Chapter Text
“Draco! You’re late!”
Hermione’s head snapped to attention as Theo Nott’s voice rang out over the crowd, catching the attention of the latecomer as he maneuvered through the Quidditch stands, looking for his seat. Their row of friends squeezed together to make more room for him, and she found herself squished tightly between Harry and Pansy on either side.
“What did I miss?” She heard Malfoy ask at the exact second that Ginny Weasley blazed past in her green Harpies uniform, the quaffle clutched in the crook of her elbow.
Harry leaned forward over the edge of the railing and screamed his encouragement at his wife as they watched her dodge bludgers and beam the quaffle through hoops for another ten points.
“Gods. Why is she retiring again?” Pansy yelled over the din of the crowd as they cheered her on, her voice raspy from use.
Harry shook his head, his smile practically splitting his face in two as they watched the Harpies score creep further up. “You talk to her. She won’t listen to me!”
Pansy huffed, and Hermione knew her well enough to guess that a confrontation would be swift and incoming. Sure enough, that afternoon as they celebrated the Harpy’s win at the pub, Hermione felt Pansy’s well-manicured claw dig into her wrist, dragging her away to corner Ginny on her barstool.
“You’re not allowed to retire yet. Wait another year.” Pansy declared, interrupting Harry mid-sentence.
Ginny’s brows flew up at Pansy’s tone and she looked over to Harry for support. Her husband simply shrugged, bringing his glass of beer to his lips and taking a well-timed sip to avoid having to offer his opinion before backing away from the three girls quietly.
“You know why I can’t do that.” Ginny insisted.
Pansy groaned in response. “We’re so young. What is this rush for babies already?”
Ginny tilted her head over at Ron and Lavender at the far end of the bar, Ron holding their youngest in his arms as Lavender sipped on a glass of water, her belly almost comically large - the couple only days away from welcoming their second child. “Why not bother them about this? They’re already on their second.”
“I obviously don’t care about what the dullest members of this friend group get up to in their free time. But as the only other two interesting women here, I expect you both to hold the line with me for a bit longer. I’m not going to be the only witch left at Nott’s Saturday night poker games because you couldn’t find a babysitter.” Pansy hissed as Ginny sighed.
Hermione supposed she should feel a bit more offended to hear most of her friends so thoroughly insulted, but she was used to Pansy’s cruel, biting sort of affection at this point, and it no longer phased her.
She felt Pansy’s nails dig into her arm once again as she looked over at Hermione expectantly. Hermione looked between the two of them, both of their eyes silently begging for her reinforcement.
“Don’t look at me like that.” She said to both of them simultaneously. “I’m obviously going to be the last of us to even have to consider this dilemma. I’m sure Charlie is going to start pestering you about babies soon too, if he hasn’t already.”
Pansy scowled at her. “Charlie is far too busy in Romania to care about snatching my independence away from me yet. It’s one of his best qualities.”
Hermione shook her head, taking a sip of her wine. It had taken her years to reconcile the idea of the grungiest, most uncivilized Weasley ending up married to Pansy Parkinson of all people, but the two of them seemed to enjoy one another immensely. What they possibly talked about when they were alone, she couldn’t begin to imagine.
The Gryffindor and Slytherin friend groups had commingled intermittently in the year or two following the war, always polite when brought together by some Ministry event or fundraising gala. But once Malfoy got assigned as Harry’s Auror partner, and Pansy began showing up at the Burrow on holidays, the floodgates that held the snakes back from curling around all their lives unleashed.
What was left was a large, raucous group of young adults that had all mostly forgiven one another for the sins of the past.
Mostly.
As Ginny and Pansy continued their hissed argument, Hermione slipped away to sidle up next to Harry and Ron, who were in the process of trying to distract the baby girl currently crying in Ron’s arms.
“He was late again today.”
Harry looked down at her briefly, then over to Draco, who sat across the bar with Theo and Lavender, laughing together with them at some joke.
“Was he? I didn’t notice.”
“Who was late?” Ron asked cluelessly as he bounced baby Rose in his arms, attempting to quell her but only succeeding at making her scream louder.
Hermione ignored him, leaning in closer to Harry. “This is the fourth Sunday in a row that we’ve had plans and he’s been late to them. You don’t think that’s the slightest bit suspicious?”
