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Chapter Text

October, 2006. 

The world wrapped itself in a blanket of grays, like it was grieving right along with her, all its bright colors washed away to match the pain clutching at her heart. It was an off-and-on rainy day; a brief break in the showers had come, hinting at the calm right before the storm. She could have sought shelter, hastened her steps to evade the looming downpour, yet the thought of raindrops mingling with her tears held a bittersweet comfort she couldn’t resist.

The path beneath her blurred, obscured by tears. She walked without conscious direction, her steps instinctively finding their way to the clearing, as if they knew it by heart. The grass, in stark contrast to her somber mood, jeered with its vibrant green. A solitary majestic tree stood guard at the forest's edge, its branches outstretched in a silent gesture of empathy, as it had once before. Her movement was almost mechanical, each step sinking slightly, as if she were shouldering an invisible burden, making her every movement feel laden and slow. Here is where she stopped, knowing it was the right place.

There, beneath the somber sky, Hermione knelt, a lone figure swallowed by the vastness around her, her shape laden with loss. The taste of tears lingered on her lips, a constant reminder of her grief. Her eyes, tired and raw from countless tears, still brimmed with fresh ones that carved new paths down her cheeks. She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to quell the aching hollowness that consumed her, while her other hand gripped an old, frayed blanket—his blanket. It defied all reason, and yet, the thought of leaving him without it felt unthinkable.

The ground, still holding onto the night's rain, filled the air with the scents of pine, petrichor, and a hint of ancient enchantments. The comforting purr that used to mix with the sound of rain was now a distant memory, as far away as the stars hidden by the thick clouds. Silence enveloped her, a profound stillness that felt as deep as the Black Lake, unsettling in its quiet. Above, the clouds loomed, heavy with the unshed tears of the world, echoing Hermione's sorrow as if the sky itself was grieving with her.

He had always disliked the rain, she recalled. On days such as this, he would have nestled beside her on their well-loved sofa, both swaddled in a blanket. Her with her tea and book, and him, all cozy while the rain played its melody on the windows, the fireplace glowing. He would grumble softly in his unique manner, as if scolding the clouds for daring to spoil their day, yet secretly content to snuggle with his witch. She'd laugh quietly while indulging his sulkiness, loving the warmth, and amused by his indignation. Such a feisty little creature, such a character, her Crookshanks.

With a gentle spell, she carved out a resting place in the dirt, a neat, small space for him. Laying down the tattered blanket like a protective cloak against a cold that would never touch him again.

Then, picking up a stone, she transfigured it into a simple gravestone, plain but meaningful, honoring a companion who'd been so much more than just a pet. Crookshanks, her faithful friend, her familiar, her chosen family, now immortalized at the forest's edge.

Even for Hermione, who knew life's rough tides all too well, this loss cut through her in a new way—a deep, relentless ache, whispering of a tiny, crucial piece of her heart gone missing. A piece so vital that its absence left avoid inside her that seemed to stretch on forever.

As the wind whispered its own lament, a sharp sting of denial hit her. Logic told her Crookshanks wouldn't come back, yet part of her lingered on the hope of sensing his comforting presence, waiting for him to saunter back to her with that mix of affection and feline disdain, his purr a rough but soothing sound calling for the comfort of home. Always finding his way back to her, as if by magic, reverberating through the memories tied to this place.

Her eyes, burdened with the weight of memories, wandered to the lake, where the ripples mirrored her heart's deepest grief, blurring lines between reflection and reality. She closed her eyes, letting the forest's gentle murmur take her away for a moment, the rustle of leaves and branches singing a soft lullaby, cradling her in a song of past echoes.

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January, 2006

Hermione stumbled into her office later than usual, the shadow of yesterday's news keeping her up all night. It was as if she had been turned to stone, lying there, staring at the ceiling, unable to think clearly or muster the energy to get up and search her medicine cabinet for some Dreamless Sleep potion. 

With just half an hour to spare before her day was supposed to start, she finally dragged herself out of bed, splashed water on her face, threw her hair into a messy ponytail, and slipped into the first robe she found that looked halfway decent. 

Hermione felt thankful for the direct Floo connection to her office, she wasn't in the mood for small talk or the well-meaning but intrusive "How are you?" from colleagues that she knew would make her stomach turn.

Stepping out of the fireplace felt like walking into a bubble of normalness, a thin veil of composure that felt like it could crack at any moment. Dropping into her chair, she found a bit of peace in the solitude of her office. Away from the prying eyes on a day when her heart was in pieces.

Moving as if through molasses, she scribbled a note to her assistant, asking not to be disturbed unless absolutely necessary. A white lie on parchment she magically whisked away. She hadn't dared look in a mirror that morning but could imagine the forlorn sight she made and preferred to stay out of sight if she could help it. Work was usually her escape, but today, even the words on the pages in front of her seemed to swim, meaningless, as the vet's solemn words replayed in her head.

"I’m so sorry, Miss Granger," the voice pervaded her memory, a soft blow that had left her world tilting. "Chronic kidney disease," the term bounced around her skull, a death knell that tolled with a chilling finality. The pamphlets from the vet, filled with cold facts and survival rates, lay untouched on her desk, forgotten.

She had always been the type to seek knowledge, to dive into books and research for solutions. But this time, the silence that enveloped her was a stark contrast to her usual flurry of questions. The vet's office had felt like a set from a muggle drama, where she was cast as a statue, frozen in disbelief.

Now, surrounded by the well-known wood and leather of her office, the weight of yesterday's realizations pressed no less heavily on her. An entire day stretched before her next appointment, a day of limbo, teeming with unbearable uncertainty. It was too much time, yet not enough to brace herself for what was coming; she wasn't ready—not for this.

Words like "treatable, but incurable," "palliative care," and "making him comfortable" bounced around in her head, none offering solace. Crookshanks had always seemed larger than life, his true age a mystery even to her, but suddenly, his seemingly indestructible presence appeared all too mortal.

The signs had been subtle at first. Hermione hadn't paid much attention. Crookshanks, ever the drama king and fiercely independent, had never been one to show weakness or complain. Being a mysterious cat, he tended to disappear for days, only to return home a bit fatter and more entitled. So when she first noticed he was eating less, she wasn't too surprised, thinking he was hunting during his disappearances, probably a habit from his half-kneazle nature.

Yes, she noticed he was more tired and grumpy; after all, he was getting old. It was only natural until, after a couple of days without seeing him leave the house or touch his food, she started to worry. She tried offering his favorite food to encourage him to eat, but Crookshanks remained uninterested and lethargic. Yesterday, while holding him in her lap trying to book an appointment with the vet, Crookshanks lost control of his bladder without even waking up. The possible diagnosis: CKD stage III.

Hermione was used to solitude, valuing her independence and the simple company of her own thoughts. Her relationships were warm yet distant, a choice that never bothered her until today, when the silence felt louder than ever. She craved someone to talk to, someone who would understand.

The thought of calling her mum flitted through her mind, only to be dismissed as quickly as it came. Her mum would sympathize, but secretly think it was for the best. Having never had pets herself, her mum couldn't grasp the profound bond Hermione shared with her familiar. Hermione craved empathy, someone to stand with her in the pit of despair, holding her hand in the darkness.

Her mum would offer words meant to comfort, trying to find a silver lining with comments like, "You're no longer the crazy cat lady," or "You let that cat fill a void where friends and a boyfriend should be." But those words would only deepen Hermione's pain, making her regret exposing her sorrow, aware that her grief would be dismissed as a fleeting emotion rather than the earth-shattering experience it truly was. No, Hermione needed someone who could genuinely empathize with her loss, someone who would understand.

Harry, though a dear friend, had never been particularly fond of her cat.  She feared a similar reaction as her mum. Her work friends were kind, but their connection wasn’t deep enough to feel comfortable discussing sentimental topics.

So there she was, feeling more alone than ever, lost in thought when a knock on her door startled her. Assuming it was her assistant with some so-called emergency, she braced herself. Dealing with something—anything—might momentarily distract her from her heartache. She stood, straightened her robe, tried to tame her unruly hair, and practiced a semblance of a smile before opening the door, ready to face whatever came next with as much grace as she could muster.

"Ye—" Her voice faltered, evaporating before it could fully form, as the door swung open to reveal Draco Malfoy. He stood at her door a figure of awkward tension. His face a canvas of embarrassment tinged with an unmistakable concern—an expression Hermione had never witnessed on him. The sight of Malfoy, here and now, in the doorway of her office, was enough to steal the breath straight from her lungs. Hermione was petrified at the door, her eyes wide as saucers.

Malfoy's sudden appearance in her office was the last thing Hermione expected, especially given their complicated past. Since the war, their paths had barely crossed, interactions kept to a necessary minimum. Yet, against all odds, here he was, the very image of distress.

It had been years since Hermione had really seen Malfoy. She knew he flitted through the Ministry corridors, lending his expertise as a consultant on cursed objects, particularly those with dark and complex enchantments, to various departments. Their paths might have crossed, but never once had they stopped to exchange words. Malfoy, to her knowledge, was always the epitome of politeness, albeit cloaked in a shell of reserve, sharing nothing beyond the scope of work.

Truth be told, Hermione hadn't spared Malfoy a thought for a long time.  Post-war, a letter from Azkaban had found its way to her, Malfoy's words etched with sincerity—apologies and gratitude for her courtroom advocacy. Although touched, she never replied.

Their next encounter was brief, during his visit to register the employment of house-elves—a visible shadow of Azkaban still clinging to him. Thin, hands quivering, overwhelmed by the freedom he was no longer accustomed to. Again, he tried to apologize, and Hermione, feeling sorry for his state, told him she had forgiven him the first time, noting his progressive step with the elves' contracts as a promising departure from his father's legacy. Malfoy's reaction was muted, a silent nod his only reply. Until this moment, their interactions had remained just memories.

But the Malfoy standing before her now was transformed; while still tall and slender, he no longer looked frail and sick. His eyes, although nervous, had regained the sparkle of the living. He seemed unsure of what to say as Hermione stood dumbfounded, unmoving and gaping like a fish. He took a deep breath, clenched his palms into fists, and then came his unexpected inquiry.

