco Malfoy is very far from the role you were forced to play”.

Malfoy’s eyes instantly narrowed. She could practically see the defensive armor clicking into place around him “Granger, don’t you dare martyr me like your precious Potter”.

He began to turn back to the door, surely to leave once again but Hermione stepped towards him. Invaded his space and forced him to turn back to her, inhaling sharply when he saw how close she now stood.

“Shut up,” she further invaded his space by extending one finger and poking him in the chest, “Let me say this or so help I’ll immobilize and silence you”.

Malfoy rolls his eyes, “I’d like to see you tr-,” Hermione doesn’t let him finish, wandlessly vanishing the coffee cups and taking another step forward and forcing him to take one step back, his shoulders now bumping into the door behind him.

She poked him in the chest again, “Merlin, will you just let me finish? Your words? They are your strongest weapon. And you’ve been a right git with them. You know exactly what to say to cut and to hurt. But you hide behind them. Because your actions, when it counted, have always told a different story. They spoke louder. It’s why you were always such a shite death eater”.

Malfoy leans forward, pushing into her finger so that her hand moves to lay flat on his chest, holding him back. “Granger, what deluded nonsense have you-”

“Silencio!” The spell ripped his voice from him mid sentence, another stint of wandless magic that she was rather proud of.

He stood with his back pressed against the door, her hand splayed out against his chest. And she’s much too close. She knows it. Knows she should move back. Take her hand back. He would still be effectively trapped in this conversation if she were to do so. But she doesn’t. She does the opposite, pulled towards him in a way she can’t explain. There is no reason to bend the elbow that's keeping him at arm's length and move closer. But she did anyway, the space diminishing as she crooked it and moved closer, now banding him in place with not only her hand but also her forearm.

“I noticed it first in fourth year. At the World Cup. You warned me to get away. Of all the things they would do to someone like me. You veiled it, but you warned me just the same.”

Her words are a whisper in the small space between them.

Malfoy opened his mouth, probably to deny her claim, and anger passed through his eyes when he remembered he couldn't speak.

She continued on, “You couldn’t kill Dumbledore. The stress of planning it made you literally sick. I heard you when I walked past. Heard you throwing up and crying in the bathroom.”

She thought he paled slightly at this.

“Then you didn’t identify us to the snatchers. It was so clearly obvious who we were. You knew. And you claimed not to. To give us the smallest chance that they wouldn’t call Voldemort right then and there”.

Malfoy averted his eyes, his jaw clenched as he stared somewhere over her head.

“And I know. I know you did something when Bellatrix was torturing me. I know, Draco,” his given name slipping out of her lips. His eyes darted back to hers at it and she thought he might be trembling a bit. “I saw your lips moving, mumbling something. And I felt the pain begin to fade. It was horrible at the beginning. Pure agony. And by the end of it, I was faking my screams to try and match what was being done to me.” She took a deep breath, her fingers clenching slightly in the fabric of his shirt. “I know it was you.”

“I didn’t tell the Ministry that part because I have no proof and I thought that would diminish the rest of my claims. But I saw your face after. I saw the tear before you wiped it away”.

Malfoy is staring at her in what she can only assume is horror.

“I don’t know why you did it. But I think it's because you aren’t the monster you lead people to think you are. That even you might think you are. I think you did what you had to in order to survive, just like the rest of us did.It looks a little different when you are trying to survive when born on the wrong side. But we don’t have to talk about it. I almost prefer we don’t. But” she stared up into his silver eyes at this, silently beseeching, “can we just start over? Maybe try to be friends? Or these three months will truly be an eternity”.

She unsilenced him and watched him register the second he felt his voice return. But they continued to stare at one another. She realized, with a touch of embarrassment, that her hand was still pressed against his chest. She went to remove it but he lifted his own right hand to catch it, flipping them around until it was in some semblance of a handshake, made awkward by how close they remained standing.

 

“Draco Malfoy”.

She felt a relieved flutter pass through her chest and she exhaled a breath. Then gathered her wits about her and responded in kind.

“Hermione Granger,” she paused for a beat, hand still grasped in his, before deciding to continue on. “I’m twenty six and I work in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures at the Ministry. I enjoy running, spending time with my friends and family. And I love reading.”

Malfoy’s eyebrows were practically at his hairline, his thoughts on his continued rambling more than evident. But she refused to let him off the hook and continued grasping his hand until he responded in kind.

With an exaggerated roll of his eyes, he did so. “I’m twenty five and just moved back from America after completing my potions mastery,” pausing, he seemed to consider something, “Granted, I technically moved back at 21 but I seem to be suffering from a bit of a memory loss stint. I enjoy quidditch, playing card games and getting a few pints with my friends and,” he sighed slightly, as if deciding whether or not to relinquish the last bit, “and I also love to read”

The gleam had come back into Malfoy’s eyes. “Ah. I also, apparently, have a thing for older women.”

It was her turn to roll her eyes in exasperation at the joke that was surely low hanging fruit. “I’m not even a full year older.”

Malfoy, who was still lightly gripping her hand, pulled her forward the slightest bit as he leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Ah but are still, in fact, older,” before releasing her and walking out.

Hermione was left standing in his bedroom alone. His voice had been low. Rumbling out of his chest and his breath had ghosted her ear. And her body had responded in a way it never had to Draco Malfoy. In a way she never dreamed possible where he was concerned.

—---

Things, yet again, got better than they had been. A level of tense awkwardness still permeated the air between them but it dissipated with each passing day, with each conversation. The people they are and the things they have in common became clearer and the children they were faded further into the past. An opinion based on one’s current character rather than a perception from the past, fractured with incomplete information and judgmental bias.

Hermione didn’t entirely know what Malfoy did with his days, what he worked on or what he read, but they started existing in the same spaces. They sat at the small table together in the mornings while they drank their coffee and read the papers, both pretending they aren’t from years past. If Hermione was researching, he might come into the library to pick out a book of his own. In the evenings, if she found him sitting in an armchair by the fire, she didn’t hesitate to claim the other and curl up with her book.

They aren’t quite friends, she knows that. They barely know each other. But things don’t have the air of hostility or distrust that she felt and even expected upon her arrival.

She hasn’t reconciled the bigoted boy who hated her with the man that sits across from her but, for now, it's enough to know that they are different. She doesn’t know the exact how or why but just that he has changed.

And so has she, although perhaps not as drastically. But as the days pass, the possibility that the pieces of who they’ve changed into might fit together doesn’t seem as preposterous as it once did.

Which she somehow finds just as troubling.

“I remember that day at the bookstore, you know. I wonder if that’s when it started for me”.

Malfoy looked up from his book as her words broke the quiet reverie. They were seated, as they were most nights, in armchairs by the fire, each lost in their respective books.

“That day in the science fiction section?” He closed his book, marking his spot with a thin strip of burgundy leather and looked over at her with a confused expression. “What was special about that day?”

She shrugged her shoulders at him. “I mean, nothing was extraordinary or special in the grand scheme of things. But I thought that perhaps it was meaningful to us. We had a conversation, like normal adults. We spoke about books we liked and made recommendations”.

Malfoy’s face turns pensive. His eyes glaze over and Hermione can almost see the moment he goes back to the memory, reliving it as he sits next to her. Nodding, he comes back to himself. “You caught me off guard when you asked if I was okay. I was having a rough go of it trying to come to terms with my past. I didn’t expect anyone to notice. Much less ask. And especially not you of all people.” Malfoy’s lips turned up in a slightly pained smile. “I’d been working on trying to be better. And without a thought, my response to your inquiry was to brush you off and not look back. But I made myself stop and turn back. At least attempt cordiality. Imagine my surprise when you were holding my favorite book. Made the being cordial part a bit easier with a topic to go off of”.

It made sense now. The stiffness in his shoulders as he had halted in his escape from her. The drive that made him return and attempt conversation.

“I loved the book. Hyperion, I mean. I see why you like it so much, “ Hermione took a breath, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye before asking the question that shouldn’t matter but she’d always wondered about. “Did you like mine? Or I guess I should ask if you ever read it?”

“Dune?” Malfoy actually chuckled at this but managed to do it while looking rather pained, a reaction she found peculiar. “I did. A few times actually. I think I wanted to dislike it. Because finding out that myself and Hermione Granger had a similar interest in book genres was strange. But to my dismay, I enjoyed it.”

She gave herself a few seconds to try and figure out why that was but it evaded her. “Why was it strange for you?”

His smile turned from pained to rueful. “Because it added a new layer to all the ways I fucked up. I had already come to terms with the fact that I had treated you wrongly. Had already completely debased my blood purity beliefs. But I still didn’t exactly think fondly of you. I assumed we were just oil and water and wouldn’t get along. So imagine my surprise when I had a single conversation with you after reforming my beliefs and it was entirely pleasant. Found that we had book interests in common. And for some reason you extended compassion to someone who had never said a kind word to you.” Malfoy took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. “It made me realize that without my blood purity prejudice, you and I may have been friends. But it had shrouded my every interaction so completely that I had assumed I disliked you for more than just your blood. When I found I didn't, it made me wonder how many other friendships I had ruined before they even got the chance to begin.”

It is by and large the longest he has ever spoken to her at once. That alone would be surprising but coupled with the fact that he willingly opened up to her had Hermione struggling to keep from gaping at him. She managed to keep her face neutral but words had evaded her entirely and so she did the only other thing she could think of to offer some semblance of comfort. She reached over and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. He froze but didn’t pull away.

His acceptance of her touch emboldened her and helped to find her words. “I’m sorry if I caused you pain or a setback in your healing that day. I never th-”

“Stop,” Malfoy cut her off, his voice coming out sharp. He pulled his hand back and brought it to his face, rubbing his temples. “Don’t bloody apologize to me.”

She reeled back slightly, the actual anger and frustration in his voice taking her by surprise.

“Malfoy,” she said his name gently, trying to figure out where his distress stemmed from, “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play coy Granger. We both know that I am the one who should be apologizing to you. Not the other way around.”

It was Hermione’s turn to freeze, not the faintest clue with how to proceed.

“I’m quite certain, considering I married you, that at some point you did.”

“I should rather hope so or you’re an idiot for marrying me.” The words were biting, slung at her as weapons as a flicker of the Malfoy she knew at Hogwarts broke through. Words weaponized to hide behind. He was breathing hard, silver eyes flinty and staring at anything but her.

They sat like that for what felt like minutes and Hermione was just about to walk away, a meager effort to salvage the previous progress they had made before this disaster of a conversation when she heard Malfoy huff beside her.

“Bloody hell you alone seem to elicit this effect on me. In trying to apologize, all I’ve done is make new things to apologize for.” The words were still biting but she began to wonder who the bite was actually for.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed before trying again. “I’m sure I did apologize at some point in the lost time. But I’m not him. Not really. Not completely. And it weighs on me constantly. To be living here, in this house with you and have the words locked up inside me. Merlin, even my reasons for wanting to say them are selfish. Wanting it off my conscience. But I wouldn’t be a Malfoy if I wasn’t selfish,” he paused at this and finally turned to face her fully, his eyes piercing hers and locking her in place. “I need you to know that I am sorry and that I hold none of those beliefs anymore. That I regret each and every foul thing I ever said to you. For all the pain I am sure I caused you. That it took me so long to figure out how wrong I was. I’m sorry. And for the missed chances. Because I think we would have been friends. If I had been less an arse.”

Hermione’s heart was beating fast, still a little bit dazed the moment was actually happening. But she smiled at him and said, “So I was right. That day in the bookstore really was monumental for us both.”

Malfoy stared at her with a blank expression, as it seemed to not at all be how he had thought the apology would be received. “Merlin, you really are an insufferable know it all.”

Hermione laughed at that and then quickly sobered, debating her next course of action. Things still felt tense and awkward between them but she decided to hell with it and to react how she would have had it been anyone else saying those words to her. And so she stood, taking him by the hand and pulling him to his feet as well. Before she lost her nerve, she slipped her arms around his waist and pulled him into a hug, murmuring the words he surely needed to hear against his chest, “I forgive you”.

He only hesitated a moment before wrapping his arms around her and returning the hug, his embrace tighter than she would have expected.

He rested his chin lightly on the top of her head and murmured a quiet, “Thank you” back.

—---
The houses lining the sidewalks around the safehouse were quaint. It was an older neighborhood that had been there for some time, if the numerous large trees that fill every yard were any indication.

For the first time since arriving, Hermione had risen earlier than Malfoy, his door still shut with no light shining through the sliver at the bottom.

She had habitually made her way to the kitchen, hand reaching up for the container of coffee when she had paused, a small thrill shooting through her.

She could leave. Completely unannounced.

She had no intention of leaving and not coming back. But, at least for a few moments, she could leave and be entirely on her own.

Hermione was self aware enough to recognize what this feeling was at its most stripped down. She knew herself, even if she was missing a few years.

It was about control. And slipping away like a thief in the night. Rather thief in the early morning light, allowed her to take the barest modicum of it back.

Sure, she could leave and go for a walk during the day. But that would be seen as some sort of olive branch offering to Malfoy to accompany her. And what she really craved was some time away from the pressures of these four walls on its two inhabitants. The looming pressure of missing memories and the craters left behind.

How odd that something that was gone and absent could still manage to press so hard.
And so she penned a note, not wanting to be cruel and simply disappear. Especially not after the progress they had made in the previous days. She kept it light, a simple “Good morning” as a greeting and then informed him that she had woken early and thought she may take a walk around the neighborhood and explore. Perhaps see if she could find any shops or restaurants. That she would be back in no more than a few hours and to send a patronus if he woke and needed her or wanted to join.

The oddest of thoughts inhabited her mind as she fled the house. She wondered if he would know her handwriting. If he had ever seen it before. Surely he had, after years and years of schooling together. But for the life of her, she couldn’t remotely think of what his looked like. She imagined it would be elegant, a script drilled into him by a posh tutor at a young age. But she didn’t know, and for whatever reason, that made her sad.

A chill crept out in the early morning air, falling in a dense fog over the sleepy neighborhood. But the town was waking, bright rays of sun breaking through the fog like shards of light being shot from the sky.

Starting out, it was silent but for the crunch of her boots and the occasional call of a bird. But as the town woke, signs of life began to filter out. A few cars passed her as they drove off to lives and jobs and purpose. People left their houses, coming down their driveways and turned this way or that on the sidewalks as they set off towards their destinations.

Hermione was struck by the strangeness of it all. She hadn’t expected what the simple act of viewing others would do to her. The pang of jealousy it would imbue. All these people, each of them moving about their day and their lives with purpose. With understanding of who they were and where they were going. And then there was her. Moving among them but only drifting. Floating along until the tide would catch her and push her along to the next stop. Because she had no idea what that next stop was and so could only go along with the water’s flow.

Hermione huffed at herself. At her own self pity and loathing, that was ultimately solving nothing. She had come out here as a way to take back some control and all she had done was ruminate and wallow in her loss of it.

Up to this point she had dabbled here and there at making headway into solving the problem. More as something to do and to pass time rather than any real expectation of progress. She just assumed the healers knew best and would return, solution in hand.

But that wasn’t her. Wasn’t who she was. When had she ever stepped back and let others solve problems for her. Simply hoped that it would all work out in the end if she was just patient and waited. Never. And if she had, if Harry and Ron had, who knew what would have happened in the wizarding war.

She felt her resolve hardening, a fire returning at full blaze that had been mere embers since waking up bereft of her memories.

Her thoughts turned to Malfoy. The singular other person who was experiencing the same curse. Who was experiencing it right alongside her. She had kept him at arm's length when trying to solve it but to what end?

Surely distrust, at least at first. But now? She could feel the tables turning daily when it came to him. A shifting quicksand that drew her further in the more she got to know him.

He was unexpected.

Even suspecting that he was not the villain of her childhood had not left her with enough space to encompass the change wrought in the man she was beginning to know.

Assuming someone to be incapable of murder and not wholly evil while still being a right git that she disliked was one thing. But then having them profusely apologize for the past were two polarities she hadn’t anticipated. It humanized him in a way that threw her off axis and forced her to reevaluate everything she thought she knew.

Everything she had assumed was impossible with infallible certainty.

She had assumed there was no reality in which she was married to Draco Malfoy.

But Hermione was not stupid. Far from it. And when new information is presented in a situation, the only option is to reevaluate your hypotheses.

And with a slight flutter in her stomach, she realized she was much overdue for an evaluation. Because there was no reality that Hermione Granger was married to the version of Draco Malfoy that lived in her mind. Even the version of him that she testified for. The one that didn’t identify them, that couldn’t kill Dumbledore, that was terrible at being a Death Eater. There was still no reality that they would get together.

Her error had been not allowing him enough margin to change in the years that followed. She had kept him stagnant in her mind. Unchanging.

But that was far from the man she had found waiting for her in the safehouse that day. That was a man she was still getting to know. And had a long way further to go on that front.

But what couldn’t be clearer was that he was changed.

Their interactions were no longer colored by prejudice and scorn. They weren’t colored by anything. They simply interacted as adults.

Finding out they had similar book interests had been the final chink in her hypothesis that had sent it shattering to the ground.The very first inkling that maybe a connection between the two of them wasn’t preposterous.

Hermione took a deep breath as she forced herself to come to terms with that realization. And while doing so another came drifting to the surface in perfect clarity.

She was afraid. Not of him but rather what it meant. What taking that first step in dismantling the wall of impossibility she had placed between them meant. Where would it lead if she opened herself up to the possibility that they could be attracted to each other.

She hadn’t even realized she had been doing it. Some sort of inherent defense mechanism she supposed. She hadn’t even looked at him long enough to decide if she was physically attracted to him. Rather, she kept everything at a distance, politely interacting until the healers would return and magically repair the entire mess.

But it was tiring. The inactivity and waiting. Rather than working towards figuring it out herself. Figuring it out with him.

To do that meant letting him in. Letting herself find where that leads.

It was equal parts terrifying and enticing . Puzzling. He was a riddle to solve

She had been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t realized how far and long she had walked. The houses had slowly fallen away, turning into small shops and a scattering of restaurants. A downtown. The rich smells of coffee wafted out to meet her on the sidewalk and she looked up to find herself next to a coffee shop, bustling customers moving in and out.

After more than two weeks in the safe house, the real world came crashing back in around her. But as opposed to the start of her walk, she found herself taking comfort in it. The comfort that comes from being around others, even if she is a stranger in a crowd. Drawing comfort from the anonimity of it. There were no expectations, no necessary interactions. You could be with others but not be burdened by them. It was a welcome change from the tense song and dance of the past weeks.

Hermione bought herself a coffee, smiling at the barista as they handed it over. The simple interaction alone sent her mood soaring.

She thought about continuing on her walk but decided to sit for a bit. The corner table was small and out of the way but offered her a view of the rest of the small shop. Of all the people coming and going.

For the first time in her lift, she found herself noticing the couples in particular. The middle of the day in the work week meant it was primarily elderly couples. People that had likely been with one another for decades, ambling inside for their routine of a cup of coffee together.

She watched one couple in particular as they took their cups and moved to a table near hers. The wife carried both cups, a movement Hermione found odd until she saw the husbands hands tremorring badly. He still moved ahead of her, pulling out her chair before moving to take his own. He murmured something to her that had them both laughing softly in amusement.

Hermione got the distinct impression they were joking about something or someone.

But it was the ease in which they interacted that called to her. The shared looks and little touches that made up the ebbs and flows of their every interaction. She supposed she had such relationships with her close friends. Harry, Ginny, Luna and working on getting there again with Ron after their romantic relationship came to an end,

But this was different. The way this couple interacted was deeper. The way they looked at each other spoke of a level of intimacy that she had never experienced. Even when she and Ron had been together, it had never been like this. The spark, the tension that had been building during their last few years at Hogwarts had culminated the day of the battle. His thought to protect the house elves had propelled her into his arms and the flame was officially lit. But rather than growing, rather than building into a substantial fire to fuel their relationship it had merely persisted. Maintained the lightly glowing flame that neither increased nor went out. She never came to disdain him or be repulsed by him But neither did her attraction grow nor anything deepe take root.

Perhaps they had simply been friends for too long. So long that a chance of anything more was simply not possible. Or maybe they’d had the potential when they were younger but they grew into different people. Whatever it was, she had never felt a level of intimacy and attraction for Ron that this couple clearly felt for each other.

She envied them. Thought of all of her friends that had coupled off and whose relationships flourished.

Would her relationship with Malfoy be like that? The thought crossed her mind attached to a pang of guilt. Perhaps she should have invited him to join her in her outing. The thought didn’t unsettle her near as much as it once would have but she still relished her time alone.

But she wouldn’t be opposed to him joining her now. He would benefit from the walk here in solitude, as she had, and then they could work on getting to know one another better. Perhaps the change of scenery would be inspiring.

She made a quick trip to the bathroom, relieved to find it didn’t have multiple stalls to thus hinder her plan to send him a patronus. As it was, she still murmured a quick silencing spell before bringing forth her silvery otter.

Her heart fluttered briefly, the tingle of nerves coursing through her system. She was being ridiculous. The mere thought of voicing a message to Malfoy should not make her nervous.

She cleared her throat and said, in what she hoped was a normal voice, “Hello Malfoy. I’m sure you’re up and moving by now and found my note. I’ve come across a lovely coffee shop in the downtown area and plan to read here for sometime if you would like to join me. Just send a patronus back if I should expect you”. The message ended with her taking a deep gulp of air, having apparently decided to say the entirety of the message in one breath of air.

She shook her head at herself and headed back to her seat. She could always head back to the privacy of the bathroom if his patronus showed up.

Her book soon whisked her mind away to a fantastical world, much different than the magical one she lived in. As what frequently befell her when reading, Hermione soon lost track of the passage of time. A half an hour had passed before she realized no returning patronus had arrived from Malfoy.

He wasn’t coming.

She hadn’t specifically asked him to come. Had left it completely up to him and phrased it as a mere offer. He could join if he wished.

But in her heart she had expected him to come. To take the olive branch she had extended. She didn’t even try to define the pang she felt in her chest as anything but sadness.

An hour had passed and Hernione was so completely entrenched in her book that she had stopped noting the comings and goings of the other customers. Even when one walked up to her table and sat a second cup of coffee upon it.

The noise and its proximity startled her out of her reading induced stupor and she glanced up in shock to find Malfoy standing in front of her.

“Malfoy!” she exclaimed.

The man in question simply raised an eyebrow at her sardonically. “Granger, you act like you didn’t just invite me to come and join you here”.

“I know, I know. I just assumed you weren’t coming when I never received a-” Hermione glanced around, noting the many muggles in the still quite full cafe and cast a nonverbal charm so they wouldn’t be overheard before continuing on. “When I didn’t receive a patronus back”.

“Ah, well that did pose a bit of a problem. I walked here at a brisker than normal pace to compensate,” he said by way of explanation. As if that made any kind of sense in regards to not simply sending a patronus back.

Malfoy sat, his tall frame folding in to accommodate the small table she had chosen. It had seemed adequate enough when it was just her but his added presence made her very aware of how close they were sitting.

Her expression must have still been confused because he explained with no further prompting. “The problem being that you assumed I could conjure a patronus in which to actually respond”. His words are light, the statement given without much inflection but Hermione swore she could see a shade of bitterness darken the grey of his eyes.

But that wasn’t true. A memory from their school days rose to the surface of her mind. Fifth year perhaps. Technically, a full year before she learned to conjure one herself. Malfoy had been in the hallway with a few other Slytherins when she’d rounded the corner. It sounded like he was trying to prove a point or win a bet. She just recalled him saying that he would just ask her now for proof and then waving his wand and the silvery animal bursting forth. She hadn’t even heard what he said to it before she had backtracked took an alternate route, not wanting to go head to head with a group of already fired up Slytherins.

Hermione shook her head, “That’s not right. I’ve seen you conjure one before. In the hall at school. It was-” she strains her memory for a moment, trying to recall. “I think it was a wolf or large cat of some sort”.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Of course you would have managed to see that. I shouldn’t even be surprised.” At this he leaned forward, “I’ll let you in on a little secret, Granger. You can also lose the ability to conjure a patronus”.

She stared at him in surprise. She had never once heard of this happening. Granted, she hadn’t extensively researched the magic behind patronuses, especially after mastering it herself.

She briefly entertained the idea of the question being too personal but curiosity and the fact that she is literally married to the man got the better of her and she asked “How did you lose it?”

“The bout of living with a genocidal madman didn’t do well for my general morale”. Malfoy paused and seemed to be toying with how to continue, his eyes cast up and away from her own. A breath. A beat. And then he steeled himself before looking her dead in the eyes and continuing on, “ And then after the war, I was too different, too changed. The happy memory I had used to fuel it before no longer worked”. He grimaced a bit. “I’m ashamed to think I was ever so truly backwards that I could use that thought to fuel it in the first place”.

Hermione still didn’t follow. He had mastered the complexity of the spell, having done it successfully before. So that wasn’t the issue.

“Why not just use a new memory?”

He cocked another eyebrow at her. “You’re off to making assumptions again”.

“What did I possibly make an assumption about this time?”

He smiled but it was rueful and his voice dripped with self loathing when he spoke. “That I could generate another thought powerful enough to fuel the spell. I-” he paused, signing in what sounded like frustration, “I went to a dark place after the war. I might have had a so-called self awakening but it was to wake up to the fact that I wasn’t a good person. I have been clawing my way out of that hole ever since but I won’t lie and say that it’s been easy. Or that I didn’t come back a bit damaged. I’m working on it. I’ve come close a few times but it's never been fully corporeal”.

Hermione felt a bit naive for never truly considering what it must cost someone to change their character to the depth Draco had. To come to terms with the person you were before and all you had done and believed. And then to also be content with the person you had forcibly molded yourself into.

She didn’t think he would want or appreciate her pity or paltry reassurances on something she was just learning about.

“Maybe you can make one now. Figured it out in lost memory years”.

Malfoy’s answering smile was all menace and wicket delight and she instantly realized her mistake. Her insinuation.

“Granger, are you implying that in years that I apparently fall in love and marry my arch nemesis, her presence alone is enough to provide the happiness needed to fuel a patronus?’

Hermione groaned, her face burning with mortification.

“I essentially handed you that one on a silver platter.” Curiosity, again, got the better of her, “What form did it take? Your patronus.”

“A snow leopard.”

It was her turn to grin in delight, “A giant cat? How fitting.”.

She was relieved when he laughed in return.

 

—--
Morning walks into the muggle town had instantly cemented themselves into Hermione’s routine. Sometimes she walked there, pondering her situation and wondering at the lives of others.

Other days, restless days, she runs there. Frustration burning away with the exertion, legs pumping until the burn settled in and her muscles began to scream.

She never ran while in school but perhaps it would have helped. An outlet to the frustrations that plagued her even in her friendships. Always being ten steps ahead in her studies and two steps ahead in any conversation. Perhaps it made her pompous and arrogant but she has always known she is different.

When she was eleven, she thought the differences were solved by a letter arriving telling her that she was a witch. That she would finally fit in.

And while being muggle born would always continue to set her apart, the magical world had indeed solved some of her issues. But not all.

It was labeled as “bookish”, “swotty know it all” or “teacher's pet” but in reality she was just wired a little differently than her classmates.

Her love for her friends was never in question but the reality was they sometimes left her wanting. For deeper conversation, intellectual debate or just a simple shared thirst for knowledge to commiserate over.

She tended to lose people if she really got going on something. It wasn’t long before their eyes glazed over in boredom or the first signs of confusion seeped in.

Or they simply did not care about the things that impassioned her and therefore didn’t even try.

Running helped. It seemed to inspire her mind to move at the pace of her legs, abuzz with thoughts that raced alongside her.

Thoughts that continued to circle around the fact that something still seemed off. There was no one thing in particular that gave off a red flag, no one thing to put her finger on. But she couldn't seem to move past it and so, as was her nature, she fixated on it. Ran through every detail, every comment made at St Mungo’s, every conversation she’d had with Malfoy. Circled through them over and over again but couldn’t seem to glean anything new. Anything to give further scrutiny to.

Her frustration seemed to build at the rate she continued to burn it, racing down the streets of her neighborhood. Malfoy said nothing when she inevitably returned to the safe house sweat soaked and a veritable bird's nest of hair on her head. Simply raked his eyes over her and raised a brow.

—--

She was planting flowers in the front yard for a nice change of pace the next time he approached her outside of their habitual mealtime interactions.

She was yet again covered in sweat with a pile of messy hair secured atop her head.

“Seems like something to do for a permanent home,” was his only remark to her. Even as he knelt down to help.

Glancing over, she sputtered aloud when she finally paused long enough to take in his attire.

Draco Malfoy was kneeling in the dirt wearing a pair of black muggle athletic shorts and a grey t-shirt.

“What—-what are you wearing?”

“Granger, you’re literally digging in the dirt. I’m wearing shorts and a t-shirt. Which, as you’ve seem to have forgotten, is the exact same thing that you deemed acceptable for the activity and are also currently wearing.”

“I just-” she sighed ,flustered at his ability to fluster her, “I am just surprised to see you in something so muggle.”

“Yes, well imagine my surprise to find that I quite liked them. I did have to blend in when I lived in muggle America.”

Hermione nodded, smiling to herself as she pictured him trying to buy them in a muggle shop for the first time, In America no less.

“You first moved to France though, right? I remember the papers all up in arms because you seemed to vanish right after you completed your sentencing.”

Malfoy remained silent, his hands pulling up weeds with no apparent care for the dirt caking into his nails. He seemed content to not comment so she prodded him along.
“Why? Why leave?”

He looked up at her, silver eyes meeting honey brown. “Not only did all of Wizarding Britain hate me but I also hated myself. I just wanted to go somewhere where no one knew me. Knew the Malfoy name and all that it entailed.”

“Did it help?”

He nodded, turning back to the dirt strewn garden in front of him. “It was good for me. To make friends based on my own merit and not because of what the Malfoy name could give them.”

Hermione could understand that. Especially in her post war life, where everyone knew her as the golden girl. Part of the trio that had defeated the Dark Lord. A near celebrity status that had diminished her ability to have candid relationships. She knew perfectly well what it was like for someone to want to befriend her for her war triumphs and not because they liked her as a person. Or even knew her as a person.

“Then why did you come back?” Her curiosity was genuine. Why would he come back if he found a place where his past and his surname no longer haunted him.

“Because of my mother. Because not coming back made it seem less like self help and more like running away.”

Hermione glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He was staring off pensively into the distance, the sunshine catching his white blond hair and silver eyes and making them almost seem to glow. It lent him an ethereal look that made him seem even more out of place in his muggle attire seated in the dirt next to her.

She snorted, unable to keep the sound in once the thought passed through her mind.

He glanced at her sharply, squinting in the direct sunlight. No doubt assuming she hadn’t taken his answers seriously.

“Sorry. I’m sorry that was rude. It's just, there has to be some odd sort of symbolism here. Or morbid irony, I don't know. But here you are, Draco Malfoy, renounced pure blood elitist, sitting in the literal dirt next to your mudblood wife.” Hermione smiled, another chuckle breaking free at the absurdity of it.

Malfoy turned to her fully now, mouth slightly agape. He stared, or rather squinted, a few seconds at her before drawing a hand across his brow and muttering, “Merlin, Granger”, under his breath.

She smiled and resumed her task of ridding the flowerbed of weeds before planting the blooms she had purchased that day. A comfortable silence fell between them as he settled in to work beside her. It was odd, she thought, the ease in which she was finding comfort, even in silence, in the presence of Draco Malfoy.

Perhaps compounded by the fact that there was actual comfort to be found in silence. It was not a state in which she was accustomed, unless she was alone. The majority of her other relationships didn’t allow for it. Harry, Ron, Ginny and all the Weasley’s come to think of it. They simply didn’t exist in that state of being. There was always chatter and comments and conversation. She had grown used to it.

But the silence was nice. A comforting quiet, where her brain and thoughts could plow on ahead but she could still find solace in the presence of another person.

With a pang, she realized it was a solace most often found with her parents. Car rides that could lapse into silence. Sitting around the living room, her mother leaning against her fathers shoulder, each absorbed in their own book. The flames roaring in their fireplace. Hours could pass in this fashion, with barely a word passing between them. Occasionally her father would run his fingers down her mothers arm or press a kiss to her temple. Little touches that she hadn’t thought anything of at the time, in the ignorance of youth. But that she now knew to be small silent declarations of love.

She had forgotten how it had been.

Nothing good could come from comparing one’s relationship to that of someone else but she knew she and Ron had never had such moments. Neither here nor there and neither right or wrong. It’s not as though relationships thrived or failed based on whether comfort could be found in silence. But she knew in her heart it was just another small chink in the overall differences in their characters that lead to their downfall. If it should even be thought of as downfall. Rather the realization that they existed much better as friends instead of romantically.

She glanced at him again out of the corner of her eye. He looked at ease as he continued to pull the weeds out of the dirt, tossing one after another towards their growing pile. He looked pensive, introspective even. She wondered if his brain moved like hers did. Meaning that it never stopped. She knew the look that Harry and Ron wore when doing menial tasks. A blankness that took over their features as if it was a reprieve from thinking. A moment to do something mundane that allowed for one to turn their brain off and simply not think. It was not something she found herself often doing. And it didn’t appear as though Malfoy was doing it now. She could almost hear him thinking.

“I enjoy the silence,” she murmured, smiling slightly at the irony that in complementing the silence, she had to break it.

He paused, his hands still immersed in the soil. “I’ll try to remember that you enjoy when I don’t speak.”

Hermione huffed and in a moment of impulsivity, threw a handful of dirt at him. “That's not what I meant”.

Malfoy had frozen, seemingly in shock at the dirt that sprinkled across his shirt and a few specks that had adhered to his cheek.

“You just threw dirt at me.”

“You deserved it for being so obtuse,” but even as she said it she leaned towards him and used a finger to turn his head towards her. Using her left hand to anchor his jaw, she reached her right up and brushed the dirt from his cheek. She released his face and moved back a pace. But they were still much closer than before and it made her next statement feel oddly intimate. “I just meant that the comfortable silence is nice. Spending time together but not necessarily having to fill each and every moment with conversation. Its-” she glanced away, “It's not something I had with Ron”.

She turned back towards him and was shocked to find that he had moved even closer. Was leaving towards her. “I can’t deny that I am happy to learn that you like me for my differences from the Weasel. I’ve been bloody terrified to learn we may have had a great deal in common if you dated the both of us”.

And then he drug a dirt caked palm down her cheek.

Hermione’s mouth fell open in shock.

Malfoy’s eyes were positively sparkling as he laughed. “You made the first move against a Slytherin, Granger. Did you truly expect no retalliation?”

—--

The afternoon passedby in a lazy haze. After finishing the flower bed, they had returned inside and headed towards their respective bathrooms to wash the sweat, dirt and grime away.

The initial shock fading after finding dirt smeared across her cheek, they had lapsed back into comfortable silence as they finished the day's work.

With any monumental hurtle or line crossed in the sand, acclimating to the new degree of normal takes time. Further change has to occur in order to encompass the things that are now different. Sometimes the moments in life that makeup these pivotal points are easily discernible. A line you intentionally cross or a moment that you know will change the trajectory of your life. Others occur slowly and then all at once you realize you aren’t where you were before. Or who you were before.

Hermione was abundantly aware that those moments in the garden were pivotal. Unplanned but pivotal all the same. Wary distrust and stilted conversations had slowly become a thing of the past over small conversations the past few weeks. But the moments in the dirt, the playful ease of it all had sent them hurtling into timid friendship. She wasn’t even sure if she could define it as timid after she opted to chuck a handful of dirt at him.

Their equilibrium had fractured yet again, new pieces being made and slotting into place as their interactions brought them closer together. Things wouldn’t revert or regress but she wondered if there would be a degree of shy awkwardness as they navigated and discovered their places in the early stages of what would be their friendship.

A change that came about solely due to dirt. The irony of it all is almost too much.

Hermione peeled off her sweaty clothes and let them fall to the floor before stepping into the shower, the hot water an instant balm to her aching muscles. The lilac scented shampoo, a favorite she discovered in one of the taps of the prefect bathroom, was a welcome comfort. One of the few things that began in the “before” and that she was still able to have here in the “after”. Something that persisted.

Standing in the shower, the steaming water coalescing down her body, was the first time Hermione wondered what it might be like to kiss Draco Malfoy. And if she might like it.

—--

Her shower and subsequent bathroom reflections had inevitably led to Malfoy finishing before her. She wasn’t surprised to find him in the kitchen, standing at the counter with his back to her, but she still wished their places were reversed. That it would be him happening upon her and therefore his duty to offer the first remark.

She paused, assuming the chunking noise emanating from whatever he was doing at the counter was enough to mask her approach and silently observed him. His hair was still damp from his shower and curling slightly at the ends. A plethora of ways to announce her presence flitted through her head and the knowledge that what she choses will thereafter set the tone for how things are to progress immobilized her from doing any at all. The novelty of what she is defining as friendship with him had given her pause. She was at ease, comfortable with him in a way she wasn’t before. But still unsure how to proceed.

He cocked his head slightly to the side, as if considering, and she knew she’d lingered too long. Her presence had somehow been found out. He turned to acknowledge her, his body moving to the side and giving her a glimpse of the counter he had been standing at. At the cutting board strewn with vegetables and the knife still in his hand, wand lying unused.

“What….what are you doing?”

“”Granger, hasn’t anyone ever told you that the correct answer is the simplest one? I’m cooking”.

“Without magic?”

He smirked at her, a look so reminiscent of their Hogwarts days but without any of the scorn. “I still had to eat on probation, you know”.

Hermione mentally chided herself for forgetting. Of course he would have had to learn to live differently during the time when he wasn’t allowed to use magic. What was perplexing was what had begun as forced acclimation had ended with residual habits. Habits that were typically seen in muggle born witches and wizards. Doing things the muggle way instead of a magical swish of a wand. Hermione herself kept some muggle habits. Ironically, cooking was one of them.

LIttle things, like walking across a room to retrieve an object rather than accio’ing it. Things she had never once seen a wizard not of muggle parentage do.

Especially not a pure blood wizard from a sacred twenty-eight family.

Malfoy had resumed his chopping but must have been able to still feel her stare. The stare that she most definitely was still doing, watching him in perplexed silence. The practiced slice of the knife through the onion. The cutting board laid out beneath it. The assortment of spices sitting next to a boiling pot of water that she’d only just noticed.

The muggle denims that hugged his body. How that wasn’t the first thing she noticed was beyond her.

“Ask, Granger. We both know this loaded silence is you holding back a question”.

“Why? Why continue to do things the muggle way? It’s not a habit leftover from a muggle upbringing like it is for me. Even now, all these years later, my first inclination or response is to do some things the muggle way. But it wouldn’t be like that for you. Not after spending a short time without a wand or magic”.

He sighed, as if expecting the question but not altogether wanting to answer it.

“It’s calming to me. A physical reminder of my time spent on probation. For all that I missed magic, it was….very healing for me”. He angled the cutting board over a pan sizzling with hot oil and unceremoniously dumped them in. “So no, it's not second nature for me like it may be for you. But it brings me an odd level of comfort”.

“And the muggle denims? Do you wear them for the same reason?”

He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling. “Not quite. I found I quite like muggle clothing. Much more comfortable and easy to move about in.” He turned with a raised eyebrow to look at her over his shoulder, “I’ve also been told they make my arse look quite good’.

Her mouth opened but she could think of nothing to say. Even as she felt her own cheeks blush. Which was ridiculous, as he had essentially complimented himself.

Smirking, he began dumping the boiling pot of pasta into the strainer.
“You could help, you know”. More and more the snarky and self confident Malfoy she remembered began to shine through.

Well two could play at that game. “I’m good. I’d much prefer to continue to enjoy the view”.

She couldn’t be sure but she could have sworn the tips of his ears flushed red.

Notes:

Well I definitely fell off the update wagon. My addictive personality decided I should take up bookbinding so I could own copies of my favorite fanfictions. And as per usual for me, it literally consumed me.

I'll try to be more better in the future.

Enjoy!

Chapter 6: Chapter Six

For someone who, at their heart, was a natural born rule follower, Hermione had broken many a rule in her life. Primarily in her Hogwarts days, usually at the sides of Harry and Ron and more often than while trying to defeat a psychopathic tyrant. Extreme cases called for extreme measures. It wasn’t done to chase some ill begotten thrill delivered in the act of breaking. Rather it was simply a means to an end. It needed to be done and so she did it. She had enough self awareness to recognize that this was an incredibly narcissistic view on rules. Follow them until the situation was dire enough that it became justifiable to break them. She saw that for what it was and recognized it in herself. Even as she disliked it. Disliked how easy it was to convince herself that putting herself about a rule or regulation was fine because she was doing it for the greater good.

But, generally speaking, when circumstances didn’t call for extreme measures, Hermione liked rules. They kept things neat and orderly. Expectations were set and expectations were then met. It all aligned to the ordered and organized type of life that Hermione liked to lead.

Which was why she lent extra consideration to the rule she now planned to break.

No outside contact.

Her intention didn’t stem from wanting to satiate her inner curiosities, abundant though they were. She didn’t suppose being told about the missing years would be any kind of substantial substitute anyway.

Those particular insecurities had faded as her camaraderie with Malfoy grew. Her burning curiosity was still there. The flames were stoked every time she saw him. But the horror had diminished. The horror and repulsion that had initially been so intrinsically bound to her curiosity that the feelings were indiscernible. She had not been able to ruminate and wonder about how it all came to be without also feeling an instantaneous burst of nausea in the pit of her stomach that she had married her childhood bully.

She could almost feel the warring emotions stripping themselves apart until the horror was siphoned out of her altogether. Until only curiosity was left. Curiosity at how the improbable became reality.

Because while she didn’t harbor as much confusion as to the why, the how still seemed insurmountable. But it was a question she found she preferred to remain a mystery until she could remember herself.

The how that she couldn’t seem to let go was the accident itself. The event that led to her and Malfoy being ripped of their memories.

Something didn’t add up. Didn’t fit quite right.

Hermione couldn’t place her finger on it. Couldn’t nail down exactly what was bothering her. For while the breadth of magical maladies was vast and their potential endless, something about their situation felt off. A sense of unease that had been steadily growing in her since she had arrived at the safe house. While not necessarily being outright lied to, Hermione strongly suspected there were definitely pieces of the puzzle they were not being told.

She warred with herself on whether the information was being withheld for their own good and she should simply do as instructed and wait for the healers to sort it out. Or whether something deeper was going on. Not necessarily nefarious but at the very least disingenuous.

Hermione had always felt a kinship with cats. Largely in part to their curious nature.

It was curiosity that won out in her now as she conjured her patronus,a lithe jaguar, and sent it bounding off to summon her owl.

It was curiosity that drove her to pen the letter to Flourish and Blotts requesting books on magical memory loss, cursed objects and cursed potions.

It was curiosity but it was also the seeds of suspicion.

 

—--

She began by drafting everything she knew, getting it all out on pen and paper. Timelines soon adorned the walls of the library, one for each of them starting in sixth year and outlining all of the major events of their lives up until the last memory before waking up in St. Mungo’s. Malfoy’s list was largely blank, seeing as she knew only the barebones of his life after Hogwarts.

Any intersecting moments between the two of them she gave special attention to detail. His trial. The moment in the bookstore. The manor. The final battle.
The list of the mutual acquaintances was endless but she wracked her brain for any mutual friends they may have. That list is much shorter. Nonexistent.

A chart depicting everything relating to St. Mungo’s was placed on the back of the door. From all of the information they were given about their situation to the minute details of how she remembers feeling. The brain fog and memories seeming to drain out of her head as she awoke.

The details of the prescribed healer visits took up a small chart attached to the side of the bookshelf.

Healer LaNou had returned twice so far. The first time a few days after the start of their stay at the safe house. The second time after about ten days had passed. If Hermione had expected to be given vast amounts of new information surrounding the case, then she had been disappointed.

The healer had little to no information to report but rather spent her time questioning them. Both together and apart.

While together she asked them if any of the missing memories had returned. If they were experiencing any new symptoms or side effects.

When Healer LaNou questioned Hermione by herself, there was a definite shift in the line of questioning. She wanted to know about her interactions with Malfoy. How they were getting long and how they were interacting. Had any problems arisen reminiscent of their school days dislike?

Hermione had answered honestly. Had seen no reason to do otherwise. But in the back of her mind, the seed of suspicion had been planted. For try as she might, beyond ensuring that the healer’s patients weren’t at risk to cause bodily harm to each other, she could see no reasoning for these particular questions. No way in which their answer could impact or further their case.

Then why ask? Questions imply intention. Purpose. But purpose to what ends?

There are really only two distinct possibilities.

One: the healers know less than they let on and are floundering to figure out what happened.

Two: the healers know more than they let on and there are different stakes at play.

The more Hermione pondered it, the more plausible option two seemed.

But to what end, she hadn’t the faintest idea.

She was so absorbed in her speculations that she didn’t even register Malfoy’s arrival. She couldn’t pinpoint when he had stepped into the room, rather she gradually became aware of another’s presence in the room. She finally looked up, expecting his focus to be aimed at her. Instead he stood with his back to her, arms crossed in front of his chest as he surveyed all of the pin up charts and data strewn about the walls.

“You look like you’re play acting at solving a muggle murder mystery.”

She smiled to herself, only mildly surprised at this point by his blatant muggle reference.

“I’m glad you’re here. I actually need you to add input and experiences to your half of the charts.”

“What exactly is all this, Granger?”

Hermione drew a breath in and tried to collect her thoughts in a cohesive statement. This was it. She had been simultaneously dreading and eagerly awaiting to tell Malfoy of her suspicions. Harry and Ron often deferred to her theories and plans with little objection. That is not to imply that they didn’t think for themselves, but rather that they were likely not to have lent much thought to something until she pointed it out. And at that point they typically agreed with what she had discovered.

She very much doubted this was the way Malfoy operated. She expected him to take what she offered and examine it from all angles. To form his own hypothesis and conclusion. And she found she was waiting on bated breath to discover if he would come to the same conclusion as she had.

She let the breath out. “Something doesn’t feel right about all this. Do you feel it? The inkling that something is off?”

Malfoy had been moving about the room, his eyes roving over all the charts. Taking in all the details she had painstakingly gathered and laid out. Absorbing everything. He came to a stop at the chart directly behind her chair. She stood and turned towards him as he read the final chart. Wanting him to turn around and face her as he either condemned or affirmed her suspicions.

And he did, his eyes meeting hers as he came to a stop in front of her. The both of them crowded in the small space inbetween the back of her desk and the wall. She was surprised by the haunted look that seemed to shutter his eyes as she waited for him to speak.

“Are you quite certain that it isn’t just the lingering disbelief of whom you married that is unsettling you?”

Malfoy himself looked unsettled. Uncomfortable. She wondered what it had cost him to ask. To intentionally put himself in such a vulnerable position.

She knew she had to answer honestly. That this fragile thing between them could only continue to exist if they fed it honesty. But how much honesty to give? Simply say that no, that wasn’t it at all. Or complete transparency?

She chose the latter. And in doing so, actively placed herself in a state of discomfort right alongside him.

“No, Malfoy, that isn’t it. I’m still curious. I would very much like to know how exactly this relationship started. But… I am no longer surprised that it could. That it did.”

Malfoy looked confused. As if her words weren’t registering or landing in a way that made sense. A combined mix of his confusion and her nerves spurred her to further elaborate.

“I just mean, I get it,” she was stammering now, “The more I get to know you, the more it makes sense.”

Hermione forced herself to remain standing next to him. Forced herself to ignore the creeping mortification of all that she had just admitted to him. In one fell swoop she had not only discounted his doubt but laid bare her blossoming feelings.

Malfoy didn’t say anything. Only stared at her, his face unreadable. It wasn’t until he seemed to slightly reanimate that she registered that he had been occulding.

“You’re turning quite red.”

Hermione shifted back in surprise at that, his response unexpected enough that she continued to answer in complete honesty without any forethought. “Well I am a little self conscious. Considering what I just admitted.”

He continued to stare at her and Hermione felt her face continue to redden. She was about to give in completely to her desire to bolt when he shifted. She went utterly still as he took a step closer, one hand coming up to grasp her elbow as he leaned toward her.

Leaned toward her, pressed the lightest of kisses to her cheek and murmured, “Don’t be.”

It was over as quickly as it began, Malfoy pulling away and releasing her elbow, allowing space to flow back between them.

Time moved forward but Hermione remained frozen, rooted in place from the sheer shock of it all. She dared a glance up at him and found him staring back, the color blossoming on his cheeks a stark contrast to his ghostly pale skin. She couldn’t help but notice they matched the pink of his lips. Lips that had just scorched her skin with the barest of touches.

“It looks as though it's your turn now,” she breathed out. The words were little more than a whisper.

“My turn to what?” he asked.

She gave him a sardonic grin, trying to restore balance and normalcy. “To turn red.”

He chuckled, turning back to the chart on the door. “Yes, well turns out it's nice to find out you no longer utterly despised by the person you’re apparently married to.” Malfoy paused then, still contemplating the chart. “It was the same with me. When the healer’s came for their progress check, they were really only concerned about how I was getting along with you. A lot of questions about if my earlier prejudices were feeling more prominent again. That kind of thing.”

He turned back to her, silver eyes glowing in the low light of the room, “All that's to say I agree with you. About all of it.”

She nodded, an instant sense of relief flooding through her.

“So you’ll help me?”

“I’ll help you.”

Malfoy then took her proffered pen and moved towards the nearest chart.

 

—--

 

They worked late into the night, Malfoy’s elegant penmanship filling up the spaces between her not so elegant scrawl. His letters were a pristine sloped cursive, looping around each other in a way that was reminiscent of calligraphy. Just looking at the letters, she would have guessed that to produce them would be a slow and arduous process. But on the contrary, the letters and words flow quickly from Malfoy’s pen without the faintest trace of effort.

Hermione had always assumed her poor handwriting was due to how quickly she wrote. In her insatiable thirst for knowledge, she found it difficult to write at a pace that produced a more pleasing handwriting. She would try and it would start out looking better. But by the end of the paper, sometimes even the end of the sentence, her patience would run dry and it was back to her typical manic chicken scratch.

But watching Malfoy write not only beautifully but also quickly, debunked her theory entirely.

Of course the perfect pureblood heir would have beautiful handwriting. It only made sense. And it was only another brick in the ever growing wall of things that separated them and the worlds they came from.

To make matters worse, he was left handed. And not smearing a single letter.