Harry’s gaze slid back to Hermione, looking utterly incurious. “Er, not really Hermione. I think I stopped being suspicious of him around the third or fourth time he saved my arse.”
“Who are we talking about?” Ron whined, dangling Rose’s toy over her face uselessly as she continued her crying. What a picture the two of them made - her whining ex-boyfriend and his crying baby.
“Ron!” Lavender’s voice shot across the bar sharply, and the three of them turned their heads to see his heavily pregnant wife glaring daggers at him while Draco and Theo looked on in polite disinterest and mild amusement, in that order.
“Give Rose to Hermione.”
“Lav, I’ve got it -”
“Now.”
Ron sighed in defeat and deposited his baby into Hermione’s arms, which were already open and waiting in anticipation of Lavender’s request. The bar full of their friends paused to watch as baby Rose cut off mid-wail and opened her eyes to see Hermione looking down at her contemplatively, waiting to see if her inexplicable baby-soothing-magic had finally worn off.
It evidently had not. Rose’s mouth clamped shut and she released a little gurgling coo as she stared up at Hermione in wonder.
“That is so unfair.” Ron complained as he watched his daughter immediately sooth.
“Thank gods.” Lavender sighed, sounding immediately relieved. “How much are they paying at the Ministry these days? I’ll double your rate just to come hold her for me all day.”
Hermione hummed thoughtfully at the little girl, wishing that child could convey to her why she acted as such an effective baby-tranquilizer. The wide, innocent eyes offered no answers, only reverence, broken by a giggling squeal of joy when Hermione blew a strand of her bright red hair back from off her forehead. Hermione smiled down at the sound.
She heard a choking noise and looked up to see Lavender patting Draco on the back, his face red as he coughed on a sip from the half-drank bottle of beer in his hand. Theo was no help at all, offering nothing but a wild grin as his friend struggled.
Eventually he caught his breath, sitting back up and muttering some sort of thanks to Lavender as Theo leaned in and whispered something in his ear. Whatever jibe it was seemed to land effectively, because Draco responded to the comment by rolling his eyes and pushing the boy off his barstool. Theo dragged him down with him, and the two collapsed into a ridiculous pile of limbs on the sticky floor of the pub.
“You really think there’s something sinister going on there?” Harry asked skeptically, the two of them watching as Draco stood up and fixed his clothes, attempting to regain some of his dignity.
“I’m just asking you to look into it.” Hermione grumbled.
“Why don’t I just ask him? Or better yet, you can?”
“Absolutely not.” Hermione snapped back, exhausted to be having this argument again. “If you’re wrong, and something is going on, he can’t find out that we’re interested.”
“That you’re interested.” Harry corrected her.
“Can’t you just do a little bit of investigating?” Hermione pressed, doing her best to keep her voice down. “That is your job, isn’t it?”
“Fine, Hermione. I will see what I can figure out.” Harry acquiesced, mouth slanted in a slight frown. Harry stopped her grin of victory with a single raised brow. “But. When this ends up being a waste of my time, you have to promise me that you’ll drop it. And that you’ll give him an actual chance.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes as she considered her friend’s offer - the sacrifice of having to possibly endure Malfoy’s presence in their lives without making her disdain known. Behind Harry’s head, she watched as Malfoy helped Lavender down from her barstool, holding a steadying hand at her back as he guided her tottering form over to Luna and Neville. She felt an acute surge of annoyance at the thoughtful tenderness of this act.
“Deal.”
“Gods, Malfoy. Finally. Get in here, we’re expecting an update any minute.” Ginny chided Draco as he emerged through Theo’s floo, an hour later than the rest of them.
Hermione had been woken up at the ungodly hour of seven-fifty a.m. that Sunday morning by Ron’s jack russell terrier patronus bounding into her bedroom, informing her in a breathless and slightly panicked tone that Lavender was going into labor, that they were headed to St. Mungo’s with both of their mothers, and they would try to keep everyone updated. That patronus was followed almost instantly by Theo’s silver jackal, cordially inviting her to Nott Manor for Sunday brunch.
Menu: expensive champagne and whatever his house elves could throw together with zero notice.
Start time: immediately.
Hermione threw on the first clean clothes she could find and floo’d over to Nott Manor as soon as she had finished brushing her teeth. She was followed closely behind by the remaining gaggle of their friends - all but one.
Hermione checked the clock on the wall - nine-twenty.