"Granger, is your cat okay?" His voice, soft and raspy with genuine concern, threw her further into a state of bewilderment.

"What?" The word slipped out.

"May I come in?" His voice carried a plea.

Hermione, still silent and not understanding what was happening, took a small step aside to let him in, casting a Muffliato as she closed the door behind them. The room seemed to shrink, leaving them in a bubble of their own, divided only by her desk. Malfoy, once a symbol of defiance, now appeared to relax slightly, as if her silent concession had lifted a weight from his shoulders.

His posture betrayed a vulnerability rarely seen in Draco Malfoy, shoulders slightly slumped as though bearing the brunt of his worries. His hands, clasped tightly on her desk, turned pale from the grip. This humility, a stark contrast to the boy she remembered from Hogwarts, was both startling and unexpected; disarmingly human. 

"I know this is odd," he started, his voice threading through the silence with a nervous edge.  "But I had a dream, a terrible feeling... I need to explain, but first—how is he? Is Crookshanks okay?"

Hermione's mind whirled with questions, the timing of Draco's concern stirring a deep curiosity within her. Despite her confusion, it was unmistakable that Draco cared, genuinely so.

At another time, Hermione might have met his concern with skepticism, yet something deep within urged her to confide in him. Without realizing it, tears began to run down her cheeks. Instead of asking how did he know Crookshanks’ name, why did he care, and, why now, of all times? She found herself answering.

"No, I don’t think… he’s not." She managed, her voice quivering.

Her admission unleashed a flood, tears streaming freely as she braced herself to pour her heart out to her former enemy, now a complete stranger. She took a deep breath, her sobs subsiding into sniffles, as she finally spoke. 

"He's... he's very sick," she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper. "They're running more tests, but the... it doesn't look good."

Malfoy's expression softened, the harsh lines of his face easing into a look of sincere sympathy and something else; he looked almost sad. 

"I'm sorry, Granger," he said quietly. 

And then, the words tumbled out of her, a litany of fear and sadness that she had borne alone until this moment. As Hermione recounted the vet's prognosis, Malfoy listened intently. When she had finished, the room was heavy with the weight of her admission.

The quiet that settled between them was deep. Malfoy's hand, cautiously reaching out to cover hers, bridged years of distance, offering a tangible sign of his support. The irony of Draco Malfoy being the one to offer comfort in her hour of need wasn't lost on her—a poignant reminder of how unpredictable life could be, still she let him, she was too tired to care and in desperate need of some form of comfort.

Gazing into Malfoy’s eyes, Hermione saw no trace of the iciness that had once defined him. Instead, there was understanding, a mirroring of her own heartache, and an open offer of solace.

"Have you eaten anything? You look pale," He asked, another unexpected question. 

She simply shook her head, still too stunned to give a more complex answer.

After a moment's contemplation, he suggested gently, "I know eating might be the last thing on your mind, but you need to. I was about to grab something. Join me?" His voice was gentle yet insistent. "I know a quiet place where we can talk."

_________________________________________________________________

May 3rd 1998

She was exhausted. In the aftermath of the battle, Hermione had thrown herself into the frenzied effort to restore order to the chaos. The last 24 hours had been a blur, with Hermione dedicating herself non-stop to assisting Madame Pomfrey—carrying, sorting, and attending to the injured. This involved distinguishing between those who could be saved and those who could not, prioritizing care based on urgency and survival chances, and managing the scarce resources available in the school's infirmary. Hermione felt saturated with the smell of blood, ashes, dust, sweat, and tears—the scent of loss and exhaustion. Winning the war brought no sense of triumph, only an overwhelming sorrow.

Around 10 p.m., Madame Pomfrey finally noticed Hermione's fatigue, realizing she hadn't slept or eaten in too long. Insisting on a break, she ordered Hermione to eat something and try to rest until the next day. Reluctantly, Hermione obeyed, accepting the meager ration of food but refusing to lie down. The castle's once majestic halls were now marred by signs of the recent siege, countless corners marked by tragedy, tarnishing happy memories. The omnipresent smell haunted her, threatening to drag her mind back to the battle's worst moments. She needed to escape.

Outside, by the Black Lake, under the stars and the sounds of the night, Hermione found a moment of respite. Drawn as if by a call, she walked towards a large tree at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, sat down leaning her back against its broad trunk, and let herself collapse, observed only by the lake and the stars.

She wept—not for any one reason but for all of them: for the fallen and their loved ones, for the loss of her childhood and innocence to a war meant for adults, for the daunting uncertainty of the future.

Suddenly, the crunching of leaves behind her signaled an approach. Her mind raced with images of snakes, giant spiders, and masked men. Terrified, she stood, wand at the ready, conditioned to defend, to fight, to kill if necessary.

But the crunching was accompanied by a deep, off-key meow—a sound deeply familiar yet seemingly impossible. "Crooks?" she ventured, greeted by a familiar growl. Crookshanks, her astoundingly intelligent cat, approached with a smug, unbothered stride. She had feared him lost forever, gone since the night she had last gone home. Yet here he was, as if saying, "You took long enough. I've been waiting." Overcome, Hermione sank to the ground, tears blurring her vision.

Crookshanks appeared healthy, his fur glossy, a snake—no, a colorful cat toy—in his mouth. For a moment, Hermione wondered if she was hallucinating. Crookshanks then bumped his head against her leg, gave a playful bite, and settled in her lap for a nap, a gesture of absolute normalcy.

"Oh, Crooks, it's really you," she whispered, her voice breaking with relief and apology.

Crookshanks only purred, offering the comfort Hermione so desperately needed after witnessing so much sorrow.

How Crookshanks found his way back remained a mystery. Perhaps he had stayed with Hagrid? It seemed unlikely; Hagrid would have mentioned it. Crookshanks had clearly not been living in the wild, his condition too well for such a life. In this moment, Hermione chose not to dwell on her questions, embracing a rare superstition over her usual logic, grateful for this small miracle.

Holding Crookshanks a little too tightly, as if he might disappear, she returned to the castle, cooing to him, sharing her experiences, posing questions she knew would go unanswered.

That night, for the first time in months, Hermione found peace in sleep, with Crookshanks safely by her side—a small beacon of hope in the aftermath of war.

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Two years on

"Oi, Mione," Ron's Patronus burst into her office, "your blasted fur-demon just urinated all over my gear and then bit me! What in the bloody hell? I don’t need this—risking some Mad-Kneazle disease or whatever it is. You're fixing—” The image shimmered violently, then vanished in a puff, cut short by Hermione's swift, seething wave of her wand.

Hermione dispelled the Patronus without letting Ron finish, for he certainly did not deserve her sympathy, the cheating sod. No surprise Crookshanks never took to him.

Summoning her own Patronus, Hermione spoke with restrained fury, “ Ronald, Crooks is fiercely protective of me. Maybe one of your little Quidditch fans can assist you with the cleanup. I couldn’t give a Niffler’s snout. You have two minutes to clear out and ensure everything’s spick and span and my cat unharmed, or you'll profoundly regret the consequences. Rest assured, I'll know if you try any funny business. The wards are set to engage imminently, so I’d quicken the pace if I were you, you wouldn’t like to know the consequences of staying uninvited." These would be her parting words to Ron.

Hermione gazed vacantly, seated at her desk. Despite the hour for departure being well past, she had lingered late to dodge encountering Ron. She was determined to stay strong; Ron was a master at emotional blackmail, adept at inducing guilt, and this time she was not inclined to grant forgiveness. Hermione had always maintained that a multitude of issues could be resolved through dialogue and effort, yet infidelity was not among them.

For years, she had attempted to converse, negotiate, and quarrel with him, all to no avail. Ron had relegated her to the role of an accessory, showcasing affection publicly, adeptly playing the devoted and proud boyfriend, yet behind closed doors, he regressed to a conceited toddler.

Emotional accountability and maturity were conspicuously absent from his lexicon. Nevertheless, Hermione, partly out of habit and partly due to affection for their past friendship, had endured far more than was warranted.

The initial year was pleasant enough; Ron had been supportive throughout the ordeal of mending memories and rekindling the relationship with her parents, while she stood by him through his mourning and his phase of figuring out his life’s direction. However, the dynamic shifted dramatically once he resolved to pursue professional Quidditch.

While Ron was a decent player, he was far from being elite, yet his war hero status attracted second-rate teams, seeking to bask in his reflected glory. Fame became Ron's undoing, gradually morphing him into a person unrecognizable, cold, vain, and manipulative. Hermione found herself reduced to another instrument to satiate his craving for adoration; unless it was an occasion for him to shine, he rarely made plans with her, claiming to be tired, even during the off-season.

During the second year of their relationship, Hermione gradually began to feel increasingly alone, and her heart broke to see that her first love was starting to feel like a stranger living in her house, sharing nothing more than space. However, Hermione had done everything possible to improve things in the relationship, fearing not only to lose one of the most important people in her life but everything that was linked to that relationship, so perhaps Hermione tolerated much more than she would have withstood from anyone else.

Until that morning when, upon exiting the shower, she discovered Crookshanks amusing himself with a box under the bed, only to unearth a dozen compromising photos of Ron with various women, along with more than a couple of knickers, none of them Hermione’s. It was the Quaffle that broke the broomstick.

All she felt in that moment was ire; the bumbling baboon hadn’t even the decency to conceive a more ingenious hiding place for his “trophies” of indiscretion. In silence, she incinerated all the photographs, packed his belongings, and dispatched an owl to deliver a piercingly loud Howler directly to Ron, who was training with his team, stipulating, in a very clear and quite terrifying manner, a precise timetable to collect his things from her flat, not a minute more or less. Then, with an eerie calm belying her turmoil, she went to work.

Now, certain that Ron would no longer be in her flat, Hermione took a centering breath and at last Flooed home. It wasn’t until her arrival and the sight of an empty flat, devoid of Ron’s presence, that she allowed herself the luxury of tears for what was lost. Parting ways with Ron felt almost like setting aside a part of herself: it meant distancing herself not only from the rest of the Weasley family but also becoming the weakest link in the distribution of their numerous shared friendships.