Hermione felt her derision building while she watched him. That out of body experience when you can acknowledge that the way you’re feeling is irrational but you feel it nonetheless.

She was angry at this stupid handwriting.

She was annoyed.

She was…she knew what she was. Identified the feeling swirling around inside of her.

“I think,” she huffed out a breath, “I think I can honestly say this is the first time I have ever been truly jealous of you. And it’s from your blasted handwriting.”

The handwriting in question comes to an abrupt pause as he turnedto look at her over his shoulder. A smirk already playing on his lips.

“Only the first, Granger? You mean to tell me you never harbored any jealousy towards Pansy over a little school years fancy?”

Hermione choked out a laugh, all the contempt she had felt for him in those days flashing through her mind. “I can honestly say I did not.”

“You wound me. I can’t ever imagine why not.”

 

—--

It was two in the morning when Hermione finally climbed into bed that night. Even though her limbs felt tired and sluggish, her brain winding down for the day, she felt a renewed sense of vigor. She wasn’t alone in her suspicions. And she wasn’t alone in her situation. She had someone with her. Experiencing it all alongside her. With her. And he felt the same.

Hermione felt like she could breathe again. Not because anything had been figured out or solved. But simply because she wasn’t alone in it. And that, above all, was the biggest comfort.

Instead of continuing to theorize, her mind was hung up entirely on one thought.

She had only ever touched Malfoy three times in her entire life. Correction, in her current memory. Once, in third year when she had punched him. Once, in sixth year when he had restrained her after Umbridge had caught them. And once tonight. When he kissed her cheek. Such instances of startling polarity. But she found iit oddly fitting because every aspect of them was a startling polarity.

Worlds, houses, friends, war, blood. Even down to asinine things like their height and their features.

In all things he was firmly planted on one side and she on the other.

But perhaps that’s why they ended up together. Somewhere in the middle.

Perhaps they are a beautiful contradiction.

Notes:

Thanks for reading! The seeds of attraction are beginning to grow and Hermione is definitely confused by her feelings. Hope you enjoy.

Chapter 7: Chapter Seven

Flourish and Blotts did not dally in their response. Or rather, their rejection.

Hermione’s heart sank as she saw the small note attached to the owl that swept in while she was having her morning coffee. Small note and not parcel containing the books she had asked for. She had known the gist of what it would say before even laying eyes on it.

Dear Ms. Granger,
We regret to inform you that we are unable to fulfill your request. By order of Saint Mungo’s, no books are to be delivered to a Miss Hermione Granger so as not to interfere with her healing process. Our hearts are heavy to learn that you have fallen ill and we wish you the most speedy recovery. We look forward to doing business with you in the future.
-Flourish and Blotts.

She should have known that the healers would be anything if not thorough. She thrust the note at Malfoy and then headed back to her bedroom to get dressed. They may have barred her from getting magical books but muggle ones could also be of help. And she doubted it even crossed their minds to bar them from local muggle bookstores.

She threw on a pair of denims and a pale lavender blouse, pulling the items from the closet and paying little heed to what she actually chose.

Keeping distant from the people and routines of her daily life was understandable. Not desirable per say but at least logical in the healing journey. Denying her resources to look into what had happened to her and how to heal her was nonsensical. What could possibly be gained from keeping them in the dark entirely?
Her whirlwind of anger carried her back to the kitchen, a particular kind of petulance rising in her that only came about when information was being withheld. It carried her all the way up to Malfoy, dumping her directly in front of him, invading his space in a way she wouldn’t normally have. The only warning she gave was a quick, “We need to go to the bookstore.”

His cup of coffee sat in front of him, blatantly unfinished, but she grabbed his wrist regardless, taking a step back and pulling him towards her in the process.

Make that four intentional touches.

For his part, Malfoy came willingly, allowing Hermione to pull him to his feet. Even as his eyes stayed glued to where her fingers wrapped around his arm. The fingers that just brushed the bottom of the dark mark.

She assumed, having been married to the man for an indeterminate amount of time, that she had touched it many times. But with no memory of doing so, the moment here and now, with her skin in direct contact with the ink in his, felt instantly charged.

She had yet to let go, the moment hanging suspended between them. And he had noticed, judging from the bob of this throat before pulling his eyes from his dark mark up to her face. He didn’t pull away but far too much time had elapsed to not acknowledge the oddly frozen moment they stood in.

But perhaps some things didn’t need to be given voice to. To cut through the silence with words that would only draw starker clarity to the shame that was creeping into his features. Releasing her grip around his wrist, Hermione stepped closer and drew the same hand up the length of his arm, her fingertips trailing along the skin of the dark mark. When they reached the pinnacle of the skull, she looked up at him, brown eyes meeting sliver.

She wondered if she could get lost in the depth of those silver pools. Malfoy’s features were a mask of his feelings. Always had been. But they always said that eyes are the windows to the soul. And staring into his brought a certain kind of clarity. The one place where he did not succeed in hiding. At least not from those who know how to look. And for Hermione, the sorrow and shame were etched ever so clearly in their depth. But there was something else. A question? Curiosity, perhaps, at this buddening thing ever changing between them.

She hoped her own eyes were as easily translated as she held his gaze and willed him to understand. To know that this ink in his skin held no mastery over him. No lingering power that can further dictate his life. That the boy who was forced and coerced into getting it is different from the man standing before her. Made different by the summation of all the choices he has made since that ink dried. She pushed all these thoughts and more toward him as she held his eyes, letting her fingers begin their trek back down the mark.
She is almost certain that she didn’t imagine the slight shiver that passed through him. Her fingers stopped when they reached his palm and she gripped it. Not quite holding it and definitely not interlacing their fingers. Mere comfort and grounding to bring them out of the moment. His hand remained in hers, still not pulling away. She took a step towards the door, forcing him to move alongside her.

“C’mon. Let's go to the bookstore.”

—--

The only sound as they set off down the sidewalk was the soft beat of their feet hitting the cement. A silence that was toeing the line between companionable and stilted. Hermione had yet to decide. After the events preceding their departure, the space between them practically begged a return to normalcy. But she wasn’t quite sure how to clear that particular hurdle.

In the end, it was her lack of patience that, as usual, won out.

“So you read lots of muggle fiction? I still find myself thinking back to that time in the bookstore.”

Malfoy glanced at her, his eyes taking a moment to focus. She wondered where his thoughts had taken him to, what daydreams had his mind crafted to fill the silences of their walk.

“I do. It started in sixth year. Probably a form of escapism when I couldn't handle the stress of my task. I was,” he paused, brow furrowing as he searched for a word, “I was agitated even around my friends. They knew something was up but not any of the details. That I had already been branded. So I would hole myself up in the room of requirement with the stash of muggle books I had found there.”

He laughed, the sound cynical and scraping. “I probably only read two books that entire year. My focus was shite and I remember having to reread pages two or three times to retain anything. But it really took off in Azkaban.” The smile he gives her is loaded. Almost like he is daring her to comment on the fact she married a criminal. “Plenty of time and nothing to focus on in there.”

“But why muggle?”

He scoffed, “I may have briefly been a blood purist but I was never a book purist.” His laugh this time is more genuine. Less packed with self loathing. “Honestly, that probably should have been the first indication to myself and my parents that I was drifting from their ideals. But it’s not like I exclusively read muggle fiction. I just read whatever sounds good. It just so happens that muggle sci fi and fantasy often sound good.”

Hermione thought he was done. One of the longest monologues he has uttered in her presence. So she was surprised to hear him speak again and surprised by what he said.

“And it's objectively better.”

A raised eyebrow that she isn’t sure he even sees. “How do you mean?”

Malfoy shrugs, “Skies the limit when you have no magic yourselves and have to make it all up.”

She can’t help the smile that finds its way to her face. And doesn’t overthink the light nudge she gives him as she bumps her shoulder against his. “Who would have thought, Draco Malfoy connoisseur of all things muggle fiction.”

—--
They diverged once they arrived at the bookstore, Hermione heading towards the medical books and Malfoy seeming to melt away and disappear between the shelves.

The store itself was small and quaint, in an overstuffed and bursting at the seams with books sort of way. The smell that Hermione associated with books and libraries was lofting from the walls, weaving its own unique kind of spell and setting her at ease. There has always been something about books that has acted as a balm to her. A comfort in their endless opportunity for knowledge. All you had to do was open them and you would be transported to a world you never knew, a time not your own or given a wealth of information on a particular subject.

The library at Hogwarts was her first friend. Her ever trusting escape when the world she had been so excited to join had come with its own slew of unexpected problems. The long seeded resistance to her and everything that she was. Before Harry and Ron, her escape had always been books.

There had been a time when they were also an escape from Malfoy. From his cutting words and his ire. She wondered if he had ever truly hated her and if she had ever truly hated him. Perhaps at the beginning. When they were so young and their thoughts and opinions were still so highly impacted by their parents and those around them. But as they got older and had started to develop their own view on things, perhaps hate is too strong a word. She knew she began to feel pity at the way his parents controlled and influenced his life. Sorrow at the direction he was forced to go in. She couldn’t possibly know what he thought of her but his actions, even so far back as fourth year, pointed at some conflicting thoughts from what he had been taught to feel. And then the man here with her now, the man she ended up marrying. She doesn’t know what is beginning to stir between them but she knows what he feels towards her is far from hate. That who he is now is so wholly different from who he had been. She can’t help but wonder if this is who he could have been all along, had he not been forced into a mold that did not fit him.

She moved down the aisles, fingers brushing the spines of the books as she passed, taking comfort from them in a tangible way. The desire to pursue leisurely was strong. Allow the bookstore to slowly show her all it had, to perhaps stumble upon a hidden gem. But she had a purpose and the call to it was stronger. She made her way towards the science section, medical books in particular.

Her hopes at finding anything weren’t all that high, especially in a small town store of this size. She bypassed the few medical dictionaries, books on evolution, and the human genome. They had a few on Alheizmers and Dementia, which she took. One that was an in depth analysis of the brain and how it worked. She flipped to the glossary in the back, dragging her finger down the list of words until she came across “memory”. Page two hundred and twenty six.

A brief glance told her that the area of the brain that forms and stores memories is called the hippocampus.

The allure to read more, learn more, completely immerse herself was strong. But she knew herself. Knew that if she read much more, she wouldn’t be able to stop and would find herself standing in the middle of the aisle with her nose in a book, completely oblivious to the rest of the world. She snapped the book closed while she still had the wherewithal to do so, adding it to her growing pile for purchase.

The hippocampus. What a strange word for something that does such a monumental job. The exact area that she affected when she pointed her wand at her parents and cast obliviate. Removing herself from their memories completely, as if she had never been there at all.

She had found them after the war. In the wake of the final battle, amidst victory celebrations happening right alongside the mourning of fallen loved ones, she had left. Hadn’t even taken Harry or Ron with her, though they had asked and had wanted to come. Alone, she had made the trek down to Australia

The hopes of restoring one's memories after they have been obliviated becomes more tenuous the longer you wait. The acceptance of who you are without them becomes more and more ingrained until it's simply irrevocable. A permanence that can’t be undone. To try and do so once this point has been reached can be highly traumatic and catastrophic to the individual.

When the war had been going on, Hermione simply paid this no mind. There was nothing to be done. Either the war would end in a timely enough manner that she could restore their memories or it wouldn’t and they would never again know they had had a daughter. But they would be safe. Be alive. That thought was enough of a balm on the possibility of them never remembering her. There was nothing she could do on the matter besides fight to end the war and hope it was enough.

But as soon as the war ended, she had felt the ticking time bomb on her parents start. An unknown deadline that began the second Harry defeated Voldemort. She couldn’t do anything before but she could now. Any seconds wasted were seconds she would have to answer to if they weren’t able to be restored. So she hastened to Australia. Found them as quickly as humanly possible and began the process of restoring their memories. Of restoring her.

It worked. For the most part, it worked. The road was not without bumps and hiccups but they remembered her. Remember they had a daughter.

They were far from happy with her. That she had made the decision for them, even if it was to protect them. Even if they might have come to make the same decision for themselves. But in doing so herself, a violation had occurred. A trust had been broken and a relationship had been changed. She had her parents back but things were not as they were before. Would never be again.

And even still, she had a hard time regretting the decision she had made. Saving them had been paramount. But she mourned their loss all the same. Because in a way she had lost them when she made that choice. Things would never be the gentle ease of love and trust between them again. And in that came an unexpected loneliness. A loss all the same.

Her parents didn’t feel that way. Were adamant that they would have made a different decision. Stayed and supported her through it, even at their own peril. Why should their daughter endanger herself so when they were unaware and partaking in creature comforts on an entirely different continent. They couldn’t fathom it.

And now, here she was, missing an entire section of her memories. Years worth. Perhaps it was her penance. She didn’t even try to suppress the maniacal laugh that bubbled up out of her at the irony of it all.

She is still laughing, tears not far off, when she hears his drawl from directly behind her.

“Granger, are you trying to scare off the other customers with that cackle?”

Turning, she found him leaning casually against a bookshelf. Arms crossed at his chest, legs crossed at the ankle. Not a hair out of place, somehow managing to make simple slacks and a button up look impressive. The picture of pure arrogance. A stance that, once upon a time, would have set her blood to boil and disdain to course through her veins. Looking at him now, she still felt herself grow warm but it was a very different kind of heat. This was a fire that was slow to start but steadily gaining. Gaining and gaining until she eventually knew it would have to blow.

Granted, he was still an arrogant arse.

He pushed off the shelf, slipped his hands into his pockets and strolled casually towards her.

“Care to elaborate?”

Hermione shrugged, “Oh you know, just laughing at the irony of it all.”

A raised blond brow was her only response.

“Just that it's fitting. I took my parents' memories of me. Of their daughter,” her finger came up lightly, tapping him on the chest, “ And now I can’t remember how I got my own husband.”

She looked off, unable to maintain eye contact with him, and found a spot somewhere over his shoulder to settle on. “It just seems like my perfect penance.”

Cold fingers traced across her jawline until they gripped her chin, tilting her chin up until she met those silver eyes.

“Don’t demean what you sacrificed in order to save them. The right choice is sometimes the hard one. Often the hard one. I should know, I’ve chosen the easy one enough.”

Hermione stared at him and nodded, trying to keep the tears from her eyes.

Before he could move away, she stepped forwards, wrapping her arms around him in a quick hug, lips murmuring a quiet “thank you”.

She pulled away without meeting his eyes and picked up her books, moving towards the counter. But couldn’t help but notice even in the most infinitesimal of hugs, a fraction of a second, he hadn’t hesitated to hug her back.

 

—--

They had been at it for hours. The both of them holed up in the library, pen, notebook and muggle science book in hand. Outlining and taking note of any muggle ailment that ended in memory loss.

Hermione’s hand was cramping from writing but even so, the books were less than helpful. If she was honest with herself, it's what she had expected. She could now speak in depth about things like Alheizmers and dementia, the gray matter of the brain gone awry. But in no way could she possibly hope to link them with their current situation. Both typically occurred in older ages and had slower onsets. Not precise years gone. And the same precise years gone from two people.

She sighed, flipping the book closed with a force that sounded much more like a slam. Enough force to make Malfoy glance up.

“Still no luck?

“They’ve done amazing things with science for memory loss. I just don’t know that any will help us with one brought on by magical means.”

The only thing she ran across that seemed mildly promising was the idea of repressed memories. A phenomenon where the brain avoids thinking about certain things, usually as a coping mechanism after extreme trauma. She isn’t so ignorant as to think this is exactly what has happened to her and Malfoy, but it begs the question as to whether there is some sort of magical equivalent. Perhaps introduced by a spell or curse but manifests in such a way? Or perhaps introduced intentionally, in a controlled environment. Had something truly terrible happened to them both and this was how they were being treated while their minds were given time to heal?

Her own brain is running full speed ahead, trying to connect dots that may or may not be present.

Malfoy must have noted the change in her. The lack of rapidly flapping pages of not helpful material. Or maybe the way she sat up a little bit straighter in her chair when something excited her. Perhaps after an unknown amount of time being married, he was just innately attuned to her. He rose to come lean over her shoulder, reading the hastily scribbled ideas.

“Perhaps a magical trauma? One that's making us suppress a certain timeframe?” He caught on quickly.

“That or done intentionally. To give us time to heal.”

“You think the healers have jurisdiction to do that? Even if for supposed healing?”

Hermione smiled grimly at him. “If that is truly what happened, for all we know, we could have signed our consent beforehand as well. It’s not as if we would remember.”

Malfoy grimaced but nodded his consent at that. “Touche.”

Memory suppression, whether accidental, malicious or as treatment, was the only theory they added to the wall that day.

—--

The tea kept going cold and Hermione kept forgetting she could have simply used a warming spell. It never ceased to amaze her that in the midst of researching a magical malady or magical issue, she could forget she was a witch. She knew it was a phenomenon that occurred with muggle borns and wasn’t unique to her. But she had always assumed it would diminish some with time and that didn’t seem to be the case. Her first inclination continued to always be the muggle way on many things.

Malfoy had resisted commenting on her many looks of disgust when she took a gulp of long cold tea, but she knew he noticed. Even suspected he had cast a few warming charms of his own if the lingering warmth of her tea was anything to note.

And they were moving through tea bags at an alarming rate, spending all their time in the library surrounded by piles of notes and books, adding thoughts here and there when inspiration struck. Which also seemed rarer and rare until it was few and far between. They had exhausted all possible routes with the meager information they had available.

“The timeframe doesn’t make any sense. Perhaps a small amount of time would fit the hypothesis that we had experienced a traumatic accident or experience. But for us both to not remember the last five years?”

“It’s so specific, it does lend to seeming engineered.”

She felt her eyebrows raise at that. “That’s a muggle word.”

“Noticed that, did you?” Malfoy moved closer, taking a step into her atmosphere so that he was towering over her.

“How do you even know it?”

His playful smile faltered, “Honestly? I probably learned it from you and don’t remember. Seems a little self serving to turn it on you now.” His smile has completely gone now, lines of frustration taking its place as he flopped down in the chair next to her. “It does though, doesn’t it? Feel intentional?”

“Sometimes, yes. But I don’t know what else to do besides wait for the healers. We have no access to magical texts.”

She was surprised by the reaction this comment garnered. He perked up, his posture straightening and a light coming back into his eyes as he turned in his seat to look at her.

“The Malfoy library is extensive. A personal collection that could rival the Hogwarts library.”

Hermione shrugged, “I’m sure it is. It’s probably the majority of the reason I married you. But how does that help us now?”

He rolled his eyes at the dig but didn’t seem fazed. “Isn’t that what you do? Break into places you're not supposed to be? I’m sure that skill alone is half the reason I married you.”

“Okay, fine. But that was always justifiable as it was for the greater good.”

“I’ve always viewed my self preservation as the greater good myself.”

“Yes and look where that has got you in the past,” she said wryly.

Malfoy’s only response was to point his wand at her yet again cold tea and wordlessly cast a warming charm.

“You really want to break into your own manor?”

“Scared, Granger?”

“Still using that old line, Malfoy?” she swatted at him but he caught her hand, skin soft on hers.

“It will give us something to do and the stakes are relatively low. I don’t foresee my own Mum killing us or turning us in if caught.”

Hermione nodded, already feeling lighter and more herself with a plan in place. An outlet to focus her energy. She made to leave the library but just as she reached the door, his voice called out. Softer than usual, the hesitancy evident.

“Granger?”

She turned back, curious at the change of tenor in his voice.

“Are you sure this is the only angle you want to approach from? That if there is something nefarious going on, that it only has to do with the memory loss and not at all with me?”

Hermione was relatively certain this was a rehashing of their previous conversation. Concerns not yet put to rest “What are you saying, Draco?”

She had been toying around with the idea of addressing him by his first name for some time now. Wondered if she should just let it happen naturally. But she doubted it ever would. She was much too attuned to what she called him to let it just slip out. And this moment. It felt right. It felt intentional but also purposeful.

And it didn’t go unnoticed. The widening of his eyes was perceptible even in the dimly lit room, the light from the hallway seeping in.

“Knowing myself, knowing how I have changed, I have no problem seeing how I could have fallen for you. But I still can't wrap my mind around why you would pick me, can’t conceptualize a reality where that happens, knowing the extent of our past. And it’s not just you. Pretty sure the rest of the trio wouldn’t be signing up for my fanclub.

She opened her mouth to speak but he held up a hand, signaling to her he wasn’t quite finished. “I just think that we might want to be open to other options. That there might be more to this than what we are currently investigating.”
Hermione contemplated her answer. In truth, she hadn’t questioned her marriage to Malfoy for quite some time now. The more she got to know him, the less far fetched it seemed. Add in the attraction that she had given up denying, and it practically made sense.

“You can’t engineer love or even attraction. Sure, there are the love spells that basically throw someone into instant obsession but that is definitely not what's happening here.”

Malfoy stared blankly at her, clearly missing the point she had hoped would be evident.

Hermione paused, waitting for him to connect the dots and save her from a full fledged confession. Waited to no avail.

Because hadn’t they had this entire conversation before? A conversation that had ended with a kiss on her cheek that left Hermione wanting for more.

She thought back to that conversation, turned it over in her mind and examined it from different angles. From his angle. Her intention had been to admit her attraction to him. But perhaps that wasn’t what he took away. She had told him that she could see it. How she ended up with him. And his response had been that it was nice to learn that he was no longer despised by the person he was married to.

Not hating someone and actually being attracted to them… and wanting them. They were two very different things. And Hermione was now almost positive his take away from that initial conversation had only been the former.

Even with the flirting and the loaded glances. Even as they inched closer and closer to that line.

“I just think that if we are finding it hard to believe we ended up together, someone on the outside would find it even more preposterous. If something truly is underway, it would be much easier to work with an established feeling. Use what is already there. So no, I don’t think that part of this is manufactured”.

Draco was staring at her from a few paces away, an unreadable look in his eyes. “You say that like you could actually see it happening. LIke you aren’t, on some intrinsic level, repulsed by me.”

Hermione took stock of him. Even saying these things, he was still proud and arrogant. Which was in direct opposition to the words coming out of his mouth. The war had changed him but not broken him. He was still the same deep down. Confidence still intact, head still high. He was atoning for what he had done wrong and where he had erred. And it was working. He wasn’t an empty husk of a man after coming out of the war on the wrong side but rather he was able to move through life with a thick skin and disregard what others thought.

And then it clicked. It was her specifically where his confidence gave out. Because it was her specifically that he had history with. She was probably the one woman in the world that he viewed as unattainable because of what he had done to her.

He didn’t let things go. He would forever have a flawed relationship with his parents for what they had chosen and forced him to choose. Perhaps he assumed she possessed the same barriers to forgiveness. Which would be a direct barrier to him.

She thought she understood. Why he felt that way and why he operated as such. It was a method of self preservation. To cut out those who wronged him and led him astray. Had forced him into a mold that he didn’t fit. Or didn’t want to fit. No one had ever chosen him. Especially not as he was. They wanted something from him or wanted him to be something.

But she could see it. How they fit together. Missing pieces of the same whole. Flaws and all. Jagged personal histories that had been smoothed to where they now complemented the other. The parts that she liked about him were the parts in the center. The ones still there when you stripped away the outer layers. The love of books, the intelligence and desire for knowledge. The snarkiness and quick retorts.

She could admit to herself that she wanted him. And wanted him as he was. She wouldn’t change their history or his past because it made him who he was today. Just as her own past and the war had made her who she was as well.

Never in a million years had Hermione thought she would be the one to make the first move. However, after her revelation of his character and then further examination of it, she could say with relative certainty that if she didn’t make the first move, he probably never would.

All the same, even knowing all those things about him, she still knew very little as to his regard for her. She knew he had let go of old prejudices, but had anything developed in their absence? Or did he see her as neutral.? A friend? All this and more passed through her mind and Hermione knew exactly why she had never made the first move. It was putting yourself on the line in such an immensely vulnerable way. Willingly stepping out to a precipice where success and rejection were no longer distant possibilities but actual realities. Where only one of which would come to pass. LIving in the grey was much safer. Easier. But it led nowhere, just a stagnant reality steeped in unresolved feelings.

He was very close, the space between them having somehow diminished. She found her eyes unwillingly tracking down to his lips, pursed slightly as he waited for her answer. An answer that, to him, probably seemed more and more dire as time passed and she didn’t speak. She drug them back up to his eyes, holding them as she said, “I think we both know I am far from repulsed by you,”

She said it even knowing it may not be true. That he may not know. That he may be incapable of letting himself believe anything else could be true.

She thought she might kiss him. Of all the times, she wondered if perhaps now was one of the worst. If it would look like it was done as proof of her feelings and not because she wanted to.

But she did want to. And he was so close to her and showing no signs of moving away.

“Granger,” he bit out, the word a bit rough. She thought he looked a bit panicked.

“Have you ever said my name?” her own words were much softer. Coaxing, as if she were talking to a frightened animal that may bolt at any minute. Perhaps she was.

Draco gave the slightest shake of his head.

“Sometimes, I imagine what it might sound like to hear you say it.” She took a deep breath, steadying herself. His eyes were already on hers when she looked up, the distance between them then made smaller by the step closer she took. Tentatively, so very slowly, she reached up and drew her knuckles down the length of his jaw and murmured, ” I apparently already fell in love with you once. Getting the chance to do so again isn’t the worst thing.”

She ran her fingers, feather light, across his lips, which parted slightly at her tough. Draco’s hand rose up to meet her own, trapping it against the side of his face. His eyes bored into hers, expression unreadable.

He continued to say nothing and Hermione decided that perhaps words weren’t necessary. Would only stifle the spark that burned so brightly she was sure he had to feel it. That she couldn’t possibly be alone in this.

She raised her other hand up to rest on his shoulder. A point of grounding as she moved up and let her lips meet his.

The kiss was gentle, a light brush of her lips against his. A simple moment in time that said so much more. It was a statement. A declaration. A surrender to desire. But most of all, at least for Hermione, it was a question.

She knew her own heart, her own feelings. And her kiss had removed any possible doubt Draco may have had to what she felt.. But she did not know his heart. Could not yet read his tells or what it meant when his eyes seemed to deepen.

As they did when he broke the kiss, pulling back a pace to look at her. Her skin was buzzing and she felt drunk off a single kiss in a way she never had before. She moved to close the distance between them again but his hand came up, gripping her shoulder. Halting her.

The instant flair of rejection coursed through her. It had always been a possibility but she still hadn’t actually expected it to happen. She had begun to think her feelings were mutual.

“Granger,” he ground out, the word sounding painful. “If we open this door there is no closing it. Not for me.”

Hermione stared at him. Took in her shallow breathing and the hand he had clenched at his side. He was holding himself back.

From her?

“What do you mean?”

His eyes were wide, a faint flush staining his cheeks. But he continued to look into her eyes, seemingly searching for something. The answer of which he seemed to find because after a beat he seemed to acquiesce.

“I mean that I have absolutely zero problem envisioning that I ended up with you. Or rather how I could want to end up with you. The you choosing me part is still hard to believe. But the point stands. I spend most of my time trying to hold myself back from you now.”

Hermione blinked at him in shock. “I have a hard time believing that when you just stopped me from kissing you.”

He was downright glaring at her now, “Yes, hence the holding back part.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “It is not in the nature of Malfoy men to do things lightly. You might say we have obsessive personalities. Possessive even. There is a reason I’ve held myself back and tried to give you space. Once we open this door, once you let me have even a little part of you, I know I won’t be able to stop. We choose and we only choose once.”

Hermione’s heart was pounding in her chest and she pondered his words, turning them around in her head.

“That has to make dating incredibly difficult.”

“Precisely why I don’t date. Why I never did.”

She felt her own eyes widen a bit at that. “Like at all? But then how-”

“I don’t like the idea of giving my heart to someone,” he interrupted her. He was still so incredibly close but somehow making himself seem further and further away. He was shutting down, closing himself off as the conversation took an abrupt turn, its compass now turned directly at him.

“Why? How do you ever plan to get close to someone then?”

Draco huffed, glaring off to the side. “Bloody hell I should have known that admission would come with a deluge of questions from you.”

“Then help me understand.”

He finally did move, taking more steps away from her. Going as far to cross the room and brace a hand on the wall. As if he needed the extra support it offered.

“My therapist says I have issues putting myself in a situation where I would have to be vulnerable with another person. To entrust any piece of myself to someone else.”

In a sick way, it all made sense. He had been used and discarded in the war. Only his mother had fought for him and even then she had waited until much too late.

She remembered the news of his betrothal to Astoria Greengrass.

“That’s why you dissolved your own betrothal contract. With Astoria.”

He glared at her and snipped, “Care to explain how you made that jump of logic?” and
Hermione noted the way his old methods of self defense, the biting retorts, tended to resurface when he felt vulnerable. And she imagined he felt extremely vulnerable at this moment.

“You were used in the war. By Voldemort but also by your family. So now you don’t get close or open up to anyone. But you also refuse to be a pawn again. Have your life dictated for you.”

His only response was to stare at her, a look of fleeting surprise crossing his face before he managed to pull his mask back in place. But it was enough confirmation for her to know she was right.

It's enough information for Hermione to start filling in the blanks. She had been horrified to find herself married to Malfoy. Initially. But it was a feeling that dissipated as soon as she got to know this version of him. But what had he felt? For one with such strong personal relationship issues to wake up and find themselves already married to someone. Someone he would have assumed hated him. With no memory of any of it.

He had probably felt like he was suffocating from it.

Her heart broke for him even as she felt herself pulled a little further into his orbit.

But he clearly felt something for her. And was also so very clearly terrified by it. She was breaking down the walls to the tower he had so carefully constructed around him and his heart.

She understood now what he meant. If he let her in, if he gave her the keys, there would be no going back. Not for him. But also not for her.She would be locked inside right alongside him.

She wanted in. Wanted to know every deep dark secret. The things he kept in shadowy corners and hid under cobwebs. But also the little things that didn’t even matter. His favorite food. The way he took his tea. The asinine things that no one else knew because he never let anyone in.

He was staring at her, eyes hard. As if waiting for the other shoe to drop.

She took a step towards him.

“How do you think we began dating then? If you were so opposed to it and the level of vulnerability it entailed. And furthermore, actually got married.”

He shrugged. “That right there is the question I keep coming back to. I was prepared to live out my days as a cynical old bachelor.”

Another step closer, “So how did I get in? How on earth did I get past all the walls you’ve created?”

He huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I imagine much the same way you are right now.”

One more step. “What exactly am I doing, Draco?”

His eyes lock on hers.

“It's like they don’t even apply to you.” He whispered it but somehow the words still managed to come out in an angry growl. “It's not like I don’t have friends or let people in. I do. But to a degree. I have a close friend group that knows me. Mostly. But you? I find myself telling you things that they don’t even know.”

“Is it less terrifying knowing your feelings are reciprocated?”

His eyes flashed a warning but Hermione was long past thinking she should tiptoe around him. She felt emboldened, knowing that he was feeling the same things. The same wanting. The desire to be close.

It terrified him, she knew. But sometimes, the answer to fear is to face it head on.

One last step and she was in front of him again. Back to where they started with each other but this time across the room.

“Open the door, Draco. Let me in. Build the walls up again if you have to. But do so with me on the inside. With you.”

She reached up with both hands this time, echoing their kiss from earlier, and tenderly cupped his face with one. The other slipped into the silken platinum locks that fell around his face.

Draco remained still. An unmoving statue whose eyes were staring into her soul.

“Last chance, Granger.”

“I’ve already chosen, Draco.”

He moved then. So fast that Hermione couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped her. One minute she was standing in front of him, while he leaned against the wall. The next second he had flipped them, her back hitting the wall with an audible clank. And then his mouth was on hers.

If the kiss before was controlled restraint, then this kiss was unbridled passion. It was a tether pulled taunt that finally snapped. That had sent him careening into her with a complete loss of control. The kiss wasn’t fast and punishing but neither was it slow and sensual. Rather, it was all consuming. His hands cradled her face and his body pressed hers against the wall, covering every possible inch of her.

Hermione couldn’t breathe. Her body felt like it was on fire, tingling from all the points of contact where she touched him.

He slowed this kiss, sliding his hands from her hair and placing them on the wall on either side of her head. Effectively caging her in as he broke the kiss and pulled back to look at her.

His eyes were silver flames boring into her as he stood to his full height, looming over her. She hadn’t realized how far down he had had to bend to kiss her.

“Hermione”

Her name seemed to drip from his mouth. Low and sensual. Ghosting over her skin.

She actually shivered. Hearing her name, from his lips as he stood there staring at her like that. It did something to her.

“Yes?” Simple English seemed to be a struggle for her right now.

He raised an eyebrow at her, all cocky arrogance, as he leaned back down and brought his lips to the shell of her ear. Whispered, “You were the one that demanded I say it. Was it everything you hoped for?”

Hermione drew in a shaky breath as goosebumps erupted on her flesh.

He pulled back again, just enough to see her face as a smug smile graced his own. Oh he knew exactly what he was doing.

His arms were still caging her in when he leaned in once more and ran his tongue along her bottom lip. Hermione drew in a breath in surprise and he slipped his tongue into her mouth, running it along her teeth and twining it with her own.

Her shock spurred her into action, reaching up and wrapping her arms around his neck. Leaning into the kiss with a hunger that surprised her. Using tongue wasn’t typically her style. Her experience with Ron had been all bad breath and slobbery spit.

But this was different. Draco toed the perfect line of too much and not enough. Alternating from dipping his tongue into her mouth to trailing it down the column of her throat. The side of her jaw.

When he nipped her earlobe, Hermione actually moaned, her hips involuntarily canting into his.

It didn’t go unnoticed.

“Bloody hell, Granger.” Draco was breathing hard, the silver fire in his eyes now muted with hazy lust.

It didn’t seem to matter that her hips had been at the level of his mid thigh, a ways off target.

The acknowledgment of their height difference helped bring Hermione back down to earth. A moment of clarity to see that they were quickly barreling towards a lot more than an innocent kiss.

She was about to give voice to this. About to say that maybe they needed to pause for a moment. Draco had no such moment of clarity. No lightening of the lust in his eyes.

He simply gripped her waist and hauled her up into the air, pushing her back against the wall and using his own body to hold her there.

And then his tongue was back in her mouth. And his hands were wrapping her legs around his waist. And then those hands were slipping under the hem of her sundress to climb up the length of her thigh. Until they were cupping her arse.

Hermione’s moment of clarity was wisped away, gone in a heartbeat as she fell back into the kiss. As she took some control, forcing her way into his mouth. His low growl of delight had her clenching her thighs around his hips.

And as she yet again lost control and canted her hips into his, Hermione understood precisely why he had hefted her into the air. As everything lined up perfectly and she could feel the hard length of him straining against his trousers.

One of his hands came up and palmed her breast over the top of her dress.

Hermione didn’t think she had ever been this turned on. And she still had all her clothes on. She ground her hips into his, the friction sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body.

Draco swore and pulled back from her, his breathing ragged.

“Tell me to stop, Hermione,” he panted. “Tell me now or I won't be able to. I’ll rip this stupid red dress off ”

Hermione tried to formulate her thoughts through her panting breaths. Tried to string two cohesive thoughts together while staring in the silver depths of his eyes. He was still so close. Still supporting her weight and pinning her up against the wall.

She couldn’t think like this. Couldn’t see through the haze of her own desire.

She patted his arm, “Put me down.”

He did so immediately, setting her on her feet and even taking a few measured steps back.

The instant respect to her wishes in this manner did not go unnoticed to Hermione. The control it took to stop and tell her he was about to lose control.
“I don’t want to stop. No part of me wants that. But I just-” she sighed running a hand through her mass of curls that were already mussed and out of control. From his hands. “I just think we need to take a step back and get a moment of clarity before barreling ahead. I want that to be a choice between us.”

Draco nodded, his eyes dark and glittering in the low light of the room, but said nothing. She tried to read his expression, gather some hint as to what he was thinking and what he wanted, but he had closed it off. Not quite occulding but close to it.

“Don’t shut me out.”

His eyes flashed, a jolt of frustration breaking through this facade. “I’m not. I’m working to regain a little bit of control.”

Hermione cocked her head at him. “You weren’t planning on stopping?”

Draco gestured downwards, drawing her eyes to the bulge at the front of his trousers. “Does this imply that I intended to stop?”

“Then why did you say that? To tell you to stop?”

“Bloody hell, Granger. Do I really need to have the conversation where I tell you that sex should always be a choice?”

Realization dawned. He hadn’t stopped because he was unsure. He had stopped because he wanted to make sure she wanted it. That she was choosing it.

It was her turn to speechlessly nod at him.

“So you’re….you’re fine with it. With going from first kiss to all the way in one fell sweep?”

He stepped closer, the fire still burning in his eyes but the frustration had leaked away.

She reached out, trailing her fingers down the length of his arm before threading them together.

He stared at their linked hands and his throat bobbed slightly before he lifted his head to meet her eyes.

The raw vulnerability in his expression shocked her. The expression that had been so shuttered and closed off before was completely gone and she saw it all now. Desire. Apprehension. And surprisingly she saw fear there.

“I understand that, for most people, it's a process. Occurrences that happen over time and accumulate and build. That is-'' he glanced away as if searching for the words to explain, “That is not how it is for me. When I decide or when I choose something, I do so completely and in totality.”

Hermione studied him “So when you said that if we open this door?”

“That was me choosing you. Choosing this.” His hands tightened over hers in their shared grip. “My grandfather always told me that Malfoy men love only once. That it’s an all consuming love. And that I'll know when I find her.”

Hermione wasn’t certain she was even breathing as she tried to wrap her head around all that he was saying.

“I’m yours, Granger. So if you want to take things slow then we take things slow. But if you want to pick up where we left off and fuck me then you won’t find me stopping you.”

She gaped at him and felt a blush tinge her cheeks at his words.

He tilted his head, studying her. “I didn’t expect you to be prudish, Granger. I thought that giant brain of yours would allow for clinical detachment when talking about sex. But you’re blushing and all I did was say fuck.” He was practically purring the words in wicked delight.

He brought a hand up to her flaming cheeks and smiled at her. There was nothing reassuring about it.

“I wonder what kinds of sounds you’ll make when I go down on you,” he mused and she felt her cheeks burn.

He was baiting her on purpose now. “You're incorrigible.”

Bating her but also lightening the mood and turning it away from the soul he had just laid bare before her.

But she still had questions. Still had a decision to make.

“But then if you never casually dated, never felt comfortable with anyone..” Hermione trailed off, her mind filling in the gaps. Surely not?

He raised an eyebrow at her in question. “Ask it.” He knew. He knew exactly where her mind had gone.

“Are you a virgin?”

“No.”

She nodded. Probably someone before the war then. Maybe in America. She hadn’t really believed there was any chance that Draco sodding Malfoy had been saving himself.

But she didn’t account for the words he said next.
“There is no way I am married to you and haven’t slept with you. I am having a hard enough time with it right now after that kiss earlier.”

Wait…

Hermione’s lips parted as she read between the lines of what he said.

“So in all the ways that count, in your memory as it stands, you are a virgin?”

Draco rolled his eyes but a faint blush began to stain his cheeks “I believe it's the act that counts, Granger. But you are correct. I don’t currently possess any memories of it.”

Hermione tried very hard not to gape at him. To make him any more self conscious of it. But if someone had told her that a currently twenty five year old Draco Malfoy was a virgin she would have laughed in their face.

“Why?”

He shrugged a shoulder at her, eyes still averted. “I never wanted it to just be anyone. Even when I was a smarmy little bastard at school. And then the war happened. I definitely wasn’t in the right headspace to even consider a girl then. And then after the war I was….I was different. It’s no secret that I have issues being vulnerable and open with people. I barely let anyone in even as a friend. And sex? That's a level of intimacy that I wasn’t comfortable with.”

“What changed?”

Draco chuckled darkly. “What changed besides waking up one day and being told I’m apparently married to one third of the golden trio?”

Hermione’s turn to roll her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” he said quietly as he pulled his hand free and began tracing lines up her bare arm. “I was content to wait it out. Coexist with you until they figured out what was wrong and we could wake up from this nightmare. But, like I said earlier, it's like my walls don’t apply to you. You somehow got past all my defenses. What I feel for you is much more than friendship but I didn’t know where you were at with it all. But finding out that you feel…similarly…I just figured what’s the bloody point to resisting?”

Chapter 8: Chapter Eight

Notes:

I didn't realize I wrote a whole chapter for this but apparently I did.

Hermione stared at him.

Her head was a convoluted mess of desire and shock. Shock that he was a virgin. Shock that he could be so cavalier about the whole thing. He stood before her, hands now casually in his pajama bottoms pockets. The only evidence that the conversation was anything but average was the erection straining against the material.

Meanwhile her own heart was beating a staccato within her chest.

“You seem so calm. So at ease,” she breathed out.

“Believe me, Granger. I am anything but calm right now.”

Ever so slowly, she reached out, bridging the gap between them one final time, and ran her fingers along the hem of his shirt. Slipped them underneath so they skimmed the skin of his stomach. Over to where his hip bone protruded and then back to the center. Where she hooked her fingers just inside the waistband of his pajamas and used the leverage to pull him forward.

She held his eyes the entire time, watching as his irises shrank and his pupils were blown wide.

She had planned to kiss him again. To most likely pull him down the hall and begin slipping his pajama bottoms down his legs. But what came out of her mouth was a question that had been burning a hole through her very being for weeks now. Years Since the very instant that it happened.

With one hand gripping his waistband and the other on the back of his neck she very nearly breathed the words into this mouth, “Did you save me that day at the final battle?”

It was like she upended a cauldron of ice water on the moment, and Draco reared back, surprise lighting his eyes. “What?”

“I’m sorry. I know this is rubbish timing. The absolute worst. But I have to know. I’ve doubted my own eyes for years. Did you do it?”

His breaths were still heaving out of his chest but some of the color was quickly leaching from his cheeks. LIke going back there, to that memory, was paramount to being near a dementor.

“Did I kill Dolohov?”

The specificity of his question was answer enough. “You did then,” she breathed out. “Why?”

Hermione could see it, his eyes beginning to shutter. Then his mind and heart, his every emotion being siphoned away as the darkness of occlusion hardened his features. It was intuition that had her reaching both hands up until they cupped his face, her fingers tracing along his cheekbones. Grounding him there with her, in the moment he so desperately wanted to escape.

“Don’t shut me out,” she breathed, as she reached up and trapped his face in her embrace.

He looked down at her, his expression dark and haunted.

“I thought you saw. But as the years passed and you never said anything to me about it or told anyone, I began to think I had gotten away with it.”

“I wasn’t sure of what I saw. It was so hazy. And only seemed to get fuzzier as time went on,” she took a deep breath, hating what had to come next. “I’m sorry I never voiced it at your trial. If I had, I imagine you never would have had to do any Azkaban time.” She ran her finger along his lip, as if she could ease the pain of what could have been. “I actually did try to find you. Before your trial. I thought if I could just confirm it then I could use it in my testimony. I came to the manor and spoke with your father. Asked if there was any way that I could speak to you about something important. It obviously wasn’t successful.”

“He never told me you came.”

Hermione grimaced, “Yes, that's not all that surprising. He was rather unhappy that I came in the first place.”

He was still uneasy. Rigid in his stance, even though his arms remained a cage around her waist. Talking about himself, especially in his younger years, was taxing for him. It required a sacrifice, a reopening of a wound that he continued to pour healing into. Hermione felt a flair of guilt for making him rip it open yet again. She hadn’t meant to manipulate him, to take him so off guard and in such a moment of vulnerability. But her need to know had overpowered any rational thought and the words and questions had come unbidden.

And still remained unanswered.

“But why? Why do it?” She slipped a hand into his silken hair, fingers trailing against his scalp. Trying to comfort him but all too aware that they had remained standing, wrapped in a lovers embrace, for the entirety of the conversation.

He met her eyes, a spark of flinty resolve in the silver orbs that she hadn’t seen before.

“Because I once stood by and did nothing. Watched you tortured on my drawing room floor and chose to only look away. That night haunted me then and continues to haunt me now. The night of the battle, I saw Dolohov stalking towards someone. And it was you, of all people. Of course it was you. It felt like the universe was giving me a chance to set things right. I didn’t help you before but I could help you now. So I didn’t think. Just sent the killing curse right at him. He was a sick bastard and I had no problem mustering the hate to send the curse. It was the first time I ever killed someone. The only time.”

He actually had the audacity to glare down at her, his hands slipping back to grip her hips as he squeezed them slightly. Most likely for emphasis as he growled, “Do not go all bloody Gryffindor and patronize me for saving you. Even in doing so, it was transactional and for me as much as it was for you. I saw a moment to even the score on my already disseminated conscience and I took it. I saved you to feel better about when I had failed to do so.”

She twirled a lock of his hair as she thought of all that he had said. And all that was inferred, whether he meant to infer it or not. He hadn’t released her hips but his grip had lessoned. She got the impression he was waiting for her to pull away and was making it easy for her to do so.

“I never expected you to help that night in the drawing room. To do so would have been suicide. And if you’re trying to paint yourself as the villain by saying you saved me because you felt bad that you couldn’t do so before then you’re doing a piss poor job of it. Emphasis on where you felt bad about not being an evil death eater willing to torture innocents.”

“Granger do not-” he started to growl but Hermione cut him off, physically stopped him from speaking as her hand clamped over his mouth.

His eyes widened in shock as she growled back, “Shut up, Draco.”

“I’m not patronizing you. I’m humanizing you when you would rather villainize yourself. I don’t mean to paint you as some hero because you saved me. But it does speak to your character and who you wished to be rather than who they forced and wanted you to be.”

She didn’t release him to speak, still certain that if she did he would start spewing some nonsense that she quite frankly did not want to hear.

But her heart rate began to speed up and her attention was drawn to the press of his lips against the skin of her hand. Even as his eyes continued to rain a glare down at her. She moved her hand just enough that she was able to begin tracing his mouth with her fingers, a slow circle with a barely there touch. Until she dipped one finger in his slightly parted lips and grazed the tip of his tongue. Followed it up by leaning up on her tiptoes and following the path her fingers had made with her own tongue.Until she slipped it in to meet his own and sealed their mouths with a kiss.

She was unsure how he would respond, coming off of the uncomfortable and forced conversation that she had killed the previous moment with. He himself seemed unsure of how he wanted to proceed. His mouth turned traitor in its instantaneous response to her kiss. But after a few beats, before the kiss could really deepen, he pulled back to look at her, his eyes having already lost their flinty rage and desire beginning to creep back in.

“Granger, what exactly are we doing here?”

She peered into his eyes, trying to take stock and formulate a response even as her own traitorous hands continued to caress his body, slipping under the back of his shirt and moving up the skin of his back. She watched his eyes flutter as skin met skin and knew she was well and truly doomed.

Honesty had yet to fail them.

“I don’t know, Draco.” She couldn’t seem to stop using his name. She liked the sound and cadence of it. Liked looking at him as she said it and thinking of him as Draco. When he had always been Malfoy to her. The way his stare dipped to her lips when she said it told her that he liked it too. “I just know that I want you. I want this. But I also want to get to know you better. To explore this thing between us and see where it takes us. Because there is no denying that there is something there.” She pulled her hands back down his back, tracing his waistline until they were at his lower abdomen. She could feel the line of hair there as it descended into the waistband of his pants. She followed it up, her fingers moving past his navel in slow sensual swipes until her hands branched apart and her fingers caressed his nipples. “I know we probably should take things slow. Really get to know one another and let all this,” a playful flick to one of his nipples had him drawing in a quick intake of air, “build up. But I’m having a very hard time with that. When you bloody look like this.”

Even with her hands all over his body he still had the ability to look smug as he raised an eyebrow and drawled, “Look like this?”

“Like you need your ego stroked anymore.”

He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of her ear as he murmured, “It hits a little different when it's you saying it, Hermione.”

She shivered, the very intentional use of her name proving the same point entirely. It hit different indeed.

When he pulled back to look at her, Hermione took stock of his expression. They were rarely anything but serious but this one had her pausing. Wondering what he meant to say.

“I think,” he whispered, “I think what scares me most is how easy it is to let you in. To want to do so and to want to know you. It isn’t something I do. Ever. Until you.” His thumbs were drawing small circles where they still rested on her hips and Hermione felt herself falling under their spell. “I meant what I said about choosing this. And to that effect, I am all in. But we go at your pace. As little or as much as you want”.

Hermione decided then and there that she had spent too much energy resisting a man that she had already slept with. Probably countless times.

She took a step back, disengaging from his grip and he let go of her instantly. Her eyes locked onto his and she held his gaze as she reached up to one of the straps of her dress and tugged it down the length of her arm, slipping her elbow free. She had wondered if he would keep eye contact through the process. He did not. Only drew a deep breath in as the faintest of pink stained his cheeks. As she drew her other arm out of its strap. And then slid the length of it down her body, shimming it past her hips until it pooled on the floor and she was left standing in just her bra and knickers in front of him.

She felt her own cheeks begin to redden. At her unexpected boldness. At the fact that he was still dressed entirely. At the way he unabashedly drank her in, his eyes tracking up and down the length of her body.

One step forward had her right back in his atmosphere. A place she did not expect to leave for the foreseeable future. His hands came up and ever so gently trailed down the skin of her arms. All this new skin was exposed and that was his only touch. He was taunting her just as much as she was him.

Hoping to level the playing field a bit, she began pushing the fabric of his shirt up his body and he raised his arms to oblige. Their height difference became apparent when he had to finish the job, her own arms not quite long enough to pull the shirt over his head. She forgot to mind that fact as her eye level brought her face to face with his chest. Her own sense of self control did not propel her to reciprocate in kind and trace her fingers down his arms. Rather, she leaned forward and ran her tongue over the peak of his left nipple.

Draco inhaled sharply, the breath so quick that it caught in his throat and he gasped slightly.

“C’’mon,” she urged, stepping back and pulling on his hand to follow her. “I refuse to sleep with you for the first time in a library.”

“Kinda figured you’d get off on that.”

She looked back at him over her shoulder, a smile playing on her lips. “I never thought of it that way. We can add it to a bucket list.”

He caught up to her, closing the few paces between them as they crossed the threshold of her door, “A bucket list of places to fuck you? I can’t say I mind the idea.”

They’d reached the bed and Hermione turned, facing him once again. Nerves began to creep in. That they were actually doing this, propelling their fledgling relationship forward at breakneck speeds.

“I’m not a…that is to say..” she began but Draco cut her off, applying her move from earlier and running two fingers across her mouth to silence her.