Maybe it was just the three bottles of Theo’s champagne they had already killed, but no one else seemed particularly concerned with Draco’s tardy entrance as he crossed the sitting room to collapse into a chair, looking slightly red-faced and out of breath. “Sorry.” He breathed, tugging off his tie and undoing the top button of his shirt. “I wasn’t getting the Patronuses till a few minutes ago.”
Infinitely suspicious excuse.
She surveyed his outfit. While it wasn’t unusual for Malfoy to dress up more than the rest of them, this ensemble was completely foreign to her.
A dark navy button down tucked into a pair of khaki slacks, a braided leather belt and matching brown leather loafers. A patterned tie that sat draped over the side of the chair.
It was more than unusual, she discovered as she studied it more closely. It was decidedly… Muggle.
Her eyes shot to Harry as the realization hit her - and she found him staring at Draco, a quizzical look on his face, as if confirming that he, too, had noticed the strangeness. Finally.
It was Pansy, of course, that commented on the get-up.
“Where is this from?” She demanded, snatching up the tie and twisting it around her fist.
Draco shrugged, leaning forward to pour himself a glass of champagne. “My mother bought it for me. Not sure where.”
“Narcissa and I have gone to the same tailor for ten years. This fabric didn’t come from Madame Parks, I would know.” She held the tie up threateningly in her fist, glaring at him. “If your mother is changing her tailor, you must tell me, Draco. I have to be kept informed of those types of decisions.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “It’s not from Madame Parks. It’s from some store. You’ll have to ask her about it.”
“A store?” Pansy spat with disgust laden in her voice.
“Harrod’s perhaps?” Hermione asked innocently, looking over at Harry as she sipped on her champagne.
“Er, yeah. Maybe. Sounds familiar.”
None of the other Pureblooded witches and wizards in the room attributed any significance to the name of the London department store, so Harry’s subtle eye twitch was the only reaction that Draco’s tentative confirmation received.
“As much as I enjoy watching the two of you spar over fashion, shouldn’t we give dear Draco the opportunity to log his bet before we receive the final word?” Charlie asked, sliding his hand around Pansy’s waist and handing Draco a quill and parchment. Even Charlie had beaten Draco to the house by twenty minutes or so, and he had taken a portkey from Romania to get there.
“Hey! Not fair!” Theo exclaimed as he rounded the corner back into the room, carrying a tray of mimosas and breakfast-themed canapes. “We all submitted ours over an hour ago. He doesn’t get to swoop in at the last minute and win it all because he showed up late.”
“How in the world does showing up an hour late give him an advantage at guessing the baby’s name and gender?” Blaise inquired lazily from his lounged-out position on the couch.
“Um, hello, the star sign?” Pansy reminded him. “If this baby isn’t born in the next three minutes, the odds of it being a rising Leo are virtually none.”
“Just put me down for whatever Granger has.” Draco offered dismissively, handing the parchment back to Charlie along with a handful of Galleons procured from his back pocket. “She got it all last time, right? I’ll hitch my cart to the winning horse.”
Ginny gave a brazen grin as she watched Charlie pour Draco’s Galleons into the repurposed decorative urn that was serving as their winning pot on the center of the coffee table.
“Not a winning strategy this year, I’m afraid.” Ginny teased, looking over her brother’s shoulder as he flicked his wand and the quill began to scribble on the parchment, logging Draco’s guess. “Hermione guessed rising Virgo. If I know my sister-in-law at all, she’d sooner cast a sticking charm to keep the baby in for another two hours before she sullies her line with an Earth sign.”
The clock on the wall chimed, and half of the members of their party groaned in dismay as the possibility of a Leo rising child vanished from thin air.
“Poor Lavender.” Luna mused empathetically. “Her tea leaves have been reading Leo for weeks now.”
Hermione watched carefully as Harry stood up from his spot on the loveseat next to Ginny, angling off towards the dining room to refresh his plate of food. She waited a minute to make sure she wasn’t too obvious before pushing up out of her own seat and following him into the next room.
“Well?” Hermione whispered as she cornered him in the other room. “Late again, wearing muggle clothes, ‘not receiving the patronuses’?” She ticked off the list of offenses, placing air quotes around the last one and layering heavy skepticism to her voice.
“I’ll admit this one was… odd.” Harry conceded, taking off his glasses and cleaning them with the hem of his shirt.
“Thank you. Have you found anything out from poking around?”