No one would tell her to her face, and surely everyone would show her support, but given Ron’s charisma, it was very unlikely she'd be included in gatherings he attended in the near future. Even her family gatherings were less awkward if Ron was present. Despite him being clearly the wrongdoer in the relationship, Hermione found solace only in her cat.

After ordering enough sustenance to see her through the weekend, Hermione resolved to camp in her living room, wary that her bedroom might still be haunted by the specter of their failed relationship. It would be three weeks before Hermione felt prepared to sleep in her bedroom again. Throughout this period, Crookshanks never strayed from her side, showing an unusual degree of patience. He was the only being who saw her cry entire days and, with intelligence clearly superior to that of a domestic cat, took care of giving her small scratches to remind her to eat and forced her to bathe by biting her trousers and dragging her to the bathroom.

Crookshanks was not inherently a cuddly cat, yet he seemed imbued with an extraordinary ability to discern his owner's mood and needs. Typically preferring solitude, observing Hermione from atop a bookshelf (especially if Ron was about) and even vanishing for days, only to return demanding royal treatment and affection, with his fur radiant and fluffy, as if he had camped in the moonlight to be gifted a bit of its glow.

It wasn’t until Crooks saw Hermione finally cooking and cleaning the flat by her own decision that, after rubbing against her legs a couple of times, he jumped out the window to embark on another of his secret adventures.

Once the initial pain subsided, Hermione realized that life without Ron wasn't so different and had advantages of its own, such as not picking up after him, not having to know absolutely anything about Quidditch, choosing whatever she wanted on the TV, and generally being less concerned about the threat of constant fights.

Hermione, being the practical witch she had always been, decided she was too young to dedicate herself to wasting time crying over a man, preferring to focus for the first time in her life on herself. She was Hermione bloody Granger, not a damsel in distress. She had thousands of interests and things to do other than cry over a man and was not willing to let anyone see her defeated. Thus, with the frenetic energy that only a woman scorned can possess, Hermione decided to restructure her life.

She dedicated herself to redecorating her flat as she had always wanted, joined cooking and baking classes, set up a potions laboratory, began a collection of rare books, learned to cross-stitch, signed up for a yoga class, joined a book club, and published a couple of raunchy novels under a pen name in the muggle world.

In addition to throwing herself into her work with even more fervor, she began self-studying arithmancy, complex charms and transfiguration, ancient runes, Mermish, and a couple of dead languages. Her life became a whirlwind of activities the first three years after their breakup, to the point of receiving a promotion and becoming the youngest department head at the Ministry.

No one could say that Hermione Granger had suffered a romantic disappointment; she simply flourished in her singleness. Meanwhile, Ron, after a couple of scandals reported in Witch Weekly — not even The Prophet, mind you — found himself without teams willing to sign him. He returned to The Burrow and worked as a shop manager at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, to no one's surprise, Ron's dismay, and Hermione's delight. As the saying goes: "Dark arts cast, on you they'll last."

Over time, as the frenzy subsided, Hermione established a comfortable routine, less busy by her intense standards but still full of activities and things to learn.

Crookshanks, being the only other inhabitant of her flat, became the sovereign of her attention and the primary recipient of her affection. His presence, unintrusive but constant, was one of the guiding threads of her routine.

The curious animal was increasingly pampered and sometimes seemed almost to understand her, wanting to communicate a thousand things with his big yellow eyes, giving meows and curious growls to demand attention, affection, and occasionally trying to give orders. Sometimes these silent commands were very easy to understand, like scratching his plate to ask for more food, nudging her hand to be stroked, giving her curious headbutts to urge her to sleep, or meowing at the window to go out. However, others were more confusing, and when Hermione failed to decipher them, Crookshanks would show his frustration, hissing and growling indignantly, and sometimes even disappearing for several days in a display of his feline indignation.

By this point, Hermione no longer attempted to guess where her elusive familiar ventured; she acknowledged it was impossible to contain him. In his own way, he demonstrated gratitude, seemingly intuiting when his presence was necessary.  When Hermione went on trips, Crookshanks consistently knew the right moments to depart and return. Sometimes he brought back small tokens of affection: dried leaves, flowers remarkably well-preserved despite their journey in his mouth, which Hermione transformed into delicate pictures and bookmarks. On a couple of memorable occasions, he presented a very soft woolen scarf to envelop her during the biting chill of winter, and a somewhat aged but exquisitely beautiful otter plush, swiftly becoming one of her cherished treasures.

Indeed, her life was fulfilling, her home complete with the presence of her large orange cat and her vast collection of books. Yet, occasionally, loneliness would softly whisper to her, casting a fleeting shadow across her otherwise contented existence. It happened on solitary Sundays; amidst the grip of a severe cold; when she yearned to share good news but found her friends preoccupied; or when witnessing an older couple, hand in hand, exuding love in its purest form.

Chapter Text

Back to January, 2006

Draco took her to a quaint Muggle restaurant where, at his insistence and recommendation, Hermione ate half of a sandwich. Clearly, neither of them had much of an appetite. So, after trying to eat for an appropriate amount of time, she began calmly telling Draco all about Crookshanks' diagnosis.

Draco listened with absolute attention, saying nothing, asking nothing, and giving her time to digest the news herself. Through the conversation she realized she hadn't had a chance to do so. When she finished speaking, Draco looked at her for a moment with strangely glassy eyes and, after searching the pocket of his robe, he handed Hermione a picture frame.

 As Hermione turned the picture frame, she couldn't help but gasp at seeing Crookshanks perfectly curled up in a luxurious armchair beside a fireplace, with a small toy snake beside him. Hermione recognized the toy immediately, and understanding dawned on her.

"It was you!" she said, almost in a whisper, "but, all this time—how did you—h-how did he, just, how?"

He looked down, seeming almost embarrassed.

"He's very particular, you know?" he snorted, "Of course, you know; he's yours, after all. It's just, I don't know, he sort of liked following me around, back at school. At first, it was annoying. Sometimes, when I wanted to be alone, he'd simply appear, and no matter what I said, he'd stare at me fixedly, as if challenging me to do something to make him leave. I never did, of course. He can be really scary, just like his owner. Over time, I got used to his visits, and I even started going on walks more frequently, hoping to find him. I found his presence amusing; he was not cuddly or cute, he growled half the time, and yet he kept appearing, crazy mongrel," he said with affection.

Draco's gaze drifted to a distant point, and a small, wistful smile played on his lips.

 "When the whole ferret incident happened in fourth year, he even went to visit me in the infirmary, yet I barely even acknowledged him at that time," his face turned serious, "It wasn't until sixth year that I went from tolerating his presence to appreciating his company. It was...I just started talking to him. He's a surprisingly good listener... for a cat, I mean."

 Hermione couldn’t help but smile at that. "He really is," she confirmed.

Right, so," Draco shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flickering between Hermione and the floor. "That summer, I sort of went looking for Crookshanks. I already knew he was your cat, and I knew Voldemort was planning something. I wasn't sure what, but I was certain it was really bad." He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I thought, since he already knew me, I could approach him and, well, maybe warn you. Not face to face, obviously, that would have been too dangerous, but perhaps leave a note with him."

Swallowing hard, Draco seemed to search for the right words. "I knew Potter was the only hope to defeat the crazy bastard, and it was clear he needed someone to keep him alive. And, well, Crookshanks..." He trailed off, a slight blush creeping up his neck. "I couldn't bear the thought of facing his wrath if he found out I knew something and didn't try to help." 

Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing. She simply watched Draco speak, who in turn stared fixedly at his plate of food. She made a tremendous effort not to interrupt him with questions for fear that Draco would stop talking.

"But when I arrived, I only found Crookshanks. Clearly, you and your parents had escaped, God knows where, and I couldn't leave your cat alone, so I brought him with me. We were roommates, of sorts, for a while."

"How?" She finally blurted out, her curiosity getting the best of her.

"Well, with a little bit of help from the manor's elves. They were very useful, helping me hide him when things got too bad, and a lot of luck, honestly."

Draco fell silent for a moment, as if preparing to continue speaking.

"On the day of the battle, I thought it wouldn't be safe for him to stay at the manor. I was afraid there wouldn't be anyone to take care of him if not me, er, you know. Plus, I was really hoping for your side to win, so it was only fair to give him a way to go back to his rightful witch. He's your familiar, after all."

"Why didn't you tell me you kept him safe?" Hermione asked, holding his gaze.

"Sorry, Granger, I was having a little holiday in Azkaban, it must have slipped my mind," he answered rather sarcastically, letting a bit of the old Malfoy seep through.

"Fair point, sorry," she replied, feeling ashamed and chastised.

"I thought I wouldn't hear from him again, but a few days after I was released from Azkaban, he reappeared. I don't know how he sensed that I was out."

"All his escapades, I thought he was out hunting."

He snorted. "Oh, please, Granger, have you met your cat? You can't really think he's any good at hunting. He can be feisty, but he is way too spoiled to hunt for his food." Draco had an excellent point, and Hermione felt a little silly for not thinking about it more. "Most of the time, he spent it by the fireplace or receiving treats from the elves; they are obsessed with him."

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" Hermione asked, her voice returning to its normal tone.

"Tell you what? Oh, hi, Granger, listen, I know I have been an absolute git to you, but I happened to babysit your cat, and I’m such a lonely selfish motherfucker that I need to brag about my good deed in the hope that you forgive me and let me visit your cat from time to time." There was something of the old Malfoy in his tone; he was being sarcastic, yet it wasn’t cruel. Instead there was something vulnerable and ashamed. "Listen, I took your cat because he basically bullied me into caring about him. I couldn't let him wander alone on the streets. To be honest, I wasn't thinking about you when I took him."

Hermione wasn't entirely in agreement with this statement. Draco had avoided looking her in the eyes while speaking, and besides, hadn't he mentioned wanting to warn her that she was in danger? Perhaps worrying about Crookshanks had something to do with that decision, but she was sure there was more to it, a more human side of Malfoy.

However, she decided not to press; it was evident that it had taken him a lot of courage to speak to her about the matter, and the idea of losing the possibility of talking to someone who could understand her at this moment felt terrifying.