“I know. At least I assumed. I wouldn’t expect you to be. Most people don’t have my….” he paused a beat, “have my issues with intimacy and physical touch.”

“Physical touch?” She was doing it again. Her brain refused to turn off. Even in the midst of trying to sleep with someone she couldn’t stop herself from exploring the avenue of conversation.

“I don’t particularly enjoy physical touch or being touched by others. Especially when I don’t initiate it. A handshake is fine, even though I would still rather not. I dont hug my friends. My mother being the only exception and even that stems from necessity.”

Issues that surely sprouted from an already cold upbringing and then blossomed after being forced to bear a mark he did not want.
“You never mentioned it to me before.” Her mind ran through all the times she had touched him. Small moments in the weeks past. An angry hand splayed on his chest. A hug. A kiss on the cheek. Everything.

“It never bothered me with you.”

Hermione glanced up, curiosity bright in her eyes.

“I initially expected it to. A hurdle I would have to figure out. But it didn’t. So no, I didn’t say anything. Because I didn’t want you to stop and start treading carefully.”

Which is entirely what she would have done. Would have pulled back immediately and skirted him like a wounded animal, afraid of making something worse.

As if testing his statement, she began a slow circle around him, her fingers dancing along his skin. She trailed them over his shoulders then up and down his back, leaning in to press a soft kiss along his spine. “You say you don’t want me to stop?” Her voice was low. Sultry. A tone she didn’t think she had ever used before with either of the two other men she had slept with. Nothing even close.

“I don’t.” His voice came out steady even as his flesh pebbled under her touch.

Hermione took a deep breath and then vaulted herself over an edge. An invisible line in the sand. Her hands slipped from his shoulders as they ran down the length of his back, her nails lightly scratching as she applied a bit more pressure. She took a step forward, bringing her flush against his back in an embrace as she slid her hands around his waist and began running them along the waistband of his pajama pants.

“Granger” A rasp of her name the second he realized she must have magically vanished her bra and her bare chest was now pressed against his back.

She barely gave him a second to adjust before slipping a hand beneath his waistband and running a single finger down the length of him.

“Fuck,” he panted, his breathing becoming more labored as she replaced that single finger with her entire hand and began pumping back and forth
“What about this?” she said against the skin of his back. “Has anyone ever touched you like this?”

“Never. I’ve never let anyone do anything remotely close.”

The words send a wavy of possessiveness through her. He was hers. The only one he would let in and let see him like this.

She pulled her hand out, releasing him in order to grip the fabric of his pants as she slowly began moving it down his hips. “And this? Has anyone ever seen you like this?”

“No”. One word. Low and guttural as the last scrap of fabric between them hit the floor. A fact he was soon made aware of as he twisted in her arms to find she had vanished her knickers along with her bra and now stood bare before him.

His eyes were wholly dark in the dim lighting of her room as he raised his left hand and finally, finally, ran the pad of one finger across her nipple.

Heat flooded her core and she thought her knees might shake as he continued this brand of slow torture. Back and forth and back and forth. Not breaking even as his right hand came up to cup her other breast. Her own hands were dangling useless at her sides as she fully let herself experience what it finally felt like to have him touch her.

“In all the ways that count, at least until we get our memories back, this is the first of everything for me.” He leaned in, again whispering in her ear, “The first I’ve touched.” A chill across her chest as his hands left her. Only to grip her arse. “Also my first.”

In a move eerily similar to what she had done earlier, he slid around her body until he was looming over her from behind. He wrapped both arms around her and drew his hands up to cup her breasts. She drew in a shaky breath as he lowered his mouth to the crook of her neck. “If I leave a mark, that’ll be a first too.” From the way he was kissing her neck, he fully intended to.

Until one of his feet pushed between her ankles, effectively knocking her legs apart so that one hand could snake its way down from her breast. He wasted no time before running a finger straight through her core. “Another first”

She gasped aloud at the bolt of pleasure that rocketed through her.

He was everywhere. Lips still glued to her neck, one hand still at her breast and the other. The other was stroking her fully now.

“Tell me, Hermione. Are all women usually this wet?” Her cheeks flamed at the wetness she could feel dripping out of her and coating the inside of her thighs. That surely coated his hand. “Are you usually this drenched?”

“No” It was the truth. She didn’t ever remember responding like this before.
Draco hummed his approval as he continued his stroking. Back and forth, back and forth. His lips moved to the shell of her ear and he all but purred “I can think of another first.”

And then he slid one finger inside.

Hermione gasped, her back arching into his chest from the pleasure as Draco continued to push one finger in and out.

His fingers. His fingers were so incredibly long, reaching places in her that were definitely a first for her too. She began moving, riding his hand so unabashedly that if she wasn’t in a haze of desire, she would most definitely be mortified by.

Something began building in her, a high that she always chased but had never once caught.

What was usually a slow ascent that always tapered away to nothingness seemed to be a rocketing climb that had already surpassed her typical threshold. A threshold that, every other time, had begun the fizzling wanes of her desires.

But it kept building and building, the pleasure from every place Draco touched her wrapping around her mind until every other thought eddied out. Until she couldn’t think and all that was left was the pleasure, her brain, for once, an empty and silent cabin as her entire focus went to what she was feeling. Experiencing.

Draco, as if reading the language of her body in a way even she couldn’t, seemed to sense that she was close. Seemed to innately know it as he brought his lips to the curve of her neck. As he gently pinched the nipple of her breast the exact same moment as he slid a second finger into her body.

The stimulation was enough to send Hermione hurdling over the edge, her body shaking with her orgasm. Draco kept going, drawing out her pleasure and only began slowing as her body relaxed, coming down from the last highs of it.

Her legs felt like jello, the task of keeping her standing seeming more and more outrageous as she reeled in the shock of it all.

Draco, for all the signs he had read in her body to bring her over the edge, was now completely unaware of her current state of mind as he began to move her towards the bed.
But of course he wouldn’t know. Had no way of telling that she had just experienced her first orgasm and was currently trying and failing to come to terms with the fact that it had actually happened. Could actually happen. While also still feeling the effects of that very particular high.

Hermione tried to force focus back into her limbs and into her mind.

“Are you alright?” Draco finally having noticed her lingering stupor, a look of concern etched on his face.

His concern was enough to break her trance as she gave herself a shake and looked up at him. He was beautiful, the word coming unbidden to her now when not so very long ago she had balked at the thought of finding him merely tolerable. And here she was now staring at his naked body as he stood before her. At the erection mere inches away from her hip. She felt her cheeks heat as she stared at it. He was much bigger than any of her previous partners and if his long fingers had been any indication…. Merlin she wanted him inside her.

“Turnabout's fair play” she whispered, reaching out a hand and drawing the tips of her fingers down the length of him.

He raised an eyebrow at her, “Ah so this next part is just for me? You don’t plan to get any enjoyment out of it?”

She drug her eyes away from his cock, forcing herself to meet his stare even as heat exploded across her cheeks again. “Oh I think I will be able to enjoy myself just fine.”

Draco nodded and simply extended a hand to her. There was no hesitation as she placed her hand in his and let him gently guide her to the foot of the bed.

The kiss he gave her was delicate, deepening into something passionate while still remaining slow and sensual. Hermione pulled him with her, not breaking the kiss as she sat and began moving backwards along the bed. Draco understood the hinted trajectory and crawled the length of the bed with her, his body a cage around hers. When her head hit the pillow, their bodies were already perfectly aligned, all thoughts of drawing out the inevitable falling away. The moment had come and Hermione didn’t want to wait.

“Are you sure?” His question was quiet but serious, one last chance for her to not choose him.

Hermione wondered if a small part of him still expected her to change her mind. Or perhaps it was his own nerves that had him pausing. But she smiled softly at him, reaching up to press a feather light kiss on his cheek. She glanced down the length of their bodies and slipped a hand between them to align him at her entrance.

A light touch on her chin brought her face back up so that she was again staring into Draco’s eyes. Staring as he began to slowly push into her. When his head was inside her, he paused, and pulled back out. Only to push back in, going a little bit farther this time before pulling out again. Hermione’s breath caught in her throat as pleasure began spiking in her core. Four more times had him finally seated completely inside her and Draco had begun breathing a bit harder, his pupils now blown wide.

And then he began to move, the pace slow and languid, as if he was in no rush to be done with her quickly.

A pace that was simply not sustainable, especially not for one’s first time. A pace that rapidly quickened the second that Hermione verifiably moaned into Draco’s mouth.

“Hermione” Her name was a broken plea on his lips and it did things to her. For the second time in a night and in her life, she found herself ascending towards that pinnacle that she hadn’t thought she could reach.

Then Draco abruptly slowed, to the point of stopping for the barest blink of a moment. And when he slowly pulled all the way out to rapidly slam back in, so so slowly out and punching back in, Hermione came. Cresting that hill and tipping over to oblivion. Draco must have felt her shudder around him because he began moving again in earnest and it was seconds before he followed her over.

Draco’s forehead came down to rest upon hers, his shaking elbows the only thing keeping him from collapsing upon her.

“Fuck Hermione, that was-” He didn’t seem to have words. Neither did she.

“I’ve never.. That is to say.. I’ve never come before. Before tonight.” She hadn’t really meant to tell him. Especially since the information reflected not only on her but also her past lovers. But she was still reeling from it happening not once but twice and she had to get the words out.

Draco went utterly still at her words before pulling back to look down at her. Hermione started at the gleam she saw in his eye and she knew at that moment that she had awoken a predator.

“Never?”

Hermione felt her face flame and Draco saw it, prominent as it was in such dim lighting.

“I wasn’t…I’m sorry I wasn’t trying to make you ashamed. I just…it didn’t seem all that hard. What the fuck was Weasley doing?’

“Draco” Hermione groaned, swatting his bicep in mortification.

“So you’re telling me that in ignorance and on my literal first time, I made you come twice. And Weasley couldn’t so much as once and he had years?”

“I really don’t think you need the ego boost,” she breathed the words across his lips before brushing her own across them.

“Oh I think it’s exactly what I needed,” Draco purred, rocking his hips against hers for emphasis and Hermione’s eyes shot back open, watching as he slowly pulled out.

Merlin, they had had that entire conversation with him still inside of her.

Draco sat back on his knees, still taking up the space between her legs. Her very open legs. Hermione didn’t think her flush had yet to leave her face and it definitely wouldn’t now. Not as he sat between her legs and so brazenly surveyed her.

“You’re beautiful.” He was gazing at her, eyes roving over her entire body and Hermione could have sworn she saw his cock twitch.

He reached out and ran a finger straight through her core and Hermione felt her back arch slightly off the bed.

“What-” she stammered, “What are you doing?”

“I would have thought that obvious, Granger. I’m going for number three.”

Hermione gaped at him. Even as he used his knees to push her legs further apart. She felt her breasts tighten as he looked directly at the most intimate part of her. He slid his finger along her again and she groaned, hips bucking.

And then he took her to number three.

 

—--

A crack in the curtains, an effect from being hastily drawn closed the night before, was Hermione’s chosen nemesis for the day. The thin ray of light bisected the room and fell directly across her eyes. Even closed, the light filtered in and pulled her from sleep’s clutches.

Sometimes when you awake, things remain foggy. A dream that lingers into waking, resistant to let go. An enormous amount of effort to discern what day it actually is because sleep had you so fully within its grasp.

Today was not one of those days for Hermione. She didn’t wake wondering why there was a presence at her back. Nor did she wake thinking that her dreams that night had been particularly vivid only to slowly realize they weren’t dreams at all.

Rather she awoke with complete clarity, the events of the previous night instantly at the forefront of her mind. She knew exactly why she was far from alone in her bed.

The whispered conversation that had ended the evening. Her question, even after it all, had been asked with trepidation, the fear of possible rejection already returning. “Do you want to stay?”

She had expected him to turn it back on her. To ask if she wanted him to. A shield of sorts for his own inner feelings.

But Draco had merely stared down at her a beat before nodding and saying, “Yes.”

And that had been that. There hadn’t been much for conversation. What does one say after all that had transpired? A few cleaning spells had them pulling up the covers and extinguishing the soft light from the bedside table. An unspoken agreement to table everything for the night and acknowledge it all in the morning.

Sleep had come surprisingly easy, her exhaustion breaking through and pulling her under within seconds of her head hitting the pillow.

And now in the early light of dawn, the previous night's choices must be acknowledged. There would be no proceeding on as if things had never changed.

And when she thought about it, looked at it from all angles, she wouldn’t want to go back to the way things had been. The tiptoeing and slow acclimation to one another. Perhaps jumping from zero to sixty had been a bit extreme but she found she couldn’t bring herself to regret it.

But it did beg the question of how to proceed from here. What would she say to the man currently sharing her bed? Who she had so brazenly shared her body with. Hermione had no idea. But if there was one thing she excelled at, it was thinking. And if given ample opportunity, then it was overthinking . A never ending, ever growing swarm of thoughts that once latched on to a particular thing, could snowball into a suffocating avalanche within her own mind.

She could feel the potential for such an avalanche building in her mind now. As she lay there and mentally ran though all the ways things would and could progress from here. Thoughts of the memory loss and their suspicions with the healers floated at the edges until they were also caught in the maelstrom and sucked in, adding even more girth and momentum.

She was so caught up in her thoughts, most of which concerned Draco, that she momentarily forgot that he occupied the bed behind her. A lapse that was instantly rectified when her anxious thoughts had her flipping over only to be brought face to face with the man in question. A man who was very much awake as she was met with a pair of silver eyes.

Hermione’s brain stalled out, all her thoughts coming to a screeching halt. All that time spent thinking and it had gotten her nowhere. So Hermione lay there, mouth slightly open and stared back, silently begging him to say something.

“I could practically hear your brain working,” Draco murmured, bringing a hand up to rest under his head so that he was better angled towards her.

“I….yes. I suppose I had a great deal to think about.” Hermione was grateful that when spoken to, she was, in fact, still capable of speech.

Draco inclined his head, nodding in answer as he seemed to consider his next words. As if he knew the gravity of this conversation. That it would shape and mold the trajectory of where they went next. Of how they would handle things from here on out.

“Do you regret all that happened last night?”

He had clearly decided on the direct route. Direct but honest, as her answer would pave the way for whatever route she wished to take. She yearned to respond with a question. To turn it back to him and ask if he regretted it. Much like how she had expected him to answer her question the night before, f iof he wanted to stay the night. But he had given her honesty then. She could do the same now.

“I don’t.”

Her expression must not have matched her words because Draco raised an eyebrow at her and prompted her further with a simple, “But?”

Hermione gazed into his eyes and found no regret there. If anything he looked a little nervous.

“Not a “but”. I don’t regret any of it. I just….” she hesitated, trying to figure out how to put into words all that she was feeling. “ You know the saying how everything looks different in the light of day? I guess it's more like that. I don’t regret it but it was…intense and impulsive. And I don’t know where we stand now or where we go next. What it means for us. I don’t entirely even know how it happened. One second I was having a conversation with you and the next I was ripping your clothing off. Speaking of clothing I don’t even know if you’re wearing any right now and if you aren’t then should I look away? Or sho-” Draco cut her off with a light caress to her lips. A finger gliding over them to halt her rambling. The floodgates that apparently had been open and manifested in the form of word vomit.

“Remember when I said we would go at your speed? Whatever that may be? Well that still stands.”

Hermione drew a breath in, trying to calm her beating heart. “But then I proceeded to immediately have sex with you.”

Draco chuckled. “You did. And I am far from complaining. But that doesn’t mean we need to maintain that speed. We can take things slow. Go at whatever pace you wish.”

It seemed nonsensical to talk about taking things slow when she had already slept with him but Hermione thought she knew what he meant. The barriers had all been completely torn down but that didn’t mean they still couldn’t explore things slowly.

His easy acceptance helped calm her. Lifted a weight she didn’t know she had been carrying.

“Okay,” she nodded, “At least we no longer have to skirt around anything anymore. But maybe we hit the brakes a tad?”

“While my cock is telling me otherwise, I think that could be… beneficial.” He smirked, propping himself up on an elbow so he was angled above her. “But when the time comes just let me know when you’re ready for another orgasm.”

Hermione groaned, burying her face in the pillow to hide the blush staining her cheeks.

“Merlin, you’re never going to let me forget about that.”

Draco leaned over, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of her head. “Never. But I also plan on never letting you stop having them either.”

A comment that did nothing to diminish her blush.

Hermione peered up at him, “I really don’t know if you are wearing any clothing under there.”

He laughed, the sound reverberating in quiet morning hours. “Boxers. I wasn’t entirely sure what would happen this morning and if I would have to chase you down to beg you not to leave or hate me.”

Hermione thought he was mostly kidding but understood the comment for what it was. He hadn’t know if she would wake up regretting everything and even potentially resenting him for it.

As if to demonstrate, Draco slid out of bed and moved towards the door. “I’ll get the coffee started.”

He was indeed wearing boxers. A forest green pair slung low on his hips and doing very little to hide the bulge in the front.

Hermione said nothing but also made no move to turn away as she watched his retreating form.

Chapter 9: Chapter Nine

Hermione made her way down the hall, an odd sense of apprehension settling in her stomach at the thought of approaching Draco. Not nerves exactly. Just a slow settling adjustment to her new reality. Their new reality.

She had opted for leggings and a light blue cami. Finding Draco in the kitchen revealed that he had gone for a pair of joggers. And forgone the shirt entirely.

His back was to her as he stood at the counter and went about making coffee and buttering toast. She could see the muscles flutter in his back as he moved. In the light of day she could also see the faint network of scars mapping his skin. Her hand came up unwittingly to trace her own scar peeking out the top of her cami. Just like her, it appeared that not all scars from the war were of the invisible sort.

She lingered in the doorway and silently observed him, trying to wrap her mind around the fact that she had slept with him. That he, at some point in time, had very likely lost his virginity to her. Current memory standing, it had been last night. The thought alone brought a flush to her skin.

Her own first time had been in stolen moments with Viktor Krum in sixth year. Small moments of light in the rapidly darkening gloom of the approaching war. It had been sweet if not clunky, much like Viktor himself. Her inexperience and his trepidation didn’t exactly light a fire but it had been.. Nice. And stolen moments were all it ever amounted to, something that had never bothered Hermione as Viktor settled into the place of a trusted friend in her life post war.

Her only other had, of course, been Ron. A fledgling relationship that did grow into more than a stolen kiss in the midst of a warzone. A relationship that had been building under tension their entire time at Hogwarts. Tension that finally snapped with that kiss in the chamber of secrets. A tale that should have, for all intents and purposes, been a storybook ending. Potter’s best mate gets the golden girl. It was certainly what everyone had expected. What Ron expected. Perhaps still did if Hermione was being honest with herself.

But after that initial spark had caught, it had fizzled out until only smoldering embers maintained the framework of their relationship. They didn’t fight per say. But it began to very much feel like being in a relationship with your best friend. Which was, in fact, what it was.

Sex with Ron had been… fine. It wasn’t bad. His body had been comfortable and soft, with long limbs that never quite found their rhythm. Ron wasn’t unattentive to her needs. But neither was he attuned to them. Fine really was the only way to describe it.

And now there was Draco. Who had none of Viktor’s hulking from. Who did have all of Ron’s height but was lithe and slender in contrast. Comparing them all felt unfair but her mind provided the information without prompt.

If Ron had been the beloved prince charming in the storybook parallel of their lives then she supposed Draco was the evil counterpart. Beautiful elegance, endless arrogance and a silver tongue dripping with sarcasm. Temptation that always ends up losing in the long run when prince charming sweeps in.

At least that’s how it typically panned out.

But even Hades got his own love story.

The once villain and the damsel too headstrong to ever be in distress. She smiled at the thought as she stopped wasting time over useless meanderings and finally approached him.

“Good morning,” she murmured, coming to a stop a few paces behind him.

He turned and met her eyes and Hermione had that feeling when a moment is of consequence. That everything leading up to it would comprise the “before” and then every moment moving forward would be the “after”. And what kind of after would it be? What new mold would they settle into and how would they shape their interactions in the after?

Draco may have meant it when he said they would move entirely at her pace and he was all in. That being said, that didn’t mean things couldn’t be awkward or stilted between them. That moving forward would be without any bumps.

Because at the root of it all they were still just two people who were still getting to know each other. Two people with an ever growing spark between them. Who had also jumped many steps in the typical progression of things and now had to back peddle to address them all.

 

Her nerves seemed a one sided affair as Draco replied “Good morning,” and gave her a one sided smile that somehow managed to look sensual and mischievous and leaned in to place a light kiss at her temple.

As if this was something they did every morning. As if they hadn’t slept together for the first time the night before.
He turned back to the counter and continued preparing their breakfast and coffee and Hermione found herself reeling a bit. Not only from the ease of it all and how entirely awkward it hadn’t been but also from this version of Draco.

He seemed more relaxed. Like the before had been him skirting the attraction and their relationship and in the after he had been given permission to indulge. Which she supposed he had. She had all but begged him to let her in.

This was him showing her that he had.

Any lingering doubt that she could do this trickled away.

“Coffee and planning how to break into your ancestral home. Not a bad way to start the morning.”

Draco laughed softly at the counter, idly stirring milk into her coffee and said so quietly she almost didn’t catch it, “Not a bad way at all.”

She had the suspicion that he was talking about so much more.

 

—---

The day progressed in what Hermione assumed would become their new normal. A gentle, if not new, ease emerged in their day to day interactions. A relief, really, considering they had to spend the entirety of the day planning and then rehashing their upcoming heist.

As the office was currently a disaster befitting someone trying to solve a convoluted case of serial murders, the kitchen table was sacrificed to hold the overspill of all their notes and planning.

It felt like a breath of fresh air to Hermione. A new outlet to focus all of her pent up and nervous energy on that had a concrete goal. While working on the memory loss problem felt like treading water that bordered on actually drowning, this felt like running. And she was only gaining momentum as they tackled more and more of the barriers breaking into the Manor presented.

It helped that the stakes weren’t overly high. Sure, getting caught would land them in a world of trouble and surely an iron clad house arrest. But that would essentially be the worst of it and most extreme outcome. Narcissa Malfoy would never hurt her own son and daughter in law so they had little to fear from her. Previously defying even Voldemort to save him was further testament to this.

The house was ancient and shrouded with layers and layers of protection. Blood magic, wards, enchantments and curses. Draco explained them all to Hermione in a tone that suggested he too thought it was a bit much.

“It seems like it rivals the protections set around Hogwarts.”

“Pretty much sums up why the Dark Lord chose it as his base of operations during the war.”

Hermione nodded at that. It really did make sense. It was impenetrable. Unless you knew its secrets and the loopholes woven within the protections, one had little hope of breaking in. And the only ones who knew even some of those secrets were the members of the family themselves. Which she conveniently was in possession of one such person.

“Even my mother is not aware of all the secrets of the manor. I’m sure my father kept things from her but also things the house kept from her. Even though she is Lady of the house.”

“She’s still not a Malfoy. Not in the way that matters,” Hermione mused and Draco nodded.

“She will always be first and foremost a Black.”

It always came back to blood. And even in the purest form, according to the sacred twenty eight at least, there was still a hierarchy. And the Malfoy blood ranked the highest.

“You speak of the house as if it's almost sentient.”

Draco paused from the sketch of the grounds he was currently working on for her. “It’s not exactly sentient per say but it does feel that way sometimes. Ir responds to certain things. In the way the room of requirement responds to your wishes, it responds when its inhabitants are threatened.”

“Will it view us as threatening?”

“You perhaps. Most certainly if you had been going alone. But I think it’s incapable of viewing me that way as a member of the Malfoy line. I would think that protection would extend to you as well, as a member by marriage but perhaps we don’t tempt fate.” He twirled his quill around his finger, the tip of the feather coming up to brush his chin on each pass. She had noticed it was habit he had when he was thinking.

“There is also the fact that we don’t have any idea what sort of relationship we have with my mother and the house. I would hope that she would have accepted us. I can’t bring myself to think otherwise. But even so, the Manor doesn’t exactly hold good memories for you.” He paused, a low sardonic laugh spilling out, “Come to think of it, my memories of that place didn’t end on a high note either, unwanted house guest and repeated murder and torture and all. I can’t ignore the possibility that this may be the first time you’ll have returned there as my wife. Usually there are rites and spells to bring a new member of the family in. We may have chosen not to do them.”

 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “So, essentially, I stay with you at all times so your bloody house doesn’t try to kill me for breaking and entering?”

Draco nodded, a slightly pained expression darkening his features. “There is also the nature of your blood. As you can imagine, the house wasn’t exactly enchanted to accept muggle borns. Yet again, I would think you will be perfectly fine with me. But I would be wary of what you touch and pick up. The place is littered with dark artifacts that would put Borkin and Burkes to shame.”

“I’m going to go out on a limb and assume we did not move in there after we got married.”

Draco chuckled darkly. “Definitely not. I had already vowed to not return there upon moving back to London. And I most certainly wouldn’t bring my muggle born bride to reside there.”

Hearing him refer to her as his bride, even in the less than desirable context, sent a strange flutter through her stomach.

“So how do we get in?”

“I can apparate us near the back of the grounds. We should be able to approach the Manor from behind. Then there is a secret tunnel entrance that leads to the dungeons. I had discovered it in one of my grandfather Abraxsos’ journals.”

“Have you used it before?”

“Not since the war ended. But I used to use it to sneak into the dungeons unnoticed.”

Hermione nodded, “Alright so gaining access shouldn’t be that big of an issue. What happens once we are inside?”

“Slightly more tricky. I think we should go at a time when my mother isn’t likely to be home. She used to always go to tea with her friends on Tuesday mornings so that’s as good of a time as any. A simple cloaking spell should hopefully be sufficient for any house elves we encounter. But beyond that the manor should be deserted. We should be able to make our way directly to the library.”

“And the books? Are we able to remove any of them to bring here or will we have to do the searching there?”

“They are also keyed to the Malfoy line. So long as it’s a Malfoy removing them then we should be fine.”

He added a few finishing touches to the map he was working on and then slid it across the table to her. Crude but detailed with the neat labeling and roughly drawn trees depicting the forests. An x marked the point of entry on the grounds and a dotted line snaked through the grounds until finally stopping at a seemingly nondescript point on the manor. The secret entrance that would deposit them in the dungeons.

“Are you going to be alright going into the dungeons there?” Draco was eyeing her with concern and had almost seemed hesitant to even ask the question. The dungeons. Where Voldemort had kept and tortured captured order members.

She nodded, having never actually been in them herself. That was not the part of the house that haunted her nightmares.

It went unspoken but Draco knew regardless. Considering he had been present for it as well.

“We won’t have to go there. Or even near it. Not that it matters but it looks different now as well. It was torn down and remodeled after the war.”

“Thank you,” she said softly. And she meant it. For destroying the room where it happened but also realizing it might not be enough. That she still might not want to see it.

Draco looked like another apology was on the tip of his tongue but he seemed to understand that it wasn’t necessary. That the way forward was not to constantly rehash the past anytime it was brought up in casual conversation,

The planning session was coming to its natural conclusion except for one final thought nagging at the back of her mind.

“Why were you sneaking into the dungeons of your own house? Surely you could have just walked down the stairs.” And he could have, even with Voldemort and the death eaters present. Because he had been one too, however unwillingly. Hermione kept her eyes fixed on his face as she asked, not allowing them to dart to the mark still visible on his skin. A reminder that he didn’t need.

Draco’s reaction was .. surprising. The tips of his years turned slightly pink and he averted his eyes away.

“I had my reasons.”

“To sneak into the dungeons?”

He nodded and looked ready to move past the question but a conversation she once had with Luna shook off its long forgotten dust and rose to the surface of her mind. It was back when she was with Ron, perhaps a year since the war had ended and they were all at the Leaky Cauldron sharing a few pints. Anger and vitriol at finding out that Malfoy had been released from Azkaban had resulted in Ron being a few drinks deeper than everyone else. And he had been far from keeping his displeasure to himself. But it hadn’t been anything he had said that had triggered the memory to come to Hermione. It had been Luna’s response. She had patted Ron on the hand, in a way that was so uniquely hers and said dreamily, “I think you might have it wrong, Ronald.”

Which had only incensed Ron further.

“Luna, come off it. You were literally a prisoner in that pompous arse’s house. He kept you chained up in the dungeon.”

Luna had smiled brightly, as if that explained everything. “Exactly. That's where he was so nice to me.”

Ron looked at her as if she had grown a second head.

It was Hermione that had prompted Luna to elaborate.

“He used to sneak Mr Olivander and me food. And would stay and keep us company if he could. I think that perhaps he was just as much a prisoner in that house as we were.”

It was a few beats later that she added, almost as an afterthought, “At least they didn’t make me do things. Like they did him.”

Hermione blinked, focusing her eyes and she returned to the present and looked at the man standing before her. She must have been lost in her thoughts longer than what was normal as he was looking at her curiously.

“It was for Luna.” The simple phrase was all it took for him to stiffen.

“You used to visit her. And help her.” His face had gone cold and Hermione couldn’t understand why.

“Why wouldn’t you just simply tell me that?”

“Because I know what you’ll do with it. Make it into something that it's not.”

She hadn’t understood but thought she was starting to.

“Why are you so determined to be the villain?”

“Because, as you seem quite fond of forgetting, for the most part I was. I don’t want undue credit for a few paltry attempts at the right thing.”

She studied him. At the tension in his shoulders and the glare of his silver eyes as they pinned her in place. He was studying her just as much. Something unspoken hanging between them that he had yet to give voice to.

“There’s more. To whatever it is you’re thinking.”

His eyes still pierced her but he no longer shied away or balked at having to explain. This time he met her head on.

“I need to know you understand. I am not trying to villainize myself. But you don’t get to redefine history so I come out the unlikely hero.”

Hermione opened her mouth to say…well she didn’t exactly know what. But he stopped here with a vigorous shake of his head.

“It’s not black and white like that. Heros and villians. The good guys and the bad guys. We all live in the shades of grey,” His voice was low but not angry, even as frustration flashed in his eyes. He came closer until he was directly in front of her and she had to tilt her head back to continue looking at him. He took her hand and began absently brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “I need you to understand that I can’t have always been the good guy you want to paint me as. I would like to think I am moving towards a lighter shade of grey if we're going for the spectrum analogy. But you have to acknowledge who I was and that it wasn’t always a good person. I might have helped Luna. MIght have wanted to be different and better. But I just as quickly would have slaughtered her if the Dark Lord had commanded it.” He loosened his grip on her hand. As if saying she could pull away in disgust if she wished.

She didn’t.

“What is it you want?” she asked him.

“Like me for who I am today. For the man you married. But know that I always wasn’t this and that you have to let me atone. For my own piece of mind. And know that the war left its scars. There will always been a darkness inside of me that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to bleed out”

“Okay. As long as you understand that you have always been a mixture of both. That even in your darkest days there was still good in you.”

He nodded, “I do know that. It may have taken me a while and a fair bit of therapy to fully acknowledge it but I do.

She smiled at him and twined her fingers with his. “So I need you to know that there was always a bit of good in you and you need me to know there was always a bit of evil.”

“And that there probably still is a bit of evil.”

She brought his fingers to her lips and placed a light kiss upon them. “I think the war left a dark spot on all of our hearts.”

 

—---

In retrospect, they really should have thought twice about using the kitchen table as their heist headquarters. Should have seen it as tempting fate. Because what better time would there be for a visit from the healers?

It should have come with zero surprise when there was a knock on their door at half past noon, just as they were finishing up lunch. A very cramped lunch where they had simply shifted the books and papers around the table to make room.
Hermione’s head snapped up as the knocks rang through the house, resonating through her body and in her stomach as it sank and panic began to rise.

After a beat of immobility, in which they just sat and stared stupidly at each other, they both sprang into action. Hermione yelled out a “Coming! Just one moment,” and they both began closing books and vanishing papers as quickly as possible.

The entire ordeal probably only lasted forty five seconds, which when rationally viewed, is not an inordinate amount of time to take to answer the door.

It was not the duration of time that raised the healers eyebrows. It was the way Hermione threw open the door with a fake smile plastered over her face. And the way her voice shot up an octave as she exclaimed, “Hello! So so sorry to keep you waiting. Please do come in.”

Needless to say, it was enough for healer LaNou to ask if everything was alright.

To which Hermione assured her it absolutely was, in a voice that refused to go back down.

At this point even Draco was looking at her strangely.

The Healer must have intuited something because she smiled at them and said, “Wonderful! Perhaps we can take our meeting all together this week then.”

That took Hermione by surprise and it took all her will to nod and say of course.

She didn’t know what was pivotal about this moment. What the healer saw that made her switch her plans and have them all meet together. But as dread sluiced into her veins and chilled her bones, she knew she didn’t want Healer LaNou to know just how much had changed.

She wished she and Draco had touched base prior to her arrival but they had been so wrapped up in their planning that they healers had never once come up.

Hermione could only hope he would follow her lead as she took them all into the sitting room and very purposely took a seat in one of the arm chairs. Hoped that he would note the way she intentionally avoided the loveseat, where they might have sat together.

“The usual questions then?” Draco asked as Healer LaNou settled into her seat, his voice lacking inflection and bored with disinterest. Hermione wondered if this was his typical behavior with her. She had never really witnessed it beyond when they would initially let her into the house before splitting off to begin their separate sessions.

She had momentarily forgotten the road went both ways and that she also had no idea how Healer LaNou interacted with Draco.

The healer had gone out of her way to comfort and befriend Hermione and it had worked. Beyond her suspicions around the entire memory loss debacle, Hermione genuinely liked the healer. She had assumed it would be the same for Draco.

But one glance at the healer's face as she turned to assess Draco was more than enough to realize that was not the case. Her entire demeanor changed as she shifted her focus to Draco. Even her voice changed, taking on a cloying sweetness that no one would misinterpret as kind.

“And why do you assume I ask you both the same questions?”

“Hermione and I do speak to one another on occasion after you leave.”

“Ah so the two of you are getting along much better now, that’s simply wonderful.”

“As you are not deaf, I assume you can recall that I did not say that,” Draco murmured, extending his legs and crossing one ankle over the other, the perfect picture of boredom. At least he seemed to be taking her cue and rolling with it.

“So things aren’t getting better?” Healer LaNou asked, her face full of concern.

Draco slowly turned his head until he was looking across the room at the healer and let out a frustrated sigh. “Yet again I did not say that. I am merely pointing out that you’re making inferences when there are none.”
Well it at least seemed as though Draco was of the same mindset as her and had picked up her subliminal warnings.

Healer LaNou gave him a simpering smile. “Ah Mr. Malfoy. I’m trained to observe and analyze. So perhaps my inferences aren’t all that mistaken. Now, shall we begin the session?”

He waved a hand at her, “By all means.”

The healer nodded, glancing down at her notes before pasting the smile back on her face and looking up at them, “Have there been any changes with your memories? Any missing memories returning or a loss of more memory?”

They both shook their heads.

“And now that you’re getting along better, are there any feelings of deja vu or routines you may have fallen into from muscle memory? Anything of that nature?”

Hermione tried to keep her brow from furrowing as she parsed out the question. The healer had disregarded Draco when he pointed out that he had neither said they were getting along better or worse. But he was right. They hadn’t mentioned it or given any indication of that nature. And this was not the second time the healer had brought it up.

So what was she basing this conclusion on? Because it was true and that made her knowledge of it all the more chilling.

Again, Hermione hoped that Draco would follow her lead as Hermione decided to go along with the healer rather than directly challenge her at this moment. With the upcoming trip to the Manor for answers, the last thing they wanted was to draw increased suspicion from the healers.

“Not particularly, no. We mostly just made a mutual decision to be cordial to one another since we must share the same space for the foreseeable future. But, at least for me, that has not come with any moments of deja vu or anything like it.”

Healer LaNou smiled at Hermione, compassion shining in her eyes. “That's got to make living together so much easier than if you were to hold to your initial thoughts about the arrangement.” The smile had felt sincere and friendly in a way that seemed to fade immediately when she turned to look at Draco.

“And for you, Mr Malfoy?”

“I second what Hermione has said. It feels a little easier to breathe around here now but no new memories.”

The healer gave him a look that said she was less than impressed, “That’s all you have to say? No insight of your own?”

Draco gave her a bland look but managed to keep his voice level, ‘I don’t know what you want me to say. I’ve experienced the same things she has, which is to say very little. We are just nicer to one another now and that's about the only difference,” he paused, giving her an imploring look, “And what of the research into our case? Has any headway been made there?”

The healer tisked, annoyance plain on her face, “Mr. Malfoy this is not the first time we’ve done this. I’m sure you’re well aware that we do an update on the progress at the end of our session. Just like every time before.”

An inkling suspicion was forming in the back of Hermione’s mind and she took the opportunity when it arose. Trying her best to look morose, she sighed and slumped down in her chair, “I’m guessing that means there is no news on that front.”

Healer LaNou transformed again as she smiled sadly at Hermione, “I’m sorry. I had hoped to bear good news or at the very least progress. I can assure you they are working very hard on your case and it's only a matter of time before they make a breakthrough.”

Hermione nodded, maintaining her morose expression even as her suspicions were confirmed. Healer LaNou did not like Draco Malfoy and made very little attempt to hide it.

Disdain for previous death eaters was notoriously high, even acquitted ones like Draco. Perhaps even more so for those acquitted. Many thought they were given too light of sentencing and wished them to never see a day outside the walls of Azkaban again.

People were allowed their opinions but those in public service jobs, especially a job like a healer, took certain vows that demanded equal treatment to all. No matter blood status or what side they fought on in the war.

A vow that Healer LaNou was toeing the line on breaking.

Hermione played along, trying to exude an air of indifference to Draco. No longer disgusted and confused but also not showing anywhere close to how they truly had been acting to one another as of late.

Draco did the same, treating her more along the lines of an acquaintance that he was forced to spend an excessive amount of time with which could only lead to getting to know one another better.

The rest of the meeting progressed much the same as it always did, Healer LaNou asked a few more questions and then performed a few tests on them, waving her wand and scribbling down the results.

“My readings are the same as the last meeting. I’ll check back in a week but please reach out if there is absolutely any change from here on out. A memory breaks free and fills in a gap then I want you to let me know immediately. I feel like we're close to solving this, I really do.”

Her assurances felt cheap and forced as she made her way to the door and bade them both farewell, extending a smile to Hermione and simply nodding at Draco.

And then she was gone.

“What the bloody hell was that?”

Hermione shook her head, “She doesn’t like you.”

Draco merely shrugged, “She never has but that's not exactly unusual for me.”

“But she’s a healer! It's highly unprofessional for her to actually show her true feelings.”

Draco laughed dryly, “For someone who has been discriminated against for her blood since becoming a witch, you still manage to think too highly of everyone.”

“That wasn’t unusual behavior then? With how people treat you?”

Draco merely gave her a look.

 

“But you were acquitted.” The protest felt weak even to her own ears.

“I was. And I doubt she was very happy about that.”

Hermione huffed but acquiesced as they made their way to the study. The notes on Healer LaNou were about to get much longer.

 

—--

The days leading up to the Manor Heist, as they had begun calling it, bled together in a whirlwind of rehashing the plan and breaking down the healer's visit.
The constant need to keep thinking and keep planning kept Hermione from dwelling on how to interact with Draco. Her mind was being pulled in so many different directions at any given time that she had no leftover brain space to dwell on how to keep things from being awkward. She was just forced to be herself.

And if she was being honest, the gap she was worried about bridging seemed altogether nonexistent. Draco settled into an easy rhythm with her in a way that told her he had no reservations about the two of them and spent little to no time wondering about how he should act around her.

He was true to his word about taking things slow and letting her set the pace. He hadn’t pushed for a round two of what had happened between them that night but neither did he shy away from her. It was in the small gestures that spoke of his comfort with her. And the comfort he drew from her. A kiss to her temple in the morning or a hand on her back as he passed her in the kitchen. In the eye contact he made and in the ease of the endless conversations they had.

The only moment of awkwardness arose the night after they had slept together. As bedtime approached and Hermione realized they hadn’t addressed the sleeping arrangements from here on out.

To her surprise, Draco had moved towards his own bedroom after wishing her a goodnight and lightly kissing her brow.

Letting her set the pace. Letting her choose.

It took her the duration of brushing her teeth to come to terms with the fact that she didn’t really want to sleep alone.

She steeled herself as she stood outside his bedroom door pondering why on earth she felt nervous for this after everything they had already done. She knocked quickly before she could lose her nerve.

A few beats later and Draco opened the door, already wearing only his boxers.

She must have looked mildly distressed because his brow knotted with concern as he asked, “Everything okay?”

“I don’t really want to sleep alone. If that's okay with you.”

His eyebrows rose ever so slightly but that was the only sign he gave if he was surprised at her request. But he sounded a bit relieved as he said, “I’ve found it's not really my favorite thing either.”

“Ah, so it’s something you make a habit of?” She knew she was playing at sarcasm to help dispel her nerves as she moved past him into his bedroom.

A laugh skittered across her skin, making her shiver slightly. “You know I don’t. But I won’t deny that I enjoyed waking up with you.”

His words were a soft caress at the nape of her neck but he took things no further. Simply moved to one side of the bed and slid under the covers.

She took a deep breath and moved to the other side, pulling them back and sliding under.

He wandlessly turned out the lights and the room was pitched into darkness.

Hermione closed her eyes, trying to calm her beating heart and whispered, “Goodnight, Draco.”

His hand found hers under the covers and he gave it a slight squeeze as he whispered back, “Goodnight, Granger,” before releasing it and rolling over.

He had called her Granger her entire life. She hadn’t known it could sound like a caress.

Notes:

Thank you so much for reading. I hope you are enjoying and that it isn't loaded with terrible spelling and grammar mistakes. It has never been more obvious to me that I majored in science than when I tried to sit down and write fanfic and realized my English classes were ages ago. I probably should get a beta reader but honestly only wrote this as a challenge to myself and had fun with it. And once it was done I figured I may as well post it.

Chapter 10: Chapter Ten

Hermione awoke before her alarm the following Tuesday, too alight with nerves to require a forceful awakening.

Today was the day they would travel to the manor and hope that luck would find them

She laid on her side, facing the big bay windows and tried to determine if Draco was still in bed. She hadn’t felt any shifts or dips in the mattress since she had awoken and if the the weak early rays of light just starting to filter in were any indication, it was still quite early.
But perhaps anticipation had driven him up and out of bed just as it had pulled her from sleep.

Curiosity and the desire to shift and change position eventually had her turning onto her back and stretching out her limbs. She glanced over and found Draco also laying on his back, slightly propped up with pillows into more of a sitting position. His eyes were already on her.

“You’re awake already too?” The words were thick with sleep.

“There’s something that my mind keeps coming back to. It might be overkill but …” Draco trailed off momentarily until Hermione prompted him to continue.

“What is it, Draco?”

“I think we may want to check our wands for tracking spells and magical detection spells.”

Hermione paused, considering.

“The tracking I guess I could see. To make sure we follow the instructions of staying in this house and neighborhood. But detection does seem a bit much.”

Draco nodded but there was a frown to his face. “Can’t hurt to check.”

Twenty minutes later found Draco confirmed right on both counts.

“I don’t get it. It’s not like they even check our wands when they do the wellness checks.”

“Perhaps it's like the trace on underage wizards?” Draco mused. “They may only be alerted if certain spells or types of spells are used? I imagine that’s how the tracking is set up?”

Hermione nodded. “So we disable them? At least temporarily while we visit the manor? And pray that they don’t see the need to make an early visit?”

Draco nodded, taking her wand to do just that.

 

—---

At eight thirty they stood outside in the bleak morning light, the mist still hanging heavy and shrouding the neighborhood. Wordlessly, they began making their way down the street, the house slowly getting swallowed up by the mist behind them.

They walked in silence, their shoes crunching in the gravel filling in the void. Hermione was caught up in her own thoughts and anticipation and assumed Draco was as well.
His hand was swinging at his side, just as hers was and she thought about reaching out and taking it. She wanted to take it, a tether of comfort as they walked into what could very well turn into a disaster.

She was baffled by her own sense of hesitancy, a feeling that persisted even as they tore down the physical barriers between them. The reality that he had given her full control and yielded the pace entirely to her was what gave her pause. She knew, logically, that he was open to her affections. Had said as much himself. But having to be the one to always initiate left the smallest crack in the door, the perfect size for doubt to creep in.

She gave herself a shake, dispelling her own idiocy, and slid her fingers into his, threading them together before she could talk herself out of it.

Draco paused, glancing down at their joined hands before looking up at her. Hermione froze, ready to pull her hand back and pretend it had never happened but Draco merely nodded at her and tugged her on.

Silence continued its reign as they traversed the sidewalks leading out of the neighborhood to a small wooded park, empty at this hour. They had both agreed that they should avoid aparating directly from their house in case there were more wards and detectors in place.

Coming to a stop a few paces into the tree coverage, Draco turned to face her.

“Ready?”

“Yes” And she meant it. The nervous energy had settled into eager anticipation. The peace that comes knowing that even if it all ended badly, at least she had done something.

Their joined hands was more than sufficient for side-along apparation but Draco stepped up to her and slid an arm behind her back, bringing their joined hands up between their chests in what could only be called an embrace. Hermione felt a little lightheaded long before the pull of apparation.

They landed in an overgrown dirt path in a different copse of trees, the manor nowhere in sight.

Hermione turned, taking in the lush forest that surrounded them, thick with the buzzing of insects and birds whistling overhead.

“So we are just outside the manor grounds?” she asked, turning back to Draco.

“About a two minute walk until we reach the back gate.”

Initially, there was nothing. The spot of forest felt like anything other. Until it didn’t. The change had crept upon her slowly. So much so that she was rendered completely unable to name when it had begun. But Hermione could feel the ancient magic in the air the closer they got to the manor's perimeter, could feel its tendrils reaching out to them in question. Had they been there all along? How was she just now noticing them? It felt…menacing. Dark and oily as they reached out and wound around her body. The very air seemed to thicken, becoming so dense it felt tangible.

Her steps slowed and she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Was she breathing? Or had the air become so thick that she would choke on it. She felt no panic. Only a sense that she needed to stop.

Dimly, she became aware that someone was calling her name. Shaking her shoulders so hard her head lolled and then snapped forward.

“Granger!”

“Granger, snap out of it!”

Draco Malfoy blurrily came into view and Hermione recoiled, trying to pull out of his grip.

What was she doing here? She was shaking and the air still felt so thick. The tendrils seemed to have backed off and if she didn’t know better she would think they were avoiding Malfoy. Who was still gripping her shoulders so hard it began to hurt and staring at her with a look of…concern?

“Shit,” he murmured and released one of her shoulders to pull his wand out of his back pocket.
He must have felt her stiffen because he paused and looked back at her. Something like pain crossed his face at her expression but that couldn’t be right.

“Granger I’m not going to hurt you but we have to do something about the wards or they won’t let you through.”

Hermione glanced at his wand for a moment but then her attention was torn back to the tendrils of magic that had started creeping closer the second Malfoy had let go of one of her shoulders. One dipped just close enough to slide its tip over her open shoulder. Hermione gagged at the contact and Draco swore again, seeming to understand what was happening.

He pulled her to him, his hand coming back up to grip her shoulder. Hermione could feel the hand press of his wand where he had it pressed against her clavicle.

He leaned in and whispered in her ear, “The wards know me and won’t harm me. You’re their goal. I promise I won’t hurt you but I need to release you to use my want. I’m going to put some of my blood in an amulet for you to wear,” he pulled back until he was looking down at her. Gauging her reaction. “Okay?”

Hermione’s heart was beating out of her chest as she tried to make sense of why Malfoy would want to help her. A thousand questions raced to the tip of her tongue and she barely held them behind her teeth. There would be time for that later.

Later when the tendrils of magic weren’t growing bolder by the second, even with Malfoy’s hands on her shoulders.

“You won’t hurt me?”

That same pained expression seemed to slip in before he could dispel it.

“Hermione, I’ll never hurt you.”

“Why do I believe you?” The words were a whisper she hadn’t meant to say.

Malfoy shut his eyes and his throat bobbed. He drew in a shaky breath and then opened them again. “We’re running out of time. Wrap your arms around my waist and duck your head in. They know you’re here but my presence distracts them. This will only take a moment. Okay?”

Hermione steadied herself and nodded, forcing her limbs to obey her. She wrapped her arms around his waist and stepped in until she was flush against him in what had to be the most awkward hug. His hands fell away from her shoulders as her head dipped in and she laid it against his chest, trying not to cringe in horror.

He never flinched but she heard the rumble of his words as he cast a spell to make a small cut. A few beats later he moved back a pace and she felt something being pulled over her head.

Malfoy placed his hands back on her shoulders as he eyed the area around them. Already the tendrils were fading away into the mist until only a light fog remained.

She glanced down to the small vial of bright red liquid hanging between her breasts.

She hadn’t even realized the fog had seeped into her mind and stolen her awareness away until it slowly returned. Swirling bits that came as disordered pieces until they coalesced into one whole picture.

They were in the forests surrounding the Malfoy estate. They were breaking in to use their expansive library to try and find answers. And Malfoy….

No, that wasn’t right. She hadn’t been calling him Malfoy for some time now.

And Draco …

“You’re my husband,” she said. To him. To herself. She didn’t really know.

Draco sagged in visible relief, his body caving in and his head bowing.

His hands were shaking. For how long, Hermione didn’t know.

“I’d forgotten what it was like when you hated me.”

She slipped her arms back around his waist, laying her head back on his shoulder. This time because she wanted to. Because she chose him.

“I don’t hate you now,” she said, turning so she said words against his chest.

The soft press of his lips against her head was his only response.

 

They found the entrance a few moments later. An ornate metal gate that seemed to rise up out of the gloom. Giant stone peacocks flanked its side and creeping vines wound their way through its bars.

“All this for a back gate?”

Draco smirked at her, “You are aware that I and then by extension you, are disgustingly wealthy right?”

She paused and realized she hadn’t given much thought to it. To what all marrying a Malfoy would entail.

“I mean, I knew you had money but I guess I never really considered it.

“That right there is probably half the reason I married you.”

Hermione started, turning to him in surprise. “Because I’m not rich?”

Draco gave her a dry look. “No, don’t be dense.” But he looked away, as if self conscious of his next words. “Because you don’t care that I am.”

“Why would I care? Having too much money is generally not something someone complains about.”

“Merlin, Granger did that mist take half your brain cells while it was at it?”

Hermione scowled at him. “I’d still have quite a lot, even if it did.”