Harry shook his head. “No. Nothing. He’s made no notable new contacts, he’s pulled no files from the Ministry archives that would raise any flags.”
“Have you tried tailing him?”
Harry gaped at her suggestion briefly before steering her by the shoulders deeper into the Nott estate, clearly paranoid that they might be walked in on.
“I’m not putting a tail on my partner of almost six years on the basis of him showing up late to a few social events.” Harry was unusually stern with her as he established the boundary. “What do you even think he could possibly be doing on Sunday mornings, dressed in formal muggle attire?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware that death eating adhered to such a strict time table. What is it, no crimes before noon, and weekends are off?”
“Death Eating, Hermione? Really? Seems a little unearned, don’t you think?” Harry seemed almost disappointed in her comments, leveraging a lecture-like tone that had her temper flaring.
“What, am I not allowed to talk about his prior employer? Is that off limits?”
“Don’t you think he’s done enough to reconcile for his childhood? Especially after what he did for your parents?”
Hermione’s eyes narrowed at the mention of it, her voice dropping to a hiss. “I told you that in confidence.”
Harry at least had the decency to look slightly chagrined. “I’m just struggling to understand why you hate him so much, ‘Mione. You and Ginny have had no issue letting Pansy into your life. And she was just as horrible growing up as Draco was.”
Hermione crossed her arms defensively. “It’s exactly that. Pansy’s still Pansy. Still cruel and ridiculous, just to other people now instead. Malfoy, on the other hand, performs some new grand act of atonement every month. It’s exhausting, and more significantly, it’s guilty.”
Harry sighed deeply, bringing a weary hand up to wipe down his face. “Oh, Merlin, act of atonement?” He muttered behind his palm, sounding pained.
After a pause, and a deep, steadying breath, he dropped his hand and looked into her eyes very pointedly, as if he was communicating something important.
“Listen, Hermione. Have you ever noticed that these… ‘atonement acts’ are only ever directed at one person?”
She stared at him blankly, so he gave her the answer.
“At you. They’re for you.”
She shook her head slowly. “That’s not true. He bought all those brooms for Ginny’s Quidditch team, and paid for those lawyers for you when they were giving you issues with your inheritance. Not to mention all the stuff he did for Ron when he was trying to win over Lavender.”
“That stuff was all years ago. What has he done for anyone other than you in the last three years, even?”
Hermione bit her lip, thinking. “He paid for Charlie and Pansy’s honeymoon last year.”
Harry threw his hands up in exasperation. “So he’s a rich bastard. We know that already. Further proving my point - what does he owe Charlie Weasley, of all people?”
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to figure out.” Hermione argued back, equally frustrated.
They both froze as footsteps sounded around the corner, seeming to approach before fading away, leaving them alone again.
Harry kept his voice lower and markedly more measured than before when he began again. “I will keep looking into this for you. For a few more weeks, Hermione. But after that, you have to promise me that you’ll drop it. For good.”
“There you are.” Ginny’s voice cut through the half-formed response on Hermione’s lips. “Are you two plotting in here?”
Harry pulled himself together quickly and gave her a crooked smile, a baseline level of secrecy coming second-nature to him after a childhood of subterfuge. “Without you? Never.”
Ginny narrowed her eyes, not quite buying the answer, but accepted his kiss anyway. “Well whatever you’re up to will have to wait. People are noticing your absence.”
They allowed Ginny to lead them back to the party, where another round of mimosas had made their friends a bit rowdier, a bit more jubilant. Hermione settled back in with a plate of food this time, careful not to let her Sunday get too out of hand by drinking on an empty stomach.
“I cannot believe I’m already out.” Theo exclaimed dramatically, throwing the slip of paper with his guess on it in the air and collapsing on the loveseat. Hermione sat on the small couch across from him, her previous chair now occupied by Charlie.
Draco plucked the floating paper before it hit the ground. “Gender: boy. Name: Fred. Rising sign: Leo.” He folded it up and gave Theo a mocking pat on the shoulder. “Well you could still get the first two.”
“Hey! I guessed Fred too!” Neville exclaimed from the other room, halfway through refilling his plate.
“So did Charlie.” Pansy added, inspecting her cuticles.
Draco plopped down next to Hermione and propped his feet up on the coffee table. “What did we guess?” She was briefly thrown off by his scent - incense, a bit of rosemary. It wasn’t a cologne he had worn around her before.