"Well, thank you anyway, Draco," she said demurely, holding his gaze steadily. "Yet, I still don't understand how you found out that Crookshanks was not doing well. What made you come to my office?”

He stopped, rubbing his chin and considering things for a moment, before answering.

"I think it has something to do with his kneazle side. He is more than just smart for a cat; he is intuitive and has a way of sensing and communicating things. I bet you noticed. Plus, he never goes more than a month without visiting, and this month he never came, and last night I woke up with a strange feeling; it felt as if I was crying, and he was there, but there was something wrong with him. I couldn't go back to sleep; I had never felt anything like that before. In the morning, I knew I had to talk to you." 

Hermione was both crying and smiling; that sounded just right. Only Crookshanks, her crazy asshole of a cat, would have decided to bond with her childhood bully, to make him worry enough about them to compel Draco Malfoy to visit her office.

"Is his healer a muggle?" he asked, bringing Hermione out of her thoughts. Draco, feeling she had been startled, thought he might have offended her with the question, so he quickly corrected himself. "Not that I don't trust a muggle professional; it's just that, well, maybe whatever he has has to do with his kneazle side, and a specialist in magical creatures could give a second opinion. I can help you get someone if you'd like." He paused, trying to scrutinize Hermione's reaction. Not sensing any offense, he added in a very low voice, "Could I visit him? He is... important to me."

At that moment, in the middle of a muggle restaurant, sitting at a small table with Malfoy, sharing concern and sadness for the same being, Hermione allowed herself to feel some hope that she was not alone. "Yeah," she said while wiping away a rogue tear, "I think that's just what he wants." 

The wooden floorboards creaked under their feet as Hermione led Draco into her flat, the familiar hum of home wrapping around her like a warm blanket. Draco's eyes darted around, taking in the details, seemingly steeling himself for the encounter ahead.

Then, there he was—Crookshanks, sprawled regally across the windowsill, basking in the last rays of the fading sunlight. However, his once keen, alert eyes appeared a bit dulled, and he seemed somehow smaller, his energy not quite as boundless. Even as he tried to lift his head to greet them, there was a slow deliberateness to his movement.

"Well hello, Mr. Smushface," Draco cooed in a soft, affectionate voice, kneeling to be on the same level as Crookshanks. "I see dear old mum hasn't been brushing your fur. I missed you, you old demon"

Hermione watched, a cocktail of emotions swelling in her heart, as the scene unfolded before her eyes—Draco Malfoy, of all people, sharing a tender moment with her cat. It was an image she would have never envisioned. She couldn't help but notice the way Draco’s eyes softened, the hard edges of his face melting away to reveal a vulnerability she had never seen before.

"He's missed you too, it shows," Hermione said softly, moving to stand beside Draco. "I can tell he's grown quite fond of you."

Draco looked up at her, a hint of surprise flickering in his eyes before a gentle smile tugged at his lips. "The feeling is mutual," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Your cat has become quite important to me, Granger."

In that moment, Hermione felt a warmth envelop her chest, a sense of profound understanding passing between them. She realized Crookshanks had evolved beyond mere pet status for both of them. This revelation marked a shift; amidst gratitude and newfound comprehension, it became clear that, despite her initial reservations, Crookshanks had made a wise choice. Draco, with all his historical complexities, was proving to be just what she needed.

"I can arrange for a consultation with a specialist in magical creatures, if you'd like," Draco offered, breaking into her thoughts. "I want to help in any way I can."

Hermione's heart swelled with appreciation. "Thank you, Draco. That means a lot to me," she replied, her voice laced with genuine gratitude.

As the evening unwound, Hermione found Draco's visit spreading into hours. They delved into Hogwarts memories, their laughter bridging past misunderstandings and their silence honoring Crookshanks' precarious health. The ease between them flourished, with Crookshanks peacefully nestled at their side, an unspoken bond forming in his quiet company.

When midnight signaled his departure, Hermione was drawn into an impulsive embrace with Draco. "Thank you for tonight," she whispered, her words barely capturing the depth of her gratitude.

Draco's smile, warm and genuine, lit up his features. "It was entirely my pleasure, Hermione."

He looked into her eyes, a blend of resolve and concern evident. "I'll send an owl early to set a time for Crookshanks' appointment. Expect my message by noon."

Relief washed over Hermione, her smile bright. "Thank you, Draco. That means a lot. Do you think... should we accompany him together? He might find comfort in our joint presence." She was too ashamed to admit she needed some company as well.

Draco chuckled, eyeing the slumbering cat. "I suspect he'd have it no other way. Mr. Shanks here seems to have ensnared us both with his charm."

Their laughter mingled, solidifying a plan that felt unexpectedly perfect. "Then it's decided. We'll face it as a team," Hermione declared, her spirit lifted.

Rising, Draco's figure cut a striking silhouette against the moonlit window. "Till tomorrow, Granger. Sleep well, Crookshanks," he said, offering a nod to the cat.

"Goodnight, Draco. And truly, thank you...for everything," Hermione's voice lingered in the stillness, while Draco’s Figure disappeared at her fireplace.

Hermione turned back towards Crookshanks, who was now observing her with a languid interest from his windowsill throne. She knelt beside him, her fingers gently sifting through his thick fur, bits of it knotting around her fingers. "You know, Crookshanks, things are going to be just fine," she whispered with a mixture of conviction and hope.

He blinked slowly, his purring a comforting rumble under her touch. "We've got quite the team on our side, haven't we? Draco's more concerned than I would have ever imagined, and I... I'm not going anywhere. We're in this together, Mr. Smushface."

The cat stretched lazily, pawing at Hermione's hand in a rare display of affection.

"You've always been rather discerning with your friendships, haven't you?" Hermione smiled, a tear twinkling at the corner of her eye, quickly wiped away. "Rest up; we have a big day ahead." Her words, soft and comforting, filled the quiet room, a tender promise hanging in the air.

Hermione's leg bounced nervously as she sat beside Draco in the Magical Creatures Veterinary Clinic's sterile waiting room, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. Crookshanks' carrier, placed between them, served as a silent reminder of their shared concern; the soft rustling of his movement within, punctuated the tense silence.

"Granger, if you keep that up, you'll wear a hole in the floor," Draco teased kindly.

Hermione glared at him, but there was no heat behind it. "Well, what do you suggest, Malfoy? A calming draught?"

"Tempting, but I have a better idea." He reached over, his hand covering hers, stilling her restless movements. Hermione tensed for a moment, surprised by the contact, before allowing herself to relax into the unexpected comfort. "Just breathe. We're in this together."

Hermione felt a warmth spread through her at his touch, a sense of reassurance she hadn't anticipated. She met his gaze, finding understanding in his eyes, and managed a small nod.

Draco chuckled warmly. "Though I doubt a calming draught would be as effective as my charming company."

Hermione rolled her eyes, fondness seeping into her voice. "Of course. Your wit is legendary."

"It's going to be okay," he murmured reassuringly, though a hint of uncertainty laced his words.

Hermione met Draco's gaze, finding a tentative comfort in his presence. She managed a small nod, appreciating the gesture.

As they waited, Draco broke the silence. "Crookshanks kept me sane in 6th year," he admitted, his eyes fixed on the carrier. "He was a... comfort, in ways I hadn't expected."

Surprised by the revelation, Hermione's expression softened, touched by his admission.

"He has a way of knowing just what you need," she said quietly, her gaze lingering on Crookshanks' carrier.

Before Draco could respond, the receptionist called out, "Mr. Malfoy, the doctor is ready to see your cat."

Draco stood up, looking slightly flustered. "Oh, um, he's not... I mean, I'm not his... we're just..." he stammered, his ears turning pink. "He's not my cat. He's a friend of mine." he awkwardly clarified "She's the actual owner... also my friend?" His tone was uncertain and hopeful, gesturing to Hermione.

The receptionist nodded, a confused yet polite smile on her face. "Of course. Right this way, please."

As they followed her into the examination room, Hermione leaned over and whispered, "Smooth, Malfoy. Very smooth."

The vet, a kind-faced wizard with a gentle manner, performed a series of diagnostic spells, his brow furrowing as he concentrated.

"I'm afraid Crookshanks' vital energy is draining," he explained softly. "His basic magical force, which allows him to self-heal, is depleted. This is not uncommon in part-kneazles of his age."

Hermione's heart sank, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. Draco, noticing her distress, offered a comforting squeeze to her hand, a silent show of support.

The vet continued, "The best course of action is to combine magical and muggle treatments. He'll need freshly brewed potions several times a day and regular visits for therapy. It will be a demanding regimen, but it will give him the best chance at a comfortable life."

Hermione's mind raced, already calculating how to arrange her work schedule to accommodate Crookshanks' needs. But before she could speak, Draco's voice cut through her thoughts.

"I can help," he said simply, his gaze fixed on Hermione, inviting her to consider this new, tentative partnership. "I work mainly from home, so I can administer his potions and keep an eye on him while you're at the office."

Hermione looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the genuine concern and willingness to assist. It was a side of Draco Malfoy she had never imagined she would see, much less appreciate.

She turned to him, surprise and gratitude mingling in her expression. "Draco, are you sure? It's a lot to take on..."

He met her gaze steadily, a soft smile on his lips. "I'm sure, Hermione. If you feel comfortable with me going inside your flat without you, that is," he added, tentatively, afraid of overstepping. "I promise I won't snoop around your knicker drawer," he added with a smirk.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but couldn't suppress a chuckle. "You'd better not, or you'll find yourself on the receiving end of a nasty hex."

As they left the clinic, Crookshanks safely in Hermione's arms, a sense of relief washed over them. They walked in contemplative silence for a moment before Hermione spoke.

"I think it would be good for Crookshanks to have someone he trusts looking after him." she said, her voice brimming with gratitude. 

Draco nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "I'm happy to do it. We can work out a schedule that fits both our needs. And maybe I can teach you a thing or two about proper hair care while I'm at it."

Hermione laughed, shaking her head. "You're impossible, you know that?"