He looked back, his face serious. “It’s just nice. That you married me for more than my money. Which is all any of the others wanted”

Oh.

Oh.

She hadn’t realized or thought of it from that angle. For how dating, or rather courting as they called it, would be like for the pureblood families.

“I thought you said you hadn’t dated anyone. Or didn’t date?”
Draco sighed, as he pushed open the heavy gate and stepped through before turning back to motion her forward.

She paused, a hair's breadth from the gate and glanced over at him.

“It’s okay. You’re not only a member of this house now but you’re here with me as my guest. The house won’t attack guests.”

All things Hermione knew. Small details that had been hashed out and confirmed over the kitchen table.

“Even a mudblood guest?” she joked. Mostly joked.

“You forget you’re my mudblood guest.” Draco joked back, taking a step towards her and flicking the vial around her neck. “And you’ve got that. For extra precaution.”

“It’s the need for potential extra precaution that has me most worried.” One last fear pushed out into the universe even as she stepped over the threshold and strode past him into the grounds.

She thought she heard him mumble “Gryffindors” under his breath at her brash movements but she couldn’t be sure.

They moved in silence for a few moments, the sheer size of the grounds distracting her away from their earlier conversation. A conversation she had assumed he no longer wished to pursue.

So it took her with a beat of surprise and confusion when he resumed it.

“I didn’t. Date that is. But it wasn’t for their lack of trying by my mother” His face was solemn in the morning light. If it wasn’t for a muscle ticking in his jaw he would look set in stone.

“You seem to dislike talking about this more than the war and your time in Azkaban combined,” she noted. A slight nudge in the form of a request for him to elaborate more.

“It frustrates me in a way that little else can.”

“Talking about it?”

“No” The word was clipped even though she didn’t think it was her he meant to be short with. “Not talking about it. I’m honestly not sure if I have ever talked to anyone besides my parents about it. Just the entire premise of it. Dealing with it. Talking about the war and dealing with the war are …they’re fine. They are things I’ve forced myself to face and come to terms with. And I’m a work in progress but I’m working on it.” He huffed out a breath and glanced over at her as they walked side by side up the gravel path. “And mind you, this next part is going to sound a little bit pathetic. Considering I’m quite literally married to you. But keep in mind that my memory cuts out up until a handful of weeks ago. So be that as it may but it still feels fresh. LIke something I’m currently going through rather than something that now happened years ago.”

“I understand what you mean,” she told him. “I sometimes still forget that I don’t have to keep avoiding Ron’s advances and attempts at getting back together.”

He nodded but made no mention of the news that Ron had wanted her back.

“The social balls, the courting, the arrangements, the need to produce heirs. All things I grew up with, that felt archaic even then, but were still things I knew would be expected of me.”

He chucked a small rock off into the distance, startling Hermione. When had he even bent to pick one up?

“I guess I just assumed with the whole being on the losing side of the war and the crumbling ways of the pure blood society, that I would be spared it. That the need to reestablish and untarnish the Malfoy name might free me from those expectations. I entirely misjudged how set in their ways certain groups in society are. My parents included.”

“So no. It does not anger me to speak of it but it frustrates me that it happened. It puts strain on my already strained relationship with my parents. That they would feel entitled enough to demand it of me after everything they asked of me growing up.”

She thought she understood with even more clarity now.

“So becoming a death eater at their behest wasn’t enough?”

The dark laugh that he emitted held no trace of the pompous cackle of his youth.

“No, it bloody was not.”
“My mother started dropping my name around. That the heir to the Malfoy house was in need of a wife. It was appalling. I thought for certain that no one would respond. That our name had been dragged through the mud too much.”

“I take it that is not what happened?”

“Not quite,” he said dryly. “LIke I said, pure blood culture is not so easily displaced. And the Malfoy house is the richest and most esteemed of all the sacred twenty-eight. Even with the fall from grace, if you will. I had somehow forgotten that most other houses were aligned with mine in their beliefs. Even if they didn’t outright join the ranks of the death eaters, there were plenty of families that were sympathizers.”

“So that meant there were a fair amount of women lining up for the position?” Hermione guessed.

Draco cocked an eyebrow at her, “Precisely.”

“So what did you do?”

“I refused them all.”

Hermione felt her eyebrows raise in surprise. “You didn’t meet with them?”

“You once said to me that I refused to be a pawn again. To have my life dictated for me. You pretty much hit the nail on the head with that one.”

“That’s a–”

“A muggle expression,” he interrupted her. “Yes, I know.”

“So you think they all were only interested because of your money?”

“My money, the family name, because they are just as indoctrinated as I was. You name it.”

“But none of them cared about you.” A statement and not a question. Because it was so glaringly clear. And so achingly sad.

“I’m selfishly very glad you refused them,” Hermione murmured as she held out her hand to him. A comfort. And an offering. A physical manifestation of I chose you.
He didn’t smile but neither did he hesitate as he took her hand and they continued on their way to the ancestral Malfoy home.

Draco had been right. Getting in would be far from difficult. Even if he must have chosen the furthest possible point of entry onto the grounds. Logically, Hermione knew he had said it would be about a twenty minute walk to get to the house but in reality it felt like ages.

Sardonically, she hoped they wouldn’t have to make a hasty retreat because there would be no such thing in this scenario.

The grounds themselves were impressive, a sight she continued to distract herself with as they trudged on and on. It wasn’t until they coasted down a small hill and little pops of color became visible that Draco showed any sort of reaction to being back at the Manor. His hand stiffened in hers for a beat before he seemed to catch himself.

“What is it?” she asked, figuring there was little point in not acknowledging.

He kept his eyes trained ahead of them, fixed on all those pops of color. “We’ve reached my mother’s rose garden.”

They made it to the middle before Hermione gave in.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

And it was. Regardless of Draco’s complicated feelings surrounding the garden, there was no denying that it was beautiful. The outer border, where the garden met the less pristine expanse of grounds, were all the wild roses. As if they had simply slipped in from the wild and fell into place next to their more manicured cousin. Row up row of rose bushes, each perfectly trimmed and maintained. All somehow perfectly healthy.

“There is no way she manages all of this on her own. Even with magic.”

“She doesn’t use magic at all. Prefers to do it all the old fashioned way. But you’re correct in that she couldn’t manage it all on her own. She employs the house elves to help her. But you can rest assured I see the blatant irony in choosing the care for her most prized possession in the muggle way.

They had reached the very center of the garden where a large stone rimmed circle was raised a small distance off the ground. And within it held roses. All different kinds, not a single one matching. All beautiful and all perfect.

“These she grows and maintains entirely on her own. No one else is allowed to touch them. Be it to help or to pick them. Some even date back generations in the Black family.”

“She brought them here? When she married your father?”

“She did. Not all of them. The Black ancestral home still has the parent plants. But as a Black it was her right to take some to her new home.”

Hermione nodded, thinking how different a world he had grown up in than her. With ancestral families and rights and traditions. The gulf really was quite laughable.

“My parents are dentists.”

“Pardon?” Draco asked, looking at her strangely.

“Like muggle healers but for teeth. It’s just…mind boggling. How different our upbringings were.”

Draco was nodding his agreement, his mouth just beginning to open to say something when his eyes widened in shock and he abruptly grabbed Hermione by the arm and drug her behind a row of rose bushes.

Hermione didn’t utter a word, the need for silence going unspoken. For only one person lived in the manor. Only one person would elicit such a reaction in Draco.

And sure enough, peering through the tiny holes in the bushes, Hermione saw Narcissa Malfoy walking arm and arm with another woman as they took a turn about the garden.

“Blaise’s mom,” Draco whispered in her ear.

Hermione turned to look at him and found his face pale and pinched, as if he didn’t know what to make of seeing his mother again.

Their voices, faint trickles of cadence that broke through the insect chirping filled silence, slowly became audible as they drew nearer. Draco’s own name, when it was uttered, rang loud and clear

“Narcissa dear, have you heard from Draco?”

The small fragmented views of Narcissa’s face that Hermione was able to catch through the bushes was more than enough to confirm her frustration.

“No,” Narcissa huffed out, “ I have not. After a fair amount of pesterding, St Mungo’s did finally tell me that he was perfectly fine and his participation in a case was of a three month duration. Beyond that I haven’t the faintest clue.”

Mrs. Zabini made a tsking noise beside her. “And has there been any ground gained with Miss Greengrass?”

“Astoria was over for lunch just yesterday and is quite amenable to the idea. I do think things will be able to be mended in that regard.”

“Oh that's wonderful, Narcissa! Now if only Blaise would follow suit.”

“He still resists the idea of a match?”

Their voices began to fade as they moved further into the garden until they were just unintelligible murmurs.

Hermione turned to Draco, finding him still gazing at his mothers retreating form. There was so much to unpack from just a few overheard snippets that she didn’t know where to begin.

“I’m not entirely certain she knows about me.”

Draco sighed, “No. Judging that she still seems to be presenting Astoria on a silver platter, it would appear not.”

Hermione felt a pang of something oily and unpleasant take root in her belly. If she didn’t know better she would think she was jealous. Jealous of a woman that Draco clearly didn’t want. Hadn’t chosen. But was accepted and wanted by his family all the same.

Which instantly transmuted, unfairly and illogically, Hermione knew, into dislike of Astoria.

“What bothered me was the three month thing. What did St Mungos mean by telling her it would last three months? That’s not something they can know.”

Hermione paused, mildly annoyed at herself not picking up on this and instead latching on to the point about the other women.

“Maybe some sort of timeframe before they try something else. Or allow access back to all the people in our life?”

“Maybe,” Draco agreed, looking unconvinced.

“C’mon,” Hermione prompted, grabbing his hand, “ More questions means we need answers more than ever.”

The time for admiring the gardens had come to an abrupt end and they quickly made their way through the paths that led to the dungeon entrance, Hermione following behind as Draco led the way.

He soon led them off the main path, choosing instead a less obvious one that led around the side of the house.

“We should be fine now. She doesn’t tend to leave the garden’s on her walks.”

Hermione continued to follow but said nothing, thinking that that wasn’t all that comforting considering they were never supposed to have seen Narcissa to begin with.

The door to the dungeons, when they reached it, was innocuous, blending into the stone wall with its creeping ivy and cobwebs as if you weren’t supposed to notice it. Which Hermione supposed, was entirely the point. Draco marked the location by the presence of a large ash tree, towering up and over the house. He ducked under its branches, moving towards the house’s perimeter until only a few low lying shrubberies stood in the way. The entire thing felt entirely too reminiscent of the entrance into the Shrieking Shack.

“It’s here,” Draco announced, pointing to a barely visible crack in the stone, denoting the outline of a door.

“I don’t see a handle.”

“It’s blood warded,” Draco said, conjuring a small knife with his wand.

“So even if someone were to find it, they couldn't open it.”

“Unless they had me bound and captive.”

Draco held up his right hand and made a small slit along his palm, wincing slightly as the blade slid across, bright red blood instantly welling up. He made a fist and squeezed, dribbling the blood along the ground in front of the door where it instantly began to smoke and fizzle.

“A Malfoy requests entrance.” He spoke the words low and clear and as he did so the blood began moving across the ground. Up and onto the wall as it began leaking into the outline of the door, pulsing and red. Once the entire outline was entirely filled, it pulsed once and then sank into the door as it swung inwards.

“That was…..”

“Pretentious overkill?” Draco finished for her, Hermione having found herself at a loss for words. “We Malfoy’s are nothing if not pretentious.”

“Shall we?” he asked, holding out an arm to usher her inside.

And for the second time in her life, Hermione Granger entered Malfoy Manor.

Notes:

Thank you so much for reading. Let me know what you think so far. Again, sorry for any typos or eregeous erros. I probably should get a beta reader but wrote this awhile back and decided to post for fun.

Chapter 11: Chapter Eleven

The passage was dark, even lit by the wall sconces as it was. Narrow and oppressive in a way that Hermione assumed was by design. Dungeons weren’t made with comfort in mind. The chill was instantaneous, as if it paid no mind to the fact that on the other side of the wall was a warm summer day.

The darkness seemed to envelope them, reaching out and running its tendrils down her arms in a way all too reminiscent of the mist. But unlike the mist, it seemed to struggle to find a surface to latch on to, tendrils simply rolling away as soon as they reached out and made contact.

They began making their way down the passage and the tendrils followed. Creeping out of the corners like eels out of the inky dark sea, twisting up to wrap around her arm before falling away again. And only to her. With Draco they simply coalesced around his feet before melting away back in their prisons of the walls. And Draco noticed. Kept frowning at her as his eyes tracked the tendrils.

“They aren’t hurting me this time.” She meant it to be reassuring, though he seemed not to take it that way.

“The amulet is protecting you. Even though they still don’t accept you.” He was frowning at this as well, although this particular frown held a trace of puzzlement.

“Did you think they would?”

“I was curious,” Draco began, the dripping of water and general gloom of the place giving his words an ominous undertone, “I think it just means we may have married but not taken the Malfoy blood oaths.”

The phrase “Malfoy blood oaths” certainly wasn’t something she was immediately keen on. “I’m positive you’re aware you must explain more than that”

He smiled at her. Weak as it was, it was the only comfort she would find in this dark place.

“They are in addition to the normal marriage bonds. Blood rites when a witch is brought in as a new lady of Malfoy Manor. It's essentially everything archaic and patriarchal that you would expect.”

“And you thought we would do this?” Hermione was having a hard time envisioning a version of herself that would engage in Malfoy blood rites.

“Potentially. If only to give you the manor’s protection. That we haven’t… perhaps you didn’t wish to. Perhaps we don’t have any kind of relationship with my family so it never mattered.”

Hermione glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He seemed focused but not morose “You seem very nonchalant about potentially not being on terms with your parents,” she observed.

He merely shrugged. “My relationship with them has been sitting on a precipice since the moment they forced me to get the mark. I always knew there was a chance it would tip.” While he spoke, his eyes never stopped watching the tendrils, harmlessly reaching up and falling back from Hermione’s arms.

They continued walking down the hallway, their steps echoing a beat in Hermione’s ears. Click, click, click, click. It’s lulling melody only interrupted by the occasional splash of stepping into a puddle, the water pooling in some of the dips and divots of the stone floor.

Hermione found herself concentrating on the beat of their feet, a rhythmic song seeming to arise with every step. A song she knew but couldn’t quite place.

It was on the tip of her tongue and she knew with absolute certainty that if they kept walking, kept the beat going just a few more moments, it would cease to evade her.

Step and step and step, each making a click, click, click and she was so close. The strands of music eddying around in her head. Swirling and coalescing but never quite straightening and connecting. Always just on the other side of comprehension.

She was staring at her feet, watching them make the rhythm completely of their own accord when she walked directly into Draco’s halted form.

The rage she felt was instantaneous. Perhaps it had always been living in her? It rushed to the surface, bringing her magic with it, ready to lash out at whoever had the audacity to destroy the song of their steps. They had come so far. Were so close to finishing it. All to have it ripped away. Destroyed so entirely.

Her rage was endless. A fire that demanded to be fed.

She opened her mouth, a hex on her tongue even as she searched for her wand. Was about to forego the wand completely and have a go at wandless magic when Draco swooped down and covered her mouth with his own, stealing the breath from her lungs. The very breath she had been about to curse him with.

Shock coursed through her system, dousing the fires of her rage as it went and leaving a startling clarity in its wake. Her mind cleared as the melody of their steps finally seemed to fall away completely and she found herself truly in the moment.

All she could think about now was she was finally kissing her husband again, after days of stepping back, and he seemed less than an active participant. More than anything he seemed to be restraining her, his hands clasped around her wrists as he pinned them to her sides.

After a few beats he pulled back, gazing down at her but not releasing her.

“You were ensorcelled again,” he said by way of explanation.

She stared at him, trying to parse his words together in a manner that made sense.

A glimmer of the melody sang in her memory.

“I hadn’t even realized,” the horror and shame in her voice genuine as she looked away from him. “How? I thought the amulet protected me.”

“It did. At least it did as much as it could. The curse would have done you physical harm if it could have gotten to you but the amulet blocked it. So it settled on what it could do. Which was to distract you. Befuddle your mind.”

His frown deepened as a particularly large one came up to brush the amulet at her throat before slinking away, as if proving a point.

“Would you be opposed to a comprehensive form of protection today? If not slightly more barbaric and invasive?”

Hermione raised a brow at him. “You aren’t exactly selling it by calling it barbaric and invasive.”

“Vampire fantasies ever appeal to you?” How he managed to ask that with a straight face, Hermione wasn’t sure but she imagined he was trying whatever means at his disposal to lighten the mood.

“I'm sorry, what?”

He did grimace this time. “Not pleasant, I know. But you can see the logic, right? That amulet gets removed and you’re instantly defenseless. But…now just hear me out…if you consumed a small bit of my blood, it would remain in your system for a few hours and give you full protection for the short time we are here.” He opened his hand, showing her his still bleeding palm. A bleeding palm that he had ample time to spell healed but hadn’t. As if he had suspected he may have to hold it out to her, a bloody offering.

Her knee jerk reaction was, of course, to say no. But logic appealed to Hermione in a way that emotions tended to frustrate her. Logic allowed one to make decisions outside of emotion. To analyze the situation critically and then choose the best course of action. Emotions, when they weaseled their way in, as they so often did, clouded logic and left impaired judgment.

And so, Hermione acknowledged that it was emotion that had a sour feeling rising up in her throat at the thought of consuming someone else’s blood. But the logic was irrefutable. There were simply no negatives to be gained from doing it. All positives in the form of complete protection.

“Okay,” she breathed out, “I’ll do it.”

Draco blinked at her, “You will? Just like that?”

Hermione scoffed at him. “I don’t exactly relish the idea. But there is literally every benefit in doing so and every risk in not. And, need I mention, I’ve been ensnared not once but twice already.”

“Well okay then,” Draco murmured before performing a quick cleansing spell on his hand. He then made a fist, squeezing until the blood welled up from the wound. He opened his hand to a small lake of bright crimson nestled in his palm, made brighter by being the only smidge of color in this dark dank place.

He dipped his left pointer finger in the pool and when he drew it out the blood seemed to cling to it, coating the tip with large drops that gathered and then fell back down to his waiting palm. Stepping towards her, he used his curled fingers to tip her chin up until she was gazing directly up at him.

“Open your mouth,” he whispered and she only hesitated a beat before complying. Knowing what was to come.

He slipped his finger into her mouth and the metallic tang was instant. But not unlike any time Hermione had licked a drop of her own blood off of a small wound. She wouldn’t go as far to say she enjoyed the taste but it didn’t make her gag, as she had suspected.

Perhaps she was too distracted to be disgusted, as Draco’s silver gaze held her spellbound. Even as he twirled his finger around her tongue, cleaning off every last drop before pulling his finger out, a small pop echoing down the empty hallway.

Hermione swallowed, wondering how this moment had managed to become so charged. Draco was still staring down at her, entirely too close.

She was still wondering why he hadn’t yet moved away when he kissed her, breaking his own rule of waiting for her to set the pace.

It was no light brushing of lips, no question in and of itself. One moment he was staring down at her and the next her back was against the cold stone wall and his mouth was on hers, stealing the breath from her lungs. He kissed her long and deep, twining their tongues together in a slow and sensuous dance.

Hermione was speechless when he pulled back, his hand now cradling her head as she stared up at him.

Draco’s expression was serious. Grim even. He leaned towards her again, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he murmured, “See? Vampire kink.”
“Draco!” the words rang out of her, her shock making them much louder than she had meant. She went to swat at him but he side stepped her, laughing to himself. She raised her hand again but he merely caught it out of the air and pulled her to him.

“Relax. I didn’t say I wouldn’t play.”

“I don’t –,” he cut off her objection with another kiss, this one quick and chaste before pulling her down the hall.

“C’mon,” he said, his face settling back into grim, “We do actually have to get some things done.”

He didn’t look at her, only began leading her down the hall again when he said, “I didn’t want to leave it at that other kiss. To have the only other kiss be one where I only did it to distract you enough to break the enchantment.”

Hermione didn’t respond. At least not verbally. She merely squeezed his hand, both in thanks and agreement as they continued on.

—---

She hadn’t realized how slowly the oppressive nature of the manor and its wards had crept up on her until they were lifted. It unnerved her, how easily the magic had slipped in, completely unnoticed, and began to warp her perception. Slinking in slowly and planting an idea of a melody in their steps, an innocuous enough thought. But then sinking its claws in, letting the thought take root. And then it had grown and grown, tendrils snaking out and infecting every part of her mind until she could only focus on the steps.

She shivered to think of where it would have led her. To some dark pit of the manor dungeons, pulling her in and never letting her leave again.

Her saving grace was the magic’s blind spot where Draco was concerned. It would never touch him, considering its entire creation had been to protect the Malfoy line. It had viewed her as other. As the threat to Draco. The possibility that Draco himself would interfere with its plan to subdue her would have never been taken into account. It’s downfall and her freedom.

“I’m guessing we don’t come over for tea.”

Draco glanced at her, one corner of his mouth lifting into the smallest of smirks.

“The manor wouldn’t attack a guest of the house, no matter their blood status. When you were brought here before, I’m sure it felt like the exact opposite of being a guest. But it’s the intentionality that matters.”

“Am I not your guest right now?”

“I don’t reside at the manor and haven’t for some time. My father, even from prison, still holds all official titles. It is safe to assume you are not his guest.”

“No.” Hermione murmured, “I imagine not.”

They were passing row after row of barred cells now. Their interiors were dark and murky. Seemingly bottomless pits that Hermione strained to see into. The only true sign of their vacancy was the unlatched doors strung with cobwebs. Lingering signs of their prolonged unuse.

This was where Luna and Olivander were kept. Even Ron and Harry for a brief time, as she was being tortured above. As they walked, Hermione’s mind placed images of her friends behind the bars. Superimposed them into the dark recesses, creating false memories for something she had never seen but had known had happened.

Her mind also supplied Draco. Not the one walking ahead of her, glancing back every so often to make sure she was fine and following. But a past version. The one she remembered from the war, gaunt and haunted with sunken eyes and hallows in his cheeks. She could almost picture it. Him, leaving the manor for a stroll through the gardens and then sneaking back in through the hidden entrance. She could even guess as to how the first interaction would have gone.

Draco, wanting to help but uncertain how to do so, would have been prickly and a little cold, even as he delivered them food. His nature would have allowed no other countenance.

Ollivander would have shied away, his suspicion not unfounded. But Luna…Luna would have been different. In her uncanny way, she would have seen the offering for what it was. Genuine. Perhaps she already had some inkling into Draco’s true character, even then. It would not have surprised Hermione. Luna had a way of seeing past charades. Her own countenance was peculiar and often a little off putting in its bizarreness, but she was typically correct in her impressions of others.

She wondered if Draco had found it uncomfortable. Being read so accurately rather than what everyone had perceived him to be.

She was so lost in her musings of times long past that she barely registered that they had ascended a set of stairs and were exiting into a deserted hallway. A hallway that, even leading to the dungeons, had spared no detail in its opulence. Lush burgundy carpet covered the stairs and ornate gold sconces cast light up toward the shadowed crown molding above.

Draco moved quickly, the assured steps of someone who knew exactly where they were going. Hermione trailed behind, trying to take in all of the details, a thousand questions bubbling to the service. Questions that she kept a tight rein on, seeing as they had no time for petty distraction. They traversed hallway after hallway, the sheer magnitude of the manor becoming evident. Portraits began to dot the walls and Hermione suspected they had entered the areas of the manor most used and lived in. And it was the portraits that finally caused the very distraction Hermione had been trying to avoid.

Most had been dozing in their frames but a bard, lute in hand, had leapt to attention the moment he spotted Draco and broke into song.

“Master Draco has returned, O Master Draco has returned, after months away and no sightings to keep at bay, dear ole’ Master Draco has returned!” The bard leapt from frame to frame to keep pace with them, singing as he went, and leaving a trail of disgruntled portraits in his wake. Portraits that had previously been asleep and apt to leave Hermione and Draco alone. But were now very much awake and aware that a long lost Malfoy had returned home.

The murmurs and whispers seem to spread like wildfire, both in the direction they had come and in the way they were headed.

“Bloody hell,” Draco swore, “at this rate the entire manor will know we’ve returned before we even make it to the library.”

And alert Narcissa the second she stepped foot back inside the manor. They didn’t speak the threat out loud but Hermione knew the possibility of getting found out was at the forefront of both their minds.

“Can you silence them somehow? Or give them a command?”

“I could silence them but doesn’t that look suspicious? My mother will surely realize all of the portraits have gone mute.”

“Entice them!” Hermione hissed. “Make them want to help you. Tell them it’s a surprise for your mother and she can’t know you were here or something!”

“You want me to lie to them?”

Hermione gaped at him. “Are you morally opposed to lying to non sentient portraits? This is where you draw the line?”

Draco gave her a look that said he was not impressed at her choice of wording but Hermione only raised her eyebrows at him.

“Fine,” Draco grumbled, stepping up to a portrait and offering a knight what Hermione assumed was meant to be a warm smile. It was so out of character for him that it looked more like a pinched grimace.

“Sir Dwight, might I ask for your assistance? It would be greatly appreciated.”

His voice was pitched much higher than normal. Entirely unnatural at a solid octave above his regular speaking voice. Hermione only just managed to contain her snort of amusement.

The knight in question, Sir Dwight, seemed to swell with pride at being needed, bowing deeply to Draco before all but prancing over. There was not a single raised eyebrow at his voice.

“And what does the great Master of the manor require?”

“I’m here to grab a few things I need for Lady Malfoy. But it's a surprise gift so it would be most helpful that she never knew I was here today. Lest she start asking questions and ruin her own surprise.”

The knight clapped his hands together in delight, the clanging of the metal echoing down the hall. “Oh, I do love a good surprise! Sir Dwight would love to assist in surprising Lady Malfoy!”

“That’s wonderful!” Hermione found herself saying, offering the knight a thankful smile. A smile that she had to force herself to maintain as the knight seemed to notice her for the first time and a look of disdain crossed his face.

“The surprise involves a mudblood?”

Draco pinched his nose, the frustration evident. Before he could open his mouth and attempt to defend her honor to a portrait probably created with its prejudiced predispositions, Hermione stepped in.

“He didn’t have much of a choice. The surprise involves a magical creature and I was the ministry worker assigned to his request. It was me or nothing.”

It was Draco’s turn to raise an eyebrow at her but she didn’t care. Especially not as the knight made a tisking sound and turned back to Draco.

“The ministry really has gone downhill, Master Draco. But alas, I must be going if I am to stop the other portraits from spilling the secret!”

And with that he was off, clambering onto his house and riding away through the other frames.

“I think it's rather safe to say that we do not come here. Or at the very least, I do not come here.”

Draco sighed and resumed his quick pace down the hall. “I can’t imagine why. The portraits being so welcoming and all.”

He was agitated and a little bit ashamed. At least that was how Hermione interpreted the slight stomp he had acquired in his step and the rigid set of his shoulders and he clomped ahead of her.

“It’s fine, Draco, she said, reaching out to brush his hand briefly.

He swallowed thickly, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “It’s not. But it’s expected and there is nothing to be done about it. At least not right now.”

She appreciated that he didn’t apologize profusely. Especially not for something outside of his control. She didn’t think she could handle a relationship with someone who let past guilt color their every interaction anytime it was remotely brought up in everyday life .

“It’s just around the corner here.”

Hermione felt a flutter of excitement at the prospect of exploring the Malfoy library, one of the largest personal libraries in the wizarding world.

The double doors, when they came into view, were a beautiful ornately carved wood. Mahogany, if she had to guess. They towered up above her, reaching nearly up to the ceiling. Draco approached them and ran a hand over a white stone orb inset near the handle. The second his skin came in contact, the insides seemed to come alive, smoke swirling inside its confines until it settled back to solid stone and the door swung inwards.

They stepped inside and Hermione couldn’t contain her gasp. Even her raised expectations had been blown away by the row after row of endless books. Shelves that towered up into the air high above, making use of the vaulted ceilings and cavernous space.

The shelves were made from the same deep mahogany of the doors and they gleamed pristine. They were in sharp contrast to the bleached white of the stone walls. So white they seemed to sparkle. The floor was made up of a cobbled stone, peaking through the many plush rugs that covered the space between shelves.

And the books. Shelf after shelf stacked completely full and towering high up above her. She almost squealed in delight when she saw the rolling ladder, just like Belle had in Beauty and the Beast.

“Perhaps this is why you married me,” she heard Draco drawl from somewhere behind her.

“Oh, it's highly possible.”

“I wish you were even a little bit kidding,” he murmured into her ear, now directly behind her and slipping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her head as he surveyed the space with her.

After giving her a few moments to appreciate the entirety of the Malfoy library, Draco led her over to a small raised platform in the corner, explaining that it was the library’s index. An ornate iron stand with entwining intricate designs that was topped with another silver orb.

The orb reminded her of all the marbles her grandfather used to collect, colorful pieces of glass that held whorls and swirls. This particular orb’s color also reminded her of a certain family's very unique eye color. So much so that she was left with little doubt as to whether it was intentional.

Draco reached out, running his fingertips over the orb and murmuring a few choice words. Hermione caught “memory loss” and “curse”. And then the orb ,which had apparently been in stasis, burst to life. It started to spin on its axis and the silver whorls began coalescing within the constraints of the glass, giving the impression of silver mist trapped and confined to a small space. After a few rotations, it came to stop and Hermione noticed the smallest of openings in the glass. One thin tendril of silver smoke snaked its way through the opening, spinning out like a spool of thread and began making its way toward the shelves of books. Once it twisted around a corner and kept going, now out of sight, Draco began to follow it. And Hermione followed them both. It continued on, twining its way down aisles and around shelves until it finally stopped, somewhere in what Hermione imagined had to be near the center of the library. The end of the silver smoke thread then forked into three and each drifted out toward a particular shelf until they all rested on the spines of different books.

Hermione moved to pull one from the shelf, her hand briefly coming into contact with the smoke. She was surprised to find it cold and almost wet in nature. The sensation was brief, the smoke disappearing the second she pulled the tome free.

“Thought you might like that. “

She turned to find Draco smirking at her, already holding the other two books.
“I’m now fairly positive this is entirely why I married you. I’m surprised Hogwarts hasn’t implemented a similar enchantment.”

“Well we can’t have Madam Pince out of a job now can we? And besides, can you imagine students running amok in the library with no supervision? There is already too much unbecoming behavior that occurs with her supervision.”

“Unbecoming behavior? In a library? Who would dare?”

He was openly mocking her and well aware of it. But she still couldn’t help the next question.

“Were you ever found in a compromising position in some dark corner of the library?”

“Granger, please,” Draco began moving them towards an empty table off to the side, “I was never daft enough to be caught.”

Hermione snorted but said nothing.

“Besides,” Draco continued, surprising Hermione who had assumed the subject dropped, “I didn’t have many opportunities to be caught. I think I snogged Pansy all of five times and only one of those was in the library. More of a right of passage than anything.”

“Fourth year?” Hermione asked, “Before everything started to go south.”

Draco nodded, “And what about you? Any trysts with Krum in the stacks?”

“No,” she chuckled. “I had a bit of a thing with him sixth year, mostly during breaks. But during fourth year, while he was actually at Hogwarts, I think I was still a little too shell shocked to actually kiss him. Much less by breaking rules in the library."

“Maybe we will have to fulfill all your dark library fantasies at some point.”

He turned to look at her as he said it, as if knowing the statement was sure to bring a flush to her cheeks. And it did, images coming unbidden to her mind as she felt her skin redden.

She tried for bold, trying to normalize talking about sex with a man that she had already slept with. That she was married to, for Merlin’s sake. “I know you’re joking but you really shouldn’t tempt me when libraries are concerned.”

He came to stand before her, reaching past to briefly deposit the books on the table.

“Must I endlessly remind you that the ball remains in your court? If we progress at the pace of molasses it is your doing and yours alone,” at this he leaned closer, his breath tickling her skin, “because I was very much not kidding. Name the place, Granger, and I’m yours.”

Hermione stared up at him, her heart pounding. “For someone who declares we can move at my pace, you sure make a lot of insinuations.”

“Insinuations?” His eyes seemed to sparkle as he very brazenly looked her up and down. “I can respect a lady’s wishes even if I would much rather do everything else.”

She reached up, dragging a finger down the center of his chest, “Perhaps we table it for? Considering we’re in a bit of a time crunch and your mother was unexpectedly home just a few moments ago?”

“Easy enough. We do have a library of our own at home, albeit much smaller. We also have a table,” at this he quirked a brow at her, “if that happened to be a veiled insinuation of your own. It can most definitely be arranged.”

She swatted at him, turning to pick up the nearest book, “You’re incorrigible.”

Her cheeks remained flushed as she began parsing through the books, trying to glean any useful information in the limited amount of time they had. The pages, she noticed, began flipping faster as she became more and more aware of their dwindling time. Page by page flew past and the words began to run together, less and less being absorbed into her brain. Eventually, she realized she was just hoping the answer would jump off the page and essentially smack her in the face.

“This is never going to work. I feel like I am rushing to cover everything in the hopes I find something but in reality I am absorbing almost nothing.” Her voice was high and shrill with the mounting frustration and anxiety. “Do you think there is any way we could take them with us?”

“I think we will have to if we hope to get any use out of them. As long as I am the one to physically remove them, no alarms should be triggered.” He glanced over at her. “If we pack up now, we should have time for a quick pit stop. If you’re up for it.”

Hermione gave him a quizzical look, the question plain in her expression.

“To my old room.”

—---

The trek through the manor was, thankfully, much less eventful upon their exit from the library. Halls remained quiet, the portraits' curiosity still sated, as Draco led her through them. He stopped at the base of a staircase, much less ornate than the others she had seen in passing.

“This is the back entrance. It’s longer but it avoids taking us past my parents room. I would especially like to avoid the portraits in that area.”

Hermione could only imagine what ancestor portraits lay that way and what unpleasant beliefs they held. Strongly held, if she had to guess.

Avoiding them would definitely be best.

They traipsed up the staircase, the old steps creaking under their feet. Hermione tried to imagine a younger version of Draco running through these halls. Back when he thought he had the world at his feet and the affection of loving, doting parents. Running through the gardens, feeding all their peacocks. Perhaps helping his mother with her roses.

But just as happy and pleasant those memories must be, she knew there were many others that were much darker. Her imagination cast a gloomy haze around the newer version of Draco she imagined. Older and already weighed down by the responsibilities that came with the ink on his arm. Where before she had pictured him running happily, she now saw him trudging by. Avoiding the other death eaters that now occupied its halls. And the Dark Lord that now took up residence in his family home.

He was still walking a few paces ahead of her, leading her back to his old room. She wondered what it was like for him, being back now. In a place that was a collision of such polarizing memories.

They both had terrible memories in this house. It did not go unnoticed to her that he took care to never take her past a certain drawing room.

Her musings occupied her thoughts until they came to stop in front of a nondescript wooden door. The only tell was the green trim that bordered it. Draco heaved a sigh and then pushed unceremoniously inside.

Hermione made to follow, briefly marveling at the oddity of finding herself in Draco Malfoy’s childhood bedroom.

The inside held no startling revelations. No ghastly artifacts or anti-muggleborn propaganda lining the walls. If she had to describe it she would simply say typical. The abundance of green was expected. An emerald comforter covered the large four poster bed and a plush green rug adorned the floor. The walls were relatively bare save for a few quidditch posters and a few portraits. A small desk sat in one corner with a few trinkets atop it. A large bookshelf in the other corner filled to the breaking point with books.

Draco was rummaging around, banging through drawers and peering into shelves, clearly looking for something.

Opting to let him be, she wandered over to his desk, trailing her fingers across the top of the wingback chair. It was neat and orderly, his things in small piles. Or at least they had been, before Draco had disrupted them in his search.

She moved to the bookshelf, giving in to what she really wanted to peruse. This small window into his past. You could tell a lot about a person by what books they opted to keep in their personal collection. At least in Hermione's opinion. Old Hogwarts textbooks lined the bottom few shelves. One entire shelf consisted of children's books and she smiled at the thought that he had kept his favorites, rather than throwing them out once long outgrown. The higher shelves seemed to consist primarily of wizarding fiction, much of which had been popular in their Hogwarts days. And further testament that his room had sat unused for many a year.

She was about to turn away when one particular spine caught her eye. It stood out for two reasons. One, being that it was a popular muggle book. Seemingly, the only one on the entire shelf. Two, being that the cracked and loved yellow spine was achingly familiar to Hermione.

With a slight tremble, she reached out and pulled the book slowly from the shelf, revealing a cover she knew like the back of her own hand.

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austin. But not just any copy. Hermione knew this particular copy. Knew the cracks in the spine, knew the crease in the top corner. Knew that if she flipped it over she would find the water stain from a hot mug being left upon it.

Just like she knew whose handwriting she would find if she opened it.
“To my dearest Hermione, I hope this book brings you as much joy as it has me. I know I should probably wait until you’re older and can actually enjoy it but how can I not gift you my favorite book? One day you will be old enough and I hope you love it when that day comes. Happy 3rd birthday. Love, Mum”

This was her book. Her copy, that she had cherished and loved. Treasured even more for the inscription from her mother inside it.

She’d lost it at Hogwarts. A wound that had cut even deeper as she had gone on to erase herself from her parents memories.

She had gotten her parents back but had never found the book. She had searched the castle high and low for it. Could even pinpoint the day she noticed it missing back in fifth year. Retraced her steps, enlisted Harry and Ron to help. But nothing ever came of it.

And now she held it again. Found it in Draco’s old bedroom. Her mind was a swirling mass of thoughts, trying to parse out how these dots could even begin to be connected.

She was still taking it all in when the voice of one of the portraits rang out, startling her.

“The bookshop girl! You finally got up the nerve to talk to her! About time. I really was beginning to think you were not of my blood by your complete lack of courage.”

Hermione glanced briefly at the portrait of the severe looking woman with long black curls cascading down her shoulders. Spared her enough attention to determine it was not Bellatrix, even though the similarities were striking.

And then her attention affixed itself to Draco. Who had yet to turn around but whose spine had gone ramrod straight at the words.

“The bookshop girl?” Hermione echoed in question.

The woman in the portrait looked at her with unveiled annoyance. “Draco, is she daft? Yes, child. The bookshop girl. You. Childhood enemy he ran into in the bookstore. Then kept running into time and time again. Ring any bells?”

“Grandmother, you are, in fact, not helping matters.”

The woman, his grandmother apparently, tsked at him.

“Why do you have my book in your room?” She tried to keep the pain and frustration out of her voice. Reminded herself this was her husband and there countless reasonable explanations.

“He’s had it for ages! Been trying to work up the nerve to come clean and finally return it to you for ages as well. Downright embarrassing if you ask me.”

“Grandmother!” Draco’s voice was harsh and cold and he finally whipped his wand out and silenced the portrait.

He sighed, running his hand nervously through his hair as he turned towards her finally.

“I found it. In the library in fifth year,” he held up a hand, asking her to let him finish, “I know I should have given it back right then and there. Or just left if be in hopes that you would find it yourself, because if I am being honest I wouldn’t have felt I could have been the kind of person to return a mudbloods book to them.”

Hermione wasn’t angry at the term he had reverted to. Had understood it for what it was. An explanation of who he had been then and why he wouldn’t have waltzed up and handed it back to her.

“But then why did you take it? To hurt me?”

“No. I was curious.”

“About Pride and Prejudice?”

“About everything. About my beliefs. About muggleborns. But also about you. You were a sick sense of fascination for me. I was supposed to hate you. Wanted to hate you. But you confused me. And I do think I hated you for that. Was able to fuel the innate hatred I was supposed to feel with that instead.” The words poured out of him, a release he had been holding back. “I need you to understand. Not to absolve me. But because I think you actually would understand. I want you to understand. In a way no one else ever has. I was supposed to hate you and muggles for being lesser. And stupid. Yet you were brilliant. Top of the class. I would overhear you sometimes and you would be talking about something that actually interested me. And I would want to join in. I had things I wanted to contribute. I legitimately remember having a conversation with Pansy once. She was going on and on about when she would be old enough to participate in the social balls the families of the sacred twenty eight put on. It was all I could do to even feign a semblance of interest. You were walking in front of us. And I could overhear you. Talking to the Weasel, who, I’ll have you know, could not string two brain cells together even then to articulate a proper response. But you were talking about how the wizarding world has become too dependent on wands for magic that you thought a lot of our potential has been lost. I vividly remember agreeing with you and having thoughts and wanting to say them so badly it hurt. But I couldn’t. Because it was you. And you were a stupid muggleborn who would never be as good as me. So I took the book. Read it out of spite, thinking to make sense of you and finally think the way I was supposed to.”

He laughed, a mirthless sound. “Imagine my surprise when I actually enjoyed it. It was supposed to help me turn things around and all it did was make me want more. Make me want to learn more. To paint the picture further, I remember seeing you the year before in that stupid yule ball gown and my first thought was that you looked beautiful.” He looked at her then, as if pleading for her to understand. “You were meant to disgust me. I wouldn’t say I fancied you or anything. But you definitely held a fascination for me. So I kept your book. Some small act of defiance. One of my only ones.” He paused then, looking away and speaking to some point over her head. Probably glaring at the portrait of his grandmother. “I always meant to give it back once I got out of Azkaban. But I couldn't bring myself to do it. I was about at the point where I was going to anonymously mail it. For that, I am sorry. I really don’t have an explanation for you.”

Hermione pondered all of this, turning it over and examining it from new angles. His answer was far from one she ever could have guessed. But it made sense. The more she got to know him and learned of him. Draco was watching her, closed in on himself with his hands in his pockets. As if waiting for his reckoning.

“Why didn’t you tell me before now. Back at the safe house or sometime?”

Draco gave her a sharp look, “Honestly? I didn’t exactly expect to find this here. Considering I married you, I assumed this came up somewhere along the way.”

“Why is it here then? I can’t imagine you wouldn’t have told me. But then why would I not take it back?” She looked at him in question, unfairly expecting an answer that he had no way of knowing.

“I have no idea. I am working with the same information you have, Granger.”

She nodded, knowing it was potentially another piece of an even larger puzzle.

“I’m not mad. I get the impression you think I will be.”

“I did steal your book,” Draco interrupted her.

“I know, I know. But…and I probably would have been livid to learn of it at the time or maybe even a few years after the war. But….and I am sure that is true of any conflict and story ever…perspective helps. Having the bird's eye view into the situation helps. Not to mention time, in and of itsel,f brings clarity. Yes you took something very important and valuable to me. But I can’t be angry about someone having enough self growth to begin to question the way they had been brought up.”

She smiled at him then, honest and true, and held the book out to him. “I like to think that I’ve had enough of my own self growth to be glad that you took it. If it played any kind of pivotal role in making you the man you are today.”

“Careful, Granger. I’m going to start to think you’re falling for me.”

Hermione was contemplating kissing, weighing if the mood was right or if it was all a little too on the nose when she saw Draco’s expression morph into confusion as he beheld his grandmother’s portrait. Hermione turned to find the sharp tongued woman no longer the sole occupant. The knight from earlier, that Draco had concocted a lie to keep from alerting Narcissa to their presence, was currently jumping from foot to foot, his mouth soundlessly forming words.

Concern creased Draco’s brow as he brought his wand up and ended the silencing charm. Instantly a cacophony of voices filled the room. His grandmother screaming at the knight to leave in such a shrill high voice that it instantly hurt Hermione’s ears. And the knight just kept repeating “Is it today? Is it today?”

“Quiet! The both of you!” Draco pointedly looked at the knight. “Is what today?”

“The surprise for the Lady Narcissa of course! She has only just arrived home.”

“Bloody hell,” Draco cursed. “No. It most definitely is not. And it’s of the utmost importance we leave without her knowing we were here. Can you help me with that?”

The knight bowed, hands twirling in front of him in an exaggerated flourish, striding off to command the silence of the other portraits. Hermione only hoped it would be enough and they wouldn’t give anything away in their attempts at feigning nonchalance.

Draco strode back to his bedside table, waving his wand to reveal a secret compartment. He briefly rifled through before pulling out a few journals and a small velvet bag and pocketing them in his robes.

A wave of his wand had the room restored to order and then they hastened out the door, leaving his bedroom and all the complicated long dead memories behind and into the hallway. Their steps, now that she knew someone was home and in the manor, seemed to echo like blazing trumpets as they half walked, half ran through the corridors.

Hermione knew, logically, that they were in little to no actual danger or peril. They would have hell to pay with St Mungo’s if they were to find out of their breach of rules. But Narcissa wouldn’t hurt them.

No, Hermione’s fear lay elsewhere. A small kernel that had only grown upon finding out that Narcissa was unaware of their union. It was self preservation and pride that fueled Hermione’s speed through the manor’s halls.

She had been called a mudblood and unworthy since the minute she stepped into the wizarding world. Had learned to let it roll off her shoulders and not sink its barbs into her sense of self worth.

But she also didn’t think she could bear the look of disgust and disappointment Narcissa would surely level at them if she were to discover them here. Together. Hermione didn’t want to see Draco be forced to choose t odefend her.

It was a reckoning she knew would have to come someday. But that didn’t have to be today.

If she found out they were cursed and didn’t even remember their relationship, she would probably push to have them forcibly divorced. If it was in her power.

They were nearing the entrance to the dungeons when the portraits began acting strangely. Not saying a word but jumping around and waving their hands in the air, eyes wide and frantic. Draco didn’t seem to have noticed, wholly focused on parroting them down the halls. Assuming there could only be one cause for their behavior, Hermione quickly surveyed their surroundings and chose a door at random. It opened, thankfully, with no shrill squeaks of protest. Hermione knew she had the abominable practice of keeping house elves to thank for what was surely a well oiled door. She yanked on Draco’s hand, dragging him through the door and praying he had the sense to put two and two together and realize why she was suddenly hiding them away.
“My mother?” he whispered, once they were securely behind the door.

“I assume so? The portraits started freaking out in their frames, motioning to us and jumping up and down.”

Draco only nodded, his face grim as he glanced around whatever room she had thrown them into.

It appeared to be a sitting room, innocent enough. Plush lavender couches trimmed in gold wood were nested around a white brick fireplace. The floor was covered in soft rugs and a beautiful crystal chandelier hung from an ornate white tile ceiling.

It looked like something out of a French tea parlor and not at all what should be housed within Malfoy Manor.

“Shit,” Draco ground out, clear panic lacing the word, “We need to hide.”

Hermione whipped out her wand, disillusioning them and Draco hauled them back until they were flat against the wall next to the door, on the side where, when opened, the door would swing inward and obscure them further.

“This is my mother’s parlor, where she entertains guests. It’s the only reason she would even be in this wing.”

Hermione nodded, stomach twisting in dread. Of all the blasted doors she could have picked. They waited, knowing that to chance opening the door would risk exposing them even more.

And it most likely would have ended in exposure, for not even thirty seconds later the door creaked open and Narcissa’s voice carried in. Although it sounded different now, even to Hermione’s ears. Higher, a more saccharine sweet version that reminded her of when her own mother would speak to someone on the phone.

The reason why became evident a mere two seconds later as Astoria Greengrass was ushered into the room, her pale blue dress robes matching the pastels of the decor.

Hermione held her breath, pressed as close as she could to the wall behind her as the two women moved past, taking seats in the plush couches by the fireplace.

Narcissa’s back was to them, their only view of her was her perfectly styled hair. Black like her sisters, except for that shock of brilliant white that ran through it.

Astoria, however, had chosen a seat that faced them directly, immobilizing Hermione further from fear that she would somehow see through their disillusionment spell.

“I was so relieved when I heard you wanted to meet to talk about reopening the betrothal, Mrs. Malfoy. I was so excited to become a part of your family that it simply broke my heart when Draco dissolved the previous one.”

Astoria’s voice was high, ringing out like a bell through the room. Hermione didn’t even have to know her to tell it was false, an act put on as part of the show for a potential future mother in law. It was evident in her perfectly straight posture, as she sat demurely with one ankle crossed over the other and in the small unassuming smile she kept permanently plastered on her face.

“He will come around. Draco is not one to shirk his duties, even if he has had a few setbacks. He has struggled with the war a bit more than anyone expected but he knows his duty to his family. And he has never said a bad word about you, my dear,” Narcissa had leaned forward and was patting her hand at this. “Once he sorts himself out, I am more than sure he will realize what an advantageous marriage this would be and regret the day he ever thought he shouldn’t marry such a beauty as you.”

“I do hope so, Mrs. Malfoy. I’ve been besotted with him since our school days.”

“Oh do call me Narcissa. We will have none of that Mrs. Malfoy nonsense. Now, have you thought about floral arrangements for the kind of ceremony you would want?”

Astoria started chattering away, Hermione thought she caught peonies and lilies before her attention was pulled to Draco. She couldn’t see him but he was pulling on her arm, angling her towards the door.

Hermione crept after him, keeping her eyes on the two women who never even glanced their way.

Draco didn’t relinquish her hand, only towed her after him and he strode down the hall. The room with his mother still within sight when he dropped their disillusionment. A move Hermione made to protest until she caught a glimpse of his expression.

It was pure rage.

Rage that seemed to fuel his speed as they hurried through the manor, flying around corners and not caring at the amount of sound they made.

“Draco! We need to be quiet!” Hermione finally hissed at him.

“I don’t really think we do. Seeing as the only person who would catch us is currently busy picking the flowers for a wedding I don’t want.”

Anger was rolling off him in waves as he all but threw open the door to the dungeons.

Hermione slipped through first, lighting her wand with a quick “lumos” and moving to wait for him at the base of the set of stairs leading down into the dark. He would have blown past her, continuing on in his anger fueled pace but Hermione shot out a hand and halted him.

“Stop. I understand you’re angry. Your mother is continuing to plan out your life for you. Make decisions for you. But it doesn’t matter. Just laugh it off.”

Draco turned his eyes to her, the anger not diminishing in the slightest, “You want me to just laugh it off?”

Hermione took a step towards him, erasing the space between them until it was all but shared.

“Yes, Draco. Laugh. It. Off. They are up there, planning a wedding. A wedding that will never happen because, as you seem to have forgotten, you married me.” In case he needed a physical reminder in addition to a verbal one, Hermione ran her fingers down his chest, stopping once she reached his waist. And then she slipped her hand under his shirt and dipped her fingers into the waistband of his trousers, wrapping her fingers around the material there. It was bold, at least where she was concerned, and she saw his eyes widen in surprise at the feeling of her knuckles pressed against the skin of his lower abdomen. “It’s obvious that we never told your parents about us. It’s also pretty obvious why we didn’t, as they continue to try and control you. But you know what else is obvious? You stopped letting them control you and make decisions for you. If marrying me doesn’t prove that then I don’t know what does.”