She crinkled her nose, regarding him with annoyance. “I guessed a girl. Violet. Virgo.”
Ginny scoffed at her from the edge of the room. “Two Weasley girls in a row? We could never be so lucky. Even Fleur has only managed boys, and she has Veela blood.”
Pansy gave a sidelong look at her husband sitting in the chair across from her. “Yet another reason for us to never procreate.” She informed him in a strange, almost loving tone that he responded to with a raise of his glass and an agreeable grin.
“Why Violet?” Neville asked as he reentered the room.
Hermione shrugged. “Lavender, Rose… thought maybe they were following a theme.”
The clock chimed again, and Pansy’s resulting smile was wicked. “Well, well. Looks like the Virgos are out.” She gave Draco and Hermione a simpering look. “Sorry you two. Better luck next time.”
Before she even finished taunting them, the room illuminated with Ron’s Patronus, and they all held their breath.
“It’s a girl!” Ron’s voice echoed out breathlessly. “Born eleven thirty-one am!”
The Patronus dissolved from the room and they all collectively erupted into excited chaos. Ginny nearly burst into stunned, delighted hysterics, clinging to Harry as tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes, and Charlie picked up Pansy and spun her in the air while she playfully hit at his chest, demanding to be put down.
Theo gripped at the Divination chart in front of him, scanning the star positions with a frenetic energy. “Eleven thirty-one! The Libras have it!”
“The name-” Pansy exhaled, catching her breath from just being put down. “He didn’t give us the name.” She grabbed for her slip of paper. “I had Molly.”
As if summoned, Ron’s Patronus rematerialized in front of them. “Sorry, I forgot to -” A baby’s cry echoed in the background, along with the distant noises of a woman shouting. “The clocks in here are off by a bit. The baby was born at eleven twenty-nine.”
The jack russell faded away again, only for a new one to reappear almost immediately, as if he kept remembering that he had more to say. “Oh, and her name is Daisy!”
They all paused for effect as Theo’s finger skimmed the Divination chart rapidly.
“Virgo.” He said solemnly, confirming what they all suspected.
There was a beat of silence as the room turned to look over at Hermione.
Draco cleared his throat. “Well. Virgo, girl, named after a flower? I daresay Granger’s done it again.” The cheering returned, this time accompanied by congratulations and expressions of admiration at Hermione’s continued success.
Pansy stood stunned, clutching her now-worthless parchment in despair. “How?” She hissed at Hermione as Charlie laughed, clearly still too happy with the news to care much about losing the pot.
“And the rich just get richer.” Theo grumbled as Draco reached for the urn filled with their Galleons, distracting himself by making a beeline for the bar to open up a new bottle of champagne.
“How do you want to split this?” Draco held the pot out in front of her, rattling the gold inside with a small shake. “I’m willing to discuss something better than fifty-fifty on the basis of origination, but I’ll let you make the opening offer.”
Hermione leaned forward and plucked a handful of Galleons out of the pot, enough to buy Lavender and the baby a nice gift, but nothing more.
“All yours.” She told him dismissively, leaving him behind on the couch and walking over to Theo for a refill.
The sitting room was alive with conversation - a tug-of-war over the last bottle of champagne breaking out between Blaise and Theo while Luna and Harry crowded around Ginny and consoled her through her happy, slightly-drunk tears.
In the middle of them all, Pansy twisted her wand, conjuring her Patronus, a perfectly-groomed poodle. “Tell Ron and Lavender that we all issue them our most heartfelt congratulations on the birth of their newest flower child. And from me, please inform them that if their next baby girl is not named Pansy, that I will be divorcing Charlie and marrying into a family that appreciates me.”
Charlie raised an amused eyebrow at her as her poodle strutted off to deliver the message. “You know my mother is in there with them, right?”
Pansy shrugged, unconcerned. “She should know as well.”
In the havoc of it all, no one but Hermione noticed as Draco swiped up his discarded tie from the chair and quietly left through the floo, leaving behind the entire pot of Galleons.
It took three more weekends of missed or delayed social events from Draco before Harry showed up at her office in the Ministry, holding a small manila file in his hands that he deposited onto her desk unceremoniously.
“What’s this?” She asked, looking up from her notes on a case she was presenting at the Wizengamot later that week.
Harry sank down into the chair across from her, closing the office door with the flick of his wand. “What you asked for. Go ahead, take a look.”