Draco simply shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. "But charming, don't forget that part."  he retorted with a grin.

"Fine, you prat, I'll add you to the wards."  Hermione replied, a smile tugging at her lips.

Their practical conversation about Crookshanks' care hinted at something more—an understanding that, despite their past, felt right.

Chapter Text

March, 2006

At first, Hermione felt some unease about having Draco Malfoy in her house while she was away. She found herself worrying about going from years without seeing each other to becoming constant company. But, to her pleasant surprise, the adjustment was much easier than she expected.

Draco, once boastful and arrogant, had transformed into a considerate and respectful man, even a little bit shy. He always arrived at Hermione's house before she left for work and waited for her to return home, eager to report on Crookshanks' well-being.

Hermione had learned that the house-elves Draco had hired had been with him since childhood, and he had freed them immediately after being released from Azkaban. On days when Draco had to attend a meeting at the Ministry, he notified Hermione in advance and entrusted these loyal house-elves with the task of administering Crookshanks' medications in his absence.

In the first few weeks, Hermione and Draco tiptoed around each other, as if fearing that a single misplaced comment could shatter the delicate peace they were cultivating and resurrect conflicts from their past. Initially, their conversations centered solely around Crookshanks. It was only when Draco thought Hermione wasn't paying attention that she caught a glimpse of his more playful side as he let his guard down.

The Draco Malfoy who interacted with Crookshanks was a person Hermione hardly recognized. His gaze softened, his voice took on a sweet and playful quality, and a smile was always at the ready. Crookshanks, too, behaved slightly differently with Draco than with Hermione, knowing precisely how to seek attention and pampering from him. The cunning feline amplified his dramatic tendencies, becoming even more vocal and meowing in various tones to communicate his desires, which Draco deciphered with an ease rivaling Hermione's.

One afternoon, when Hermione returned home early from work, she stumbled upon the endearing sight of Draco Malfoy carrying her cat, singing and dancing as Crookshanks meowed off-key in accompaniment. She couldn't decide what delighted her more—the dancing itself or Draco's embarrassed reaction when he realized she was behind them, stifling her laughter.

As the weeks turned into months, the walls between them crumbled. Draco started bringing Hermione coffee in the mornings, filling her flat with the rich aroma of freshly brewed beans. She, in turn, began cooking dinners for two. Shoes were kicked off at the door, defenses lowered, and laughter resounded through the rooms.

Crookshanks thrived under Draco's care, his coat regaining its luster and his appetite improving, thanks in no small part to the gourmet meals prepared by Draco's elves. One Saturday morning while Hermione was getting ready for a follow-up checkup with the vet, Draco came in through the fireplace, without her expecting him. Wearing jeans and a cozy jumper, a paper bag in hand and a smile on his face, Hermione felt a flutter in her chest.

"Oh, darling, I'm home!" Draco singsonged, heading straight for Crookshanks' bed. "And morning to you too, Granger. I brought cinnamon-apple scones."

Hermione fought back a grin, her eyes widening with amusement at Draco's playful entrance. "Draco, what are you doing here?"

"Haven't you noticed, Granger? I'm always here these days." His tone was one of mock indignation, his lips quirking into a smirk.

"Oh, so you live here now?" She raised an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance, but the corners of her mouth twitched.

"Might as well, with the amount of time I spend tending to His Royal Fluffiness." Draco scratched behind Crookshanks' ears, eliciting a contented purr from the feline. "He's got a vet visit today. I saw it on the calendar."

Hermione blinked in surprise, her eyebrows rising slightly. She hadn't mentioned the appointment, worried that Draco might feel obligated to accompany her on a weekend. Seeing her hesitation, Draco's smile faltered, uncertainty flickering in his eyes.

"Oh, right. Um, sorry, I just assumed..."

"No, no, it's not that," Hermione hurried to assure him, her hand instinctively reaching out to touch his arm. "I just didn't want to impose on your weekend."

Draco's grin returned in full force, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Come on, Granger, of course I want to join you! I need to hear what the vet has to say about Crooks McNificat firsthand."

Warmth bloomed in Hermione's chest, a soft smile gracing her features. "I never pegged you for a cat person, Draco."

"I'm full of surprises." He winked. "Besides, Purrlock Holmes is no ordinary cat."

A giggle escaped Hermione's lips, "Do you have a list of these ridiculous pet names?"

"Why, Granger, of course I do!" With a flick of his wand, Draco conjured a piece of parchment. "Let's see... We have Purrfessor McGonagall, The Great Catsby, Pawdrey Hepburn, Fluffius Maximus..."

"Stop it!" Hermione could not stop a ridiculous grin from creeping on her face, which only seemed to encourage Draco's silliness.

"Mr. Shanks -a fan favorite that one- PurrPal, Puffball Prefect, Crookswhisk Van Purrington, Sir Crooksalot, Purrshanks McFurball, Crooksnooks, Captain Fuzzypaws, Sneaky McSneakerson, Hairy Purrdinni, Lord Fluffington III… I can keep going, you know?" Draco looked at her, a glint in his eyes and a playful little smile on his face.

"Draco Malfoy, you are absolutely absurd." Hermione shook her head, still smiling.

"You wound me, Granger," he replied, clutching his chest in mock hurt. "Admit it, you're just jealous of my nicknaming prowess. Want to hear yours? I've got Brainy Bunchlocks, Curlmione, LogicLocks, Cupcake Crown, Choux Top, Meringue Mane, Tangle Queen, Bookish Babe..." He wiggled his eyebrows.

"Enough, you silly man!" Hermione swatted at him, feeling her cheeks grow warm. "Time to go, we don't want to be late."

They were still chuckling as Draco gently placed Crookshanks in his carrier.

"Lead the way, Bookworm Beauty," Draco said with a dramatic bow, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but the effect was somewhat ruined by the grin she couldn't quite suppress. "You're impossible."

The vet appointment left Draco and Hermione in a celebratory mood. The vet was pleasantly surprised by Crookshanks' improvements. Hermione didn't want to jinx her luck by saying it out loud, but she began to feel a renewed sense of hope that everything would improve and perhaps Crookshanks could stay with her for much longer than she had anticipated.

The joy she felt for Crookshanks' health was amplified by Draco's presence, which was quickly becoming one of her daily delights. She hadn't admitted it to him, but she was enjoying his company more than she thought prudent. This was partly why she hadn't informed him about today's appointment; she didn't want to over-rely on Draco or burden him with responsibilities that weren't his to bear. His uninvited yet wholly welcome appearance stirred something deep within Hermione's heart. If Draco Malfoy, known for his distance and reserve, could lower his defenses around her, wasn't it only fair that she reciprocate?

The idea excited and terrified her in equal measure. She couldn't remember the last time she had allowed someone to become so integral to her life, but perhaps, against all odds, Draco deserved that place more than anyone.

As she mulled over these thoughts in silence, Draco was commenting on the differences between muggle and magical veterinarians. Hermione made an effort to nod and respond as appropriately as possible, not wanting her internal turmoil to surface.

"I think this deserves a celebration," Draco finally said, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he pulled her from her reverie. "I'm thinking about making some treats."

"Malfoy, asking your house elves to make us something to eat doesn't count as celebrating," Hermione quipped, a playful note in her voice, her lips curving into a teasing smile.

"Granger, Pippit and Tabin are resting, as per their contract; it is the weekend. And you, being the head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, should know better," he teased with a playful tsk, his finger waggling in mock admonishment. "I was thinking we could do something ourselves. Didn't you mention you've been taking cooking classes?"

"If you're planning on having me cook for you, you're sorely mistaken. I always cook for you!" Hermione retorted, though she had indeed been pondering what to cook since his unexpected arrival.

"Merlin, Granger! How about a little faith in your dear old friend?" Draco exclaimed, his hand clutching his chest in feigned offense. "I was thinking of making tuna treats for Crooks. He's been behaving so well and has been on such a strict diet that I thought preparing his favorite treats would be a nice surprise. Tabin shared the recipe with me, and I'm planning to sneak in some healthier ingredients I believe..."

Unable to contain herself, Hermione threw her arms around Draco, hugging him as tightly as she could, effectively cutting off his ramble. Draco took a moment to react, surprise evident on his face, but when he did, he returned her embrace with equal fervor, resting his chin atop her head, a content smile playing on his lips.

"You adorable fool! I'd love that," Hermione mumbled into his chest, her voice muffled by his jumper. "I'm even willing to bake a whole batch of toffee nut brownies for you."

"Maybe you can teach me?" Draco asked, pulling back slightly to look at her.

"I cook the Muggle way, so it might be a bit messy," Hermione warned, her nose scrunching up in a playful manner.

"You forget, I'm better than you at potions, Brainy Belle," he teased, using a new nickname, and poking at her nose. "How hard can it be? I propose we order some food and watch a movie. How about the one with the singing cats?"

"The Aristocats, again?" Hermione groaned, rolling her eyes in mock exasperation.

"Crooks loves it. It's his celebration, Granger," Draco insisted, his lower lip jutting out in an exaggerated pout.

"Fine, but how about we watch another movie afterward? I just bought Pride and Prejudice, and I'm dying to watch it," Hermione suggested.

"Deal," Draco agreed, his smile widening as he extended his hand for a shake.

And so, they found themselves in Hermione's kitchen, aprons tied around their waists, flour dusting their cheeks, as they rolled out dough for homemade cat treats. Laughter echoed off the walls, mingling with the cozy scent of brownies baking in the oven.

Draco, usually so composed, appeared adorably focused as he meticulously pressed fish-shaped cutters into the dough, his tongue poking out slightly in concentration, with Crookshanks weaving between their ankles.

"Are you sure Tabin said it needed this much flour?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow as she observed Draco add another generous sprinkle.

Draco shot her a mock glare, halting his flour-covered hands. "Swotterine, your mistrust wounds me. I'll have you know, I am an excellent student of the culinary arts," he declared, though his grin betrayed his jest.

Hermione laughed, shaking her head in amused disbelief. "Well, we'll see about that when Crookshanks gives his verdict."