Hermione released her grip of his waistband but didn’t remove her hand. Instead, she extended her fingers so they splayed out and just brushed the sweep of hair as it trailed down. “You’re not hers,” she whispered, watching his desire darkened his eyes, “you’re mine.”

Hermione thought something might be very wrong with her because she wanted him. Right now and right here, while his mother was upstairs trying to marry him off to someone else. Someone pureblooded and more deserving. She brought her other hand up and deftly slipped the button on his trousers. His quick intake of breath told her that he hadn’t been expecting it. She looked up, arresting his eyes with her own and stared into them as she pulled down his zipper. She didn’t think he was breathing any longer as she gripped both his boxers and trousers and worked them down the length of his legs until they hung loosely around his knees.

Hermione sank to her own knees, the cold biting instantly through the thin material of her denims. She reached out and ran a finger down the length of him, collecting the bead that leaked out of the tip.

“Hermione,” Draco began, voice already strained, “You don’t have-”

She cut him off by running her tongue around the head of his cock and he made a choked noise.

“I know you were recently liberated into making your own choices but that is something I have never struggled with. If I am doing this, Draco, it's because I want to.”

And with that she took him into her mouth and began to move. Back and forth, the pace increasing alongside Draco’s breathing.

Hermione alternated, switching from her mouth to her hand. She knew, in the back of her mind, that she wasn’t well versed in this. Her and Ron had only tried a few times and she had hated it then. Had hated the way he tried to control her pace with a hand on her head. But she didn’t hate it now. Especially didn’t hate the sounds Draco was beginning to make, the soft moans slipping from his mouth.

And that was how the patronus found them, the hedgehog bounding up only to halt with every spike sticking straight up. A sight Hermione would later attribute to alarm. In the moment, the lust filled haze surrounding them both, Hermione only reeled back in shock and promptly fell onto her arse.

“Bloody hell,” Draco panted, attempting to stuff himself back into his trousers as Healer La Nou’s voice rang out, bouncing off the cavernous dungeon hallway.
“I do hope everything is alright. I arrived today for an impromptu visit only to find the two of you gone. I shall assume that you took a walk around the block or perhaps went into town. I shall wait here until you can return at your earliest convenience.”

The hedgehog gave them a scornful look and then scampered back the way it had come.

Draco reached down a hand to help her up, the front of his trousers still looking uncomfortably tight.

They both stood panting for a moment, trying to collect their barings before Hermione was able to rasp out “That’s far too suspicious of timing to be merely by chance, right?” she asked.

“Suspicious and highly unfortunate for me,” Draco agreed,his expression mildly pained as he shifted himself in his trousers.

It was in silent agreement that they made haste through the dungeons and Malfoy grounds. No point in delaying the inevitable and the sooner they spoke with the healer, the sooner she would leave.

Hermione also left unvoiced the fear of Healer La Nou discovering all of their work. They had taken care to hide every trace of their personal investigation but that did little to quell her anxiety. They had also taken care to plan their trip to the Manor when no healer should have been visiting and look how that turned out. Every new piece of information they obtained only fractured their puzzle further.

The healer's uncanny arrival being the newest fracture.

Notes:

As always, thank you for reading! If you notice any glaring issues, let me know! Hope you liked the chapter.

Chapter 12: Chapter Twelve

Notes:

Happy Monday to everyone! I took the day off from work for no other reason than to have a lazy day at home. Enjoy the chapter

They had composed themselves by the time they strolled up the drive to the safehouse. A slight quickening to their steps to show they had indeed gotten the message but nothing to show alarm.

Hermione had transfigured their clothes into casual wear, both the previous outfits being askew and wet from the dungeons. Draco had shrank down their already bewitched bag, holding all the books they had taken, to fit snugly in his pocket. They hadn’t concocted some elaborate lie that would be easy to get trapped in its fallacies, instead opting to go with the simple. They had decided to go on a walk and lost track of time.

It didn’t account for the time it had taken for them to get from the dungeons out past the boundary line of the manor in order to apparate. Hermione’s only plan in that regard was to adopt a slight air of annoyance at the healers for springing an unplanned visit upon them. Ideally, Healer La Nou wouldn’t comment on it at all.

It did not start out ideally.

Healer La Nou was seated at the kitchen table when they arrived. Legs crossed with one ankle bouncing incessantly as she not so patiently waited for them.

“Ah, finally. I was beginning to think something terrible had befallen you.”

Hermione attempted a bright smile, “Not at all. Just out walking and lost track of time.”

La Nou’s smile was thin in return, “I sent that patronus almost forty five minutes ago.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows, letting some of her own frustration bleed through “Yes you did. And you mentioned returning at our earliest convenience. I took that as meaning we didn’t need to rush back.”

“I see,” she intoned. “ Well, I’m glad you’re back. It really seems as if the two of you are getting along much better.”

Hermione nodded, seeing no sense in denying it but also loathe to say just how true that was. “I imagine it's inevitable. All things considered, he is really the only person I have to talk to.”

Draco snorted from his place at her side. “High praise, Granger.”

She elbowed him gently in the ribs, “I just mean it would make for long days if we held to our old ways and never got to know the other one.”

Healer La Nou was watching them, a quizzical expression on her face. “So you would describe yourselves as friends now?”

Hermione shrugged, an uncomfortable knot forming in her stomach, “Sure. I would say so at least.”

“You’re more tolerable than I expected, I’ll give you that,” Draco drawled.

“And has your relationship progressed further in any other manner?”

“Pardon?” Hermione asked, her voice hitching. The surprise that the healer would be so bold was genuine.

“She wants to know if you’ve sunk so low as to fuck the death eater.”

Hermione felt her cheeks redden. Both at the audacity of the question and the blunt crassness in which Draco dispensed beating around the bush.

But also at the memory. Of a single night where things had progressed shockingly quickly. Draco pushing her into the soft pillows of the bed, his kiss searing along her skin. A single night spent together and then awkward limbo they had fallen into after. Where Draco gave her her space and Hermione avoided thinking about it altogether.

Regardless of how messy and convoluted it was, Hermione felt a possessiveness arise within her over it. The fact remained that it was their story. The personal lives and the ways in which they continued to intertwine and grow together. Her stomach soured at the idea of divulging any of those details with anyone else. Even if that someone was their healer.

“Not quite, we are just rolling with the friends thing right now. Although I am not sure why it matters either way or why you would need to know such things.” Hermione succeeded in keeping the edge from her voice but allowed the words themselves to escape. To let Healer LaNou have some inkling of her displeasure at being asked such questions.

Draco, for his part, went along with the lie. Hermione hoped he understood it for what it was and not because she regretted it or was ashamed of him.

“Every little detail is important when it comes to cracking this curse and restoring your memories. I’m sure such a diligent scholar like yourself understands that.”

Hermione nodded, smiling the fakest smile she had ever worn back at the healer. “Of course. I’ll be sure to let you know if anything of that nature ever occurs. But I don’t imagine it will. We really are quite content as friends right now while we wait for our memories to return.”

Healer La Nou smiled back at Hermione, seemingly pleased the conversation had returned to the normal easy rapport she had with Hermione, if not Draco. “I’ll just be going then. Please alert me immediately if anything changes.”

And with that she was gone, head held high as she flounced out the door and pulled it shut behind her.

“That was a sham of a visit if I’ve ever seen one,” Hermione seethed,angrily slipping the lock into place on the door. As if it could keep anyone with a wand out. “She didn’t even ask her usual questions about if we have any memories back or any deja vu moments. Any of the the usual jargon.”

“She was quite interested in whether or not you’ve been soiled by a death eater.”

“And that!” Hermione whipped around to find Draco standing with his hands in his pockets, seemingly much more at ease than her.

And so she didn’t let herself overthink it as she strode across the room towards him. His eyes widened in surprise, surely wondering what in Merlin’s name she was doing. And then she was on him, her hands pushing him back until his back collided with the wall and her lips met his.

She kissed him with weeks of pent up desire. Of holding back as she tried to navigate their relationship and get to know him. With the frustration of finding out his mother was still scheming about Astoria. With anger at the healers prying questions. A swirling cocktail of emotions that had built and built and built until reaching capacity and shattering every ounce of her self control.

She kissed him until she couldn’t breath and was forced to pull away to draw breath into her lungs. His eyes were the size of saucers now, silver pools around wide blown pupils. She ran a hand down his face, coming to rest at the base of his throat.

“It’s none of her bloody business what I do with you in this house.”

Draco was still staring at her but was gaining his composure with every passing second. “What you do to me might be the more accurate way to say that, Granger,” he leaned towards her, pressing a soft kiss to her temple, “And you’re welcome to do whatever you like. Whenever and wherever.”

Hermione continued gulping air into her lungs, stepping back to give her some space to think. “Yes you’ve made it more than clear that you have no qualms whatsoever.”

Draco merely smirked at her but made no move to advance, letting her keep her space.
Drawing in a breath of his own, he seemed to reset himself. She watched the smirk fall from his face as he ran a hand through his hair and pulled out a chair at the kitchen table, slumping into it.

“None of it adds up. Even less than before we went to the Manor. A place that was supposed to help us gain answers, not jumble the pieces even more.”

Hermione pulled out a chair next to him, the scraping sound shrill against the turn of conversation. “I would say it added a few new pieces as well. More loose ends to try and fit together.”

“We haven’t told my mother.” Draco’s face was solemn as he stated it. And it very much was a statement rather than a question. An accepted fact after overhearing the meeting between Narcissa and Astoria.

“It would appear not,” Hermione agreed and not for the first time wondered at the decisions of the past self she did not know. At what events would have unfolded that led her to marry someone in secret. The conclusions were easy enough to draw. If Narcissa Malfoy was unaware then it would have had to have been kept a secret from society as a whole. There would have been no way to just keep it from her.

“Do you think it was recent? Perhaps we just eloped?” She knew she was trying to fit the answers into the most palatable reason rather than the much more likely and dire reason.

Draco sighed, “I can’t discount the possibility but I think even you know that it doesn’t feel right. Honestly it makes sense. I was just holding onto the hope that they would have been happy for me and embraced it. But I am not entirely surprised that we hid it from them.”

“It really did seem like too much to hope for. That they would be okay with you marrying a muggleborn.”

“I can only imagine their reaction when they realize that our children would be the end of a centuries old pureblood lineage. Two lineages actually, considering I’m also the Black family heir.”

Hermione felt her cheeks flush at his casual mention of their future children. It had only ever been a fleeting thought for her. Something she intentionally did not think about or examine too closely. It felt much too intimate of a reality to examine when she was still without her memories.

“I hadn’t….I hadn’t even thought about children,” she stammered out.

Draco eyed her curiously, no doubt wondering why she chose this moment to turn red.

“Assuming we choose to have them of course.”

The topic of children had been a contentious one in her relationship with Ron. He never pushed. Not truly. But small comments peppered throughout their daily life had started to become something of a common occurrence. He had always said them good naturedly, as was his composure in most things. But they had added a layer of transparency to his true desires all the same. He had made known, in a cumulation of comments over time, what exactly he wanted his life to be. How he made enough on his auror salary that she didn’t even need to work. How he couldn’t wait to have a place of their own like the burrow where he had grown up. He never mentioned children in conjunction with this but the insinuation was there all the same. Children were a subset of comments all their own. Mentions of how he couldn’t wait to see a little Hermione running around and how he just knew she would inherit her brains.

In and of themselves, none of his dreams were bad or an issue. The issue lay with their existence being in direct opposition with her dreams.

It wasn’t even the thought of children that made her uneasy. It was what her imagination did with that information.

When she had pictured her potential future (very far future) children back when she was with Ron, they had been faceless shadows roaming through her thoughts. Vaguely childlike in shape with no defined or clear features. No shock of red hair here or bouncing curl there. Strangers that would never become anything more as she had let that possibility drift away when her relationship had gone up in flames.

But as the mere mention of children fell from Draco’s lips, it was not faceless ghosts that teetered through her mind’s eye. Still nothing defined but her mind took the material it had available and ran with it. White hair and hazel eyes plastered themselves on small childlike frames, gazing at her with an intensity that could only belong to a Malfoy.

“Hermione?”

She realized she had been silent far longer than was normal for a few errant thoughts before providing the next comment or answer.

“Perhaps a discussion for when we can actually remember if we want them or not?”

“Perhaps.” His voice was calm but Hermione thought she detected an odd touch of defensiveness.

Ignoring his previous acquiesce, Draco did not, in fact, leave the discussion for another time.

“I think, if the choice was entirely up to me, which it most obviously is not, I would choose to have children. At least one. But Hermione,” and she was positive she detected the defensiveness this time, “Much like doing away with the pure blood ideologies, I would like to think that you would think more of me than the expectation to have you start popping out heirs.”

Hermione stared at him with eyes wide, entirely unprepared for his outburst.

“I think, in an unexpected turn of events, this might be more about you than me,” she hedged.

Draco’s eyes flashed at being called out but rather than his anger diminish, as she had assumed would happen, it remained stable.

“In pureblood society, the men are little more than the expectation to produce heirs.”

“And the women?”

“Little more than the vessel to produce them.”

Hermione turned his words around in her head as she gave him a chance to cool. “What little is left for anyone, man or woman, beyond that?”

“Very little choice at all. I have always said I would have children if and when I bloody please.”

It was Hermione’s turn to raise an eyebrow, “And now, the only thing that's changed, is if and when we bloody well please.”

She was learning the many facets of Draco’s smiles. The one reserved for society, which more resembled a mask. The one that came more and more easily when he was amused. Then the smirk, of course. Then there was the rarest yet. It bordered on sinister but not in a way that was directed at her. It was a siren call, pulling her to his side and whispering that they understood each other. And that while everyone else was over there, her place was here, on this side with him. It felt like a very smile reserved just for her, Persephone willingly taking Hades’ hand.

And this time, his siren smile had words to accompany it, floating down to wedge themselves in a heart she already felt becoming less and less hers. “And if we never choose to have a single one, never once think our lives will be any less full for the lack of it.”

Maybe they would choose to have children. Embrace that option. But Hermione felt freer knowing that it was one option among many. And that they could choose the one that suited them best rather than live under the expectation of the one that had always hung heavy over her head.

 

“So it sounds like the decision on whether or not to have any Malfoy minions will be just that. A decision.”

He nodded, “I just wanted you to know where I stood on the matter.”

Hermione took his hand in her own, smiling gently at him. “It turns out you stand exactly where I do on the matter. Imagine that, it seems we mutually agreed on something of importance before tying the knot.”

“How bloody responsible of us.” But he was relaxed again now, the defense having laid down its arms.

She decided to swing things back to the current issues. “There is still something incredibly off putting about St Mungo’s involvement in all of this. The specific three month duration they told your mother about. The fact that they show up here the very day and time frame that we leave.”

“I may actually have something that can help with that.”

Hermione waited expectantly for him to elaborate. The implication for him to do so she had assumed was obvious. But he wasn’t meeting her eyes, his posture stiff even as his hands fidgeted in his lap.

“You are literally doing nothing to give me the impression that I will like this idea.”

“It isn’t entirely legal,” Draco finally looked at her again, his eyes assessing. As if weighing the possibility of her committing illegal acts. “Alright, it's not legal at all. But, and mind you this is a compliment, but you seem drawn to committing illegal acts as if you may actually like it.”

Hermione huffed, “I do not like it. I like rules.”

He waved his hand at her, “You like rules relative to how they keep the world running and in line but not relative in how they pertain to you. You set yourself outside them, usually in the name of good. But also, on occasion, when it benefits you.” At this Draco held up his hand, anticipating her rebuttal before she had the first word from. “Take it as the compliment it is, Granger. At least coming from a self-serving slytherin like myself.”

She stared at him until she was finally able to deadpan, “That is not a compliment at all.”

“I rather think it is,” he leaned forward, his voice lowering in a way that preemptively had her flushing, “I look forward to learning if you like following rules in the bedroom. Or breaking them. I genuinely do not know which way it will fall.”

He pulled away enough to sit back in his seat, his head tipping to take a drink of water from his glass.

“I could see you having a praise kind. Perhaps I’ll have to give that a try next.”

Draco promptly choked on his water,hand flying to cover his mouth and the spray that issued forth.

Hermione, who felt her own cheeks turning red from her brashness, could also see a faint pink staining his. “Malfoy, this might be the first time I’ve made you blush.”

“Give it a try sometime, Granger,” He continued on, fully ignoring her comment and his cheeks, “It’s not like I bloody know if I do from experience.”

Hermione laughed at her own folly, fully forgetting that in his memory, Draco had had sex all of one time.

“Fair. And we are entirely off topic. Please indulge me in whatever nefarious and illegal notion you have that may help us.”

 

—---
That notion, as Draco had said, was entirely illegal. And not at all what Hermione had expected. He had stood from the table, a slight bob of the head his only indication for her to follow him and headed into the recesses of the house. To his room, precisely. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she had woken up in his bed after her plea to not sleep alone. The fact that it was still the same day spoke volumes to her exhaustion and the day was still far from over.

Draco moved to his dresser and opened the third drawer down. After removing stacks of neatly folded jumpers, he pulled a strange gilded gold bowl from the depths of the drawer. It was smaller than she was used to. But even with the stasis charm keeping the contents from spilling about, the silver liquid within was identification enough. The unmistakable time turner that was fused to the rim of the bowl was where things got surprising.

“Is that a pensieve? With a time turner attached? How do you even have one? We destroyed them all in the department of mysteries. ”

“Granger, you remember my friend Theo?”

And so began the story of Theodore Nott. A man who, as a boy, had somehow skirted being forced into the ranks of the death eaters. Unlike Draco, he had never needed to be reformed in order to see past blood purity. He had simply never cared. Had even gone as far to befriend muggleborns at Hogwarts in defiance of the father he hated. Hermione also came to find that, like Harry, he had asked to be put into a different house than the sorting hat's original choice. Destined for Ravenclaw but not wanting to deal with the fallout from his father, he had apparently begged the hat to put him in Slytherin.

Perhaps Ravenclaw would have suited him well, Hermione mused, if he had truly made the device she held in her hands.

“I don’t recall him being exceptional in school. I barely recall him participating at all.”

“Theo is brilliant but completely unmotivated beyond his own interests. He barely paid attention in class but still managed to pass them all with flying colors. To him they were a necessary evil in order to allow him access to the things he did want to study.”

“And he made,” Hermione examined the bowl in her hands, “some sort of pensieve with a time turner attached?”

“One of his many inventions but probably the most personal. He wanted a way to see his mother again.”

Where Theo’s father had been abusive and controlling, his mother had been kind and loving. A spark of light in the utter darkness that made up his childhood. She had shielded him from the worst of his father’s anger, most likely to her own detriment. And she had passed far too young, leaving Theo to fend for himself after his second year at Hogwarts. The details of her passing were often glossed over. Theo had seen her over Christmas break and then she had simply stopped writing him. When he arrived home after the school year for summer holiday, his father had informed him that she had taken ill and eventually succumbed to it. And that he hadn’t seen the need to pull Theo from his studies to attend the funeral. As Theo had gotten older and began looking into things, he was never able to find any record of her illness or treatment for that matter. Or a single record of a funeral. It was as if his mother had simply disappeared.

Hermione gaped at Draco as he told the tale, the cruelty of a father to his own son astounding her.

“Does he think his father had something to do with her death?”

Draco nodded, “He would bet money on it. But no proof has ever been found. Theo’s only consolation is that his father is currently rotting away in Azkaban on a life sentence.”

“And this?” Hermione inclined her head to the pensieve.

“Theo made this to be a balm on a wound that will never heal. He’s never named the bloody thing but essentially you can set the parameters on the time turner to a certain date range and then say the incantation to include what kind of memories you are wanting to target. And then it pulls them from the recesses of your mind. Things long ago forgotten. As his memories of his mother faded or disappeared altogether to the lost land of childhood, he wanted a way to relive them. To remember her.”

“I honestly don’t know if it has helped or hurt him more, but using this Theo has gotten to relive memories of his mother singing him lullabies when he was three. Taking him on random walks in the park when he was five. Things that are lost to history for every person who leaves their childhood behind. But I know for a fact that he has had to relive some of the darker moments. Since you can’t be specific for the things you already don’t remember, some of the memories it pulls forth involve his father. And I don’t think any of those are pleasant.”

Hermione’s heart broke for a man she didn’t even know. Had only fleeting memories of in passing. And it further reinforced the ever growing gray area between what she had previously polarized as good and evil. Gave depth and character to a man and his mother that she would have previously categorized as bad by principle and association.

“I want to see if it can move past whatever curse is on us and pull memories of us. Of our interactions from after April of 2002.”

Hermione could feel the tingles of anticipation begin to build, a spark of hope that far surpassed the glimmer of potential searching the manor had offered. That had been grasping at straws. But this. This stood an actual chance of yielding something. Giving them something to work with.

“Care to start now?”

Chapter 13: Chapter Thirteen

Notes:

Happy voting day! My job has the day off for it but I voted early. So that means plenty of time to get this chapter out. Hope you enjoy.

Recessing further into the house, they set up in Hermione’s room. It seemed to bring a feeling of increased privacy from the healer’s visits. Albeit a mostly likely false sense of security and they both knew it.

Hermione rubbed at her eyes, the eternity of the day and all that had transpired somehow still managing to trudge on. Sleep deprivation seemed to lower her defenses and she felt her mind drifting again and again the apparent implication that came with turning her bedroom into a study.

Where would she sleep?

She refused to dwell on it long enough to determine how she would even respond.

The pensieve sat waiting for them on her small corner desk, its silver pools currently laying still but ready to swirl with the endless possibilities of their shared past.

“I wasn’t able to get any books from Flourish and Blotts but you somehow manage to sneak in an illegal time turner?”

To put it mildly, Hermione was a little vexed.

“The trip to the manor wasn’t entirely fruitless.” Draco was looking at her with mild surprise. As if she should have already known.

“You got this today?”

“Why did you think I wanted to visit my room? Nostalgia? I was rather surprised it was still hidden there but thought it worth the check.”

Hermione promptly shut her mouth. She had been so distracted that she hadn’t even seen him take it. Or spared a second thought on why they had even made the trek to his room to begin with.

“How does it work?” she asked, promptly changing the subject. A move in which Draco acknowledged with a slight raise of his eyebrows.

He motioned to the time turner. “It’s welded to the pensieve, technically upside down, just here next to the attachment to its chain.”

Hermione leaned closer and saw that the chain that she had previously thought absent was actually wound up and neatly attached to a small metal loop off the side of the bowl.

A slender finger slid into her line of vision and unhooked the chain and unwound it to its full length. Plenty big enough to encompass both their heads.

“It operates much the same as a normal time turner; however , its magic is now linked to the pensieve. Which operates in memory magic. So you set the time you want to go back and then link it to a thing or a person by an incantation. Whatever it is you want to remember. The time turner will work with the pensieve to go back in time through your mind’s eye and find the memory. And then you get to relive it.”

“It’s fascinating,” Hermione breathed, truly astonished. “I can’t believe someone we went to school with was able to create it.”

Draco chuckled. “Theo has a whole treasure trove of things he has invented or tinkered around with and changed according to his own whims. Many of them highly illegal. You would probably get along with him quite well.”

Hermione gestured to the swirling possibility of memory in front of her. “Perhaps I already do.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed, holding up the chain in open invitation to begin.

She nodded, ducking her head so he could encompass them both within its circle, letting it come to rest on their shoulders.

“Ready?”

Her nod was sure. “Ready.”

Draco turned the dial back until April of 2002 and then muttered an incantation under his breath. She tried to catch the words but only managed to hear what could be her own name uttered before he released the hold on the dial and it began to spin.

Hermione felt nothing and her doubt was almost instantaneous. Until she looked at Draco and saw his eyes, distant and wholly unfocused, the pupils blown wide. Ten seconds of panic passed and she was about to rip the chain from over his head when they seemed to clear and he turned to her.

“I think..I think it has something. It’s ready.”

Without waiting for reply, he took her hand and dipped them both towards its swirling surface.

The second she came into contact with it, she felt an intrusion in her mind, a tendril of magic that seemed to ruffle through her brain as if searching for something. All of it was barred to her, trapped on that other side of the void where everything operated in mist and shadow. It kept searching until it found its target. And then it pulled. And as it left, back the way it came, it had hold of another silvery wisp. A memory that it easily pulled along behind it.

Hermione’s feet touched down in a rain slicked alley and she felt Draco land beside her.

“Do you remember this?”

Draco gave her an exasperated look. “Do I remember being on a side street of what appears to be Diagon Alley? While it's raining? Only about a thousand times. As I am sure you do. Relax, Granger. Let the memory play out.”

She punched him in his bicep even as she smiled to herself, knowing he was right and she was being absurd. Nothing had even happened yet.

And so Hermione told herself to relax and gave herself over to the dream. To the memory.

A young woman turned the corner and came hurrying down the alley, her mass of curls hanging damp even with the measure of protection her umbrella offered her.

She’s casually dressed in a fitted blacked jumper and tight denims that hug her curves. Her heeled boots alternate between making a clacking sound on the cobblestone road or a spash in the many puddles depending on where she steps. After walking the length of the alley, she turns a corner towards a much more lit area where voices can be heard drifting their way.

Hermione and Draco glance at each other briefly before moving to follow Hermione’s younger self.

As she begins moving down the new street, a group is standing outside a bar, mugs in hand as they lounge and lean against the brick walls. Their laughter is loud and unrestrained, affirming the likelihood that they are more than a few drinks in. Alongside their complete disregard of the drizzle of rain.

Another figure is approaching, walking towards her and passing the group at the bar before she does. His shock of white hair is unmistakable. Even shadowed as it is under his own umbrella.

She is plenty close enough to hear when the group begins to call out to him. They make no means to temper their voices. Or their animosity that drips out of them.

“Bloody death eater loose on the streets.”

“How much of daddy’s money did it take to get that joke of a sentence?”

“Blood purist scum.”

More rang out but those are the most audible. He doesn’t break stride, doesn’t acknowledge them in any way but she is close enough now. Close enough to see his cheeks flush and his eyes downcast. He doesn’t even seem to see her as more than a looming shape in front of him that he needs to avoid to keep walking.

Which he does with a murmured polite, if not clipped, “Excuse me,” as he moves past her and keeps walking down the street, his shoulders rigid.

Hermione herself continues on a few paces, her warring deliberation clear, before she spins on her heel and heads back the way she came. The direction he had gone.

She catches up to him a block or two down the way, a nondescript ale house looming to their right. Without seeming to think she reaches out and grabs him by the elbow.

He reacts as an ex death eater who fought in the war and was just verbally harrassed in the street would be expected to react. He spins around and has her backed against the brick wall with his wand at her throat before she can even utter his name.
Surprise and horror flit across his face as he realized who he has at wandpoint.

“Granger?” he asks incredulously, immediately letting her go and backing away.

“I’m sorry!” she blurts. “I should never have snuck up on you like that . I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

He says nothing, just stares at her in confusion.

“I heard what they said,” she says, by way of explanation, “and you didn’t look okay.”

He doesn’t respond right away and his brow remains furrowed, as if he can’t quite understand why she stopped him.

“It’s hardly as if they didn’t speak the truth.”

“Malfoy, I-”

“Why would you even care?” he sneered, cutting her off.

Hermione stared at him, unphased and nonplussed. A sneering Malfoy is the only kind she knows.

But he truly is affected and after a few beats his facade begins to crack. He looks away but she can see how broken he looks. And she knows that this standstill will end with him not saying another word and simply walking away.

But something about his brokenness calls to her own and she can’t live with herself if she didn’t at least try to help.

She glances up at the establishment behind them. It would make even The Hog’s head look fancy by comparison. She fights down her grimace and turns back to him.

“C’mon. We’re going in.” And she reaches out and grabs his left arm, just above his wrist and all but drags him into the bar. She doesn’t know what made her do it. His right wrist would have been easier given their orientation to the door to the bar. But the left felt intentional. Given what was under the sleeve of his button up and what had just been said to him in that alley. She wondered if he understood her intended disregard of it.

She pulled him up to the bar, mildly surprised at his lack of resistance. Granted shock can go a long way and she imagines he is rather shocked.

She parks herself on a stool and orders two shots of firewhiskey.

“Granger, have you lost your senses? What in Merlin’s name are you doing?”

Hermione all but ignored him as their shots were poured and she paid the bill, closing out the tab. She took one drink for herself and then slid the other directly in front of him.

He stared at it dubiously, making no move to pick it up.

“It’s not as if it's poisoned. You watched the bartender pour it yourself.”

“I just don’t understand why we are doing this.”

Sighing, Hermione picked up her own shot and held it up, waiting.

Malfoy finally obliged, picking up his own and looking at her warily.

“To you, for being the absolute worst death eater that ever was. You failed when it counted the most. I can attest first hand because it helped to save me and my friends,” she clinked her glass with his, having to lean toward him to do so as he remained frozen in his seat.

Hermione made a move to take her shot but paused and glanced over at his still frozen form. “You had better take this shot with me Malfoy or so help me I will hex you myself.”

She threw back the shot, grimacing as it burned down her throat. She was pleased to hear matching clinks as they both set their empty glasses down.

Eyes so piercingly grey they looked silver met hers as she slipped her bag back onto her shoulder and made to stand up. His expression was closed and unreadable but he had come and he had taken the shot. That was enough.

“Don’t let them get to you.” She added the words as an afterthought as she hopped off the stool and walked out.

Hermione blinked, coming back into her body in a heady rush. She swayed slightly, unused to the sensation of pensieve, and felt an arm snake around her back, steading her.

She found herself leaning into his touch and taking comfort from the arm he still had around her without thinking about it.

“Was it always that bad? After your sentence?”

“It probably would have dissipated by then if I hadn’t gone to America for a few years. I had just come back at that point. I’m sure I was fresh meat for the picking.”

She nodded, knowing full well she couldn’t understand what it was like to be hated by so many in that capacity.

“Okay so, that must be how we reconnected? By me essentially forcing a drink down your throat.”

She felt a light pressure at her temple as Draco leaned in a pressed a kiss there. “I can assure you it meant more to me than that. Even if I didn’t know what to do with it at that time.” He gestured at the pensieve. “Should we do another?”

Hermione nodded, “It’s strange. I remember that now. It was closed to me before but after seeing it, it’s like I have it back.”

“Me too,” Draco hummed before setting the time turner to spin again.

The spirit of Christmas lays thick in the air as the streets of Diagon Alley fill up with a bustling mass of witches and wizards fitting in some last minute shopping, Hermione among them. Even with the stress of finding last minute gifts, it's hard to feel glum with such a general feeling of merriment permeating the air. Wreaths and holly frame every shop door, a thick layer of snow blankets each roof and not a single shop window is without a fully decorated tree.

Hermione’s cheeks are flushed pink with the cold and she burrows deeper into her coat, wrapping the plush scarf closer around her neck. Even the cold couldn’t damper her spirits as she acquired her final gift and began the trek to the nearest apparition point.

It’s around then that she sees him. He’s walking toward her on the crowded street and it marks the second time that they will meet in such a fashion. Her arms are laden with bags but his only clutch around one lone gift bag. She has a fleeting thought of who he has to buy for. Perhaps his night of shopping is just beginning whereas hers is drawing to a close.

They’ve not spoken since that night she bought him a shot and she hardly knows how to react to seeing him again now. But she doesn’t want to be rude, especially after going out of her way to help him the last time. But even these few meager thoughts are almost too many to fill the time it takes to eliminate the steps in between them. And then the moment is here and she is walking past him and still has to plan for the best course of action and so she says the only thing she can think of.

“Hello, Malfoy.”

The man in question stiffens and it's clear to her just then that his plan had been to walk past and not acknowledge her.

But he recovers and barks out a quick “Granger,” accompanied with an incline of his head.

And then the moment is gone and they each progress on their way.

Hermione is ready for the disorienting feeling of coming out of the pensieve this time and only sways slightly before righting herself.

Draco looks wholly unaffected, not even the slightest feeble sway.

“Is it still secondhand embarrassment if it's past versions of us that elicit such a feeling?”

Hermione let out a hoarse laugh. “I honestly don’t know but I feel it too.”

 

—---

They called it a night after that. The events of the day alongside the bizarre feelings attached to watching oneself blunder through the start of their relationship quickly became too much for a single day.

She had assumed watching herself live out a memory she no longer possessed would be strange and she was not wrong. What she hadn’t expected was a sense of watching a stranger. At least to a degree. All the things she said and did were perfectly within the realm of things Hermione would expect of herself. But her motivations were unknown. Without her memories in place, Hermione couldn’t fathom what made her past self run after Draco in that alley. It was nearly impossible to analyze things from the perspective she would have had at that time. When her current perception was so clouded by the weeks and months she had spent getting to know the very same man.

But there was one thing she could take away and it was that they had, in fact, reconnected. And the words they spoke to one another were playing out much differently than when they had met initially, as eleven year olds on different sides of a bigoted blood war.

She felt very wrapped up in her own thoughts. Of the Manor, the healers visit, the flashbacks and it all felt like just a tad too much. It was a feeling she was acutely familiar with, often encountering it when she would push herself too hard in school or after narrowly surviving some hair brained scheme with Harry. And so she was also intimately familiar with its cure and that was to table everything and go to sleep. Let a numbing rest allow a brain that never seemed to stop to go on autopilot for a few hours. A much needed reprieve that she was never able to self induce during the daylight hours.

She said as much to Draco, hoping he would intuit her desire to not draw the day out any further with discussions and further scheming.

He must have or was feeling just as stretched thin himself because he only nodded and pressed a soft kiss to her brow before pulling away and moving towards the hallway.

He looked back once, his face mostly cast in shadow but she still felt the weight of his gaze, “Do you wish to sleep alone?”

She flushed slightly, as she seemed to have a proclivity to do when anything Draco said was even remotely directed towards her. She pushed down her impulse to demure, knowing that honesty was the only option afforded between them and their situation. “I don’t, no. But if you do then I will be fine. I’m much better than last night.” Honesty but she couldn’t resist adding the backdoor escape route for him. It seemed some habits died hard.

Draco said nothing in response but pushed his bedroom door open and then stepped back,one hand raised in an indication of motion.

Hermione swallowed but stood and moved towards him and through his open door, all the while finding anything to look at that wasn’t him.

She took her turn in the bathroom first, washing the day away and brushing her teeth. Draco was nowhere to be seen when she emerged and so she steeled herself and slipped under his covers.

He returned only a few minutes later in nothing but a pair of boxers. Hermione felt her throat run dry. This was surely what he had been wearing the previous night but he had already been under the covers and she had been blissfully unaware. His hair was damp and she realized he had gone to make use of the other bathroom.

Draco still said nothing. Even as he slipped into bed and extinguished the lamp. Hermione relaxed into his presence and the weight in the bed that meant she wasn’t alone. It took her breakup with Ron to realize that co-sleeping was a balm to her nerves after the war. She realized that Draco had probably never had such solace to draw from and wondered if he was learning to feel the same.

“Goodnight, Draco” she murmured, reaching out to squeeze his hand before rolling over and assuming the position she had slept in the night prior.

A wordless pause but she felt the bed shift and his weight dip towards her. Her eyes opened in the darkness and then she felt the heat of his body as he curled himself around her and slipped an arm around her waist.

“Is this okay?” His voice was a whisper that tickled her ear and made her even more aware of just how close he was.

Not wishing her voice to betray her, she opted for his recent method of silent communication and drew her fingers down the length of his arm draping her waist until she gripped his wrist, bringing his hand up to her mouth only long enough to press her lips to the back of his hand. She returned it back to its home around her waist where she hoped it would remain.

Hermione drifted to sleep that night to the staccato beat of her own heart and the sound and feel of every breath Draco took, his chest rising and falling against her back.

Chapter 14: Chapter Fourteen

Bright morning light demanded her return to consciousness just as well as any alarm. Her eyelids glowing pink and doing a poor job at keeping the ever growing rays at bay. They had shifted during the night, his body no longer cocooned around hers. She forced her eyes to open and found her cheek pillowed on the expanse of Draco’s chest, his medley of scars radiating out around her. She lay on her side and was now the one to be wrapped around him with one arm strung over his abdomen and her top leg thrown over and entangled with his own.

She reached out a finger and began tracing one, partly in curiosity and partly in hopes of rousing him. She felt oddly voyeuristic in observing him while he still slept but also unable to keep her roaming eyes reigned in. She felt the moment that he did, hand coming up to rest on the curve of her hip, pulling her tighter against him.

“Do they still hurt?” she asked, voice low and creaky after hours of unuse.

“No. It was only a flesh wound. Granted, a rather large and deep one.”

“Why do you not have them removed?” She let her fingers trace their way from his mangled flesh on his chest down to brush over the faded dark mark on his forearm. He would be far from the first to have it magically removed. After Voldemort’s fall, a team of healers had been able to localize the dark magic used to place the marks and draw it out. A second chance option that was only offered to those that were pardoned or had fulfilled their sentences. It was something approaching urban legend that Malfoy heir and one time death eater had chosen to not remove his mark.

There were also many theories as to why. The most presumptions and stereotypical being that he kept it as a memento to the Dark Lord and the way the world should have been.

While knowing this to not be the case, Hermione was just as in the dark as everyone else as to the real reason why. But she had her suspicions.

Raising her head to look at him, she rested her chin on his pectoral and let her fingers continue their perusal of his scars. Featherlight touches she hoped would transmute into a space where he not only felt comfortable but would also seek comfort from her.

She found him starting down at the mark that had defined so much of his life. Ink that bled into his body and sealed his fate, regardless of any other choice he may have made for himself.

“I guess it always felt like a cheap path to absolution.”

Hermione nodded, having somewhat expected something along that nature. “Do you ever see yourself getting it removed? If you ever reach whatever arbitrary standard for absolution you’ve set for yourself?”

“No.”

Her fingers stalled their dance as she glanced up at him.

“It’s not that I view myself as irredeemable. Nothing so macabre as that. I guess I just see it as a part of me. It made me who I am today, even if it was something I had to overcome rather than become. But I like to think I did overcome it. Removing it seems,” he paused, eyes going distant as he searched for a word, “like attempting to erase the past. Which is something I would rather not delude myself or others into thinking possible.”

Hermione turned her eyes to the ink in question and realized how little she had thought about it. Even on the occasions when she had seen it peeking out from under his rolled up cuffs or blatantly visible in short sleeves. She barely registered its presence any longer because she had moved past seeing it as something that defined who he was. If she ever really had, considering she had testified for him, thinking him more than the mark even then. She let her fingers resume their strokes but this time over his forearm, in hopes of showing him it didn’t bother her in the slightest if he chose to keep it.

“I had thought about getting more around it. Not to focus on it but more so that it is no longer the focal point.”

She tried to imagine him with more tattoos, ink snaking up and down his arm. It was fitting.

“I’m a little perturbed by how much that idea entices me.”

“You have a thing for tattoos, Grainger? I must say, I didn’t see it coming.” He slipped out of bed, stretching his arms overhead and displaying copious amounts of pale alabaster skin. “I’m a pretty blank slate. We have a lot of room to work with.”

Hermione threw a pillow at him.

He smirked at her, raising his eyebrows in mock judgment. “It’s not as if you are even attempting subtlety in your ogling.”

“Fine, I do like men with tattoos. At least when they can pull it off.”

Draco’s eyes seemed to glow with satisfaction. “I’m not going to even question the direct implication and ask what I already know. You think I can pull them off. But I am going to dig a little deeper into the latent implication in that statement. If they can pull them off implies you’ve given thought as to who can’t. Which I am going to take the liberty of assuming is a certain red headed ex-boyfriend.”

“That’s a bit of a jump and a lot of liberties,” she grumbled.

He sauntered around the bed until he drew even with where she had leaned against the backboard. “You’re woefully correct on that count. He couldn’t pull them off in the slightest,” leaning down he placed a kiss on her temple, “Also, good morning love.” And then he continued to saunter out of the room, boxers slung low on his hips and not donning another piece of clothing.
Hermione sank back into her pillows, trying to calm her beating heart and gain a sense of composure back. Ever since the moment when she had given in and kissed him in the library and had begged to be let in, he had destroyed his walls for her. She understood now that he had meant it when he said that once he chose, it was in totality. He had an ease and comfort around her now that was, if she was being honest, a bit jarring at times. He was unguarded in a way that she knew meant he was being himself. A self that she had seen glimpses of before. The glimpses that had drawn her closer until she had all but demanded to be let in.

And now she was in. Which she supposed was a good thing as she was almost entirely certain she was falling in love with him again.

A part of her hated her past self for imploring them to take things slow. To get reacquainted before diving headfirst into a physical relationship as well. He hadn’t batted an eye. Allowed her all the time she needed and not pushed for anything. Even if she thought there were times that he was very close to breaking. When his eyes darkened and she knew that had she not asked to slow things down he would have kissed her. Perhaps done more. Small touches had began to leak through. A kiss to her temple but never drifting lower. A hand on her arm as he passed. Or on the small of her back. Small things that seemed to get slightly bolder and escalate the more she made no protest. And why would she protest when she craved his touch just as much. It had culminated last night, when he had finally seemed to take something for himself and pulled her close and they laid down to sleep. But that was all. No wandering hands or stolen kisses. He continued to wait. For her permission or perhaps for her to finally break. Perhaps he knew that she desired him just as much.

She didn’t necessarily view it as breaking but she was given to wonder if the arbitrary amount of time she had set aside to get to know him better was drawing to a close. Platonically sleeping next to someone night after night that you felt no such platonic feelings for was destined to fail.

Forcing herself out of bed, she tugged on her running clothes and laced up her shoes, thinking that a pass around the neighborhood would be good for her. To move with no other purpose than to empty her mind and exercise her muscles.

—--
The supposed runner’s high was not something Hermione had yet to experience in all of her outings. That elusive high that was said to be equal parts cathartic and exhilarating. She could attest to neither, having never reached it.

For her, running was equal parts freedom and misery. As much as she loved it, mostly in how she felt after its completion, she also found it grueling. Tolerance and endurance build up with time, sure. But that being said, even at the pinnacle of her training, running was still difficult. Her breaths instantly became labored and her very bones creaked with the effort of propelling herself step after step. For some, running seemed to be second nature. They moved like gazelles, tireless and agile with seemingly endless amounts of energy that allowed for kilometer after kilometer with no apparent need for reprieve.

Hermione neither looked nor felt like a gazelle while running. She presumed she looked something like a penguin, ambling along in a somewhat awkward manner. Legs too short but making due.

But she enjoyed it. The movement and the out of body experience once could have while the body was occupied but the mind free to wander. It was when she daydreamed best, in that subsect of time and space. Her thoughts floated away, often dreaming up fantastical stories that she would never actually pen or replaying favorite scenes from her books. Elaborating on them until they spiderwebbed into something of her own creation. Her planner was full to the brim with her job responsibilities, the various other charities and organizations she partook in, maintaining her friendships and seeing her family. So running was a time she could set aside where her mind was allowed to wander and no other thing dictated or demanded her attention.

At least for a kilometer or two, which was about the duration of time it took for love to turn to hate in relation to running.

Today was no different, the window of enjoyment drawing to its natural conclusion as her lungs and limbs demanded she slow down. Or even just walk. Perhaps if Hermione was as diligent in running as she was with her studies, she would push through the pain to become better. Faster and able to run longer. But she held no such motivations. Whenever she chose to stop had always been good enough for her.

Another reason she would have been an abysmal quidditch player.

She gave up on the day’s run about five minutes from returning to the house. Her feet seemed to slow and then stop of their own accord, her body telling her she was done. She slowed to a walk and wiped the sweaty, escaping tendrils of curls from her forehead and began the trek back.

Not for the first time, her thoughts drifted to her friends. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Neville, Luna, Charlie. The people that she continued to carve out time from her busy schedule for. It had been months now since she had seen them. Years since she actually remembered anything about their lives. She could only assume that Harry and Ginny had finally gotten married in the missing years. What of the others? Had they met anyone? Pulled a newcomer into their small orbiting circle of friends?

Had that small circle mended in the intervening years? After the crack that she had made, in the form of her and Ron’s breakup, had sent them careening of their axis. Or were they doomed to forever be off kilter. Moving on but never quite healing. At least not enough to allow for things to return to as they were before.

Before and after. A set of words that defined almost everything in life. All moments were categorized by their relation to some other event.

Before or after getting married.

Before or after finishing school.

Before or after her breakup with Ron. Before, when everything (all but their relationship at least) was perfect and nothing was awkward. And after, when lines had been drawn and hanging out as one group became uncomfortable for everyone involved.

Before and after she lost her memories. Would this time away defined her every interaction from here on out? Would everything now become relative to this pivotal time in her life?

She was unsure why it made her melancholy. Perhaps simply the lack of control one person had over any of it. The world continued to spin regardless of one person being thrown so completely off their axis.

Well two. No matter what transpired, she was far from alone in this. It turned her thoughts to Malfoy. The man who was so intrinsically wrapped up in this that their story had become one. She supposed it didn’t matter much if she got the memories back. Yes, a large chunk of her life would be erased forever but she still had the thing that mattered. Her life. In the long run, it seemed the end result would be much the same. She could feel herself folding into a life with Draco. Pieces of her snaking away and intertwining with him in such a way that was sure to be irrevocable.

With Ron, it had always been pieces they had tried to force together and make them fit. Had always assumed they would fit. A relationship that had been perfect until they had stretched it beyond the confines of mere friendship. And then been forced to watch it shatter, the pieces of that friendship never quite fitting together as flawlessly as they once had.

Her dance of history with Malfoy had played out to an entirely different tune. Their story centered on growth. Leaving behind their hate filled adolescence to begin a timid friendship as adults. But it was a flame that, once lit, seemed to also generate the very gasoline that kept it growing. Pieces that fit together perfectly, once they set aside their differences and thought to try.

She loved all her friends, she truly did. But there was no denying she was and had always been a little different from them. From their interests. Her thirst for knowledge and her intellect had always been her outlier.

She hadn’t realized how it would be to not only befriend someone but actually be with someone whose interests aligned. For intellect, for knowledge, even their shared love of reading. To actually be challenged and stimulated was not something she was accustomed to but she found she loved it. Craved it. The simple pleasure she got from hearing him casually use a word in common conversation that she didn’t know the meaning of was bordering on neurotic.

She realized this character portrayal made her sound like a snob who demeaned the intelligence of her own friends. And at times, one of her faults was assuredly her awareness of her own intelligence. It wasn’t as if she thought less of her friends for their interests that didn’t align to hers. It was just nice to finally have encountered someone who operated on the same field that she did.
And though the outcome may end up the same with or without the memories, she found she yearned for them now more than ever.

Before, it had centered around getting answers. To fill in the blanks on how her life could have possibly ended up like this. With her childhood nemesis.

The how had lost its relevance in the duplication of the same result. She would fall for Draco Malfoy in the past and in the present. But to lose their origin story of just how they came to be together and fall in love for the first time was anathema to the romantic inside of her.

—--
For a house that was not hers and household obligations that were, in fact, not obligations at all, Hermione managed to find an astounding amount of tasks to keep herself busy that day. Perhaps the memories had been more jarring than she had thought. Or perhaps exhaustion and research that seemed to come to no fruition had finally bogged her down. Regardless of its point of origin, Hermione had enough self awareness to know personal burnout when she saw it. And knew to treat it accordingly and to take what was probably a much overdue break.

However, she did not come to idleness by nature and therefore her idea of a break were mindless tasks. Mundane things that she could check off of a list that she had made simply for the purpose of checking items off. Things that allowed for her wandering mind to daydream and ponder while she did them.

Weed the garden.

Water the flowers.

Sweep the floors.

Dust the shelves and desks.

With each item completed and the corresponding slash through the list, Hermione felt her spirits lighten, a vice that seemed to lighten its grip more and more until she could breathe freely again.

Draco was there as well, even if he wasn’t actually present while she completed her tasks. She would see him in passing, or he would wander out to tell her some comment or story. Even something as asinine as his pleasure in finding that they had restocked his favorite kind of cheese. An ever constant presence that gave her the comfort of not being along without the suffocating frustration that came from constantly being together.

After dinner, she joined him in the living room as he sat with a cup of tea and a book cracked open on his lap. A book that looked very much to be fiction of some sort and not one of the healer texts they had been pouring over lately.
It was all the coercion she needed to follow suit and curl up with a book of her own and wheedle the hours away in companionable silence.

Tomorrow they would tackle the problems that seemed to rise up in every direction. Tomorrow they would continue viewing their joint memories. Tomorrow they would decide upon the next course of action.

Tomorrow’s problems would still be there tomorrow. But for today, Hermione took some time for herself to forget about it all and just relax.

 

—--
Long dark tendrils of wet hair streamed down her back, dampening the oversized t-shirt she had thrown on after her shower. Soaking wet was about the only time her hair hung even remotely straight, the weight of the water pulling the coils down until they resembled loose waves. It was a temporary impasse, as it dried the ringlets would regain more and more of their curl until her telltale hair was back in place. She had thankfully learned, as the years went on, that a little product went a long way. Gone was the unmanageable menagerie of frizz that had done little to endear her to others as a child. Even towards the end of her time at Hogwarts, she was still a ways away from truly learning how to tame the beast. The first few years of MInistry employment that led to a small amount of expendable money had allowed her to experiment with different products until she found one that favored her. Now her curls fell in perfect ringlets and without any of the dull frizz . A healthy glossy gleam took its place. She found she quite liked her hair when it wasn’t waging war against her.

The brush strokes were soothing as they scraped against her scalp. Until she hit the birds nest that tended to dwell at the nape of her neck. She grimaced slightly as she worked her way through the tangle of knots. Once free, she stood and reached for her gel, beginning the process of applying it to her curls.

She heard, rather than saw, Draco enter the bedroom, as she was currently in the part of her routine that involved flipping her head and liberally applying the gel to her roots and down through the tresses.

By the time she flipped her head back up, his head was already cocked as he observed her curiously.
“Not how I would have assumed the process to go..”

Hermione shrugged as she sat and turned back to the mirror. “It's been a long process of trial and error.”

Draco leaned against the doorframe, arms and legs both crossed, the perfect picture of relaxed ease.

So at odds with the words he then went on to say.

“Are we ever going to talk about how you’re casually brewing polyjuice hidden away in your closet?”