She flipped open the folder and looked down. Photos of Draco, dressed in the strange muggle clothing he had been wearing at Theo’s house a few weeks ago, walking arm in arm with his mother, who looked equally adorned in muggle fashion. A handful of photos of them outside the Manor, clearly taken on different days due to their changing attire and the shifting weather in some of the shots.
“He meets his mother at the Manor on Sundays at seven-forty.” Harry began as she shuffled through the photos, picking up each one and watching it loop through completely, looking for something suspicious. “He walks her from the front door to the edge of the property, presumably where the anti-apprarition wards end. They return to the same spot typically by nine-fifteen or nine-thirty, and he walks his mother back through the front of the Manor. He presumably floos from there, because he doesn’t reemerge.”
“And where do they apparate to?” Hermione asked impatiently, staring at a repeating photo of Draco and Narcissa disappearing with a twist and pop outside the gate of their grand estate.
Harry shook his head. “Draco’s too careful for that. He’s an Auror. He casts charms to make his apparition history untraceable. We all do.”
Hermione opened her mouth to tell him it wasn’t enough, she needed more information, but Harry just held up his hand, cutting her off. “I already knew that you’d keep fighting me on this, so I went ahead and got the answer already. Last page.”
Hermione flipped hastily through the photos until a glossy brochure for something called the Hartsbourne Park Country Club slipped out onto her maplewood desk. She opened the pamphlet and began furiously skimming through the text, which touted the many amenities of the club and declared it to be the preeminent exclusive establishment for ‘British Wizarding Society.’
“Last weekend, I added an additional anti-apparition ward right outside the bounds of his property, where he and his mother normally leave from.” Harry explained as she read.
“After ten minutes or so of his apparition spell failing, he walked his mother back into the Manor where they used their floo to travel to their destination. He stayed at the Manor for the next few days, attempting to repair the wards on the home, which he presumed to be malfunctioning.
“On Tuesday night, I floo’d over to the Manor under the pretense of needing to discuss a case with him. I asked to borrow a book from his library for research into a Graphorn poaching case, and when he went to retrieve it, I looked into the travel history on their floo. At seven fifty-six that Sunday, and at nine forty-three, their floo network logged two journeys. Both to and from the Hartsbourne Park Country Club.”
Hermione’s heart pounded with anticipation. “And? What is it? Some sort of Pureblooded society? Who are they meeting with when they’re there?”
Harry shook his head. “It may have been limited to Pureblooded families once, but these days it lets in anyone who can afford the membership fees. Which are exorbitant, by the way. Upwards of thirty-thousand Galleons a year.”
Her eyes widened at the sum, which was more than half of her yearly Ministry salary.
“The club prides itself on its discretion as to the activities of its members, so it is nearly impossible to figure out with whom, exactly, they were meeting while they were there. However, from my research, the club has a reputation amongst the upper-crust of wizarding society as being the preferred venue for one particular thing.”
Harry paused for dramatic effect here, and Hermione fell for it completely, leaning forward across her desk as he baited her with the answer.
“Matchmaking.”
Hermione opened her mouth, paused, closed it again. Her mind, which had been reeling with the possibilities of his illicit activities, screeched to a halt. “I - what?”
Harry crossed his arms as he stared at her, looking awfully triumphant. “He’s going on dates, Hermione.”
“Dates? With his mother in attendance? On a Sunday morning?”
“It’s their asinine Pureblood courting traditions. I checked; typically, dating over dinner and drinks comes later. First meetings between potential couples should always be at a neutral location, never at someone’s home. And they should not be evening affairs - it is customary to have tea or a light lunch. After that, there's a series of gifts that must be given to the woman and her family. Then they get to have dinner.”
“No. No, that can’t be right. It doesn’t explain -”
“It explains everything. His mother is probably making him do it, or at the very least she’s facilitating the selection of women, which is why he always attends with her. It explains why he’s dressed so nicely. It even explains why he’s so cagey about what he’s been up to. Draco hates talking about these kinds of things, and he most likely abhors this entire process.”
“It… it doesn’t explain why they’re wearing muggle clothing.” Her argument sounded weak even to her own ears.
Harry gave her a pitying look. “For all we know, Narcissa went to France last month and heard that it’s the next wave of fashion about to take wizarding Britain by storm. I know this wasn’t what you were expecting. But it’s the answer.”