"Ah, but our feline judge seems predisposed to favor anything with tuna. I suspect we could present him with a tuna-shaped boot, and he'd deem it exquisite," Draco retorted, his eyes crinkling with humor.

Their playful banter continued, the kitchen a flurry of activity as they mixed, rolled, and shaped the treats. It was a simple, domestic scene, miles removed from the complex world outside Hermione's flat. Yet, in that moment, it felt like the most significant thing they could be doing.

As they settled onto the couch later, plates of brownies balanced on their laps and 'The Aristocats' playing on the TV, Hermione found herself sneaking peeks at Draco. His laughter at the antics on the screen, genuine and unguarded, made a warm feeling curl in her stomach. The afternoon had slipped into evening with an ease that startled her, the comfortable domesticity between them felt like something precious and wonderful—something that seemed an awful lot like home.

June, 2006

The months passed faster than Hermione could have imagined. Although she had secretly fantasized about Crookshanks becoming a medical miracle, judging by the positive changes she observed initially, her familiar began to experience a series of good and bad days. 

Every time there was a difficult night, she and Draco would rush to the vet and make adjustments to potions and medications that seemed to work for a while. She hated to admit it, but with these changes, she began to come to terms with the inevitable truth that there would come a time when the adjustments and improvements wouldn't be enough. Yet, she still dared not think about what she would do then. Draco, seemingly thinking the same, remained in silent understanding, supporting her through the tough times, helping her enjoy the good days, and filling her life and space with his comforting presence.

Draco and Hermione had gradually interwoven their routines to the point where, on more than one occasion, they naturally used the word "us" instead of "I", even in front of other people, without even realizing it. 

One day, Draco asked Hermione to teach him how to use a cellphone he had bought to communicate more efficiently in case of emergencies. On multiple occasions, he had stayed in her guest room to avoid leaving her alone during challenging moments when Crookshanks required extra care. Hermione, in turn, had introduced him to her work friends, who, despite initial apprehension due to his infamous last name, warmed up to him once Draco revealed his charismatic side, a stark contrast to his reserved Ministry persona.

In turn, Draco introduced Hermione to his close-knit friends: Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Adrian Pucey, and Pansy Parkinson. They welcomed Hermione into their circle with genuine warmth and enthusiasm, eagerly sharing the most embarrassing and endearing moments of Draco's life, having known him since they were all in nappies.

For Draco's birthday, Hermione, having heard from Pansy that Draco tended not to celebrate the occasion, made sure to host a gathering at home with all their friends and prepared an absurd amount of desserts that Draco devoured enthusiastically.

As the party wound down and the last of the guests said their goodbyes, Hermione found herself alone with Draco, the remnants of the celebration scattered around her living room. She busied herself with tidying up, gathering empty cups and plates, a slight flush coloring her cheeks as she felt Draco's gaze following her movements.

"So, a little bird told me you took salsa classes," Draco said, his voice slightly slurred from the wine, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leaned back on the couch. "That's a precious bit of information that wasn't part of my Golden Girl Trivia Knowledge."

Hermione groaned, shooting a mock glare in his direction. "Bloody Pansy, I'm never confessing anything to her again. She promised she wouldn't tell!"

Draco chuckled, twirling his glass of wine. "As cute as your determination is, I'm afraid you're mistaken if you think you can hide anything from Pansy. She has a way of extracting information from everyone." He paused, his lips curving into a smirk.

"Besides, why wouldn't you want me to know? I've been dying to dance with you since I was 14, even when I didn't like you."

Hermione's blush deepened as she busied herself with arranging the cushions on the couch. "I've always wanted to be a good dancer. So, when I ended things with The-Cheat-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, I decided I didn't need a partner and signed up for classes."

Draco stood up, swaying slightly as he approached her, a playful challenge in his eyes.

"Two things: first, how dare you give Ginger Judas a nickname when I'm still just Draco? And second, dance with me!" He made a comical curtsy, his lips curving into a lopsided grin.

Hermione laughed, but instead of shaking her head, she stepped closer to him, a mischievous glint in her eye. "You know, Draco," she said, her voice low and teasing, "I might just take you up on that offer. But I warn you, I've been told I can be quite... intense on the dance floor."

Draco's eyes widened slightly, and he swallowed, suddenly looking a bit flustered. "Is that so?" he managed, trying to maintain his composure. "Well, I think I can handle a little intensity."

Hermione smiled, enjoying the effect she had on him. She leaned in close, her lips almost brushing his ear as she whispered, "We'll see about that, won't we?"

She pulled back, delighting in the slight flush that had crept up Draco's neck. He cleared his throat, attempting to regain his footing. "Right then, let's see what you've got, Granger," he said, his voice a little rougher than before.

Hermione quickly made her way to her CD collection, her fingers lightly brushing against the titles in her search for the ideal song. Her heart was aflutter with a blend of nervous excitement and eager anticipation at the prospect of dancing with Draco. Finally, she decided on an upbeat salsa track and meticulously positioned the disc in the player.

As the first notes of the song filled the room, Hermione found herself immediately swept into the rhythm, her hips swaying instinctively to the beat. To her surprise, Draco proved to be an exceptional dancer, his movements confident and fluid, leading her through the dance with remarkable ease. Hermione spun under Draco's expertly timed guidance, only to be pulled back into the tight embrace of their shared dance. 

While Hermione was well aware of Draco's skill in the elegant, stately dances favored by the pureblood elite, where posture and precision reign supreme, Draco's ability to adapt was striking. The salsa rhythm seemed to flow effortlessly through him, his movements marked by a captivating energy. It was his hips, though, that truly underscored the difference: they moved with an expressiveness and fluidity that was worlds apart from the rigid formality of waltzes. 

As they danced, Draco's teasing came as naturally as his steps. "I never took you for someone who could keep up with me on a dance floor, Granger," he remarked with a smirk, twirling her as he spoke.

Caught in the joy of the moment, Hermione surprised him by pulling herself closer as she replied, "There's a lot you don't know about me, Draco." Her voice was low and playful, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Draco's eyes widened slightly at her boldness, but he quickly recovered, his hand settling more firmly on her waist. "Is that so?" he asked, his voice taking on a deeper, more intimate tone. "I'm beginning to see that."

Hermione smiled, enjoying the way she could throw him off balance. As the music transitioned into a slower, more sensual rhythm, she let her hand drift from his shoulder to the back of his neck, her fingers lightly playing with the soft hair at his nape. She felt him shiver slightly under her touch, his steps faltering for just a moment.

"Careful, Granger," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. "You're playing with fire."

Meeting his gaze, Hermione's eyes darkened with a mixture of challenge and desire.

"Maybe I like the heat," she whispered, her lips curving into a small, provocative smile.

Draco swallowed hard, his grip on her tightening. The air between them crackled with tension, the playful banter giving way to something more electric, more charged.

As the music picked up, they fell back into the fast-paced steps, but the energy between them had shifted. Each touch, each glance, held a new intensity, a promise of something more. They danced, lost in the music and each other, the rest of the world fading away until there was only the two of them, moving as one.

"I wonder where you learned to dance like this," Hermione mused, her curiosity piqued as she tried to ease the tension of the moment.

Draco's eyes sparkled with mirth as he spun her out and then back into his arms. "A gentleman never reveals his secrets, Granger," he replied, his voice low and teasing.

Hermione gave him a playful swat on the arm. "Come off it, you can't leave me in suspense like that!"

Laughing, Draco's eyes crinkled at the corners. "Alright, alright. If you must know, I spent a summer in Cartagena a few years back. The locals taught me a thing or two about dancing."

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise. "Cartagena? I never would have guessed."

"Like you said, Granger, there's a lot you don't know about me," Draco replied with a wink.

As the music continued, their bodies moved together in a seamless display of rhythm and connection. With each dance, their movements became more synchronized, as if the music and their motions were telling a story only they could understand. Draco's confidence on the dance floor was infectious, and Hermione found herself letting go of her inhibitions, allowing the music to guide her.

As the playlist shifted to the sway of a bachata, the change in music brought them closer, their movements more deliberate. Draco's hands were on her hips, guiding them in a slow, swaying motion that felt far more intimate. Hermione's hands rested on his shoulders, feeling the strength and warmth beneath his shirt.

The room felt like it was shrinking, the world narrowing down to the space they occupied. Hermione was acutely aware of every point of contact, the heat of Draco's hands through the fabric of her dress, the steady beat of his heart mirroring her own. It was as if they were speaking a language without words, each movement communicating something deeper.

As the last notes of the song faded away, Hermione found herself breathless, her heart pounding in her chest. She looked up at Draco, feeling warmth spread through her at the intense look on his face. They remained silent, their eyes locked, none of them daring to break the moment.

Just then, Crookshanks sauntered into the room, his tail swishing lazily. He paused, eyeing the couple, and began to weave between their legs playfully, almost as if he wanted to join in on the dance.

Startled, Hermione and Draco stumbled, their laughter rippling through the room as they collapsed onto the couch in a tangle of limbs. Crookshanks, seemingly satisfied with the disruption, jumped onto Draco's lap, demanding attention. Still smiling, Draco complied, scratching the cat behind his ears.

"I think that's enough dancing for tonight," Hermione said breathlessly, her cheeks flushed from the exertion and excitement. "But we should definitely do this again sometime."

Draco nodded in agreement, a playful glint in his eyes. "Yes, I think we should," 

As the evening wore on, the three of them remained on the couch, their conversation flowing easily from one topic to another. Content with the attention and the warmth of their bodies, Crookshanks purred, his eyes drifting shut.

Hermione glanced at Draco, noticing his eyes had closed, his breathing steady. A soft smile played on her lips as she watched him, marveling at the unexpected turn their relationship had taken. 

Careful not to disturb him, Hermione summoned a blanket with a quiet Accio, gently draping it over the three of them. Nestled on Draco's lap, Crookshanks barely stirred, his purrs a soothing backdrop to the tranquil scene.

And so, the three of them sat together on the couch, Draco and Hermione with smiles on their lips, and Crookshanks looking almost smug and self-satisfied, as if he had orchestrated the entire evening himself.