Hermione froze, surprise skittering along her skin. “I wasn’t hiding it from you, if that's any consolation.” She sighed, realizing the fallacy in her own words. “Well I haven’t been hiding it from you in a very long time, even though I may have begun the brew with a different mindset.”

“I see. Care to indulge me on why exactly you’re making it?”

She huffed out a breath but was quick to concede, “I secretly owled Neville for the ingredients the day after the first healer check up. When we first started to suspect something was off. I kind of hoped we would never have to use it but, well, it’s not as though it's quick to brew. Better to have it than not.”

The start of a smile was beginning to tug at the corners of Draco’s mouth. “And what exactly do you plan to do with it?”

“Oh!” and this part Hermione was actually excited and quite proud to share. “I’ve been working on getting us hairs. From different muggles in the town.”

The smile never finished forming. Had flipped entirely into a look of concern.

“And what are we going to do while we take on the visage of random muggles?”

“Well,” she paused, floundering, “ I don’t entirely know. But if things continue to not add up, I imagined our next step would be to sneak into St. Mungos in disguise and attempt to gain information.”

Now Draco’s mouth was hanging ajar as he openly gaped at her. It took him a few beats to compose his thoughts and when he spoke his voice was calm. “Your logical next step is to break into St. Mungo’s? Should I be concerned how easy it was for you to jump to committing illegal acts and have no apparent qualms about it?”

Hermione reddened, realizing how absurd it sounded when said aloud.

“I’ll admit that perhaps it's not the most flushed out plan. More than a few kinks to iron out.”

“Perhaps we acknowledge that your days with Potter and Weasley took a toll on you.”

“Meaning?” she asked, raising her eyebrows at him. Daring him to keep going.

“That your sense of justice and adherence to the law is only as good as its ability to serve you.”

“It’s not as though I want to break into St Mungo’s!”

“It’s not as though that comment disproved anything.” Draco threw back. But he was smiling now.

“Okay, okay. So maybe we scale it back a bit from a full fledged hospital infiltration. I can admit I tend to go too hard too fast when planning. But I am also not sorry we have it and not opposed to using it in some other manner.”

“Too hard too fast, eh? Not how I would have guessed you’d like it” Draco smirked, coming to stand behind her chair and meeting her eyes in the mirror.

Hermione huffed but couldn’t hide the flush that came unbidden to her cheeks. “You’re the one that made it an innuendo. Not me”

His hands found her shoulders and began slowly massaging out the day’s stress. “It was low hanging fruit.”

“Mmm,” was about all she could muster as her eyes fell closed as he continued to work on her shoulders. One hand moved to the back of her neck and she almost groaned aloud, it felt so good. Slight pain when he worked through a particularly nasty knot but overall, it felt divine. She hadn’t realized she carried so much of her stress in her neck and shoulders until someone was working it out.
This may need to become a nightly occurrence. She opened her mouth to tell him just that when she felt the press of his lips on the side of her neck. The words died in her throat as he began to press a trail of featherlight kissed up the side of her neck and jaw.

A single finger found her chin and applied just enough pressure to angle her head to the side and then his lips captured hers.

Draco kissed her slowly. Almost lazily, the movements drawn out and unhurried. He drew back just enough to trace her bottom lip with his tongue. She inhaled at the feeling and he took the opportunity to slip inside her mouth and twine his tongue with her own.

He deepened the kiss and then it was no longer slow. No longer lazy. And very far from chaste, as Hermione felt one of his hands slide down from her neck until it palmed her breast through the t-shirt.

She gasped at the unexpected contact, pulling back to suck in a much needed breath.

“Sorry,” he murmured against her neck as he pulled his hand away.

“For what?” She genuinely didn’t know.

“I said I wouldn’t touch you until you told me to. Let you set the pace and all.”

Hermione blinked at him but nodded. All the while wishing he hadn’t stopped. “You did say that .”

Silver eyes bored into her own, barely a hair's breadth away. “I’d like to propose an amendment to that.”

“Oh?”

He reached out a finger, traced the lips he had just been kissing. “I’m starting to believe you’re too chicken shit to ever make a move, so yes. An amendment.” He leaned in, whispering the next part in her ear. “One word from you and we stop. No questions asked.” He began kissing her neck again, drawing the soft skin in between his teeth and sucking lightly.

And then he pulled back, putting some distance between them and taking a step back. Hermione stood, turning to face him as if pulled by some invisible string.

“I want you.” He spoke the words low, a rumble that started deep in his chest and his eyes were silver flames of desire. “But if I have misread your shyness for reluctance and you truly want to wait then say the word. I’ll wait for you forever.”

He meant it. He wouldn’t push, wouldn’t do anything she didn’t wish. But he was also right. She didn’t know how to go about being the one who instigated for more in the strange limbo of their own making.

Hermione looked at him as he stood before her, once again choosing what didn’t come naturally to him. Vulnerability.

“Don’t stop.”

It was all the permission he needed. His eyes seemed to glow in the low light as he held her stare and pulled his shirt over his head. Her breathing began to pick up when his joggers pooled around his ankles and he stood before her in nothing but his boxers.

Hermione swallowed but made no move to hide her blatant perusal of his body.

His eyes seemed to drink her in as well, even though she stood there with wet hair and an oversized t-shirt. It didn’t appear to matter to him.

Thinking of leveling the playing field, Hermione quickly flipped her hair up into a knot on the stop of her head. And then, meeting his eyes again, she boldly followed suit and pulled her t-shirt up and over her head. She let the material drop to the ground and then tried not to blush as she stood in front of him in only her knickers.

In continued reciprocation, he made no attempt at hiding the way his eyes roved over her body, lingering on her breasts.

In a move that Hermione thought very bold of herself, she walked to him first, slipping into his arms and wrapping her own around him. She laid her head against his chest and breathed in.

Draco chuckled softly and she felt the rumble in his chest. “I’d say this is the most intimate hug I’ve ever received.”

Hermione smiled and then turned her head enough to allow her to kiss one of his nipples, sucking it lightly between her teeth.

Draco inhaled sharply, “Oh so now you’ve no problem initiating?”

She peered up at him and was surprised at the expression on his face. There was lust and passion but something else. Something more serious took precedence.

“It’s not that I didn’t want it. I just didn’t want to rush in and share all these things with you without at least making sure we had a foundation to stand up.”

“And did it? Work I mean. Do you feel that now?”

Her finger lightly traced the sectumsempra scars on this chest and the truth came easily. “It did.”

Draco swallowed and she followed the movement in his neck, knowing his pause meant he was considering his next words carefully.

“Would it terrify you if I told you that I think I am falling in love with you?”

He clearly expected it to, the tension was obvious even in how he held her, his body seeming to lock up and become taut as a bowstring.

The word, the thought, the idea of it had crossed her own mind that very same day. As she had ran and let her mind wander. She had thought then that she loved him and had been surprised by her own reaction to the thought. Or lack thereof. It was not a feeling she was familiar with and it was very different from the way she had loved Ron. It had taken her a long time to see that what she felt was platonic love but it didn’t invalidate it from being love all the same. Her feelings for Draco and the love she felt for him was of a different material entirely.

Her surprise lay not in that she felt it but in that she wasn’t panicking from it. It didn’t scare her. Didn’t seem intimidating or daunting. It felt natural. And so it was the easiest thing in the world to answer.

“No, Draco. It would not.”

Surprise flitted across his face and she wondered what had made him tell her at all if he had doubts of it being reciprocated. But honesty was at the core of his character and something he valued highly in his interactions with those he allowed close. And so he likewise would always exhibit honesty himself. At least with some. And with her? With whom he had a romantic relationship? He would view it as paramount and so of course he told her. Even if it scared him. Or even if she didn’t return the sentiment.

His eyes darted between her own but there was no doubt in them as he said “I’m falling in love with you.”

She smiled at him, reaching up to cup his cheek and brush her thumb over his lips.

“I don’t need you to say it back. I want those words to be of your own design if you ever chose to tell me them. But at least tell me you feel it too. That I’m not alone in this.”

She reached up and kissed him, a moment frozen and suspended in time that she wished to capture forever. Drawing back just enough to speak, she said the words against his lips, “Draco, you’re very far from alone in feeling this.”

She kept the actual words to herself, held close until a time when she felt it right to give them to him.

For now it was enough that he knew she was falling right alongside him.

Notes:

Happy Saturday! It's a four day weekend for me so I had some extra time to get another chapter out. Everything is written so I just have to read through and edit to best of my ability. If you see any mistakes, feel free to tell me!

Chapter 15: Chapter Fifteen

The first time Hermione Granger had slept with Draco Malfoy, it had been something of a fever dream. A culmination of mutual desire and frustration that, at its core, had always been a ticking time bomb waiting to go off. A door they had opened unplanned and practically fell through.

The second time was similar in that crumbling resistance eventually gave way to acquiescence. But that was where the similarities ended. The second time was a door they opened together, stepped through and then chose to close behind them. A move of intention that they would not be going back on. A door Draco would have gladly already walked through had she been ready. But he had waited, patiently, for her. Because closing that door was just as much a declaration of choosing him as he had already chosen her.

He had led her to the bed and kissed her slowly. Taken his time as they moved together and learned the language of the other’s body. Carved a place in each other’s heart.

When it was done and the post-coital lure of sleep threatened to claim them, Hermione took comfort in the hand she found waiting under the covers. As she slid her fingers through his and let her consciousness slip away.

 

—---

A day’s reprieve was the antidote to burnout. But alongside that was the growing possibility of procrastination. Which, to Hermione,was her own personal anathema. The tasks left unfinished hooked their fingers into her and began to grow. Became great looming things that metastasized and infected every aspect of her life, demanding to no longer be ignored. Her favorite hobbies and post times would turn grey and leak out any potential enjoyment she might have taken from them.

And perhaps Draco knew her better than she thought because he didn’t so much as bat an eye when she threw back her last sip of morning coffee and proclaimed she was ready to resume the memories.

Hermione stared at the pensieve and wondered how a single object could change so much in the course of a few days. Not physically but the way in which her emotions were tied to it. It had once looked like their salvation. Now she would almost say there were ominous undertones. Not sinisterly so but just in that there is a certain level of detachment that comes from watching yourself experience something and make decisions that all occur in the past but the memory is unaccounted for. It is all entirely new information that she now has to try to add to the mental timeline of her life.

The passage of time is said to heal all wounds. Bring clarity and distance. When operating under the normal parameters of course. For her, it had propelled her ahead, aged her mind and body but brought none of the clarity. She was starved for the missing pieces the pensive offers but terrified of the manner in which she must receive them. But it remained a temptation she wouldn’t refuse even with the trepidation. Information and knowledge would always be what she eternally thirsts for. But given in this way, lacking full context and access to her own thoughts is a certain half life of an answer. And for that it is terrifying to her.

You live your life knowing absolutely anything could happen at any time but there is a certain comfort in knowing that everyone operates under the same set of rules. Even if the rules are primarily chaos and everyone is only able to react. There is a certain kind of helplessness in learning of the past because it is clear something has happened. Has already happened. The difference is she is powerless, limited to only watching it all play out.

Draco, becoming ever more perceptive to her way of thinking, simply gave her a wry look.

“You know, instead of finding distress in knowing you are powerless to react to anything we are about to see, you could simply take solace in the fact that the past has worked itself out and what's done is done.” He gestured between them before his hand came back and then stayed, finding its place in hers. “Memory loss aside, it does not appear as if things worked out poorly for us.”

“No,” she agreed, turning resolutely to face the pensieve, “It does not.”

 

Draco is sitting in a high backed booth in what is unmistakably The Leaky Cauldron. And he isn’t alone. Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott sit across from him, each with a mug of butterbeer.

Theo is laughing at something but the words are muffled and nondescript.

“I think it’s because that aspect is outside the target we gave it. We asked for a memory about us so this part must not be relevant,” Draco said, sensing her confusion at the lost words clearly being spoken in front of them.

Hermione nodded, “I can’t entirely explain it. This one feels different. Like it's mostly your memory whereas the last one felt more like mine.”

 

“Theo mentioned that if two people are using it, it will pull pieces from both their memories and weave them together to make the whole. But one will primarily be dominant. It’s nothing more than a feeling but yes. This is mine”

Hermione stiffened when she heard her own voice ring out in the memory, floating over from the next booth over.

“I remember this,” she groaned, dread creeping into her voice. “Well no, that's not true. I remember nothing. It’s more a strong sense of familiarity.” She glanced up at him, apprehension setting the features of her face. “But whatever feeling or deja vu I have about this is not good.”

Draco cast a sidelong glance at her. “Theo also said that some emotions leave more lasting impressions than others. Maybe that's why they come back first?”

Hermione was hardly listening, the blood draining from her face as more of the setting became available to them and she saw herself and Ron sitting in a booth, the high backing the only thing separating them from Draco, Blaise and Theo’s booth.

They moved closer, Hermione straining to make out her own voice.

“I don’t look happy. I can’t imagine this will be good.”

“Perhaps your lack of orgasims has left you quite unsatisfied.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open as she turned to gape at him, hardly believing the words had come out of his mouth.

For his part, Draco looked wholly unaffected, continuing to watch the memory unfold around them.

“I will forever regret giving you that information. You’ve weaponized it entirely.”

“I hardly think you can call it a weapon when it will benefit you the most. I don’t plan on leaving you wanting.”

Hermione felt her cheeks redden but only reached out and punched him lightly in the shoulder, “Shut up.”

“Mione, c’mon. Something clearly made you mad.” Ron’s voice was inquiring and his expression baffled.

“I’m not mad!” She sighed, seeming to reign her frustration back in. “You’re just so assured when you talk about having kids. LIke it's just around the corner.”

Ron somehow managed to look even more baffled. “I’m still not getting it, Mione.” He said with such love in his voice and an abundance of patience. As if it didn’t both him in the slightest that he didn’t catch on to her meaning. Content to wait for her to explain it.

“Ron, we’ve never even spoken about children. Never once had a conversation about if and when we would have them. Maybe I don’t want to be the next Molly Weasley!”

The blow landed and a glimmer of hurt crossed Ron’s face. The distress on Hermione’s was just as obvious as she scrunched her eyes closed and massaged her forehead. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. My pent up frustration got the best of me.”

“I never said that.”

“I know, Ron. I just mean it seems as though you assume we will get married and immediately start a family.”

There is a dawning look of compression, the veil of presumption being pulled back only to find that you may have jumped to conclusions of your own making.

“I mean…yeah. Isn’t that what we want? What comes next and all that.”

Hermione managed to keep her voice cool and controlled while also letting go of any pretense of treading lightly, afraid any subtlety would result in further misunderstanding. “You don’t get to use the word “we” when you have never once asked what I want in that regard. That’s entirely the problem. You just assumed I would instantly want a family.”

Ron looked aghast. As if he had never once entertained the possibility of any other outcome. “Isn’t that what you want?”

“No, Ron. It is not.” Her voice broke slightly, her frustration finally leaking through. “All I ever talk about is my career. I’m excited about it and there is so much I want to do. I want to focus on that first. Maybe in a few years I might want them. But I honestly cannot imagine having them anytime soon.”

“It doesn’t have to be the end all of your life. Look at Harry and Ginny. They hope to have them right away.”

Hermione took a deep breath. “We aren’t Harry and Ginny. We don’t have to do the things they do simply because they did them.”

Ron’s patience seemed to be finally running out. Most likely at the time he realized she was entirely serious and had no intentions of changing her mind.

“You’d choose your career over a family?”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed and she cocked her head to the side. “Are you insinuating that because I am a woman, it has to be one or the other?”

“Mione, no,” Ron reached for her hand but Hermione pulled away, her back hitting the wall of the booth as she sat ramrod straight. “We can talk about this. Figure out a way to do both.”

“Figure out a way to do both? Ron, did you miss the point where I said I did not want kids for the foreseeable future?”

“You said you wanted to focus on your career but I just mean I think we can find a way to do both.”

Hermione gaped at him, truly shocked by his obtuseness. “I don’t want to do both. I don’t want to have kids right now. Maybe not ever. I literally don’t know because we haven’t talked about it.” Hermione’s voice was going up, Not shouting but visibly frustrated.

Ron opened his mouth to speak again but she raised her hand to cut him off.

“Perhaps we table this for the time being. Think about things and then actually have a conversation when we aren’t so heated.” Hermione glanced around, eyeing the rather full bar. “And privately. I just need to cool down.”

And without another word she slid from the booth and made for the door. Ron remained seated for a moment, breathing heavily and hands gripping the table in front of him with white knuckles. Then he too rose but didn’t make to follow her. Instead he made his way to the bar, pulled a chair out and all but collapsed into it.

At some point, the conversation at Draco’s table had halted and the rising voices of the table over had begun to carry over to them. Now they all sat in wide eyed silence.

It’s Theo that finally breaks the resounding lull. “Perhaps the golden trio isn’t so golden.”

Draco’s hesitation is made evident by the drumming of his fingertips on the counter as he warred over what to do.

“Mate?” Blaise asked, giving him a questionable look.

“Fuck it,” he grumbled under his breath before getting up and striding after her, leaving his friends without explanation.

He made his way onto the street, starting to fill up as the dinner hour finished and people either made their way home or moved to a new location for a nightcap. His height gave him an advantage as he stood above the majority of the crowd and scanned for a particular head of hair.

And then he began to move, his long strides taking him down the streets much faster than her short ones had. The few minutes head start she had on him was quickly diminished as continued to gain on her, made easier by the thinning crowds.

Some innate sense seemed to flare and her shoulders stiffened, her head whipping around surely to assure herself that she was paranoid and no one was following her.

But she was wrong on two counts. Someone was indeed following her and it was not who she would have expected. She was met with bright white instead of fiery red.

“Malfoy, what are you doing?”

“No need to stop, Granger. You were already headed the right way.” As he passed he raised a hand to her shoulder and turned her until she was again facing forward. Then he placed a barely there hand to the small of her back and guided her down the street. He pulled it back once she began to follow willingly.

He stopped them at the entrance to the very same bar from last time.

“Malfoy, again, what are you doing?”

He sighed but acquiesced. “I’m buying you a drink. Because, and mind you I was not eavesdropping, it's hardly my fault you were practically yelling, but I overheard your shite conversation with your shite boyfriend.” He turned to look at her then, actually meeting her eyes in an offering of mutual understanding. “And someone did it for me once when I was down and I found it quite helped.” He turned then, arm held out towards the bar. “After you then.”

Her expression was unreadable but her pause was nowhere near long enough to be called hesitation before she nodded and made her way through the door.

He ordered two drinks this time, not shots and pulled out a chair for first her and then himself at the bar. He took his seat, leaving it up to her if she chose to join him or not.

Hermione hopped up next to him and accepted the gin and tonic from the bartender with a polite thank you before cautiously glancing over at Malfoy .

He picked up his glass and raised it towards her, “In the event of refraining from falling into my old ways of Weasley bashing, I’ll try not to make this about him as a whole, even though I will never really understand why you are with him or what you even have in common.” He dinked his glass with hers, cheersing his own comment before she could object. “Okay, that was the only anti-weasel comment. I promise. All that aside, the one lesson that's taken me my whole life to learn is that you don’t have to take the path that's placed in front of you. Or expected of you.

So get the career of your dreams, Granger. And if that includes Weasley and children, then that's fine. But do it on your terms. Because you want it. Not because it’s expected of you.”

Hermione didn’t say anything at first and for a brief moment looked as though she might cry but was able to clear her misty eyes with a slight shake of the head. She didn’t smile but she did raise her glass and clink it against his.

“Is that why you haven't entered into a betrothal or marriage contract with Astoria? Or whatever the proper phrase is with the pure blood families.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at her, surprised to be asked such a direct question about what he had thought was not at all common knowledge.

She smiled sadly at him. “The papers love to speculate on why England’s richest ex death eater hasn’t settled down and started popping out heirs.”

“Has Skeeter lost any semblance of eloquence?”

Hermione laughed, the sound coming out somewhere between a chuckle and a snort. “Well it wasn’t said quite like that.”

Malfoy’s mouth twitched, as if tempted to smile but not knowing how. But then he sobered, his gaze shifting away from her.

“My parents are pushing for Astoria. I just don’t think they ever expected I would push back.”

“You don’t like her?”

Malfoy lifted a shoulder, the barest of shrugs. “I don’t know her. I certainly don’t love her. And if I am to tie myself to someone forever, I would prefer both. Especially in a world where not many people like me. And if they do it is for what they can get from me. My name. My money.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed as she seemed to contemplate the man idly sipping his drink in front of her.

“Wasn’t that always the expectation you were raised with though? The whole pure blood arranged marriage thing?”

Malfoy lazily threw her words back at her. “Wasn’t that the whole point of my little speech to you? That you don’t always have to take the path placed in front of you? This is me not taking that path.” He tipped his drink back, taking a long pull before setting it back down on the bar.

Hermione smiled at him and he seemed almost unnerved by it.

“Why do I feel like I am developing some secret friendship with my arch nemesis where we talk about things we hate?”

Malfoy’s silver eyes met hers again, “Am I still your nemesis then?”

Hermione faltered, not realizing the implication of her own words. “No, I think we have finally laid down our arms on that front.”

He nodded, finishing off his drink and sliding it across the counter. He nodded at her before standing. “It is an odd turn of events.” And then he walked away without a backward glance.

Hermione stared after him, a puzzled expression on her face. But she was no longer fuming with anger.

The scene shifted and swirled around them, one memory ending as another began.

The calming colors and smells of a coffee shop fall into place around them, coming into more and more detail as the seconds tick by. It was a small shop, couches and tables crammed into every nook and cranny to accommodate more patrons. And though it is cramped, there is a quaint and quiet air to the place. A welcoming ambiance that is oddly specific to places like this. Coffee shops, tea shops, small bookshops. They all imbue the same sense of welcoming calm. Cozy, if you will.

Draco is seated at one of the small tables pushed up against the window and the change wrought in him would be noticeable even to a stranger. He looks relaxed and at ease in a way that is not often associated with him or his character. At least to the public eye. His long legs are stretched out under the table, casually crossed at the ankles and he is slumped in his chair with a coffee cup in hand. Slumped in a way that doesn’t speak from exhaustion but rather the complete immersion of whatever book he holds in his hand, lost entirely to its pages. Whether attributed to the shop's innate charm or the fact that it is undeniably muggle is unknown. But probably a strong mixture of both.

Hermione walked in and took a deep breath, eyes already on Malfoy, making it clear she wasn’t surprised to find him there. If anything, she seemed almost nervous, biting her lip and deliberating a moment before steeling herself and moving to the counter to order a cup of coffee with light milk. As she waited for it, her eyes kept flicking to his table but she went unnoticed by him.

Cup in hand she moved directly to his table, making it abundantly clear that he was her intended destination.

“Hello, Malfoy,” she said, her cheeks slightly pink, as if she wasn’t quite sure how to go about approaching him.

Draco flinched, jarred back to reality from whatever world he had escaped to in his book. His eyes flew to hers and if the shock on his face was any indication, he had not expected to be recognized out in muggle London.
“Granger?” he said in confusion, all other niceties temporarily seeming to evade him.

“Good morning. Sorry to barge in. You rather seemed to be enjoying your book there,” she motioned to what appeared to be a pristine copy of The Two Towers.

“Sorry, I” he gave his head shake, as if clearing his mind, “You just surprised me. I never expected to see anyone I knew here.”

Hermione considered, “Probably not any of your friends. But there is a fair chance you might happen upon a muggleborn or potentially even a half blood.”

Draco blinked but nodded, “I guess that is a potential possibility, yes.”

“Theo said you tended to come here on weekend mornings,” Hermione tried and failed to not fidget awkwardly, “I figured I’d eventually run into you in wizarding London but you’re rather elusive. I know you’re mates and all. So I asked him where I might find you. He didn’t want to tell me, don’t be angry at him. I think he thought I was planning on coming to hex you or do you bodily harm.” Hermione tended to ramble when she got nervous, as was being made abundantly clear.

Draco was staring at her in full blown confusion by this point, with the faintest traces of dread and apprehension creeping in. “You sought me out? Have I done something?”

Hermione’s eyes widened, clearly not expecting his first assumption to be negative. And in regards to himself. “No, no . Nothing like that,” she hurried to say, beginning to get flustered. “I just wanted to tell you that I read Hyperion. The book you recommended to me by Dan Simmons. I quite liked it! I’ve never read a book that was entirely composed of smaller individual stories that all revolved around the underlying back story. Although I must say there really is no resolution at the end. I’ll have to read the second one for sure. So, really, that was almost like two book recommendations”.

Draco’s mouth was slightly agape as he continued to stare at her and process the strange turn his morning had taken. “Glad you enjoyed it,” he nodded to her as he said it, the words somewhat stiff and formal, as if he was unsure how to proceed in a casual conversation with her. Especially one that wasn’t preempted by some disastrous event that led to them taking a shot in a bar. He had enough formal training in manners to know that more was expected of him in his response to her and was therefore at least able to inquire after her favorite of the back stories.

To Draco, it had been an offering of societal necessity when navigating a conversation. To Hermione, it was all the invitation needed to quell her nerves and launch into a full blown book discussion. And she did just that, practically falling into the chair opposite him as she rambled on and on about her favorite, the man whose daughter was aging backwards. Completely in her element and also completely unaware of the rising panic in the man seated across from her.

“So which was your favorite back story?” she finally asked, coming down for a breath.

“Granger, what is this?”

“What?” Hermione asked in befuddlement.

“I mean what are you playing at here. We aren’t friends. Have never been. Are we just going to ignore the elephant in the room of our shared past and all the things I did to you? Ignore that your friends hate me more than anyone, short of Voldemort himself?”

That quieted Hermione but she didn’t respond in kind, merely observed him for a few moments. Moments where he sat rigid as a board and clearly ready to bold.

“Do you still hate me? I rather thought we were past that. We established that we aren't nemeses any longer”

Draco looked away, “Granger, let's just not okay?”

“I would like to, you know. And I think we could.”

“Could what?” Draco asked, still pointedly turned away from her.

“Be friends. Not let the past dictate today.”

“Why? Why do you even want to?”

Hermione shrugged. “Because I am excited to find someone who reads the same books as me.” As if it could truly be so simple as that.

“So, again, do you still hate me?”

Draco finally met her eyes again with a look of resignation. “No. It was rather hard to hold on to once I realized I was only hating the idea of you. And that was soley because it was taught and expected of me.”

Hermione beamed at him and Draco simply glowered back in defeat. “My favorite was the warrior.”

Their conversation started in truth after that, now that both participants were engaged, one only somewhat willing.

She asked if he had ever read Dune.

He had, and liked it as well, even though the writing was strange and choppy.

Draco slowly relaxed, begrudgingly finding a cadence with her that developed naturally as they fell into conversation.

“Alright, Granger. Give it to me.”

Hermione cocked her head in question.

“I know you’re literally dying inside to give your next recommendation.”

Her cheeks flushed at being found out. “I..well…yes, perhaps I did have one in mind. Have you read Neverwhere by Neil Gaimon?”

“I have not, but I imagine you’re going to tell me it's wonderful and I should rectify that immediately?”

“It is wonderful! You will absolutely love it.” And then she was off, offering up a full fledged litany of reasons why he would love the book. Draco had meant it as a means to poke fun at her but it was lost in her inability to contain her excitement.

“Fine, fine. I’ll give it a go. It’s only fair if I get to offer up one in exchange.” He flipped his book over and angled the cover towards her. “How about Lord of the Rings. Have you heard of it?”

Hermione burst out laughing, loud enough that few other patrons glanced their way and Draco looked around self consciously.

She sobered, bringing her laughs under control, even as her lips trembled to betray her. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you. Well I am but not like that,” she wiped her eyes, the corners starting to leak out tears. “Asking if I knew what The Lord of the Rings was rather sent me over the edge. Tolkien is essentially the father of modern fantasy”.
Draco inclined his head, the faintest of pink tinging his cheeks and an unreadable expression on his face. He merely said, “I guess it’s a good thing I picked it up then.” but Hermione wondered if the interaction had been too reminiscent of their old ways of interacting. Only lacking the malice this time around. But close enough to hinder their fragile standing today.

“Literally the worst part about coming into the wizarding world as a muggleborn was everyone assuming that you know all the things they know. And I just did the same to you but in reverse. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Granger,” he choked out roughly, “I think I may dislike you, of all people, apologizing to me more than making fun of me.”

Hermione nodded, understanding they were indeed on fragile ground and they would have to learn to navigate how they moved around on it. Avoiding certain fractured areas all together. At least at first. All friendships start small, a foundation you have to build and contribute to before you can truly stand upon it. And Hermione understood that they were not there yet. And that maybe Draco would have to work out his own apology to her before he could feel comfortable with her apologizing to him in any fashion.

“You should try the films, they did a phenomenal job with them. If you watch muggle movies that is.”

“I have not. Not from any sense of opposition,” he shrugged, swirling his coffee around his cup, “More a lack of understanding.” Hermione understood the vulnerable admission for what it was, an olive branch of sorts.

“Don’t exactly have a telle?” she asked, smiling.

“I have one. It’s more the getting it to do a bloody thing that's the problem.”

Hermione blinked at him, unable to hide her shock. “Why do you have a telle?”

 

“Being daft does not become you, Granger. I bought the muggle torture box because some mates in America had taken me to one of the big ones. Where lots of people go. And I found out you could get a miniature one for your house.”

“The big one? A big- Oh!” Hermione exclaimed, a light going off in her head, “You mean you went to the theater, of course!” She was still reeling a bit from the knowledge that Draco Malfoy had somehow gone about purchasing his own television. “I could help you set it up, if you’d like.”

He appraised her, as if searching for some hidden catch. “You’re determined to do this, aren’t you? Play at being friends?”

It was her turn to look him over but her mind had been made up and she found she didn’t much care for having to do what was expected of her. “I don’t see why we can’t be. What was the point of any of it, winning the war, doing away with all of the prejudice and trying for reformation if I can’t even be friends with the one person who willingly reads Dune. Rather defeats the purpose of moving forward, does it not?”

“So I’m to be your pet project at reformation?”

“Why must you be like this? Is being a prat hardwired into your very being?” she snapped at him, realizing she was getting nowhere. “You’re making it into something that it isn’t. Did you ever consider that I really just like talking about books with you and see no logical reason why we can’t be friends? It’s as simple as that, Malfoy.” She glanced at his coffee and finding him finished as well, she stood up. “C’mon. We're going to set up your telle”. And without another word she moved towards the door and turned to wait for him there.

Draco was frowning at her but posed no further objection as he too rose to his feet and made his way over to her.

“Is this how Potter and Weasley got things done in school? You brow beat them into submission?” he asked as he drew up alongside her, one eyebrow cocking in question.

Hermione opened her mouth in rebuttal but promptly shut it again. “It’s possible that it did affect some things,” was all the concession she would give. “Alright. Let’s hope you at least have electricity set up.” She motioned him out the door, “ Shall we?”

 

The apparition to Draco’s flat was its own brand of stilted awkwardness that comes with prolonged interaction and only limited previous exposure. The beginnings of but not quite full fledged friendship.

Draco was stiffly formal as he indicated the way to the room containing a plush couch and an unoperational television.

Hermione was timidly polite as she tried not to be obvious in her open and blatant perusal of Draco’s home.

She was, surprisingly, able to make short work of getting the television up and running. He had even acquired a DVD player, although no actual DVD’s to watch.

The truly astonishing thing was that he chose to live in a muggle house in a muggle neighborhood. The garden was big enough to allow apparition directly onto the premises, so she hadn’t gotten a good look at the surrounding houses. But it was undeniably muggle.

Which meant that it at least came prepared for the use of electricity, wiring and wall outlets complete, which was much more than the average wizarding house contained.

The screen glared to life when she pressed the power button, the dreaded sound of the black and white static screen filling the room and Hermione smiled to herself. The entire thing had taken five minutes and gone off without a single issue.

She rose to her feet, turning to face Draco who stood just inside the room, his arms crossed in obvious agitation.

“It’s done. You’ll need to actually get some DVD’s to watch or you can set up a cable service and pay a monthly fee to get different channels.”

She received a blank stare for that one, which she really ought to have seen coming. “I have it set up on mine back home,” she moved past him and began walking towards the door, unsure of what exactly to do next now that her task was done and she was simply standing in Draco’s house. “I can owl you some pamphlets and information on it if you choose to go that route.” She had reached the door by this point and turned to face him again, thinking the conversation needed an actual end before she fled out the door.

“I have loads of DVD’s. I’ll owl you a few of those to borrow as well. One’s I think you may like.” She needed him to say something. He was uncharacteristically quiet and had been through the entire endeavor.

“That would be,” he paused, searching for a word and she waited, still half wondering if the conversation could turn south at any given moment. “It would be appreciated.”

She nodded, thinking that now was as good a time as any to leave, before things progressed and became even more awkward. So she was all the more surprised when it was his words that rang out and halted her.

“Thank you, Granger. I won’t deny that this entire thing hasn’t been bloody awkward. But I also imagine that if the two of us are to attempt friendship, the only way through is awkward.”

She looked up and met his eyes, the cold silver that seemed to have warmed, even if only by the slightest degree. But she would take it.

“I’m glad you’ve come to see reason. I wasn’t about to pass up a friendship with someone who actually reads for enjoyment. They are surprisingly hard to come by.”

“Perhaps that merely says something about the people you’ve chosen as friends?” he raised an eyebrow in question at her.

“Fine. I walked right into that one. But are you really going to tell me that your cohort reads?”

“I know from your tone you’re insinuating Crabbe and Goyle in which case you would be correct. But Blaise and Theo do. We often read the same ones and discuss them.”

“You have a book club?” she could barely contain her glee and excitement.

“I do not,” he looked pointedly at her, “have a bookclub.”

“Oh you absolutely do. You’ve just avoided the official title.”

Draco rolled his eyes, “I’m not arguing this. I believe you were seeing yourself out?” The words lacked any venom and he rather looked like he was refraining from smiling.

Hermione found herself more disturbed by the fact she wished he would. Just so she could see him smile.

In reality, she went the other direction and asked the one question that was sure to wipe any hint of a smile off his face.

“Why get a place here, in muggle London? Why not the manor?”

He looked at her, as if weighing his options. And so she was surprised when he seemed to go with the truth.

“My memories of the manor have been tainted. By who also chose to live there. And the things that were done in that house.” His pointed look to her arm was unmistakable.

“I’m sure I am far from the only one to have been forcibly marked in that house.” She went as far as to lightly touch his left arm when she said it and she felt him stiffen under her touch.

“Why muggle London?”

He sighed, pretending to look annoyed but she didn’t believe it. “You’re incredibly nosey.”

She shrugged, “And you’re incredibly confusing. I can’t help but ask.”

“Privacy. Anonymity.”

Hermione nodded, understanding both those things intimately and opened the front door.

“Those are the same reasons I live in a muggle neighborhood as well,” she conceded. “I’ll see you around, Malfoy, Keep an eye out for my owl with the DVD’s.”

And then she was gone, walking down the front steps and onto the street.

Malfoy watched her for a moment, a curious expression on his face, before moving to close the door and then the memory faded into nothingness.

 

Hermione blinked a few times, reorienting herself back to the present time and dusting off the lingering vestiges of the memory.

Draco appeared to be doing the same beside her, running a hand through his hair and rubbing at his eyes.

“You’re persistent, I”ll give you that,” he noted dryly.

“And you were very clearly still new to the notion of not being a prat. It was almost endearing. Watching you attempt to navigate friendship.”
His long fingers captured her chin, tilting her face up as his lips met hers in a kiss. “Yes, well, I clearly figured it out. Or you were so desperate to befriend someone with a modicum of intelligence, you hardly noticed.”

“You’re reverting to being a prat again.”

He trailed kisses down the length of her jaw, “Are you so certain I ever stopped?”

She knew he hadn’t. His dry sarcasm was an integral part of his personality. He had just chosen to direct it in different, less bigoted, ways as he had grown into adulthood.

He pulled back, breaking the kiss, his expression sobering. “But it does appear we have ourselves yet another problem,” he turned, indicating the pensieve. “That was the last one. I had set it to keep playing through the memories. We could have forcibly stopped at any given time. But we didn’t. That last memory was the final one the pensieve could unlock.”

Hermione shook her head in confusion. “But that can’t be. At that point in our lives, you could barely call us friends. And a far cry from anything remotely romantic.”

Draco nodded, “Precisely. We now have even more questions and no more answers.”

She sighed for what felt like the hundredth time since attempting to unravel the debacle. “Alright, let me take back that last statement. Nothing had happened yet, but I can say I was at least attracted to you. Merely friendship at that point but I also saw my own eye’s linger on you a few times. I can’t pretend to know what you were thinking in those moments but I have to wonder if things began to take a turn directly after that last memory.”

Draco closed his eyes in concentration.

“Here’s the thing Granger, and so help me if you lord this over me for all of eternity I will never hesitate to bring up Weasley’s piss poor performances in bed. But I never struggled with feeling attracted to you. I struggled with the feelings that attraction elicited in me. I was not supposed to think twice about the lowly muggleborn. I was definitely not supposed to envision you in the muggle denims you wore. But I was a disgusting horny teenager. So I definitely did. What I was supposed to do was to think less of you. And so I leaned into the hatred and the taunting. Because it absolved me from thinking about you in your yule ball dress while I wanked off in the shower. Well more like thinking of taking it off you but that's neither here nor there.”

Hermione was mute with shock. She could not envision a world where a teenaged Draco Malfoy had salacious thoughts about her. They had certainly not been reciprocated. Her world had revolved around Viktor Krum and her confusing thoughts for Ron.

She opened her mouth, to say what she wasn’t sure but Draco held up a finger, placing it lightly across her lips to silence her.

“Not one world. Or I’ll start inquiring about just how small Weasel must be.”

“Draco!”

The smile he gave her said he already had suspicions on that count and to not say another world. “All that aside, I think you’re right. I had a decades worth of pent up feelings about you and then you come along and decide we are meant to be friends? Yes, I could see things progressing quickly on that count. So my point is I agree with your theory.”

“I’ve not said any theory yet.”

“Haven’t you?” Draco asked, clearly enjoying this. “Let me guess. It goes something like this. The fact that the memories seem to run dry exactly the time we most likely enter into some form of romantic relationship. This fact begs intention. It’s too targeted to ever be coincidental. Which seems further proof of something nefarious afoot,” he concluded, looking at her for confirmation. “How’d I do?”

Hermione was speechless. “Yes, that is pretty much my thoughts entirely.”

“So we can also agree you are attracted to intelligence, yes? You and the weasel really were doomed from the start”

Hermione pinched him in the bicep to which responded by resuming his trail of kisses down her jaw, this time walking her backwards until her back collided with the wall. Her fingers slid into the silken strands of his hair and her fingernails scratched along his scalp as she lost herself in the kiss, momentarily forgetting their current predicament.

He kept the pace slow, languid even, backing off and reeling things back in if ever they began to build. A kiss meant to be only a momentary reprieve rather than a segway to the bedroom.

Which was good. Hermione appreciated that he had the control to refrain. She felt frayed and wrung out from the emotional rollercoaster of watching her previous self through memory and therefore much more likely to give in to the temptation and say to hell with trying to solve anything the rest of the day.

And so she didn’t chase it when Draco pulled back for the final time, putting a degree of space between them.

“Now I suppose it's your turn to say I told you so.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.

“Only that perhaps it’s time we break out that polyjuice potion afterall.”

Chapter 16: Chapter Sixteen

Notes:

Two chapters in one day?! I guess this is what happens when I have a day off from work.

And so their days of planning had resumed, only with a heightened sense of danger. Breaking into the manor had felt like child’s play in comparison. The only stakes rested in being caught and exposed to Narcissa, who would never cause Draco any harm. Whereas there would be real ramifications to their actions should they be caught in this. Legal ramifications.

The suspicion surrounding the block on the pensieves magic was the final straw in turning Draco to the potential of more drastic means. If they couldn’t trust the healers then what did they really stand to lose anyway?

At least that was how Hermione thought of it. But she tried to acknowledge the deep seated reasoning to Draco’s prolonged reticence. Any limbs he had dared go out on (whether willingly, coerced or forced notwithstanding) had all ended up biting him in the arse. Which also stood to reason that if they were to get caught, he would suffer far different consequences than she would. What would essentially be a slap on the wrist for the beloved Golden Girl would be a one way ticket into Azkaban for someone like him. Hermione understood this but only hoped that her standing in society and not to mention Order of Merlin would be enough to pull him to safety alongside her. That their marriage would be enough of a balm to soften the blow of whatever getting caught might cause to befall them.

A week passed in this fashion. The mornings filled with coffee and toast and the last lingering moments of calm before throwing themselves into their strategy and planning sessions. It was filled with small moments still managing to find their way through the craze, in which they learned more and more about one another. Small breaches in planning in which they talked about books, about their days at Hogwarts and how differently they had experienced things. About all the places they wished to travel. Perhaps they already had crossed some places off their list in the lost years. It passed with gentle touches throughout the day. Small reminders of the growing fire between them. It passed with sex, sometimes multiple times a day. As if they faced a personal challenge to christen each of the house's rooms. Any lingering morsel of shyness that Hermione felt around him all but fell away in the intervening days as she learned to find joy in discovering his body and all the things he responded to.

Even a visit from the Healer’s did little to dispel her spirits. A visit in which they had both tried to act mostly indifferent to one another. Neither positive nor negative, simply awaiting the day when their memories would be returned to them by the ever diligent hand of the healer’s. A feat that Hermione felt that they did well with. As well as could be expected.

All things considered, the week all but flew by, a small interim of time in which they could coast until the next wave potentially sent them reeling once again. A week in which, for the first time in a long time, Hermione felt no sense of loneliness. She was happy and it was due, largely, to one Draco Malfoy.

It was her desire for that continued happiness but with the return of their actual lives that had her eagerly moving to the next phase.

Action.

Specifically, gaining access to their records at St. Mungo’s. Not the ones held in the actual Records Department. But rather the ones currently in possession of their Healer team. Hermione refused to think that anything going on behind closed doors had metastasized to infect the entire hospital. Rather, she thought it much more likely that it was just their team specifically. And whatever unsavory thing was being done would be stricken from the official records before they were returned to file.

Which meant they needed direct access to their healer’s office for a duration of time in which they did not occupy it.

Which meant they not only needed a way in but they also needed a diversion.

And in that week, between the sex and the conversations and the healer’s visit they had made a plan.
They would leave the trace on them intact and apparate to the Manor once again. In the hopes of drawing their team there to stop them. They would then disable the trace and apparate to St. Mungos, hoping to buy themselves a little time as their team would still assume them to be on the Manor’s premises. Draco had even gone ahead to enlist the portraits into helping them, leading them further astray and telling them they had just seen them. Things of that nature. Narcissa was luckily out of the country for the week, visiting with Blaise’s family in France. One small detail that had seemed to work itself out all on its own.

They would don the faces of the unsuspecting muggles Hermione had smuggled hairs from and then make their way into the hospital. Draco had had the idea to illusion their wands, as hers was especially recognizable. From there they would make their way to the memory floor under the guise of having an appointment with Healer Bennet. Some level of the truth tended to help believability. Having a supposed appointment with an actual healer on the floor would look far less suspicious.

The issue arose when they finally gained access to that section of the hospital. Hermione saw no way around confunding the receptionist. A fact she wished did not have to be true but would have to be done. Draco, being a talented legillimens himself, would be able to alter their memory so they never knew anyone unusual entered the department that day. Or confunded them and had a look around. Absolutely no suspicion could be raised at the hospital on the very same day they also happened to take a trip to the manor and called their healer team away. It would be entirely too easy to connect those dots and determine what had really transpired if that were the case.

A million things could go wrong and bring it all tumbling down around them. But inactivity was no more promising. At least this held the chance to figure out what was going on and actually do something about it rather than just wait patiently for their fate.

—--
On the day of their heist, the sun shone brightly in the sky. Whether in mockery or a foretelling of success, Hermione was hesitant to decide. Hesitant to hope or see signs where there weren’t any. Better to take the day in stride.

They kept to routine, starting the day with coffee and toast with one another and Hermione felt the pull to continue the day in its typical fashion. To traipse down the hall and make themselves comfortable in the library, delving into whatever was on the docket for planning or researching that day. To simply continue on in the blissful perpetuity of habit and not disrupt this beautiful thing that had sprouted up between them.
It was a fleeting thought, one not even truly entertained, for they both knew they couldn’t continue on in this fashion. That their old life was a siren song that would only get louder and louder.

When the last sip of coffee was tipped back, they both knew it was time.

“Let’s go get some answers, shall we, Granger?”.

Hermione smiled at him and took his proffered arm and then they were off, whisked away to the Manor in a blur of apparition.

The second their feet touched down, Draco began undoing the spellwork of the trace placed on them. This was the first test and it would be one of speed. They had no idea how long it would take the healer’s to register that they had left and then organize a response to come retrieve them. On the short end, Hermione estimated that they may have no more than a minute or two. They had gotten away with it the first time by their healers being unwilling to shed light on the trace and alert them to the level of scrutiny they were under. Instead opting for sending an owl about an impromptu visit and finding them gone. Hermione doubted they would be so lucky a second time.

Hermione quickly played her part, producing her otter patronus with the instructions to go inform the portraits that the operation had started and to assume their positions.

Draco’s wand was waving about the air as he worked and she refrained from begging him to hurry, Knowing full well that he was aware of their need for haste and reminding him of such wouldn’t help in the least.

Her foot ached to tap nervously and she was close to giving into the impulse when Draco rasped out, “I’m finished, let’s go,” and then they were gone.

They touched down for one last stop before they went to the hospital, the Forest of Dean. A place she seemed incapable of staying away from as she found herself using its remoteness to aid her for the second time in her life.

This time, luckily, she pitched no tent to bunker down for their horcurx hunt. They merely needed a place to assume their disguises before strolling up the steps of St. Mungo’s.
Hermione spun her wand over Draco’s, changing the color to a dull grey and adding an ornate handle. In turn, she watched as the twisting vine pattern on her own melted away and the color darkened to a cherry oak. She felt a wave of nervous jitters pass through her as she looked down at their changed wands and went to fish out the flask of polyjuice potion from her bag.

When they each held a small cup of the vile stuff, Hermione glanced up at Draco, her hair held in her hand above the swirling contents, “Ready?”

Draco didn’t hesitate, dropping his hair in and moving to clink his glass against hers, “Bottoms up”. They both threw them back and let the unpleasant sensation wash over them.

It is not a slow change, that lets you acclimate to its unpleasantness. Rather, the entire process is over in a matter of seconds. Which, Hermione supposes, is its own kind of blessing. Painful but forgiving in its brevity.

She looked around as her senses came back to her and did so with the jarring sensation that always accompanies polyjuice. In a matter of seconds, you’re suddenly seeing the world from a new set of eyes. In today’s case, it is from the perception of a woman significantly taller than she is. Draco must be having the opposite experience because when she looks over she is near eye to eye with the man now standing beside her. His hair is lighter, now a flat mousy brown. And his frame is much stockier than Draco’s normal lithe build.

She fished around in her bag again until she found her compact mirror. Flipping it open, the image that greeted her is a stranger. A pretty muggle girl, somewhere close to her own age with blue eyes and shoulder length strawberry blond hair with the slightest wave to it. This girl too has a spattering of freckles over her nose, almost identical to Hermione’s. It’s a small comfort in the landscape of foreign features.

She tried at the voice they had worked on through the week, pitching it slightly higher than her own as she asked, “All set?”

From the grimace on Draco’s new set of features, she is still abysmal at it.

“I suppose as ready as we will ever be.” He offered his arm to her a final time and they spun away again.

And then they had arrived, the hospital looming tall and foreboding in front of them. But to pause and stare would only cause unwanted attention. So Hermione set off at a casual pace up the stairs. There would be nothing to gain from deliberating anyway.

They both knew the way to the memory floor, the walk from it to the front doors that first day was probably seared into both their minds for all of eternity. But they still made a show of walking over to the map to take a look and determine where they needed to go.
Just as pausing too long may cause suspicion, they had reckoned that being overly assured of their destination may do so as well. So they played the part of a couple arriving for the first time but with every reason to actually be there. Hermione let her finger dart out and pointed to the floor they needed, floor seven, before turning and making their way towards the lifts.

Their lift was blessedly vacant and Hermione let herself draw in a shaky breath as it began to ascend. Draco must have noticed because she felt his hand grip hers and give a squeeze before falling back to his side.

It creaked to a stop and Hermione steeled herself before walking out and heading down the hall towards the memory wing, her heels clicking on the polished flooring.

It was an odd sense of deja vu walking the very same halls as when she had woken up and been told she couldn’t remember the past four years of her life. She only hoped she would leave here today with more answers than she had the first time.

They passed through a set of double doors and approached the witch sitting behind the reception desk in the front office. She glanced up, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose and smiled at them.

“Good morning, how can I help the two of you?” Her voice was polite if not the slightly saccharine tone that goes hand in hand with customer service.

Hermione adopted her false voice as best she could. “Good morning, We are here for an appointment to see Healer Bennet.”

Confusion crossed the witches face and Hermione hoped it was because the Healer in question had just left to investigate their appearance at the Manor.

“Healer Bennet you say? That’s odd, I didn’t think he was taking any appointments today. Let me just check my books.” She began rummaging around her desk, searching for her books or perhaps just killing time until she could figure out what to do with them. Hermione surreptitiously caught Draco’s eye and gave him the barest hint of a nod.

She stepped forward, hoping to draw the woman’s attention toward her and away from Draco. “Was there a mixup of the schedule perhaps? I can try and find my booking confirmation, I’m sure I have it here somewhere in my bag.” Hoisting her bag up onto the counter with a loud clang, she began to riffle through it, making no attempts to hide the noise it made.
“Ah, here it is!” she exclaimed causing the woman to peer over at the slip of parchment Hermione pushed forward at the exact same moment Draco hit her with a stunning spell. It hit her scarcely in the chest and the woman slumped, falling back in her seat.

Hermione sprung into action, coming around to sort through the drawers in search of a set of keys. Draco was already in the process of modifying her memory to include finding out they had the date wrong and had come a full day early for the meeting. They had apologized profusely in their embarrassment and said they would be back the next day. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to take note of and file away as suspicious.

She found the keys and she released a breath she hadn’t even realized she had been holding. Things were going alright so far. They just had to hope their luck would hold.