Hermione released a puff of breath, eyes moving over the pictures one last time before she nodded stiffly, closing the file and sliding back towards Harry.
She swallowed an embarrassed lump in her throat and drummed her fingers on the table as she eked out an apology. “Right. Sorry for making you do all of this, then. I… I was being paranoid.”
Harry’s gaze seemed to soften even further at her defeat. “I know I’m hardly one to lecture others about Malfoy-induced paranoia. But trust me when I say that you have nothing to worry about from him, Hermione.”
After her meeting with Harry and the subsequent revelation of Malfoy’s innocence, Hermione found that her obsessive thought patterns on his evil-doings took an unwelcome turn. Instead of visions of Pureblooded cult meetings and dark magic rituals, Hermione began hyperfixating on the imagined scenes of Draco Malfoy, out on dates.
What would he be like? Stiff, surly, unpleasant to be around? Or would he turn up the charm, act the part, bask in the attention of the witches drooling over his good looks and enormous fortune?
She thought about it so much that she even dreamed about it, once. She woke up horrifyingly embarrassed by her own subconscious, wishing she knew occlusion so she could wipe away the tableau she created - of her, wearing her nicest muggle dress, sipping tea with Narcissa Malfoy while Draco sat across from them, pushing a decorative urn overflowing with Galleons in her direction.
Hermione partially blamed her fixation on the novelty of the idea. In the years since he had crept back into their lives, Draco had been constantly, bewilderingly single. It was a topic of discussion and light ridicule amongst their friends at many of their outings - his eternal bachelorhood, underscored by his habit of firmly declining any woman who mustered up the courage to try to hit on him while they were all out together. Which was an annoyingly frequent occurrence.
Pansy and Ginny were certain he was having clandestine attachments on the side without their knowledge, but Harry (who spent most of his waking hours with Draco at work, and was a frequent guest at his apartment) swore there was absolutely no evidence of it.
It wasn’t as though Hermione had much experience to speak for herself - after Ron, she remained single for a number of years, occasionally allowing Ginny, and later Pansy, to set her up on dates that never went anywhere. She had had only one other real relationship so far, with a muggle boy who was studying to become a doctor. That ended about two years ago, and she hasn’t been on so much as a single date since.
So now, the concept of Draco Malfoy, entertaining a weekly buffet of hand-selected female debutants, as a future of spinsterhood seemed more and more likely to become her reality - it was maddening.
Her newest obsession was also impeding on her promise to Harry of giving Draco a chance. She was overly awkward around him anytime they interacted now, fumbling over words and excusing herself frequently from their discussions. She imagined it was an improvement over her previous icy and insolent attitude towards him, but her avoidance seemed to bother him more than her insults ever did.
Apparently, her behavior was odd enough to merit a confrontation, and she found herself cornered one Saturday evening at Nott Manor. Having successfully dodged him the whole night, he caught her while she was catching her breath on Theo’s balcony, nursing the back half of her second glass of chianti.
“Did I do something to upset you?” Draco’s voice interrupted her musing, causing her to start, the wine in her glass sloshing around a bit. She turned to see him leaned against the French doors leading back into the parlor room, glaring at her, his arms crossed.
She huffed and looked away, back out at the rolling hills of the Nott property, determined not to get flustered by him. “Of course not.”
“Then why are you acting so strange?”
She bristled. “I’m not acting strange.”
“You’ve been diving out of the room the second I walk into it for weeks.”
She took a long sip of her wine, letting it run down her throat slowly as she mustered up the courage to tell him the truth. “I’m trying to be nice.”
A look almost like disgust crossed Draco’s face. “Nice? To me?”
She nodded gravely at him. “Yes. As a favor to Harry. He wants us to be friendly.”
“And you thought that the friendly thing to do would be to avoid me entirely?”
She gave him a half-shrug. “I thought it was at least better than openly hostile.”
He took a step towards her, his frown deep and stern. “I prefer you openly hostile, Granger. Feels far more authentic.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t care what you prefer. I’m doing this for Harry, not you.” A sharp wind cut through the night, blowing her curls into her face, and she swatted at her hair to get it away from her eyes so she could glare back at him properly.
“Ah, there she is.” He muttered with a hint of wicked amusement as she began to lose her composure.
She clutched the glass of wine tighter in her grip, so tight that she was worried the stem might snap. “Why didn’t you take the Galleons we won at Lavender’s birth party?”