With a contented sigh, Hermione allowed her own eyes to close, the steady breathing of her companions and the warmth of their presence guiding her into a peaceful slumber. In that moment, all was right in her world. with Draco Malfoy asleep on her couch, she would have thought them mad. Yet here she was, a warmth in her heart she couldn't quite explain.

Hermione woke slowly, disoriented for a moment as she failed to recognize her surroundings. Gradually, memories of the previous night came back to her: Draco's birthday party, the impromptu dance, and finally, falling asleep on the couch with Crookshanks curled up between them.

The enticing aroma of coffee and sizzling bacon drew her to the kitchen, where she found Draco standing at the stove, an apron tied around his waist. He turned as she entered, a warm smile on his face.

"Morning, Sleeping Swotty. Breakfast is almost ready."

Hermione couldn't help but return his smile. "You didn't have to do this."

"I wanted to," he replied simply, his eyes soft.

At his words, a gentle wave of affection washed over her, soothing and warm.

"Thank you, Draco. I'm just going to freshen up and change. I'll be right back."

She hurried to her room, quickly changing into a comfortable pair of jeans and a soft sweater. After a quick stop in the bathroom to brush her teeth and tame her wild curls, she returned to the living room.

Hermione found an unexpected scene: Draco was kneeling beside Crookshanks' bed, holding an otter plushie. "How did you get Otis?"

"Um, who?" She replied, confused.

"Otis the Otter, my otter," Draco said, hugging the plushie. "He was in Crookshanks' bed."

"It's my otter. I keep him in my room. Crooks brought it over about six years ago."

"Well, my mum gave him to me when my first magic outburst happened. I was about five or six, and I loved this little guy." Draco's expression softened, a sweet, nostalgic smile on his face as he observed the plushie, lost in his past. Then, he turned to Crookshanks and playfully poked the cat's head. "Oh, Sir StickyPaws, you little fiend! I thought I'd lost him. I looked everywhere."

"Are you telling me that Draco Malfoy, the mean bully, slept with an otter plushie until he was 20?" Hermione asked teasingly.

"You're one to talk, Little Miss Tease-a-lot. You kept him in your room. Do you like to cuddle with my plushie?" Draco's tone made Hermione blush.

"I keep it on a shelf, Malfoy! Like a proper adult, you know?" Hermione said defensively, crossing her arms over her chest. That was only partially true; the plushie had, in fact, been cuddled on more than one occasion when Hermione was feeling particularly low. "Do you want it back?"

"Don't be silly. We can share custody," Draco said with a grin, standing up and offering her his hand. "Now come on, I'm famished, and breakfast is waiting for us in the kitchen."

Hand in hand, they made their way to the kitchen, settling down at the table to enjoy the meal Draco had prepared. After a moment of comfortable silence, Draco appeared unusually pensive.

"My mum used to love Crookshanks too. He was right next to her when she passed. He stayed with me for a whole month after that. He only left after I went back to work. I was worried you might think he had gotten lost."

Hermione rested her head on Draco's shoulder. "I remember that time. Crooks dragged me to the fireplace for an entire hour. When he couldn't get me to understand, he bit my pants and left. Now I think he was trying to get me to go to you."

Draco's eyes widened, and he glanced at Crookshanks, looking touched by this new information. "I don't think I was ready to be near you then. I was still feeling a bit lost, and my mum's passing didn't help. I'm glad I'm here now, though." Draco placed a soft kiss on her hair.

"Are you ready now?" Hermione asked softly. Her heart fluttering with something she was not ready to name yet.

"I think so, yeah. I went to a mind healer after that. It helped a lot. Before that, I barely left the manor. My friends said I became incredibly dull."

"You are anything but dull, Draco," Hermione said, looking up at him with a warm smile.

Draco, his cheeks slightly pink by the compliment and their proximity, ruffled Hermione’s hair. "Well, enough of the sad talk. It's worsening my hangover," he said, opting for humor, something Hermione had noticed he did when feeling vulnerable. "I was promised a teenage movie. I'm dying to know what muggle students do when they're not thinking about war and world domination."

On an impulse, Hermione gave him a kiss on the cheek. "You can be sad with me. You don't need to be the strong one or make me laugh all the time. We're a team."

Draco's eyes shone with an intensity Hermione couldn't quite name. Smiling, he took her hand and led her to the couch.

"You are an absolute wonder, Hermione,” there was a boyish grin on his lips  “But now it's time to find out if Cady gets the boy."

Hermione laughed, settling in next to Draco on the couch as he turned on the TV. As the opening credits rolled, Hermione couldn't help but marvel at how her relationship with Draco had evolved. From enemies to friends, and now... well, she wasn't sure what they were now, but it felt necessary and just right. With Crookshanks curled up between them and Otis the Otter keeping watch from the arm of the sofa, Hermione and Draco settled in to enjoy a lazy Sunday morning together.

Chapter Text

September, 2006

They were the last days of summer, those in which the sun still resists change, but the autumn wind begins to announce its arrival. The air smelled of the last roses in full bloom and freshly cut grass. The paths wove through the garden, as if wanting to invite visitors to get lost among the colorful rose beds. The vibrant shades of reds, pinks, and yellows created a visual symphony that danced under the warm sunlight.

The trees surrounding the garden were beginning to show subtle signs of the changing season. Some leaves displayed shy golden and coppery hues, whispering the imminent arrival of autumn. In the center was a pentagonal gazebo, covered with intricate geometric patterns and decorated with bright colored tiles that, under the sweet midday light, created a beautiful play of light and shadow reflected in a mirror of water in front of it. The arches and columns were adorned with silver filigree, creating an effect of metallic lace enveloping the structure in an aura of elegance and sophistication. The gazebo, with its white roof and intricate details, stood majestic in the center of the garden, like a refuge for those seeking shade and tranquility.

White butterflies danced among the flowers and various birds created a musical orchestra. Occasionally, a white peacock strutted along the paths. Sitting on a wooden bench, Hermione contemplated the beautiful landscape before her. She breathed deeply, filling her lungs with the sweet scent of roses and the fresh breeze caressing her skin. It was a moment of serenity, an instant stolen from time, where she could simply exist and marvel at the ephemeral beauty of nature.

If 10 years ago someone had told her that, one day, the famous rose garden of Malfoy Manor would be a place where she would feel calm and at peace, she would not have believed it. And yet, here she was: with Crookshanks in her lap, waiting for Draco and thinking.

With each gentle gust of wind, the roses whispered secrets, reminding her that soon the time would come to bid farewell to the exuberance of summer and welcome the more muted colors and fresh air of autumn. Hermione wanted to stop time, to pause and leave things in stasis. Lately, time seemed to want to race against her, and she could not find a way to prevent its advance.

In recent weeks, Crookshanks had begun to have more frequent bad days, and now, despite adjustments to his treatment, after each bad day, her fighter familiar was gradually losing some of his energy. Both the muggle and wizard veterinarians tried to explain to her that this was normal, that it was part of a process, and that Crookshanks was responding better than they had imagined. They told her it was time to enjoy the time that remained and appreciate the gift of extra time, but Hermione still did not want to hear this.

She knew that Draco agreed with them. He had tried to talk to her about it a couple of times, but she had refused to listen to him. She was aware that he was right, but she did not know what to say in this situation. Loving Crookshanks had been such a simple thing, perhaps the easiest thing to do in her life. It was something that came naturally and inevitably to her, like breathing, and now, as she stroked his back, she thought that saying goodbye and letting him go would be terribly difficult.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Draco said, startling her out of her thoughts. "Last minute meeting at the Auror Department. They had an artifact that..." Draco stopped his explanation when he observed Hermione, frowning. "Everything alright? Did something happen?"

Hermione tried to smile to reassure him. Draco had a wicker basket in one hand and a picnic blanket on his arm. "Yes, sorry, just feeling thoughtful. It's gorgeous here."

Draco sat down next to her, leaving the basket beside him and looking straight ahead. "Are you upset about being here? You know you could have said no if you didn't feel comfortable..."

"Draco, stop. Everything is fine, really," she said, putting a hand on his leg to reassure him. "The garden is beautiful, I mean it, and I'm sure I'll be able to enter the house if I go with you. Pippit told me they had remodeled."

"That's a way of putting it, yes," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I was thinking of destroying everything, buying another house, and never coming back, but when my mum died, I remembered that this place also represented beautiful moments. So I decided to conquer it; save the good things, get rid of the bad, and maybe build better things."

"I like that," she smiled, looking at the basket. "So, what is that?"

"An attempt at building new good memories here," he said, taking out his wand to levitate the blanket right into the center of the gazebo, also taking out glasses, plates, a bottle of champagne, and a variety of desserts and dishes.

Crookshanks opened his eyes, gave an affectionate headbutt to each one's knee, and jumped from Hermione's lap to walk placidly through the garden. Draco got up from the bench and, taking Hermione's hand, led her to the gazebo, where they sat down to eat and chat about everything and nothing.

As they enjoyed their meal, the warm breeze carried the scent of blooming flowers, creating a serene atmosphere. Hermione couldn't help but feel content in Draco's presence, their conversation flowing effortlessly between bites of food.

While they were eating, Crookshanks tried, without much success, to catch butterflies.

"Oh yes, our mighty little hunter," Draco said mockingly, then smiled, looking fondly at the cat. "He's still got some spunk in him, doesn't he?"

“Oh yes. Sweet old Crooks is terrifying” she replied sarcastically.

"Sweet, you say? He can be a real jerk,"

"Oh, Malfoy, don't you dare." She warned him with a playful glare. “He’s just a little shy and reserved,” Hermione chuckled.

He snorted, clearly amused. "You don't believe me, and yet…He once attacked Dolohov, you know?"

"What?" Hermione's eyes widened in surprise, not expecting that turn in the conversation.

"Yes, he was drunk in the manor’s gardens and Crooks jumped straight at his face, even drew blood. Dolohov fell to the ground and hit a tree, knocked out, and Crooks escaped." Draco recounted the story with a hint of pride in his voice, as if Crookshanks's protective nature was a point of honor.

She opened her eyes in surprise and laughed heartily, "My brave baby, he's a great judge of character, and very protective, a true Gryffindor."