And it seemed to. They cast disillusionment spells on themselves and made their way to Healer Bennet’s office but encountered no one along the way. Once inside, they quickly locked the door and then stood in mute shock. As if they couldn’t believe they had actually been successful thus far.

Draco shook himself free of the momentary stupor first and got to work, looking for anything with mention of their names or the case particulars.

It was a slow going process. Hermione had estimated that if it took five minutes to gain access, then perhaps they would have twenty minutes to search before they might expect the Healer’s return.

In truth, they had no idea how long the stint at the Manor would delay the healers. If they would also make a pit stop on the way back to see if Draco and Hermione were already back at the safe house or if they would return straight here. Even their meticulously thought out plan left gaping holes to chance. There was simply no way of knowing. So better to play it safe and spend as little time as possible in the office.

Time is a fickle thing that has the extraordinary ability to behave in the exact opposite way in which you need it to. Boredom is the molasses that grinds the wheels of time to a near stop whereas a deadline is the poison that catalyzes them to spin faster.

The minutes in the office were there and gone before Hermione had even registered their arrival. And still, they had nothing to show for it. Her anxiety began to build as she flipped through paper after paper and drawer after drawer without a single mention of their names. Her assumption, in which she had vested most of their success on, was that their case would be a prominent fixture in the Healer’s caseload. If not the most important case. She found herself being forced to reevaluate that assumption in the dawning possibility of their failure.

A pile of articles related to amnesia, dementia and even one on memory restoration after prolonged obliviation drew Hermione’s eye but the stack was only that. A pile of articles.

The patient records she did find seemed to pertain more towards behavioral analysis . She flipped through them, trying to be respectful of patient privacy and to not absorb any names that were not her own.

Another folder related entirely to the psychoanalysis of the prisoners in Azkaban. Hermione couldn’t help but notice that each name her eyes flicked past were all convicted death eaters.

She shrugged off the oddity that these areas of research had any overlap to a healer that specialized in memory trauma.

Eventually, it was Draco that struck gold. But his voice, when it rang out in the stagnant office, was not one of victory.

“Hermione, I think I may have found something.”

She hurried to his side, moving in close to peer at the files he held gingerly in his hands.
He instantly passed them over and it was the set of his jaw that had the prickle of unease returning.

There was a report for each of them and the first thing Hermione noticed was there was no mention of the accident or the memory loss. Rather, it appeared to be a case study of sorts on their lives up to this point. She flipped through her own first, surprised at the sheer amount of detail it contained.

Normal things, like her parents names, her blood status, birth date, height and weight.

But then things she knew for certain were not part of a normal medical history, magical or not.

It listed her as the top of her year at Hogwarts.

But what was most strange and unsettling were the two categories listed beneath it.

Received backlash for the status of their birth: CONFIRMED.
-Multiple sources have confirmed that Ms. Granger received backlash due to her blood status. Including but not limited to
Bullying while at Hogwarts. Primarily from Slytherin house
Prosecution during the second wizarding war. Was listed as an Undesirable
Received bodily harm due to their blood status: CONFIRMED
Tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange at Malfoy Manor. Use of cruciatus and visibly disfigured by use of a cursed knife (“Mudblood” carved into left forearm)
Attacked by Fenir Greyback (werewolf, known death eater). Cut to right thigh while en route to Malfoy Manor. An open/active case is ongoing involving the continued pursuit/ stalking of Ms. Granger by Greyback. Intent to kill or turn is unknown.

Association to patient A: Draco Lucius Malfoy
-Attended Hogwarts together (were in the same year)
Known volatile history with one another.
Primarily due to Mr. Malfoy’s views on Ms. Granger’s blood status.
In one known instance, Ms. Granger struck Mr. Malfoy in the face (assumed retaliation to provocation. Third year)
Ms. Granger testified in defense of Mr. Malfoy in the post war trials. Argued for full acquittal.
No further known contact

 

Her eyes roved over her file, growing more confused by the second. And Draco’s file only served to bring more.

His started with the same information. Name, parents, blood status but the nature of his categories were entirely different.

Anti-muggle upbringing: CONFIRMED
Corroborated by multiple sources: Mr. Malfoy was brought up in a manner that taught blood purism to the highest degree.
Maternal Aunt was disowned by Black family for breaking a marriage contract to a pure blood family and marrying a muggle man.
Death eater: CONFIRMED
Sources state that while Mr. Malfoy did indeed take the mark, it was not of his own volition and that coercion was involved, at the expense of his mother’s well being.
Minor sentencing. Six months in Azkaban before a full acquittal.

Association to patient B: Hermione Jean Granger
Attended Hogwarts together (were in the same year).
Known volatile history with one another.
Primarily due to Mr. Malfoy’s views on Ms. Granger’s blood status
Ms. Granger testified in defense of Mr. Malfoy in the post war trials.
No further known contact.

“That’s all there is.”

“But that can’t be right,” Hermione began glancing around, as if Draco wouldn’t have thoroughly checked the area himself, “This doesn’t make any sense. And it most certainly has to be old. It has us listed as no further contact after the trial”.

“If it is old, then that begs the question why there was ever a need for a reference page between the two of us.”

Hermione opened her mouth but found she had no good answer. Or any answer for that matter.

“He’s got to be keeping his notes somewhere else then. These don’t even mention anything close to memory trauma or our care plan.”

Draco physically nodded his agreement but Hermione could plainly see that he too felt something was off.

“What should we do now?” Hermione was beginning to panic, the sense that all of their planning would only yield even more questions. A pattern that seemed to be occurring with each endeavor they took. “Should we try and search Healer LaNou’s office?”

Draco shook his head, glancing at his watch. “We're practically out of time as it is. We need to leave.” He gestured to the reports Hermione still held in her hand. “Maybe copy those quick and we can go over them again later. See if there isn’t something there.”

“Okay, okay I can do that,” she murmured, trying to quell the slight shake in her hands as she picked up her wand and made to replicate them.
She had just raised her hand for the first wand stroke when a hand came over hers in midair, halting her movement and bringing it back to waist level. Looking up, she found Draco had come to stand directly in front of her, both of his hands now covering hers. He leaned in, pressing his lips to her forehead and lingered there for a moment,extending the kiss and anchoring her.

“It’s okay, Hermione,” he whispered against her skin, breaking the kiss to then wrap his arms around her and fold her into his chest, his chin coming to rest on top of her head. “Even if we found nothing, even if we never find anything, it will be alright”.

She inhaled, taking his scent deep into her lungs as she tried to calm herself. “How can you say that? If something is truly afoot?”

He pulled back and brought two long fingers up to her chin, tilting it up until her eyes met his. “Because I’ll still have you. No matter what else, even if we never remember, we still found each other again. Made new memories. Together”.

He kissed her then. Still holding her chin in place, he angled it slightly to the side and brought his lips to hers, moving them slowly and conveying again everything he had just said.

She broke it, pulling back to see him. Needing to look him in the eyes when she said it.

“I’m in love with you,” she murmured, feeling a release in saying the words she had long suspected and known with assurance of late. “Even if we found nothing, even if we never find anything,” echoing his own words back to him, “Then we still have this”.

He didn’t react at first, his silver eyes continuing to bore into hers, as if trying to find the window to her soul to determine its candor. But then he closed them in an extended blink and when he opened them again they were silver fire, alight with a new depth of joy. A glistening of unshed tears only added to the well of emotions currently being shown for her. And as a single tear broke free and slid down his cheek, she knew it was only for her. Only she would get to see the man inside the hard exterior. The only one that he would ever peel away the layers for and display the inner softness inside. She pulsed forward, going up on her tiptoes to kiss away that single tear before it fell. A captured thing now held between the two of them.

His voice was a hoarse whisper when he said, “I’m glad to not be the only one with the sentiment,” his eyes roved back and forth over her face, drinking her in, “As you well know”.
“Say it,” the demand came unbidden from her lips. Draco raised an eyebrow in mock confusion but she found she was more than serious.

“I want to hear you say it.” A whisper this time, practically a plea and Draco’s face instantly softened.

He held her gaze, his own serious with the force of his intention. “I love you”.

She smiled at him, the husband she never saw coming.

“But we definitely need to leave now,” he tweaked her nose, “ Your timing is, quite frankly, terrible.”

She rolled her eyes but knew he was more than right. Her hands didn’t tremble in the slightest as she duplicated the reports and slid them in her bag. A quick disillusionment spell later and she turned towards the door. “Okay, let's go”.

Hermione opened the door, peered out and, finding it empty, slipped out, Draco close on her heels. They crept their way down the empty hallway and rounded the corner into the main reception area.

To find Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister for Magic himself, standing directly in the center of the room.

Chapter 17: Chapter Seventeen

Notes:

A little bit of a short chapter but just sort of where it made sense to cut it. I love hearing your thoughts! Have a great Saturday everyone.

His eyes flicked to them instantly, as if he had been waiting for them and therefore saw through their disillusionment spells in a heartbeat.

“Ms. Granger, Mr. Malfoy,” he inclined his head to them, “I thought I might find you here today.”

Hermione had frozen, her feet and her mouth unable to offer any kind of response as she stared in shock at finding her old friend one step ahead of them, waiting patiently for them to conclude their snooping.

“Kingsley, what are you-” Hermione finally bit out, rapidly trying to formulate her thoughts, “I mean how are you here right now? Waiting for us, it seems.”

Draco was a statue beside her, so stiff and immobile that Hermione wondered if he was even breathing.

Kingsley may be her friend but to Draco he had only ever been a figure of power. One who, once upon a time, at a very real trial, had held some of the deciding power in whether to liberate or condemn him.

The man in question sighed and if Hermione had to guess, looked almost sad.

“The ministry only just became aware of your case. Healer Bennet and Healer LaNou were instantly relieved of their positions and taken into custody. Since then, we have been working on the best way to remove you from your current situation and how to handle the delicate circumstance of your memories”.

Hermione opened her mouth. Shut it again. Tried once more but found she was still floundering.

“I don’t understand,” she finally bit out the exact same moment Draco unfroze and said, “So we were right, something was going on.”

“Perhaps you both can follow me? We can go sit and talk about next steps and where to go from here,” Kingsley turned, arm swept towards the door.

“Kingsely, please,” Hermione shook her head, the panic coming back in full force, “Just tell us what is going on”.

KIngsley gripped the bridge of his nose, sighing but relenting. “I can’t tell you everything before your memories are returned to you. But you both were involved with a Ministry sanctioned experiment. Hermione more as a method of protection and Mr. Malfoy entirely of his own volition. But your care team took,” he paused, searching for words, “certain liberties in the construction of the experiment. Many lines were crossed and transgressions made in relation to the two of you. I can’t really say more. We need to restore your memories before it is explained in its entirety”.

“Restore them…” Hermione had latched onto the chosen verbiage Kingsley had used. “Are you insinuating that they took them?”

“Hermione, I know you’re in shock. But I really can’t say more until after. But just know that everything will be fine and there will be justice for what was done without consent,” Kingsley gave up on gesturing them towards the door and moved towards it himself, opening it and turning back to them, “Now please, let us proceed in fixing this.”

Hermione nodded numbly and passed through the open door, Draco a step behind her. The pair of them then followed Kingsley mutely down the hall in a trancelike state of shock.

It’s one thing to have an inkling that something might be wrong. But until it is confirmed, it exists in the limbo of possibility. The space inbetween that offers a glimmer of hope and whispers that perhaps you were wrong and misread all the signs. Looked too closely and then spiraled out of control in the overthinking that ensued. On the other side of that limbo is the reality that you were correct all along. And when it is actually confirmed and cold hard proof is laid bare at your feet, it is another thing entirely.

Hermione found herself drowning in that damning actuality of confirmation. And although details had yet to be given, the warning chimes of the worst case scenario rang out around her, setting her skin to tingling. Why else would the minister himself be the ones to retrieve them? And to fully pull their care team from their case and, if she is to understand him accurately, incarcerate them. The chimes grow louder in their resonance. Warning bells that she knew neither how to heed or what they warn of.

Kingsley brought them to a stop in front of two healers, their lime green robes a shock of color against the stark antiseptic white of the walls.

“This is Healer Altamore,” Kingsley indicated the shorter of the two, a dark skinned woman with her mass of curls just as uncontained as Hermione’s and then to a older wizard, rail thin and a shock of white hair that was reminiscent of Einstein, “and Healer Hemgrove”. The healers both nodded and smiled at them with kindness in their eyes. But it was the pity that spoke volumes. “They have graciously stepped in to help facilitate the medical portion of this case. They have been made fully aware of everything. Including the previous transgressions and the particulars of the spellwork involved.” Kingsley looked pained as glanced back and forth between them. “It’s a small assurance and one of the few I can offer but beyond your care team, who have been rendered incapable of speaking on this particular instance, these two are the only others who are aware of what was done and they have both taken a vow of secrecy. This will not go public or be something either of you has to worry about dealing with. Which will all make sense and be made clear once your memories are restored. I am so very sorry that this has happened. And under MInistry watch at that.”

He stepped back and the healers took that as their cue to step forward.
“Hermione, Healer Altamore will be assisting you with the memory recovery and Mr. Malfoy, Healer Hemgrove will be assisting you, if you’d each like to follow them. I will be available once it is finished for any questions or concerns you may have, of which I expect there will be a few. You know where to find me”.

“We’re to be separated for it?” Draco asked, finally finding his voice.

Healer Hemgrove spoke up, his voice raspy with age, “We believe it best. The rate of return might be different for each of you and the process can be a bit jarring. You’ll just be a few rooms apart. Now, Mr. Malfoy, if you’ll please follow me?”

Draco didn’t follow him immediately, turning instead to where she stood stiffly at his side.

His expression told her everything. It was her call. If she was fine with it, he would follow the healer and let things progress as they wished. But if she didn’t want him to go, to be alone, then he would stand by her side until it was them that conceded.

But throughout this entire experience, Kingsley was the one person she trusted from start to finish. Draco she had come to trust in a deeper and more intimate way but her faith in Kingsley had been unwavering. If he thought it best for them to follow these healers' discretion, healers he had hand picked and trusted, then she would follow his lead.

She nodded at him, her decision made. “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you after it's done, okay?”.

He nodded in return but didn’t move to embrace or kiss her before turning to leave. But he didn’t have to. He simply stood and held her gaze with his and the love that shone there spoke more than any physical interaction with an audience ever could have.

She gave him the smallest smile before turning and following her own healer into a small examination room.

The room wasn’t what she expected but then again her primary references were muggle doctor’s offices. This spoke more to the likes of a room where one might meet a therapist. Warm, inviting colors made up the palette and instead of an examination table, two plush armchairs sat around a cozy roaring fireplace, a small coffee table between them.

It was the small vial filled with a swirling orange liquid that drew Hermione’s eye. A potion of sorts. One that she could only assume was intended for her.

“Go ahead and have a seat, Hermione, and I can begin to explain everything,” said Healer Altamore and Hermione obliged, feeling a bit like a cornered animal whose only option is to go along with things and see where it leads.

The healer took the seat opposite her and politely offered her tea, to which Hermione declined, not wishing any further delay to answers.

She seemed to sense this and took a deep breath before turning to her and steepling her hands together. “There really is no good way to go about this or explain it. Other than to say your previous care team placed their research above all else, not caring what was done to achieve it.

Hermione frowned at her, unsure what the other witch had meant by research. “They were studying our curse alongside trying to help us?” she guessed, trying to suss out the meaning but the healer shook her head.

“No, Hermione, it wasn’t like that at all,” the healer paused and then delivered the blow, “I mean the entire thing was a research project”.

She blinked, not comprehending. “Like they took our memories away as part of a research project?”

“Yes. And that much you agreed to. Although it is my understanding that you were less than pleased by the proposal but understood it to be beneficial.” She checked something in a folder of notes before continuing, “Our records indicate that even where your current memories cut off, you were already beginning to have issues with the werewolf Fenir Greyback?”

Hermione paled but nodded. It was true, after his escape from house watch, she had been informed that in his sleep he had constantly muttered her name and a variety of things he wished to do to her. That information was withheld but the implication was all too clear. Her wards had been reinforced and she stopped going places alone but even then there had been rumors. Rumblings that spread throughout the wizarding world’s lowlifes and eventually made it Ministry ears. And her ears. He was searching for her. Fanatically.

“In present day that remains to be an issue and it has only grown worse as he continues to be unsuccessful in his attempts to gain access to you. This time away at the safe house was a proposed idea in order to remove you from the situation and place a Ministry decoy acting in your place under polyjuice. To try and draw Greyback out and capture or kill him.”

Hermione found breathing through her nose, one deep breath after another helped. But only slightly, as she processed the information and tried to keep from reeling.

“And did they? Find him I mean.”

A grimace crossed the healer’s face and Hermione knew the answer before she said it. “No. He continues to remain at large at this time.”

The knowledge that Greyback continued to search for her sank low and heavy in the pit of her stomach. She hadn’t thought of him once in the previous months and she realized how naive she had been to assume that the passage of time would have also meant that that particular threat would have been neutralized.

“And in the case of Mr. Malfoy, his participation in the experiment was completely voluntary. He was approached and asked to participate because he fulfilled certain parameters, especially in regards to you,” she rifled through her papers a moment until pulling one to the front, “He is on record saying he had interest in seeing how his own actions would play out against the prejudices he was brought up with”.

“Well, that and the fact that I was already doing it probably played a large part in his decision”.

Healer Altamore pursed her lips but didn’t disagree. She leaned forward and picked up the potion from the coffee table. “Your memories were never removed but rather suppressed. You first took a very strong sleeping draught and then while waiting for that to take effect, you took another potion that was made to suppress a targeted time frame of memories.All this was done in the very room you woke up in at St. Mungo’s. But when you awoke, the potion had done its intended job and blocked the memories. Leaving you with no idea how you had come to be there. This here,” she held the vial up, “is the antidote. Or rather the counter potion. It will remove the block and allow the memories to flow back in.”

Hermione nodded and held out her hand for it, ready to put the entire thing behind her and return to her life with Draco.

“There is one more thing. It appears your healer team was well aware that what they were doing was wrong, even if for the purposes of research. They built certain fail saves into their experiment to ensure details of what they had done would not leak out”.

The first inklings of apprehension rolled through her. “Fail safe?” she asked, dreading the answer.

“It was Kingsley actually that first had suspicions that something like this may have been in place. He assumed that they would never want you going back out into the world, spewing the injustice of what was done to you. It was due to his intuition that we searched and discovered what they had done”.

Healer Altamore paused, giving Hermione a moment if she needed it but she inclined her head to her, motioning her on.

“Essentially they modified the original potion, so the damage has already been done. Upon taking the counter potion, all of your memories will return to you but by the end of the day that you take it, all of the memories of the three month experiment will be permanently erased. They couldn’t have them disappear immediately, as they needed to study you and interview you after they were returned. We think they planned to bring you and administer it near the end of the day. You would, of course, be furious with them but they only had to distract you and keep you quiet for a few hours before you forgot everything. Just enough time for them to take their notes and readings and then poof. All the memories that could incriminate them are gone”.

Hermione felt sick to her stomach. She didn’t want to forget her time at the safe house. Her time there falling in love with Draco for a second time. Those memories were hard won and something she had come to treasure.

But the karma in the entire thing was so obvious it was practically laughable.

It was a violation of human rights to take another person's memory. So it was fitting that it would be her penance. To have happen to her what she had done to her parents. Even if that had been done entirely out of love, a violation had still occurred. Once that she would pay for forever with her stilted relationship with her parents and now with this.

“I see. And I assume, based on the way you told me, it is not reversible. No way to modify the antidote to keep that from happening?”

Healer Altamore hesitated a moment but then shook her head. “No, the memory loss will occur. But perhaps you will find forgetting the entire occurrence preferable once your memories are returned. Put the whole thing behind you”.

Hermione did not think that would be the case but if forced to choose between forgetting the previous three months or the entire five years before it, she would of course choose the three months. Anyone would. And the day was still young. If she was forced to forget, she could at least write down as much as she could before the day's end. Something penned in her own hand that she could look back on. She wouldn’t remember but she would know.

“Let’s just get it over with. I want this to be a thing of the past”. Hermione held her hand out for the potion for the second time and this time the healer handed it over.

She stared at the swirling orange liquid, hating how much of her life was to be dictated by it. But she knew what she had to do and to linger would not change the outcome. She unstoppered the vial and threw it back.

Healer Altamore stood and conjured a twin bed. “It takes a few moments for the potion to move through and counteract the previous memory blocks but once they are all free they will come racing back all at once and it can be quite disorienting. Almost like experiencing them in a dreamlike state. I would recommend laying down so you don’t tip over. It will feel like a dream or trance and your body will respond in kind”.

Hermione felt nothing yet but nodded all the same, climbing up onto the bed and laying back. It made sense and she didn’t want to add a concussion to the list of what was sure to already be a stressful day. She closed her eyes and tried to feel or sense what was happening in her own mind.

It started with glimpses. Small fragments that seemed to break free and come flying back to her. Had it not been for their changed features, she would have never known they were from missing memories. Harry with a full beard. Ron as an adult with the long hair of his youth. Ginny sporting a bob much to the likeness of Pansy Parkinson. Their faces and more all swam through her mind in a litany of places. Having drinks in a bar, around the Burrow when Christmas was in full swing, walking through the halls of the ministry. Stilted dinners sitting across the table from her parents, looking older than she ever remembered them. All the while Hermione drifted, falling into a dreamlike state as her brain recalibrated itself.

As they passed by, they seemed to grow in size and weight. Transmuting from the glimpses to actual events. Disjointed, still having no sense of the order in which they occurred or why some flew by in complete clarity and others were the foggy nothings of day to day life.

She remembered Harry and Ginny getting married. Ron had wanted to get back together. Try things again and she agreed to a dance. Remembered spinning around the dance floor in Ron’s arms and finally acknowledging that she never wanted a wedding day with him.

Babysitting Teddy Lupin and the strong bond they had formed that she had never expected. One that rivaled even his and Harry’s. And likewise growing close to Andromeda. Draco’s aunt.

She remembered the way her friendship with Neville, Hannah and Luna grew while she navigated how to be friends with the Weasley’s and Ron in the time after their breakup.

She remembered the parade of women Ron had dated after her. Never for long and never anything serious. She remembered how little it bothered her.

Being made department chair for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and all the added stress it had brought. Learning the lesson that power doesn’t always mean control and the scaling back of her dreams for the department.

She remembered her unlikely friendship with none other than Theodore Nott, whom she had found an unexpected running partner in.

Charlie being the one Weasley who seemed to understand that her and Ron were much better off as friends.

Reconnecting with Krum, who still held a candle for her but again realizing they were better off as friends.

Dating a few muggle men, if only to escape the public eye of the golden girl going out on a date. Never bringing any of them home because the thought of intimacy with a near stranger was wholly unappealing to her.

Her relationship with her parents, which seemed forever stuck in timid acceptance. Forever strained and never fully getting past what had been done.

The small and large moments of her life that made up the last five years wove themself together until the tapestry of her mind was once again complete.

Lastly, she remembered Draco. Watched as every memory they had watched through the pensieve broke free and drifted to its place in the tapestry. No more and no less than those memories.

And then she woke up.

Chapter 18: Chapter Eighteen

Hermione lurched into a sitting position, catapulting herself back into consciousness. She took a deep breath, trying to oxygenate her brain and clear the fogginess away so she could quell the panic that was currently overriding her every thought. To find the explanation that was hiding just out of reach.

Because there has to be an explanation. A glitch in the restoration. Possibly a few years that didn’t get returned and would account for the gaping hole she now felt in her chest.

But even as she scrambled for an excuse, an explanation, a reason, anything at all, she knew she wouldn't find one. Wouldn’t find Draco hidden away in the recesses of her mind. Wrapped up in the memories that she held dearest. Won’t find him anywhere but the past three months.

The memories bound to midnight and then to be lost forever, her own deranged Cinderella story.

Kingsley’s outrage on her behalf is now crystal clear. Why the healers were pulled from their case and now stand investigation.

Kinglsey had said they had taken far too many liberties in how they staged the experiment.

It had never once crossed Hermione’s mind that the relationship itself would be the experiment. That Draco would be the experiment.

The pensieve wasn’t broken nor was the curse blocking any further memory retrieval. There simply had not been any other memories between the two of them to pull from. What they saw was it. Their fledgling friendship never blossomed into more. Never even got off the ground as a friendship.

“I was never married to him,” she choked out.

“No, dear. You were not. And the fact that they made you think otherwise was a moral injustice of the highest degree.” The healer was looking at her with unrestrained pity “They wanted to study learned prejudice and how that would play out when put to the test. If one can ever truly get past it. Which in and of itself is a fine thing to study. But the means were invasive.”

The healer reached out and patted Hermione on the hand and it took extreme willpower to not shift away. To try and remain calm and not distress the healer.

Because Hermione had already deduced what she needed to do and time was of the essence. An hourglass close to depleting.

The hesitation had been her tell. Before, when Hermione had asked if there was anything to be done to retain the past three months' memories.

There was something. Some loophole or trick.

Most likely unsavory, given her reluctance and overall refusal to admit or tell her.

They had never taken her wand. It was tucked in her pocket, even now. Hermione could feel the comforting weight of it against her hip.

She could simply ask her to tell her. Explain her situation. Why she had to know. It would still be her choice what she chose to do with that information.

But, as Hermione continued to take calming breaths, she knew in her heart of hearts that the healer would not tell her. Would most likely trigger an alarm into the state of her mental acuity.

If they were muggles, they would call it Stockholm syndrome.

Hermione understood the gravity and the danger when you adopted the mentality of the ends justifying the means. It was a slippery slope that could result in truly terrible things being done for the “greater good”.

But she also knew she had been backed into a corner with a ticking time bomb attached to her ankle.

The healer barely had time to register surprise, much less fear before Hermione uttered the spell, her wand pointed directly at her forehead.
“Legillmens”.

 

—---

Hermione moved down the hall and knocked on the door of the room she had seen Draco disappear into with Healer Hemgrove. The seconds ticked by and no one answered. Her foot began tapping as she felt her anxiety and her dread make friends with one another within her and begin to rise.

Finally, finally, the door swung open and Healer Hemgrove peered at her from behind his spectacles.

“Ah, Miss Granger, I see you’re done with your briefing as well.”

“Healer Hemgrove,” Hermione inclined her head to him, hoping to endear him to her with niceties even though every fiber of her being was screaming at her to hurry, “Where exactly is Mr. Malfoy?”

“Oh well you just missed him. He listened to everything, drank the potion and only had one question for me before he was on his way. Looked quite upset, poor lad. The things they put you both through was simply deplorable.”

Hermione nodded with a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach.

“What was the question that he asked you?”

Even though she feared the answer.

“He simply asked, “So none of this was real?””

Hermione nodded again, the most she could bring herself to do and then she was gone, tearing down the hall in the direction of the front of the hospital.

The corridors seem to stretch on forever, making reality of the phrase Time is a Construct. Finally she saw the lift in the distance and all but broke out into a run to get to it. She threw herself inside and hit the button for Lobby repeatedly, begging it to move and take her away. Bring her closer to finding him.

It finally began to move, creaking its way down the levels of the hospital until coming to a slow stop. The doors whined open and Hermione waited only until she could squeeze herself through, turning sideways and flinging herself out. And then she was running again, eyes roving back and forth for any sign of him. A flash of bright white in a sea of monochrome.

Witches and wizards flitted all around, each consumed in their own lives and daily tasks, paying her no mind whatsoever. Having no idea of the distress that was ever mounting in her as she moved towards the exit with still no sight of him. It was just as well, it allowed her to move through them unobstructed.

She slipped outside to a bright and sunny day, almost a mockery of the turmoil her life had become, the pieces falling down around her.

Pieces that wouldn’t matter in the slightest if she was unable to find him. The integral piece that absolutely everything was hinged upon.

Panic was well and truly setting in as the likelihood of success grew dimmer and dimmer. Her breaths were coming in sharply and tears sprang to the corners of her eyes. He was well and truly gone. Lost to her. To them.

Only, he wasn’t. She saw him out of the corner of her eye just as she was about to give up hope. A pillar had blocked her view of him but now she saw him, clear as day, his bright hair shining in the sun.

But he was anything but alright. Small tells that others might not have noticed but spoke volumes to her. His shoulders were hunched and he was almost turned in on himself. Arms that usually swayed confidently at his sides were wrapped around himself, folded up tightly. And he walked not with his usual swagger but rather urgency. Directly towards the nearest apparition point.

Hermione knew that if he reached it before her and disapparated, she would never be able to find him again. At least not before the day’s end and with it every memory she had of the last three months. He would disappear, going to some place she couldn’t begin to guess. A home that was not one he shared with her.

She would be at the mercy of owls, hoping one found him and that he responded all before the day's end. Which he wouldn’t. Not if he felt the way Hermione had suspicion he might. Not after learning what exactly had been done to them. The full scope of the violation.

The silver lining would be lost to him. Because he would never dream she would see it.

Hermione took off, no plan in mind, only knowing that she had to reach him first.

She didn’t call out. Knowing that if she did he might react poorly. MIght start running. Might do any number of things other than stop and look back at her.

He was going to reach it first. Even after all of this. After everything. It was going to come down to her not being fast enough on her stupid short legs.

Hermione whipped out her wand, prayed that he would understand and then sent a body binding jinx at him under her breath just as he reached the apparition point. Hoping against all hope that no one would notice Hermione Granger shooting spells at Draco Malfoy in the middle of the St. Mungo’s front courtyard.

It hit him square in the middle of his back and his body when instantly rigid, swaying a bit before beginning to tip.

But then she was there, crashing into him from behind and wrapping her arms around him. She was already disapparating them away by the time they began to tip.

They landed in the middle of Hermione’s bedroom and she instantly buckled under his dead weight. She had the foresight to angle them before falling so that they both toppled onto her bed, the soft mattress cushioning the impact as the majority of Draco’s weight fell onto her.

She gasped, struggling to free herself from his immobile form as he lay half on his side, half on top of her.

Her arm, still clutching her wand, was the last thing to be free as she wrenched it out from under his ribcage, massaging her sore wrist.

She quickly moved into his line of sight,wanting to alleviate his fears as to who had essentially abducted him. His eyes instantly caught on hers but as far as what he was thinking or feeling, Hermione had no idea. No clues or facial expressions could be read when the only thing he could move were his eyes. But if she had to guess, she imagined he was staring daggers at her.

She didn’t immediately lift the jinx, knowing that what came next would dictate the entire trajectory of her life. She hadn’t had any time to formulate a plan or what she would say to him. How she would explain or even gauge how he felt. She had merely reacted. Had known that it was imperative that she get to him if she even wanted a chance at what came next. And so she took a few moments to simply relish the sight of him. That all was not yet lost. And that no matter what came next, she could rest easy knowing that at least she had tried.

His wand was still clutched tightly in his hand, probably from where he had been about to apparate away himself. She sent up a silent prayer that it hadn’t gotten snapped in her impromptu abduction. She gently unwrapped his fingers and pulled it from his grip, sliding it into her own back pocket.

She took a step back and waved her own wand a few times. Locking her floo to any unwanted visitors. Visitors that she was sure would be coming once they heard of her return. She also threw up some anti-apparition wards, in the event he regained his want and attempted to leave.

She would not be denied this conversation.

An eternity of time could pass and she could convince herself of a thousand ways in which to proceed with the following conversation and each one would be different. So many variables that she could move around the chess board. So many opening remarks she could make that would set the ball rolling.

She would never know which option would be best but it did little to dwell on such things. One only got one life and therefore only one chance. This conversation would take place only once and debating the different routes of it would only delay the inevitable. It was here and now and although she had no plan, there was no time for inaction.

And so she did not allow herself to dwell and raised her wand and lifted the jinx.

“FInite incantatem.”

Draco drew in a breath, his limbs coming to life again as he fluidly lifted himself from the bed and stood to face her.
His face gave nothing away. He may as well still have been jinxed for how little his expression changed, his face a stony mask of occlusion.

“Granger.”

“Back to that already?”

She said it lightly. A nervous retort when one still does not know where the other stands.

He said nothing else, barely even looked at her, although it didn’t appear he was looking anywhere else either. He was so deep in his occlusion that it had taken him away to some distant inner part of himself for self preservation. Deadened all of his senses to the point that she was interacting with a zombie.

“Please stop occluding. Please,” she drew in a breath, her voice a little shaky, “please just talk to me.”

He blinked but didn’t stop occluding. Just surfaced enough to interact.

“I’m surprised you only hit me with a body bind. I would have expected more from you.” His eyes, when he finally deigned to look at her, were cold pools of stony granite. “Although perhaps that’s still to come. You did kidnap me and steal my wand”

“What are you talking about? You expected me to curse you?”

“For both our sakes, Granger, please don’t play dumb. It’s honesty beneath you. Yes I expected more. For Merlin’s sake you just found out you’ve been coerced into fucking a death eater for the past three months.”

Hermione flinched even though she knew this had been a possibility. Knew that his self loathing would rear its ugly head and allow him to think little else of himself. But still, it hurt. Hurt to know he could so easily dispel and discount it all as fiction.

“I’m not going to curse you,” she whispered, “I just had to get to you before you disapparated and I had no way of finding you.”

“Couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you Granger?” he all but sneered at her. “You only had to make it through a few miserable hours and then I would be out of your life forever. You’ll never have to remember this entire mess again. Never have to think of me again.”

Hermione exhaled slowly, frantically trying to hold on to her calm and composure in the onslaught of his misery. And she chose to believe it was misery. Even through all of this, she chose to believe she knew him better.

Draco’s method of self preservation had always been deflection. This time was no different. Coupled with the fact that the war had broken him, shattered his self respect, it made a sick kind of sense. His reaction. To her and to the entire experiment. Of course he would assume she thought of him what the rest of the world thought of him. Which was very little. A death eater that got off easy and now hid behind his name and his money.

And so he deflected. Hid behind his words and scathing remarks.

But he seemed to have forgotten one key thing. That he had broken down his walls for her. Let her in and let her know him. The true him that he kept hidden from everyone behind a stony facade and a mask of cold indifference. And he had done one thing further where she was concerned. He had given her the key.

Armed her with words that are not so easily disassembled.

“Please Hermione, just give me my wand and I’ll be gone,” Draco said, the defeat and dejection heavy in his words as his occlusion faded away and brought him back into himself.

Just simply hearing her name on his lips again gave strength to her hope. That the level of comfort gained between them was still there, still shining through,even if he assumed the worst of everything.

“Do you truly believe that I brought you here for that? To curse you over something you had no more control over than I did?”

“My wand. Please?” He held out his hand and his fingers trembled ever so slightly.

Hermione removed his wand and took a step towards him. She would give it back, give him his way to escape, if that was what he truly wanted. But not until she had said her peace. Until he at least knew how she felt.

She held it out to him when she was only a pace away and when he went to take it, she brought her other hand up and placed it over his, trapping his fingers under hers. And then she spoke.

“I meant what I said,'' she looked up at him, holding him captive as much with her gaze as her hands, “When I said that I loved you.” His flinch was slight but not imperceptible but she refused to let go. “This whole time I tried to look on the bright side of not being able to remember. Told myself I was lucky because I was getting to fall in love with you for the second time.” She began stroking her thumb along the back of his hand, cold and clammy in her own. “It turns out that I was falling in love with you for the first time but that doesn’t mean that I fell any less.” She took a breath in through her nose before sealing her monologue with the words she knew he needed to hear. “I’m in love with you, Draco.”

She heard his sharp inhale and saw the slight widening of his eyes but he otherwise remained immobile. The slight burn of her cheeks told that her face had reddened. The possibility of rejection present even now.

Draco was staring at her but saying anything and she finally looked away, the weight of his gaze too heavy to remain under while she still existed in the limbo of his silence.

But she refused to let go. To give him even the smallest reason to doubt the depth of her declaration.

He let out a shaky breath and Hermione’s eyes flew back to his, finding them watery and wet in the corners.

He spoke low and somber. “That’s almost worse.” He rasped out a dry laugh. “I think I would have preferred your hatred.”

Hermione felt her heart begin to break. A reality that she had never really considered as possible began to lift its ugly head.

“How can you say that?” she whispered.

And she would have pulled her hands back now if he had not been the one to hold on to hers.

“Because then I only had to live with your hatred for the next few hours and then my life would return to the monochrome monotony that consisted entirely of trying not to hate myself and elude my parent’s marriage contracts.” He brought his free hand up to ever so lightly caress her cheek and Hermione felt her heart constrict. “But this? This is so much worse. This is knowing I found something beautiful. For just a moment, I had everything. But not only do I not get to keep it, come the stroke of midnight, I don’t even get to remember I ever had it” He tipped her chin up, brushing his nose against hers and bringing his lips to the shell of her ear. “I will forget that I ever loved you. That I, even for a short time, got to call you my own. That I was happy,” and his voice broke on the word, “and that it was all ripped away in a single potion vial.”

Hermione kissed him then, wanting to feel that connection again. To know that it had all been real for her but also real for him. That love, once forged, was not a bond so easily broken.

Their situation had been engineered. A forced proximity meant to be studied. But not even the healers could have engineered or predicted what would ignite between them. And that had been real.

The kiss was wet, the tears in his eyes transferring to her cheeks. His lips were salty with the taste of them but she didn’t care. It spoke to the depth of all that he was feeling.

Hermione wrapped her arms around him and let her heart rejoice in being in his embrace again. Her hope had been a small thing before. A flicker of a flame that had been enough to send her racing through the halls in a fool’s hope of finding him. Now that hope billowed out and grew around her, transmuting into a full fledged flame.

All was not yet lost.

“And if there was a loophole?” She said the words against his chest, pressing them into his heartbeat as he held her close.

She knew the moment that her words registered, the very second he stilled. He pulled back, an expression that wasn’t quite hope, as if he wouldn’t allow himself that yet, painted on his features.

“Hermione?” Her name was his only question but it said so much more. Asked so much more.

“I did something. It was very illegal and I am sure I”ll have to answer for it but I had to do something. It was the only chance I had.”

“Hermione?” Again, her name. This time more of a plea to not be kept in the dark any longer.

“A lot of times, whether it be a potion, a contract or anything binding, there is often a loophole included. A way out in case things don’t go as planned. I thought there may have been one included here. Not necessarily specific to us but to the experiments in general. Our case is far from the only one. It just happens to be the most drastic. So I,” she hesitated here. Knowing that in obtaining it, she had crossed a line herself. Had done something immoral and invasive to another individual. “I used legilimency on Healer Altamore. I didn’t violate her privacy any further than finding the loophole and getting out. But I didn’t think she would tell me. And I didn’t exactly have time to waste. So I did it. Found it. Then obliviated her.” Hermione ceased talking, her guilt and apprehension having made the words spew out.

“There’s truly a way to remember?” Draco breathed out, even now his words cautious and low, still barely allowing himself to hope. He didn’t even comment on the transgression she’d had to commit to obtain said information. Hardly seemed to care.

“There is,” Hermione confirmed. “It is,” she paused, debating how to tell him, “extreme.”

“You have to know, there is very little I would not do,” Draco ran his knuckles down the length of her arm. “Tell me.”

Hermione expelled a breath through her nose, a little shaky and a little nervous. “We would have to make it real. Everything we thought was already true in the experiment, would have to be made so by the end of the day in order for the memories to stay.”

Draco frowned at her in momentary confusion, clearly running the words over in his mind and playing her statement back through before his eyes widened in understanding.

“You would have to marry me,” he said thoughtfully. “ Then the potion couldn’t negate what has become the truth. It makes sense.”

His wild pendulum of emotions was making Hermione’s head spin. From the complete and total dejection she had found him in …to whatever this was. He was entirely lost in thought. Not the starry eyed look of someone who has lost themselves in their mind and stares off into space. Rather the look of someone so deep in thought they hardly notice the lapse in conversation as they sort through whatever has bewitched them.

Hermione imagined this was a look she often gets herself and others are simply left in the dark around her.

“We could truly save this,” Draco said.

“We could,” Hermione agreed cautiously.

“Would you prefer I asked you?”

Hermione pulled back, surprise making her mouth fall open as she tried to wrap her mind around what he had just said. She had expected a conversation at the very least. An option she had put on the table that came with many strings attached would surely warrant examination before coming to a mutual decision.

Draco looked calm and oddly at peace. The first time he had looked as such since she had brought him here. Even as she continued to gape at him.

“But we should talk about it, right?” Hermione began, applying to reason. “Shouldn’t we acknowledge that your family will hate it. That my friends very likely will hate you. That, I don’t know Draco, that we will walk out into a world that assumes we hate each other?”

“We could, if you wish to. But I don’t really see the point. There is nothing to be said that we don’t know. No new information or way to make the way forward easier. You knew all this and still chose to infiltrate that healer's mind. And to chase me through the hospital. And then abduct me. Those are not the actions of someone who does not know what they want.”

She gaped at him. At the blunt honesty in his words.

“I know, it’s not as though I want otherwise,” Hermione was flustered and mildly embarrassed. “I just expected, not resistance or having to talk you into it or anything. But just that you would want to talk about it. Acknowledge that it will ask a lot more of you than it will of me.”

Draco studied her. “I don’t entirely think that is true. I care very little for what my parents think of my decisions as an adult. They negatively impacted the decisions of my youth enough that I don’t think they get much of a say now. That is not the same for you. You care very much how your friends and family view you.”

“You have to care what your parents think.”

“I love them, even still. But I learned a long time ago that their power over me was the first thing I had to cut away in order to move on from my past.”

He took a deep breath and it was the first of nerves he had displayed “I won’t lie and assume it will be easy. Every hurdle we thought we already got over will have to be tackled. Just like you said. My family. Your friends. Not to mention the wizarding world as a whole and your parents. It won’t be easy.” He halted his calming strokes up and down her arm and instead brought his hands up to cup her face, tiling it up so she was looking directly into his eyes. His thumb broke free and traced the shape of her lips. “But you are worth it. We are worth it. I will fight every battle and thousand times over if I know it means I get to have you by my side. To get to come home to you and whatever life we choose to build.”

Hermione felt a tear well up and break free, running its course down her cheek. Draco’s eyes tracked its descent and when it neared her lips, he leaned in and kissed it away, lingering a beat before moving his lips to hers in a tender kiss.

“I love you,” he breathed into her mouth and Hermione took a shuddering breath.

Draco ever so delicately reached behind her neck and unclasped the pendant she was wearing. A single opal earring they had found while out on a walk. Weeks ago now. He had spotted it in the gravel and bent to pick it up, turning it over in his fingers before transfiguring it into a necklace and handing it to her with a small smile. She shivered as she felt the chain slither past her skin into his hand as he pulled it from her neck.

He waved his wand around it and it was transfigured once again. This time into a ring. The opal stone now encased in a shiny solitaire gold setting. Hermione felt butterflies begin to take flight in her stomach as he held it between them.

“I can always get you a better one. But it’s fitting, I think. That I propose with a relic from our time in that safe house. Where everything changed.”

Draco released her fully and stepped back until he was standing a pace in front of her, the ring clasped gently in his left hand.

And then he sank down to one knee and extended the ring between them.

“Marry me, Hermione. Marry me and let me keep each and every memory we made together. Let me keep you.”

Hermione sank down until she was on the ground in front of him, her heart fluttering and eyes brimming with tears

“Yes. To everything. To forever.”

She waited just long enough for Draco to slip the ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand before throwing her arms around him and crushing him to her. Breathing him in and knowing that he would be hers.

Soon.

Today.

Chapter 19: Chapter Nineteen

Notes:

Happy Saturday! Hope everyone is well. Quick chapter before I am off to work for the day. Hope you enjoy

Their bliss was short lived, as they knew it would be. The entirety of said bliss was contingent upon performing a marriage bond by the day’s end. A reality that spurred them both into near immediate action.

Hermione glanced at the clock on her nightstand, its neon fluorescent numbers seeming to scream out the time.

Already three p.m. and it seemed to her that they had already lived an eternity in the span of half a day.

But when she considered all they had yet to do, three pm felt like time was racing against them.

A parody of opposites existing within the same time of day.

The list of things to do was ever growing.

Find a wedding band for Draco.

And her for that matter. The magical binding ceremony was done on the rings themselves so it wasn’t exactly something they could simply find after the fact.

Find someone to perform the ceremony. Someone not only versed in the necessary magic but also who they could trust to keep it quiet. At least until they were ready for the news to be splashed across the front page of the Prophet.

On that note, decide how they wanted to distribute the news. Who to tell and who not to. Did they keep it a secret for the time being? Or rip the bandage on and let the pieces fall?

Then they would need at least two witnesses, a tradition that was observed in both muggle and wizarding weddings. So now they were up to three people that they needed to tell the truth to and could trust with that truth.

And then, of course, actually have the ceremony.

All of this fell in the category of before. Things that had to be accomplished today so that they were even guaranteed a tomorrow. Everything else was pushed to the category of after. Things that, for today, they would turn a blind eye to and deal with later. There was simply no time in which to do otherwise.

Draco had gone into the bathroom to freshen up and shower quickly before they departed to Gringotts. The first stop on their ever growing list.

And so Hermione knew that she had precious few moments to herself before he emerged and they were off. So she took that to peruse her closet.

She didn’t consider herself vain or particularly fashionable by any definition of the word. Especially in comparison to Draco, who lived every day looking like he was paid to endorse a tailoring shop. But even she did not wish to get married in the denims and black sweater she was currently wearing.

Her status and work at the ministry ensured she attended her fair share of galas, so she had no shortage of dress robes and accompanying dresses. White was a color that was lacking but she could always spell so.

Her eyes caught on the slip of silver silk as she flipped through the hangers and she pushed aside the garments on either side in order to view it fully.

It was beautiful. Long and shimmering, it was made entirely of a silver silken material. Thin straps that gave way to a somewhat low cut cowl neckline that then drew in to accentuate her ribcage before slightly flaring out again at her hips and flowing down her legs to pool at the floor. A slit ran up the left side to just above her knee.

She had seen it and done a double take in a muggle shop one day while out shopping with Ginny, who had all but forced her to try it on. It had fit her like a dream, no matter that she had absolutely no occasion to wear it to. It was far too showy and alluring to wear to a gala. At least by Hermione’s standards. She had bought it regardless, in a rare moment of indulgence.

And then it sat in her closet.

She eyed the dress, thinking it over even though she knew her decision had already been made. It wasn’t white. But she also didn’t think she would spell it white either. A silver dress to marry silver eyes.

It wasn’t typical. But neither was her opal ring nor any part of their circumstance.

Hermione pulled the dress off its hanger and folded it away into her beaded bag.

—--

“You just have a bunch of jewelry stored at Gringotts? Just like sitting in a vault and never getting worn?”

Draco glanced at her curiously as kept a brisk pace down the street in Diagon Alley.

Hermione had been confused, to say the least, when he had said they could simply go to his vault to get rings for the ceremony. She had assumed they would purchase them at a shop, which seemed the normal way to go about things. But he had assured her there was no need and that the vault would have more than enough to choose from.

“You act as though it's abnormal.”

Draco had the audacity to look at her as if she was the strange one here.

“Is it normal? To just keep piles of jewelry locked away in vaults?”

Draco merely shrugged, “It’s the family collection. When my mother married my father, she brought her portion of the Black family jewels as well.”

Hermione nearly choked on laughter at the phrase “family jewels”.

“I guess I just didn’t realize that this was a thing. And yes, before you even go there, the Weasley’s had no family jewels hidden away.”

“It’s hardly my fault if you give me opportunities on a silver platter.”

She pinched his bicep as they walked and he merely raised an eyebrow back at her. As if he was above such childish retaliations.

“So we just pick one? There is no official signing it out or having to give your blood to allow it to leave sort of nonsense?”

“Nothing so barbaric as that. As an adult member of the Malfoy house, I have full access to anything I wish.”

The bank loomed up ahead of them but Draco and Hermione slipped into an alley first, needing to drop the disguises they had donned to keep from being recognized.

“Do you think you should go? Surely they keep records of not only who accesses the vaults but also what’s taken. It will get back to your parents that the two of us went and took nothing but rings.” Hermione halted Draco with a hand to his elbow, “That will be highly suspicious.”

“My father paid attention to that sort of thing. But he is otherwise engaged. Being locked up in Azkaban and all. My Mother cares little for details like that. She will certainly care once she finds out I have married behind her back. But I don’t foresee that being how she finds out.”

Hermione swallowed, still ill at ease with the fallout that was sure to follow their elopement. Not that there was anything to be done for it.

Hermione checked her watch. It was now four twenty in the afternoon. Gringotts closed at five so they had exactly forty minutes to get in and out without any issues or hiccups. She shook out her long straight locks and waved her wand and brought her hair back to its normal curly brown, letting it fall around her shoulders. She spelled her eyes back to brown from blue and felt the comfort that comes from standing in your own skin again.

She turned to find Draco looking as himself again, eyes no longer chestnut and hair no longer a dark blonde.

The streets were thinning out at this time of the evening, most just nearing the end of the workday and heading home to dinner and family. They should have little to no problems encountering anyone they knew.

Even so, Hermione took a deep breath before rounding the corner with Draco and ascending the stairs up to the bank.

The crowd was sparse, as they had expected, and they were able to walk straight up to the counter. The goblin on the other side peered down at them with thinly veiled disinterest and annoyance. The look of someone who thought their day's work finished only to have one more customer come flying through the door.

“Name?” the goblin, Remfang by his nametag, asked while barely managing to look their way.

“Draco Malfoy accompanied by Hermione Granger for access to the Malfoy vaults.”

Hermione's name drew his attention, the oddity of their pairing garnering even the goblin’s attention, though he refrained from commenting.

“Wands?” the goblin croaked as he extended one long fingered hand down to them. Hermione and Draco both obligingly placed their wands in his hand and watched them disappear up over the counter.

A moment passed in which the goblin seemed to weigh their wands, turning them this way and that before passing them back and descending down from the raised counter. He didn’t so much as speak a word to them, simply beckoned them along with a single crooked finger as he headed off into the bank.

They trailed along behind him, Draco seeming to be at ease but Hermione finding herself reminded more than usual of the time under polyjuice that she Harry and Ron had infiltrated the Lestrange vault. She had always been uncomfortable returning to the bank after that. The normal disposition of goblins made it impossible to tell but she had always felt that they now had a true dislike of her. A grudge from being duped that would never truly dissipate. It was possible it was all in her head. They had never so much as said a word of that day or denied her service. But it was something in the way their gaze lingered on her and grew even colder.

Trailing behind Draco today was all too reminiscent of that day. And while today they did everything by the book, they were still hiding everything even while they hid nothing. And, much like that day, time was of the essence.