The topic change was sudden, but he didn’t seem at all surprised by it. He simply raised an eyebrow, like he had been waiting on the question. “Can’t say I really need the money.”
“Do you like keeping me in your debt?” Hermione’s inquiry was sharp, accusatory.
His eyes flashed back at her coldly. “You are not in my debt.”
She scowled. “My bank tells me that none of the checks I send every month have been withdrawn from my account. And that every transfer request I’ve made has been denied.”
“Interesting. I’ve been having a similar dilemma with a witch I’ve been sending owls to. I keep having to insist that she stop reaching out to my goblins with deposit inquiries. It must be an issue with the mail, then.”
Her temper flared at his mocking sarcasm. “That is not the agreement we made. You promised you would let me pay you back.” She hissed at him, stepping forward, her fury propelling her further into his orbit.
“Yes. I lied. I lie sometimes. It’s one of the things you hate about me, remember?” His tone was biting, almost acrimonious as he looked down at her, offering no contrition or excuses.
Hermione gritted her teeth. “I owe you almost two. Hundred. Thousand. Galleons.” She spit the number out, flowing like acid from her tongue, a value so high she couldn’t possibly begin to conceive of what it would look like, piled up in a stack behind a vault door somewhere. “What is the point of this charade? Why will you not allow me to at least make a dent-”
“What the hell am I supposed to do with a check for two hundred Galleons, Granger? I’m not sure my goblins would even know what to do with that - the transaction fees alone on my account might be higher -”
“You need more?” She interrupted him, desperate to find a solution to this dilemma that had lived in her gut for the past two years. “I can make fewer checks, for higher amounts-”
“Granger -”
“Seriously, Malfoy, I have it now. I mean, not all of it, obviously, but enough to start -”
“Granger!” He shut her up with a firm hand on her shoulder and a stern admonishment shaped like her name. “You’re… making noise somewhere.”
It took a second for his odd comment to register in her brain, and she jumped a bit as she heard it - a bright, jingling tune emanating from her jean pocket.
“Shit.” She cursed under her breath, her free hand not gripping her wine glass fluttering a bit as she nervously fumbled for the bright pink box she had let her mother buy her a few months ago.
She stepped back as she flipped it open and held it to her ear. Draco’s hand slid off her shoulder and he shoved it deep within his trouser pocket.
“Mom? Is everything okay?” She turned her back to him as she spoke into the phone, creating the illusion of privacy. It was only a mild comfort, as she knew he was still standing only a foot or two away, able to hear her every word.
“Everything’s fine, honey!” Her mother’s tinny voice resonated through the phone, an immediate relief. “I was just calling to see if you were still planning to come up tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Hermione echoed. She could hear her father talking in the background, his words distant and unintelligible.
“Yes, it’s Easter, did you forget? It’s okay if you have plans, we won’t be mad. We know you’re very busy at work.”
“Oh!” Her brain raced through her mental calendar, wondering how the date had slipped her notice. “No, no, tomorrow is fine. What time? Do you need me to bring anything?”
“Well church starts at eight, and then there’s a potluck after. Your father and I signed up to bring some Cornish pasties, but you know how these things are - never enough cups and plates and all that. I’m sure if you stop by the store and pick some up on your way that’ll be plenty.”
“Right, okay. I’ll come by the house in the morning, then, before.”
“Sounds great, darling. We’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”
“Yeah, great. Love you, mom. Give dad my love as well.”
“We love you too, Hermione.” Her mom replied before hanging up, leaving her with only the slim mechanical box still clutched to her ear.
She lowered it slowly and it closed with a snap. She lingered for a moment before turning back around, dreading the eye contact she was about to make with Draco, the smug expression he almost certainly wore.
But when she turned, he wasn’t looming over her, waiting to lord his victory in the space between them. He had retreated, silently, back to the door, one hand on the handle as he stood poised to disappear behind it and restore her solidarity.
He opened the door and the sounds from Theo’s parlor room of their drunk friends laughing spilled out into the night. Before he stepped away, he turned back once to look at her. It wasn’t a look of gloating that he gave her, but rather a careful, neutral expression - calm with edges of satisfaction.
“Looks like my investment has paid dividends.”
The door clicked shut as he closed it behind him, leaving Hermione alone once again on the balcony of the Nott estate.