Hermione shook her head, dispelling her morose thoughts and hurried to catch up, having fallen behind the others while mulling in thoughts of days long ago and a witch long dead.

Not long after, Remhook brought them to a stop in front of a large circular door. The goblin trailed his fingers over the door and it swung inward, allowing Hermione her first glimpse of the Malfoy vault.

Draco didn’t pause, waltzing in like he owned the place. Which, in a way, Hermione supposed he did. He turned back, gesturing for her to walk ahead of him. She stepped in and found herself astounded by the sheer amount of gold and jewels lining the place. Astounded even though she had told herself it was coming. The Malfoy fortune wasn’t exactly a secret. Far from it. But it was still another thing entirely to have that fortune made visible right in front of her very eyes.

She said nothing, unsure what there was to even say to such a sight, just mutely walked in the direction that Draco had instigated. If he found her silence odd, he said nothing of it, simply drew them up to velvet covered shelves built into the wall that instantly lit with glowing orbs the second they drew close.

Jewelry of every size shape and stone covered the shelves. Row after row and line after line, it was seemingly endless. The sheer opulence was staggering. And to think that it all belonged to one family. And wasn’t even in use. Locked away in the bowels of Gringotts and never even worn.

Draco was muttering to himself, something about thinking that the bands were down this way. Hermione wasn’t sure but didn’t bother to ask as she trailed behind him, mouth hanging open.

“Here, I think this is all of the wedding bands and well,” he grimaced slightly, “the simpler pieces for lack of a better way to say it.”

Hermione glanced down at the rows of wedding bands, a mix of thicker mens bands and thinner womens bands. She reached out, running her finger across the tops of them. Curious which one Draco would choose for himself.

A glint of something darker caught her eye, unique in that it stood out from the mix of gold and silver. She pulled it free from its cushion and examined it. It was a men’s band, medium thickness with every so lightly textured top that gave way to smooth metal on the sides and inside. It wasn’t quite black, as was her first thought, but rather a dark chrome. Somewhere between dark silver and grey. Turning it over in her, she imagined Draco picking out one. Imagined sliding it home on his left hand where it would stay, forever binding them. A small smile graced her lips at the surrealness of it all as she pushed the ring back in its waiting cushion and moved to choose one of her own.

Many were ostentatious in nature. Large gaudy things that glinted every way you turned them would look downright preposterous on her small frame. Not to mention how out of character it would look for her to waltz around with a giant stone weighing down her hand while she continued on in her simple style of denims and sweaters.

“I think I want to keep the ring you proposed with.”

He stood a ways down the vault, peering into some other display case, but he turned back at the sound of her voice. He had mentioned turning the simple opal ring back into the necklace it had started if she were to find something else in the vault. A more traditional engagement ring.

“I am not usually so much of a sentimental type but I feel quite attached to this. And it's the stone you proposed with. I think there is something sweet about keeping that.”

Draco had moved down the row to come to stand in front of her now and she could see he had something clasped in his hands.

“What about some modifications?”

“Modifications?”

Draco held a small velvet box out to her, the top flipped open so the small cushion was facing her. She peered down and saw another ring nestled there. A yellow gold band with the more traditional princess cut diamond center stone glinted up at her. A collection of three smaller diamonds were tucked into either side of the center stone before giving way to a delicate simple band.

A gold wedding band also lay within, dainty and delicate as it fit perfectly next to the engagement ring. Inlaid with small shimmering diamonds, it was beautiful in its simplicity.

“These were my Aunt Andromeda’s. My mother and Bellatrix each acquired half of her share of the inheritance when she was disowned.” Draco ran his finger over the rings, his eyes glazed as he lost himself in a memory. “I tried to return them all to her. When I came back to England. I thought it might be a way to establish some sort of a connection with her.”

“She didn’t take them?”

He shook his head. “She told me to keep them. She said she had no need for them and she liked the idea of them someday being a part of a better legacy. That perhaps I would find a use for them.” He inhaled deeply, a slight glisten to his lashes that Hermione tried to pretend she hadn’t noticed. “That conversation occurred during the time of the lost years. Which is convenient for the healers because I otherwise think I would have found it odd that you weren’t wearing one of her pieces as your wedding ring. I think it was her way of telling me that she knew I was trying to be better than what I had been made into.”

Draco reached out with his other hand and ran his fingers down the length of her arm. “She told me she would be honored if she one day saw one of her rings on the hand of whomever I choose. I think she knew enough about me even then to know I would push back against an arranged marriage not of my choosing. I don’t think she could have foreseen you. But I think there is a certain beauty in the irony of me also forging my own path and also ending up with a muggleborn.”

“If you wish to keep the original ring, I understand the sentiment. But I wanted you to know the backstory of this one. Of her jewelry that she left to me.”

Hermione nodded but pulled the transfigured ring from her finger and held it out to him. “I like the idea of modifying it. Of it being part of something that was special to us and what we overcame. But also special to that particular legacy of your family and what you overcame.”

His fingers brushed hers as he took the ring back and placed it in the box with the others. He then waved his wand over them all, changing them once more.

Hermione blinked down at the ring she would wear everyday, from this day forward. It was beautiful. And now uniquely hers. He had changed very little, simply removed the original center diamond and replaced it with the opal. The other ring had been transfigured back into its normal state of a necklace. Only now it housed the diamond from Andromeda’s ring.

“May I?” Draco asked and Hermione nodded, holding out her left hand to him with slightly shaking fingers. For the second time that day, Draco slid a ring home onto her finger. Slightly more intricate and detailed than before. Just as beautiful and now with even more meaning and sentiment.

“We’re really doing this?” she asked, peering up at him with her heart in her throat.

“If we don’t then it will be because you have decided differently.” He stepped into her space, cupping her face with his hands and leaning in to brush his nose against hers. “I made my decision all those weeks ago in the study. I picked you.”

“Only a minor blip when you all but ran away from me after we got our memories back?” she quietly chided.

“A momentary inconvenience when I was sure you must hate me.” His lips met hers, tongue flipping out to trace her bottom lip. “But I don’t think you hate me. Do you, Hermione?”

“I don’t hate you,” she agreed and then leaned in, kissing him back as she slid the hand now heavy with the weight of the ring and all she had promised him around the back of his neck.

Draco broke the kiss, stepping back to dangle the necklace between them with his eyebrows raised in question. She nodded and turned, pulling back her hair so he could slip the necklace around her neck.

“And you?” she asked as the diamond came to rest between her breasts, twinkling even in the low lighting of the vault. “Did you have a wedding band picked out?”

He nodded, taking her hand in his before tugging her back down the row. Back to where she had begun. Back to the dark silver band that she had previously picked up.

“I saw you pick this one up. And only this one.” He looked over at her, his phase half statement and half question.

Hermione shrugged “Only that the silver color was unique. It reminded me of your eyes.”

“I like it. I was going to go with a black one but that might be a little much, even for me. But this one..” he trailed off, staring at the ring with more attention that Hermione suspected most men gave their prospective wedding rings.

“Do you want to try it on?”

“No. Not until it stays on.”

—--
Already six p.m. How three entire hours had passed, Hermione had little clue. But anxiety was well and truly on its way to making a permanent home in her as time continued to tick by.

They were currently en route to Blaise Zabini’s estate.

Of course it was an estate, Hermione thought wryly. As if it could ever be anything so simple as a house or a flat somewhere.

She had had little to no interaction with Zabini over the years. Knew him only from a distance and thought of him in the terms as one of the Slytherins who had left her well enough alone.

Of Draco’s friends, Theo and Daphne had existed in the realm of cordial conversation while at school. She had spoken to them, at one time or another, and had pleasant to neutral experiences with both. They had not gone out of their way to be kind but also not cruel. Had simply answered a question or asked one of their own.

Pansy, Millicent, Crabbe and Goyle had all been downright awful.

But so had Draco when she thought about it through that lens.

But Blaise was a wildcard. Hermione could not think of a single interaction she had ever had with the man.

And now he was to marry them.

Not that she had a single better suggestion. Or even really an argument towards him. She knew nothing about him. And that in and of itself was a strange sentiment. That she wouldn’t even know the man that would bind her to Draco for life.

But it wasn’t as if there was anything to be done for it. She could hardly ask Charlie, who had gotten certified to marry Bill and Fleur. Even though he was perhaps the Weasley she was currently closest to. Asking him to marry her to a Malfoy would destroy the friendship, strained though it was, that remained with Ron.

No one else knew the necessary binding magic. Except Blaise. Who had apparently gotten certified in order to marry Daphne and Oliver Wood. A match she had also not seen coming. But also mildly comforting to know she had not been the first Gryffindor to breach the divide to Slytherin. And that perhaps there was hope for both sides to be open to befriending the other.

Over there months of solitude with little to do but plot against the healers and converse with one another, she felt she had come to know Draco’s closest friends. While not really knowing them at all. She knew that while he was still friends with Goyle, that the relationship was strained, due in part to the many years Draco had abused it while at Hogwarts. But it was something he was working on mending.

His closest friends were those that he had grown up with and had all rebelled in some way shape or form against the antics of their parents.

Blaise, who had perhaps gotten off the easiest, only had a vacant and vapid mother who had little concern for anything but the niceties of life. Having watched his friends become pawns in a blood war or outright die, Blaise had come to a different mentality about life and the result was a bit of a fall out with his mother.

Theo’s father made Lucius look cuddly and affectionate by comparison. A true believer of the Dark Lord’s ways and cruelty. Cruelty that he often forgot to focus on those of lesser blood and often turned towards his own blood. His wife and son.

Theo was the one member of Draco’s friends that Hermione had seen and had minimal interaction with since Hogwarts. Granted, it never surpassed the level of minimal interaction that had transpired at school. His path had crossed with hers a few times over the years at the Ministry. He had always greeted her with a smile and a dip of his head. A pleasant “Granger, how are you on this fine day?” before getting down to whatever business he was there for. It had never extended beyond that and Hermione had never sought him out. But she had surmised that friendship with Theo would not be a difficult thing.

Daphne and Pansy both avoided their families for reasons Hermione could sympathize with personally, even if she would never experience the exact nature of their situation. The societal expectations placed upon women. In their case, the pure blood culture of treating women like property to further a family's status. The expectation to marry for advantage, often with little to no choice in the matter.

Daphne had flat out refused, eloping with Oliver without a word to her family. Draco had suspected that the only reason she wasn’t disinherited was Wood’s blood status being acceptable to their standards. And that they still had Astoria to barter with.

A reality that was about to come crashing down on both the Greengrass and Malfoy families whenever news of Draco’s marriage to her got out.

A fact that Draco assured her that Astoria would be pleased about. Even if it was temporary relief for her as her parents would surely find her another suiter.

Pansy was the remaining friend that Hermione was having a hard time pallating. Pansy, who had been downright terrible to her at Hogwarts.

As had Draco, Hermione continued to remind herself. And she had had very little problems giving him a second chance. In fact, she had been imagining his mouth on hers long before it had ever uttered an apology to her.

And if she wanted her friends to extend the same second chance to Draco, the least she could do was extend that same mentality towards Pansy. Anything less would be the utmost hypocrisy.

Draco’s description of her fluttered through her mind as they made their way up the stone steps. The many stone steps. More than had any right to be at the entrance to one’s house, Hermione mused.

“Pansy is herself and will only ever be herself. She sent a letter to Potter apologizing for outing him at the battle and has never thought of it again. She has mastered the phenomenon of not dwelling on the past as you can’t change it. So focus on the present and future. All the stuff the therapists tell me. She just does it. She realized she was on a path to be what her parents were and found she despised it. So she changed. Became better. She is, you will find, a very black and white thinker.”

As one who tended to live in the grey of things, cue her willingness to break into St. Mungo’s, Hermione wondered just how well those two personalities would come to mix.

Her guess was not good. But how much of that was her bias speaking was unknowable to her.

Chapter 20: Chapter Twenty

Notes:

Only two more chapters left!

Focusing on shifting her weight from one foot to another allowed Hermione to absolutely not focus on the resounding clank that rang out as Draco struck the gargoyle knocker against the massive stone door of Blaise’s ancestral house. She couldn’t recall the manor having such a door but she hadn’t exactly paid attention the first time she was hauled through it. And the second time had her sneaking in a side entrance.

Her introspection lasted long enough to fill the time until the door swung inwards, freezing Hermione while leaning all her weight on her left side. She jolted in surprise, her weight shifting further until she leaned into Draco. Who seemed to take it as some sort of invitation and slid his hand into the back pocket of her denims.

Hermione thought open displays of affection were probably not the way to break things to his friend. And ask for his help. Potentially beg, as they had little other options.

But it was not the friend they had expected standing on the other side of the door. It was Theodore Nott.

“Draco!” The joy in Theo’s voice was evident as his face lit up upon seeing Draco standing on the doorstep. In all honesty, he seemed not to register her tucked into his side. “You’re finally back from whatever that Ministry experiment was that you decided to self punish yourself with. Did you come for drinks? How did you even know we were having a night in?”

Hermione’s eyebrows had shot up at the multi sentence monologue Theo had dove into. She strongly suspected he was inebriated, which did not entirely pose well for the mental acuity of Blaise if he had likewise indulged.

His eyes finally registered her presence at Draco’s and he faltered, confusion setting in.

“Granger’s here as well?” he cocked his head to the side, accessing. Hermione saw the moment he registered the way they were standing. Saw it and dismissed it. Or rather took the information and came to a different outcome with it. “So not here for hanging out and catching up then. Ministry business? How can we help you, Granger?”

Merlin, he thought she was escorting Malfoy here on some sort of official business.

“Is Blaise here? We are in need of his services.” Draco’s voice was calm but Hermione thought she could detect the nerves hidden by layers of control. Turning to look at her, he raised an eyebrow, a small smile curving his lips before he added, “And perhaps yours. We do, in fact, need the help of two others.”

Hermione nodded, knowing Theo had been on their prospective list of potential witnesses from the get go. They had agreed on one of Draco’s friends. And one of Hermione’s.

“I’ll send a patronus to Neville? Ask him to meet me?” she asked in response and Draco nodded back.

Neville. About as third party as she was likely to get where mixing Gryffindors and Slytherins was concerned.

Theo had been watching their exchange with a narrowed expression, open suspicion now creeping in. His eyes flitted back to where their bodies still touched and seemed to note the lack of authority in their stance “Something is going on here,” he breathed out but stepped back all the same. Granting them entrance.

Draco ushered her ahead of him and his hand slid to the small of her back as he guided her over the threshold. A move that also didn’t go unnoticed.

Theo led them through the main entryway and Hermione immediately noticed the differences from the manor. Things here were far more welcoming and warm. Less of the old austere ways of decorating that she typically associated with the older wizarding families. More in touch with the modern decor of upscale muggles if she had to put a name on it. A blend of cultures and styles from all over.

“Blaise’s mother likes to travel,” Draco said, noticing her roving gaze.

“And she likes you to know that she has traveled,” Theo added with a grin before opening a door and leading the way into a small parlor with Blaise Zabini seated in an armchair, legs crossed and drink in hand.

He turned, hearing their approach and a widening of his eyes was the only tell of his surprise as he clocked not only Draco’s presence but also Hermione’s. He blinked, still saying nothing but waved a hand towards a spattering of chairs around the fire in the hearth, indicating they sit.

Theo sank into what she assumed had been his previous seat before their arrival, a glass still resting on the table next to it. Draco led Hermione to the lone loveseat and lowered himself down on it.

Even the simple act of sitting presented a multitude of choices and potential problems that Hermione had never even thought to consider until this moment.

How close did she sit to Draco? Too close would signal all that they had yet to delicately attempt to say. Too far away would sow dissent and disbelief when they desperately needed assistance.

Lingering on a decision would also not bode well. Who stood and deliberated how close to sit to the person they were ultimately here to marry? That sentiment alone seemed to force Hermione’s choice and she eased down next to Draco, her thigh brushing his.

Blaise snapped his fingers and a small house elf appeared. “Hello Dotzy,” he said, smiling at her in what Hermione thought was genuine kindness. “Would you mind cooking up two more drinks for our new guests?”

“Of course, Mr. Blaise! Dotzy is most excited to be having guests and to be seeing Mr. Draco again!” The elf all but beamed at Draco, who, to Hermione’s surprise, reached out and shook her tiny hand, smiling back. The elf bowed and then disappeared in a pop of magic.

“Draco,” Blaise nodded at his friend, “And most surprisingly, Ms. Granger. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Please, call me Hermione.” She didn’t know if they were quite at the level of first name basis yet but she could hardly ask someone to officiate her wedding while calling her Ms. Granger.

Blaise blinked again. “Hermione, then,” he said, as if testing the name out. “I won’t lie so I must say you are quite honestly the last person I expected to see on my doorstep. Much less in the company of this one,” he nodded towards Draco.

“It’s a long story,” she said, giving him a feeble smile of agreement. There was no denying the oddity of it all.

Dotzy popped back into the room and handed them both a drink, some dark liquid in a glass goblet for Draco. A dark ruby wine for Hermione. She had little idea how Blaise knew she would rather have wine. Perhaps an assumption based on her gender. She found she didn’t care, even if it was, as she drank deeply from her glass. She glanced at Draco and found a sizable measure of his own drink already gone. Liquid courage having appealed to them both then.
Blaise and Theo were both blinking at them now, eyes darting from them to their already partially depleted glasses.

“Well,” Theo mused, “you both appear to be nervous about something. Which in turn is making me nervous to hear it.”

Draco sighed, massaging his temples and swallowing. “Like Hermione said, it’s a long story. One that will need to be made short, for time’s sake.”

“Okaaay,” Theo drew the word out, “Let’s hear the blunt version then.”

Draco turned his eyes to Blaises. Met his gaze and held it. “We need you to marry us. And it has to be today.”

Hermione downed the rest of her wine for something to do rather than look into their shocked expression.

“Pardon?” asked Blaise right as Theo said, “I think we might need a slightly longer version, mate.”

“Hermione was part of the ministry experiment with me. Long story short, they crossed many lines and are now in a world of trouble but they made us think we were married and had been in an accident that erased our memories. We spent months in a safe house while they,” Draco raised his hands for air quotes, “worked on a cure.” He took a breath before continuing on. “It was a guise in order to study our interactions. Ex death eater and the golden girl were apparently the perfect storm in order to study nature versus nurture or whatever excuse they had cooked up.”

At this point, Draco took her hand in his, the move entirely deliberate. “I fell in love with her. And against all odds it was a mutual experience.” He concluded it there, giving them time to come to terms with it all, Hermione assumed. Before telling them the conundrum they now found themselves in.

Blaise was staring at them slack jawed but Theo’s expression was one Hermione couldn’t read. But she didn’t entirely think it was shock.

“To get away with it, they could never let you remember the time spent at that safe house.”

Theo was, apparently, steps ahead.

Hermione finally spoke. “No, they could not. We will forget everything by the day’s end if we don’t fulfill the demands of the loophole.”

“You have to marry him in reality?” Theo asked and it was Hermione’s turn to look at him in shock as she nodded.

He shrugged. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. You would both have to want to remember and be willing to pay the ultimate price. Something they probably never assumed you would do.”

Blaise was shaking his head. “You don’t let people in. Don’t let them get close. You’re one of my best mates and there are times I feel like you barely let me see the real you. And you expect me to believe that after three months, you’re ready to tie your life to someone else.”

Hermione tried not to let the words bite. After all, how could she begrudge him when she knew he was only looking out for his friend.

He turned to Theo. “You’re ready to simply believe this? Allow him to make an irrevocable decision based on a few meager sentences of explanation?”

Theo rolled his eyes. “I also like to think that I made a few observations. Ones that you seemed to have overlooked.” He gestured to the hand that Draco still held clasped in his own. “It makes sense. If you actually think about it. They probably just sit around and discuss all the books they read and the things they want to learn. Make potions together. Be annoying like that. And for Merlin’s sake, he’s actually touching her. And seeming to like it.”

So his friends were well aware with his issues with physical touch it seemed.

“I hardly think holding her hand constitutes actually wanting to marry her, Theo.”

“Bloody hell.” It was the only warning Draco gave before his hand found her jaw and he turned her head towards his and kissed her.

Hermione’s first inclination was to stiffen, wholly used to affection with an audience. And even though the kiss was demonstrative in nature, he made it good. Let his true affection and love seep through as he moved his lips against hers, his hand sliding into her hair to cradle her head.

The kiss was five seconds and it was an eternity. Over before it started and going on forever. Polar extremes that only seem to occur when one is being watched. Draco pulled back, smirking at her and the cheeks she knew were flaming before turning back to his closest friends.

Both looked surprised, Theo considerably less so. Through her embarrassment, she also noted that Theo was practically beaming in excitement while Blaise continued to look perplexed at best.

“We don’t have time for you to come to terms with this, accept it or whatever you need to do to believe me fully. I wish we did. I wish I had all the time in the world to properly court her and then ask her to marry me at the wedding of our dreams with all our friends and family present. Granted, there is little chance of all our friends and family cordially occupying the same space but that’s far from the point. We. Do. Not. Have. Time.”

Hermione leaned in, putting a hand on his knee in hopes of halting him so she could contribute. A thing she felt important to do rather than sit at his side like a mute mouse as he advocated for the both of them.

“But what we want more than all those things,” she chimed in, “is each other. And this is how we do that. How we ensure that tomorrow we still have what we realized is most important.”

Draco smiled at her, his features going soft, before turning back to them. “Will you help us?”

Blaise stared back at him with a serious expression before glancing briefly at Hermione.

“This is the most light I’ve seen back in your eyes in years. I would be a fool to attribute it to anything but the one thing that's changed,” he inclined his head towards her. “Welcome to the family Hermione.”

Theo clapped his hands in delight. “Please tell me you at least have a dress to wear.”

—--

Neville Longbottom pulled open his front door, the soft light from his cottage spilling out around him in the day’s dying light.

Harry, Ron and even Ginny were her oldest friends. The innumerable shared experiences weaving them together that even a breakup couldn’t destroy.

Charlie was the unexpected friend. The one that had seen her adrift after her breakup and sought her out. Who she found commonality with in the most unforeseen ways. Who she had wondered if it might have turned into something more with had she not dated his brother. But had never strayed from platonic.

Susan Bones was the coworker turned friend that she had never realized she needed. The breath of fresh air and outside perspective from the rotating mass of Weasleys that she had always spent all her time with. Another friendship that had set true roots after her breakup with Ron when she needed some sense of separation from the weekly dinners and never ending interactions. She filled a unique hole that Hermione had never even known existed. Female companionship. Ginny had always been enough. But Ginny was also her best friend's little sister. Which mattered not but Susan was the first female friend that she made on her own. They bonded over their shared love of all creatures, magical or not. Hermione coerced her into running with her and Susan opened her eyes to the world of romance novels. And not the Jane Austen type. Theirs was a balance of shared interest but also mutual growth to the unique things the other brought to the table. And it existed in a world outside of the only other circle she ran in.

And then there was Neville. Somehow existing in both realms. His love of animals had been a bridge to her friendship with Susan. An honorary Weasley when he wished to be but also wholly his own person wrapped up in his own life that still functioned entirely on its own. He had his friends, his books, his plants and a few animals. An odd mirror of herself when she stopped to think about it. Which was probably why he was her version of still waters. Entirely rational and slow to jump to emotion of any kind, Neville was peaceful. And content with his life and his choices. A state of being that Hermione felt herself gravitating towards in her moments of doubt. As if the transitive property would send some of his ease and peace her way. They conversed, they gardened. They worked to save dying and endangered plants in his greenhouses.

The reality of it was, Hermione had two choices for a witness from her side of things. Susan and Neville. And as much as she loved Susan, there had never really been any choice at all. Neville, who she could count on to listen and set aside his experiences and feelings and try to be objective in what she asked of him. He would try to see things through her eyes and her perspective and give her any benefit of the doubt.

And his nature would only allow him to do the same to Draco. To extend to him the olive branch without her even asking him to.

“Hermione!” Neville exclaimed, leaning down to envelope her in a hug. “I didn’t know you were back. Merlin, it feels like it's been ages.”

No surprise guest waited in the wings. Hermione had thought it best if she come alone and explain things. And then hopefully bring Neville back with her to Blaise’s estate. Where the ceremony would take place.

“Neville, I have quite the story for you. And quite the favor to ask.”

Neville paused, sensing the gravity of her words and years of friendship letting him intuit the importance of her favor.

“Shall I put tea on? It sounds like you may have a tale to tell.”

She told him everything. Whereas Draco had given Blaise and Theo the barest synopsis, Hermione spared little. What she did spare were small details, things of no bearing to the greater story, even if they made up precious moments of time in the storybook of their love. She also figured that Draco was giving his own friends a less abridged version himself, now that he had a few moments alone with them. And they could ask questions unhindered by a veritable stranger’s presence.

Neville listened, as she knew he would. He didn’t pause her to insert questions as they arose, even though she knew he most assuredly had them. He let the story play out, assuming most if not all would be answered in due time. A trait she greatly appreciated about him. The widening of his eyes was his only outward sign of the surprise he felt as the tale became equal parts horror story and love story. She only hoped he understood the need for it to end as a love story. Not a tragedy.

She finished, exhaling a long breath before drawing fresh oxygen into her depleted lungs. She felt….good. Good at having someone else know. Someone that she loved and trusted and could objectively look at things, having not lived it personally.

Neville didn’t respond right away, seemed to mull her story over in his mind and let it steep and ruminate before giving voice to his own thoughts. Another trait she also appreciated about him.

“You love him?”

Hermione yet again felt her cheeks redden, as she suspected they always would when having to be direct about her romantic feelings.

“I really do. I know it’s unexpected.”

Neville, to her surprise, shook his head. “I don’t know that it is. The method in which it came about, absolutely. But that it happened? I don’t think so. You’re opposite on so many things but in the ways that count, you seem rather similar. When you peel away the ways the world has separated you categorically, you have quite a lot in common.”

Hermione gaped at him.

“You just told me that the two of you debated for a half an hour over the effects of crushing ingredients for potions with the flat blade of a knife or a mortar and pestle.
And another half hour over the underrated merits of Ethan Frome, which I’ll have you know was one of the worst books I’ve ever read. But my point being, that he seems to challenge you but also stimulate you. I don’t even know the bloke but even I can tell he has changed simply from seeing him from afar. You will have a hell of a time getting over all the hurdles in your way but if you truly love him then I am happy for you.”

Hermione stood and moved to where Neville stood leaning against the kitchen island. Throwing her arms around him, she hugged him for the second time that night. “Thank you for taking the time to see the big picture and not just being reactionary to the fact that I told you I fell for Draco Malfoy of all people.”

Neville laughed softly, hugging her back before pulling away to check his watch. “Eight pm. Should we be going if we have to get you hitched before the day’s end?”

—--

Hermione pulled up short upon returning to Blaise’s estate, causing Neville to run directly into her back and send her sprawling forward. His arm shot out, gripping her shoulder and hauling her back before she could faceplant and make an even bigger fool of herself.

She had just entered the same parlor from earlier, only it bared little resemblance. Gone with the comfy armchairs circled around a roaring fire. Gone was the bar cart and scattered coffee tables. A small archway now occupied the place in front of the fire, adorned with cascading flowers. Mostly whites with a few pale shades of pink and yellow.

A very small collection of chairs faced the arch. Four to be exact. With a small aisle between them. Four was still two more than they required for their witnesses but Hermione supposed it added some semblance of balance.

“Ah, perfect. They’ve gotten a head start.” Neville murmured from behind her and then to her shock began pulling even more flowers and small plants from some version of a magically extended bag that Hermione hadn’t even seen him bring.

“When did you even grab all of that?”

“I popped over to my nursery while you were using the loo. I just grabbed a few things to make it a bit more festive.”

And then Neville proceeded to make himself at home in the parlor of a man he had probably not spoken to since Hogwarts, if ever. Throwing flowers and plants around like it was his own personal business.

“I have to admit, attending the wedding of Draco Malfoy and Hermione was not on the list of things I expected to do today. Or ever for that matter.”

Hermione whipped her head around at the sound of a notable female voice. One she knew but her brain refused to immediately accept or acknowledge.

Pansy Parkinson was standing in the parlor doorway, leaning in such a way that only her hip made contact with the door frame, arms folded and head angled to the side as she assessed Hermione.

She couldn’t think of a single thing to say back to that so she opted to stand mutely and gaze back at Pansy.

Luckily Theo chose that moment to come blazing in, practically dislodging Pansy from her perch against the door.

“Sorry about Pansy, Granger. We all but forgot she was supposed to stop by for drinks tonight. She arrived about halfway through Draco’s more detailed account. Suffice to say she is also in the loop now.”

Hermione nodded dumbly, wondering what personal hell Pansy planned to rain down before the day's end. She braced herself as Pansy moved from the way and came to stand before her.

“I can’t imagine Longbottom here is going to assist you with your hair and makeup? And I don’t see the she weasel lurking about.”

Pansy stared expectantly at Hermione, clearly having meant these statements as some sort of a question.

“I didn’t think it wise to bring my ex’s sister along, no.” Hermione finally managed, proud of the way her voice managed not to crack.

“So you will allow me to help you then?”

 

Hermione blinked at her.

“You’re marrying one of my best friends. I have zero intention of letting you look like you just rolled off a cot at St. Mungo’s. Which is what the pair of you actually did so it seems I have my work cut out for me.”

“You don’t like me, Pansy. You really don’t have to help me.”

Pansy held up her hand. “Correction, I do not know you. The snot nosed brat I was in school would have never allowed me to know you in school and I am sure I said my fair share of awful things to you. I am not in the habit of apologizing for what a childhood's worth of indoctrination molded me into. And I also cannot change the past. So I will say this once and only once. If I could do things over, I would choose differently in many of those cases. I would have been a different person. But I can’t. So I choose to be different today.” Pansy gestured towards the door with a hairbrush that she had apparently pulled out of nowhere during her speech, “So, will you please let me help you.”

Hermione glanced down at the hairbrush then back up at Pansy. Yet again, Pansy was asking of her what she was hoping all of her other friends would extend to Draco. A chance.

“Okay,” she said.

—--

Pansy led her up a polished oak staircase and into a side room that appeared to be a guest room of some sort. A door on the side opened to an in suite bathroom and a small vanity was set up in the corner.

“Do you want to shower first or should we go straight to your hair?”

“I’ll shower quick. It’s been a long day and my hair is more easily managed when it's wet.”

Pansy nodded and moved back towards the door. “I’ll return in twenty minutes.”

And then she was gone and Hermione was alone.

She showered, her thoughts hung up in the space between all that had happened and all that was yet to come. A limbo of inbetween. A space of a few minutes that she could carve out to just breathe and take a second for herself.

She distracted herself by thinking of the last time she had showered. She had not been alone. Nor had it been short.

Hermione's veins ran cold when she heard the door to the bathroom click open.

“I’m not quite finished yet!” she called out, feeling highly uncomfortable in her state of undress with only a flimsy shower curtain hiding her.

“I was told I have approximately twenty minutes if I would wish to speak to you again before I am no longer allowed to see you. Until the ceremony that is.”

The sound of Draco’s voice eased her nerves but did little for the heart rate that continued to climb.

“Do you mind if I join you?” His voice was low. Raspy with promise.

“I was just thinking about you,” Hermione whispered, blushing furiously at her own audacity, the slickness of the shower mixing with the slickness building between her legs.

She heard the curtain pull back and turned to find Draco openly perusing her body as rivulets of water ran down it.

Nude himself, Hermione let her eyes rove over him as he stepped fully into the small space with her.

He was hard already and she felt her knees weaken with her own desire.

“Isn’t it bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?” she asked, pulse quickening as he came to stand behind her under the water spray.

“I’m not certain we should be applying any modicum of typical expectations to this wedding,” he murmured, already running his lips along her damp shoulder.

His hands kneaded her hips and then slid up her body until they were cupping her breasts, thumbs roving over her nipples.

She tipped her head back, leaning it against his shoulder a moment before turning it towards him, lips searching for his own.

She kissed him, slow and longingly, taking pleasure from his body and the calmness his mere presence brought her.

“Are you nervous?” he asked, pulling back to gauge her answer.

“I’m not nervous to marry you,” she answered honestly, “But I am nervous to see this thing done. To know that we have safely made it to the other side and don’t have to worry about time running out.”

Draco nodded, his hands resuming their trek up and down her body. His voice, when it came out, was quieter. Its low rumble blending with the hum of the shower. “If I am being honest, I am nervous of what is to come. I know it will be difficult and I am nervous for it. I wish we could just skip forward to where your friends and my family have all come to grudgingly accept it.”

It was strange because Hermione herself had spared very little to no thought on any of that. The entirety of her focus was on ensuring that she got to keep him. And that all hinged on marrying him today. The rest would fall into place. Or it wouldn’t. She found she didn’t care.

“It won't be easy,” she acquiesced, “I want to tell you that it will all work out.That if we can just make it through the next few months of awkward encounters it will all be fine. But I can't. I would like to think it will. That all our friends and family will choose to respond with grace and respect. But there is a very real possibility that it won’t end as smoothly as all that. But I do know that even if someone chooses to not accept it, chooses to end a relationship with one of us over it, well then that's on them. But at the end of the day, I’ll still have you to come home to.”

She thought there were tears in his eyes but it was impossible to tell with the water soaking him.

“I love you.” He said it into her hair. Said it over and over again as he positioned her against the wall and slid into her body. Said it as he moved within her. Said it until she was gasping it back to him.

—--

Five minutes later found Hermione perched on a chair in front of the vanity as Pansy attacked her hair with a brush and a mysterious bottle of cream.

Hermione had hung the silver dress on a hook on the wall after her shower to spell out the wrinkles it had accumulated in her beaded bag.

She noticed Pansy’s eyes dart to it on more than one occasion but it was impossible to determine what she thought of it. And the lack of traditional white.

Her hair began to transform before her eyes. Her telltale curls were still there but Pansy managed to tame them and make them soft and silken, no frizz in a way that Hermione had never come close to achieving.

The silence they worked in was awkward at best, loaded at worst. Hermione had no idea how to traverse such a conversation. She didn’t know the first thing about Pansy, nor how to interact with her.

Eventually, it was the other girl who broke the silence. And to ask about the dress, as Hermione had guessed she would.

“Is that the dress you’re wearing?”

Hermione glanced over at the silver material in question, hanging like liquid mercury across the room. “Yes, I had a few moments to grab something from my flat before we had to get to Gringotts.”

Pansy nodded, eyes still appraising the dress. “It’s beautiful and oddly fitting, even if not white.” She glanced back at Hermione and their eyes met in the mirror. “You know, because of his eyes.”

Hermione allowed her a smile, grateful for the kind words and not condescension. “I thought so too. It’s ultimately why I chose that one.”

Pansy left not long after to give Hermione a few minutes of privacy and to get into her dress. The clock now read nine thirty pm. A much later hour than she ever would have expected her wedding to be. They had set the ceremony for ten o'clock and she resolved to spend the next thirty minutes with the company of her own thoughts before heading down the stairs to her wedding.

With thirty minutes to go, she thought of her parents and let herself be morose and sorrowful for yet another thing she was taking from them. The opportunity to go to their own daughter's wedding. After she had already robbed them of so much. Even if the memories had been returned, something had broken between them and she couldn’t imagine this would help their already fragile relationship. She could only hope they would understand and wish the best and happiness for their daughter. And understand the unusual path she’d had to take to achieve it.

With twenty-five minutes to go, she thought of the family she had made for herself. All of her friends she had surrounded herself with that would not be here for this day. The Weasley’s. Harry. Susan. The list was endless. Surprisingly, she found herself less sad about this than her parents. For her friends, she had hopes that they would eventually come to accept Draco and her relationship with him. But she knew today was far from that day and they would only sour what she hoped would be a beautiful ceremony.

With twenty minutes to go, she thought of the select few downstairs who would know the truth. Who, for better or for worse, would be the ones they could turn to or confide in in the months to come while they navigated informing the rest of the world of their relationship. All of them had been quick to accept it and quick to assist in helping them pull off the ceremony and for that, Hermione would be eternally grateful. Even Blaise, who she had sensed the most hesitation from, was only worried about his friend and ensuring nothing was amiss. There had been no ill will towards her. Hermione hoped Pansy’s unexpected presence would be a silver lining. A kickstart to turning from the past and forming some sort of friendship with the witch. She hardly knew her but had the strangest and strongest feeling that if things had played out differently and she had found out about it all after the fact, she would never forgive Draco. Or her.

With fifteen minutes to go, she thought of the man she was going to marry. She thought of Draco. Of his silver eyes boring into her as he listened and conversed with her. Of all the times in the safe house where they got to know each other. Of the ways they fit together and complimented the other but also challenged them. She thought of what was to come, a life with him. And all of the beautiful things that would bring. But also the hardships. And still choosing him through that. Not in spite of or because of. Simply because he was worth it. They were worth it.

With ten minutes to go, she unzipped the silver dress, letting the slippery cool material run across her overhot skin. She slipped out of the fluffy bathrobe she had donned after her shower and pulled on a pair of knickers and a strapless bra. Then she took a deep breath. Then another. Seven minutes to go. She pulled the dress off the hook and stepped into it. Pulled it up the length of her body and slid her arm behind her back to zip up the back.

Then she turned and appraised herself in the full length mirror hanging from the back of the door. Pansy had kept things simple, somehow knowing that's what Hermione would prefer. Her hair fell in curls around her shoulders and down her back. Only a few pieces fromnthe front had been pinned back. The makeup Pansy had applied consisted of only the barest hint of blush on her cheeks and a light dusting of shadow on her eyelids with a swipe of mascara.

All of it was simple but the combined difference was staggering. She looked beautiful in a slightly ethereal way. The silver of the dress offset the tan of her skin with a glowing effect.

With a jolt, she realized she hadn’t once thought about shoes. All she had with her were the ankle boots she had worn to St. Mungo’s that morning and then to every other adventure throughout the day. She was going to have to go barefoot. Even she was not skilled enough to transfigure them into something passable enough with this dress that would ultimately not ruin the entire effect.

She hastened to her bag, determined to at least try, when something bright white near the door caught her eye. Halting, she turned back and cocked her head to the side. Lined up perfectly next to the door was a pair of pearly white satin kitten heels. The toes came to a point and the slingback strap was inlaid with small round stones. Pearls and opals.

Pansy. It had to have been.

They were beautiful. Manageable in their small heels and all of the simple elegance that Hermione was drawn to. And none of the ostentatious stilettos she steered clear from.

She slipped them on and the fit was perfect.

With five minutes to go, Hermione opened the door and made her way down the stairs to the man waiting for her.

—--

A piano was playing softly when Hermione reached the closed parlor doors, the sound and soft light both seeping out from the crack at the bottom of the door.

Neville was waiting with his back to her but at the first click of her heel on the stone floor, he turned towards her. His face, that of a friend she had had since she entered Hogwarts, lit up in a smile. “You look beautiful, Hermione.”

“Thank you, Neville. Not too bad for a throw together wedding?”

He chuckled softly. “Not at all.” He extended his arm to her, “Would you like someone to walk you inside?”

She hadn’t even considered having to open the door and walk in alone. Having every head, even if it was only five of them, turn her way. Neville was far from having her father walk her down the aisle but she relaxed in knowing she wouldn’t have to do it alone.

“I would love that, Neville,” she said, slipping her arm into his.

He turned them so that they were facing the doors then angled his head to her. “You ready?”

She nodded and with a wave of his wand, the old stone doors creaked open and they moved into the room.

Chapter 21: Chapter Twenty-One

Notes:

The fact that this chapter ended up being ready to post on Valentine's day was unexpected but also very fitting. Happy Valentine's day! And of course Galentine's day yesterday. One more to go!

The feet moving one step after the other were her own. Responding to her command as they brought her down the aisle. That fact alone helped to Hermione, as she seemed to have floated away from her herself in an out of body experience.
Later, she would wonder if it was like that for every bride as they made that walk down the aisle. For many, it was a culmination of months and months of planning. Of years of getting to know another person and then choosing to spend the rest of your life with them. It was hardly those exact circumstances for Hermione but it was a culmination all the same. They’d had months rather than years. A foundation of lies rather than a truth they’d believed forgotten. But they had built their foundation through it all regardless, and it came out on the other side stronger than ever. Theirs was a race against time, not a date picked at leisure. But she found it hardly mattered. At the end of the day she was marrying the one who had gone through it all with her. Just like every other bride who had ever walked down the aisle. It all built until this very moment and the reality that it was here and it was happening hit her like a battering ram as she moved towards the man waiting for her as the aisle grew shorter and shorter with every step.

Neville’s steady arm was the only constant she knew in a room full of Slytherin’s. Slytherin’s who, she hoped, would come to be close friends to her as well. As they navigated their fledgling marriage in a world destined to be against them.

Slytherins that had been nothing but kind and accepting since the moment they had learned the truth. Which was far more than she might expect of her own friends, even if they had due cause. The road forward would surely be rocky but at least they were starting with some people in their corner. On their side.

Even Pansy, who had surely been surprised by Draco showing up after being gone for three months and introducing her as his fiance. Even skeptical. But never once looked disgusted or disappointed. She was far from assuming the two of them would become the best of friends but wouldn’t deny the relief she felt at realizing the scornful arrogant girl she had known at Hogwarts had grown up into a very different woman.

They were far from being surrounded by all their friends and family. But the select few they were surrounded by had chosen to accept them and embrace it. And to help them. And that was everything.

Feeling at peace with it all, Hermione finally came back to herself. Stopped feeling the moment as something happening down below as she watched from a bird’s eye view. Realized that it was here and now and she was living it.

She raised her eyes and met Draco’s. Swirling silver that were already rimmed with moisture as he stood waiting for her. Blaise was there as well. Of course he was, as he was to marry them. But he was blurred, almost a background fixture, as only Draco stood out.
He had foregone the wizarding dress robes. Foregone any wizarding attire at all as he stood in black muggle trousers, cinched tight around his waist with a black leather belt. A fitted grey button down was neatly tucked in and fit him so perfectly it was clearly tailored. Dragon hide dress shoes, that she belatedly noticed, were the only nod to the wizarding world. The rest of his attire was muggle in fashion.

She knew he had chosen it for her. A nod to her and her past. A past that would always be a prevalent part of her and who she was.

The other nods had been subtle. Small things that only she might notice. The tie was anything but subtle. Rather, it all but dripped with intention and choice.

It was crimson. Crimson as the house color of the woman he had chosen to marry. Crimson as the blood that he no longer believed to be dirty.

She noticed it instantly and her heart swelled at the messages he conveyed with something so simple as the color of his tie.

She saw the moment his eyes registered the necklace that dangled from her throat.

A teardrop stone that was decidedly larger than most of the jewelry she typically donned. It’s prominence being the primary reason she had never worn it much before. Even though it had been a gift from her mother that she treasured dearly.

Hermione didn’t much believe in signs. But if she did, this would be a glaring one. That the only piece of jewelry her mother had ever given her was a beautiful teardrop necklace.

An emerald teardrop necklace.

A birthstone that belonged neither to her or her mother. A color that held no significance to either. When she had asked her mother about it, she had simply said that the color offset her olive skin beautifully. That green was her color.

The irony was not lost on Hermione now, as she moved towards the man that had long been labeled with green as she was red.

His eyes snared on the necklace and the side of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. And then they continued to slink down her body. The silver dress that was just as much a statement and a choice. All the small things that each of them had done to say “Look. I chose you. I continue to choose you.”

And then she was there, the aisle a thing of the past and Neville was hugging her briefly before stepping back and taking a seat.

Draco wasted no time, stepping forward and taking her hands in his. His eyes were silver fire and as Hermione looked into their molton depths she saw no trace of fear or apprehension. She saw desire. And love.

Blaise cleared his throat and came rocketing back into focus for Hermione, as she had all but forgotten his presence, so consumed was she by Draco.

“I assume we ought to get this ball rolling. Considering the two of you would like to remember each other past tomorrow, yea?”

Draco smiled at her, eyes never once leaving her face as he answered, “Take it away, Blaise.”

The vows were of the traditional variety, having had no time to write their own. Short and sweet, keeping things simple and straightforward. The vows between muggles and the vows between wizards had clearly come from the same ancestor, as there was very little difference between them.

Draco’s voice rang out confident and true, even in the lowered pitch as he spoke the words primarily to her.

Hermione’s own voice, when her turn came, wavered slightly from nerves and emotions, her control slipping as she smiled tearfully up at him.

Through good times and bad.

Sickness and health.

To have and to hold.

The future would surely hold all of what the vows declared and more. And she wanted it all. Not only to face the good times and the bad times with him but also the good and the bad parts of him. Every ugly thing about him just as much as every beautiful thing.

Because you couldn’t want only the good parts of a person. You had to want it all. Acknowledge it all or surely you would be disappointed. Because every person was flawed and had parts of themselves that they would rather not have. But to truly love someone, you got all those parts as well. Looked them in the eye and loved them regardless. As they did you.

The delineation from muggle came with the magical bonding portion of the ceremony. Their hands remained clasped in front of them as Blaise raised his wand and murmured an incantation, the phrases long and lilting, making it impossible to decipher where one ended and one began. A soft gold light began to spill out of his wand, pulsing until it shrank down into a thread that began to wind around their hands, looping in between their wrists and up and down their arms. The thread hung suspended a few centimeters above their skin, not yet touching, as it continued to wind around them, in and out of itself until the end result was a web of knots and loops that, once cinched, would be irrevocably knotted.

The last of the thread spooled from Blaise’s wand and wound around one last time before coming to meet the start that hung waiting above their wrists. The two ends wove around one another, dipping and curving until a final knot was formed. And then, with a final flick of his wand, the thread began to pull taut.

Hermione watched in amazement as it wound through its many passes around their wrists, growing tighter and tighter until it finally pressed against her bare skin. It didn’t hurt, far from it as the thread was soft and warm, a balm against her clammy hands. When there was no more give, and their hands were tightly bound together in between them, the thread glowed a brighter gold, giving off a bright pulsing light before it sank into their skin. The lines if left shimmered in streaks of gold dust across their hands before that too faded away.

It was finished.

She was married.

She would remember.

Blaise was saying something. Probably something of importance. Hermione managed to get her wits about her just in time to catch the tail end.

“....and Mrs. Malfoy. Draco, you may kiss your bride.”

Draco moved towards her, slipping his hand into her hair as he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. Sealing the end of the ceremony that bound them together and starting the beginning of the rest of their lives.

 

—--
“Your flat or mine?” she asked him, feeling almost giddy with adrenaline that still coursed through her veins even after the ceremony had concluded.

They had bid the others goodnight, thanking them profusely. Hermione had not been the only one whose eyes were wet with tears.

They had looked genuinely happy for them. For Draco.

“You pick,” he responded as they walked down the drive of Blaise’s estate, their joined hands swinging between them.

She considered, debating between the comfort of the familiar with her own home with the thrill of something new with his. Someplace new at the start of something new felt oddly fitting.

“Yours.”

He nodded, pulling her to him as the sway of apparition swept them away.

—--

Later, she would think back to those moments, the individual moments and seconds that comprised her wedding day and realize that there was a certain amnesia-like quality to them. How events that mean the most to you in life are carved into your memory forever but somehow have the least amount of detail. A random conversation with a barista that held no weight or bearing she might be able to bring back with total recall. But the memory of her wedding day would be snippets and flashs. Feelings and emotions that all strung together to make up the memory of the day. Full conversations wouldn’t come back to her but little glimpses into the day would race across her mind when she thought of the day.

Choosing the rings in Gringotts and the general sentiment around them. She would remember what they meant but the precise words he had spoken to her would be lost to time.
The look on Neville’s face as she explained to him what was going on. A look of happiness for his friend even through the surprise. She wouldn’t remember what she said to him exactly. Or even what he said back. But she would remember his face.

Pansy actually helping her. The delicate way she had applied Hermione’s makeup and the shoes she had thought to leave for her.

The smiles on Blaise and Theo’s faces as they watched their friend finally find happiness and peace for himself.

Draco meeting her eyes as she walked down the aisle towards him.

Draco lifting her off her feet to carry her over the threshold of his home, a muggle tradition she had been shocked to find he knew.

She wouldn’t remember a thing of what his flat looked like that night. Only darkened rooms with ambiguous furniture that would come into clarity in the days to come.

But she would remember bits and pieces of that night. Of Draco’s hand never leaving hers and he pulled her down a dimly lit hallway.

The plushness of the carpet on her bare feet.

Draco turning her around so he could slide the zipper down her back and gently pull her dress down her body.

The gentle kisses he placed in its wake.

Moving to the bed so she could watch him remove his own clothes, his pale skin seeming to glow in the moonlight coming through the crack in the curtains.

She would remember many whispers between them but the only actual phrase she would remember was him whispering that he loved her.

They made love only once that night before Draco drew her into his arms and they both drifted off into a deep slumber, the day's events finally catching up with them.

Chapter 22: Chapter Twenty-Two

Draco

He wakes with fear thrumming through his veins, a sense of dread that is so profound it steals the air from his lungs.

But it's also the recognition of that fear that sends relief barreling right after it.

The realization that if he fears not remembering, then he still remembers. An odd ouroboros of thought. The simple possession of fear negates its entire purpose.

He remembers. All of it. From the day he woke up in St. Mungo’s to the night he fell asleep with his new wife in his arms.

His wife. Even though he remembers, he still can’t quite believe the turn of events that led him to the altar marrying Hermione Granger.

Draco turns, the sheets sliding across his naked body, to find her curled up on her side next to him. Her mass of curls obscure her face entirely but the easy rise and fall of her chest indicates she still slumbers.

He moves closer, forming his body around hers and nestling back into the pillows, content to let the lazy morning play out now that he knows he still has her. Will always have her and every memory that brought them here.

Even if they hadn’t found the loophole, Draco doubted there was anything that could force him to forget how it feels to finally have someone choose him for him. To love him as he is and with every string attached.

Hermione Granger had done just that and he didn’t think he was capable of ever forgetting that.

And now he never would.

The end.

Notes:

The end! My first time actually writing and posting a story. If even one person read and enjoyed it then thats enough for me:) I had thought about continuing on writing Draco's pov for how they intigrate their new relationship into their lives and all of the issues that will cause. But still unsure on that. Thanks so much for reading!

Notes:

Thank you so much for reading. This is a story that was swimming around in my head for years before I finally tried my hand at writing it. I hope to update about once a week. It is fully written, just needing edits and minor corrections. I hope you enjoy!