"Oh no, he's a Slytherin, very cunning," Draco countered.

"Of course not, you prat. I'm pretty sure he started following you to make sure you didn't hurt me, maybe even made friends with you to make you feel obligated to be kind to me forever" She stated in muck indignation.

"A real mastermind this one." Draco said ironicaly. Hermione laughed, shaking her head.

"You know, you and Crookshanks have a lot in common. Both of you are high-maintenance, dramatic, spoiled, and demanding," she said, her laughter infectious, prompting an amused snort from Draco.

"Indeed, Granger, you have a unique way of offering compliments," Draco quipped, the lightness in his tone belying the sincerity in his eyes.

"But it's true. You both put up a tough front, Both of you are guarded, reluctant to trust, a tad morose at times, yet there's this... immensely endearing quality underneath. And, believe it or not, I've really come to enjoy having you around," Hermione confessed, her voice soft, her eyes locked with his.

Draco's usual facade of humor slipped, revealing a hint of vulnerability. "Is that so? Granger, admitting she enjoys my company? Mark this day," he teased, but the softness in his gaze was unmistakable.

Draco’s playful insistence returned, "Is the Mighty Lioness softening towards me?" he teased, a smile illuminating his features.

"Come on, you ponce! I'm trying to say I'm grateful to have you here! It's impossible to be kind to you!" She tried to look annoyed, but her lips tugged upwards.

His ears turned pink; he looked down, not knowing how to react to the compliment, clearly no longer used to receiving them. It was touching.

"No, Hermione, thank you. For letting me be a part of this...whatever this is," he said, his tone earnest for once, his hands gesturing vaguely in the air, as if trying to grasp the right words. Quickly, he reverted to his lighter, teasing self. "And well, Crooks, um... has your hair!" It was a weak attempt at a joke, but Hermione gave him a pass.

"Aww, that's probably the sweetest thing you've said to me." she deadpanned

"I'm serious, do you have any idea how much I've spent on fur reviving potions for your cat? Seriously, Granger, you need a haircare intervention."

"You're a cheeky little bastard, weren't you afraid of me?"

"I was, until I found out you were all softness and sweetness," he stopped for a second, looking bashful. It was Hermione’s turn to go pink.  "I regret to inform you that, once the cheekiness comes out, it never goes back in."

As their laughter subsided, a comfortable silence settled between them. Hermione's gaze drifted to Crookshanks, who was now curled up contentedly on a nearby cushion, basking in the warm sunlight. A bittersweet feeling tugged at her heart as she watched the gentle rise and fall of his breathing, and a sudden realization dawned upon her.

"You know," she began softly, her voice barely above a whisper, "I've been so focused on the idea of losing Crookshanks that I haven't really stopped to think about what comes after."

"What do you mean?" he asked gently, his brow furrowed in concern.

Hermione took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "It's just... I can't help but wonder... when he's gone, will things change? Will we... will you..." She trailed off, unable to voice her fears.

Draco's hand found hers, his fingers intertwining with her own in a gesture of silent support. Holding Hermione's hand firmly, Draco turned towards her, his gaze heavy with profound emotion. With a tender gesture, he brushed a loose curl from her face.

"Leaving isn't in my repertoire, Granger, not now, not ever. You're essentially stuck with me, whether you fancy the idea or not," he quipped, a playful glint in his eye softening the profound sincerity of his words. His smile widened, attempting to infuse the moment with lightness amidst the depth of his vow.

Hermione felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, but she managed a watery laugh. "I think I can live with that," she whispered.

“I think I know how to make you happy” Draco said flirtatiously, a playful smirk on his lips.

“Oh, Gods, Draco! Can’t you be serious for once?” She asked, rolling her eyes and trying to stop her lips from pulling upwards.

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Golden Minx, I meant this,” Draco said as he pulled from the basket a large leather book. “If you dare tell someone, I will hex you into your next life, but the other day I discovered one of my mother’s most prized possessions: my baby photo album.”

Hermione's eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and delight on her face. "Baby Malfoy photos? This I have to see!"

As they flipped through the pages of the baby album, Hermione couldn't help but coo at the adorable images of a baby version of Draco. The album seemed to have a never-ending charm, with countless photographs—some clearly taken by professional photographers at important events, while others were candid shots captured during casual and amusing moments. Hermione secretly wished she could slip at least one of the photographs into her beaded bag. Draco Malfoy was quite handsome, but it was very surprising to see him as a sweet little toddler. This angelic-looking Draco was a million miles away from his demonic pubescent self.

In one moving photograph, a chubby-cheeked, blond toddler zoomed around on a toy broomstick, his face alight with glee. 

"Look at you go!" Hermione exclaimed, grinning at Draco. "Even then, you were a natural flyer."

Draco chuckled, "Mum always said I was born to be on a broom," he admitted, his voice carrying a mix of fond recollection and a hint of embarrassment for being in the spotlight, even in such an intimate moment. "Father, on the other hand, was less than thrilled when I crashed into his prized peacock topiary."

Hermione laughed, picturing a mischievous little Draco causing chaos in the pristine Malfoy gardens. As she turned the page, another photo caught her eye. A tiny Draco, dressed in an elegant set of dress robes, stood proudly next to an enormous birthday cake, giving a huge gap-toothed grin, his face smeared with frosting. Next to him, wearing a green little scarf and looking way less battered, sat Otis the Otter, his left side also frosted.

"Oh my goodness, is this from your birthday party?" Hermione asked, her heart melting.

“Mmmhhh,” Draco nodded. "My sixth birthday. Mother went all out, inviting every child in our social circle. I was so excited, I couldn't wait to blow out the candles. But when the time came, I got a bit... overenthusiastic."

"What happened?" Hermione asked, already giggling in anticipation.

"I took such a deep breath; I lost balance and fell face-first into the cake. As soon as I pulled my face out, I started coughing and sputtering, sending bits of cake flying everywhere. Mother was mortified, but Father... he actually laughed."

Hermione grinned, imagining a young, frosting-covered Draco and the chaos that must have ensued.

As they continued to flip through the pages, she noticed that Lucius rarely appeared in the photos, and when he did, he always seemed to be in the background, his expression cold and dignified.

Draco, noticing her thoughtful expression, sighed. "Father was never one for sentimentality. He loved me, in his own way, but he always kept his distance. Mother, on the other hand... she doted on me, even when I was being a right little terror. Which happened quite often, as you well know."

Hermione smiled softly, reaching out to squeeze Draco's hand. "She loved you so much, Draco. It's clear in every single one of these photos."

Draco nodded and gave her a wistful smile. "She did."

As they reached the end of the album, Draco turned to Hermione with open curiosity.

"How about you? Don't you have any ridiculous baby photos?" Draco asked playfully, his curiosity piqued.

Hermione grew a bit uncomfortable and feigned nonchalance, averting Draco's gaze.

"Oh, yeah," she sighed. "A couple. Not as many as you, I suppose." She exhaled. "They should be at my parents' house."

"I've noticed you rarely talk about your parents," he ventured, his tone inquisitive yet gentle.

Hermione tensed, feeling her chest tighten. For a moment, she was tempted to give a premeditated evasive answer, but then, taking a deep breath, she reconsidered. 

"Yeah, I suppose I don’t," she sighed, her shoulders curling forward. "My parents and I...” She took a deep, long breath. “It’s a difficult story, I suppose."

Hermione fell silent for a minute. Draco waited patiently, his grey eyes kind and open, his smile welcoming and warm.

She had never talked about this—not even to Harry or Ron, and the latter had been her partner, albeit a pathetic one. It was a truth she didn't want to address, not even to herself. But now, looking at Draco's openness and trust, she felt like she couldn’t stop herself. She felt like the world made sense and that she could let herself fall, to be seen, to show her brokenness, and so she spoke, "I don’t really talk about this to... anyone, but, um,” She shook her head, her throat feeling thick. “I don’t really know how to feel about my parents, and apparently,” her chin started trembling. “They don’t really know either; we’re just too different."

She took a slow, deep breath. Saying it made her stomach clench with something between guilt and resentment.

"I was always... a little different. I never quite fit in—not with them, nor with their lifestyle. They tried to make me fit, but I never did. They have never said it, but they were relieved when I received my Hogwarts letter. Me going to school took a weight off their shoulders.” Her eyes started watering, and her lungs constricted. “They do love me—don’t think they don’t. They are my parents, and I love them, I do, of course, I do. That's why I..." Hermione felt like she couldn’t stop talking, as if she had uncovered a dam, and her thoughts kept pouring out.

"During the war, I Obliviated them to protect them... “Her throat felt like sand. She started weeping. “They would have never left if I had told them. They wouldn’t have been able to grasp the danger they were in…they hardly knew about the wizarding world. They would have underestimated it, and Voldemort would have found them.” She gave a broken, wet laugh.

“So, I erased their memories without their consent and sent them to Australia…I returned their memories, of course, and—of course, they understood and forgave me, but” She paused and gave a dejected sigh. “The feeling of otherness between us increased, and the weak bond we had diminished.” She shook her head. “It almost doesn’t feel like we’re family anymore." Tears were running freely down her cheeks, her voice was quivering. "That sounds pathetic," she gave a wry, melancholic laugh, "but it's true. Crookshanks saved me too—after the war, and even more after Ron. Crookshanks made me get out of bed and go to work at the beginning. He was a small reason to smile. That's why he means so much." She started crying in earnest, her emotions finally overflowing.

Draco pulled her into a tight embrace, making soft, soothing sounds, yet remaining silent.

There was no need for words inside this moment; his silent presence and comforting embrace said it all. The abyss of her loneliness grew shallow. It was in that exact instant, amidst the silence and the comforting embrace, that she realized Draco had understood everything.

The following week arrived, announcing the beginning of a storm. The veterinarian declared with somber empathy that Crookshanks had entered the fourth and final stage of the disease, initiating a countdown of approximately 30 days. The time had come to observe and decide when to say stop to avoid unnecessary and undeserved suffering.

Draco asked questions while Hermione remained in absolute silence, her face frozen in a wax mask of herself. The doctor avoided looking her in the eyes and informed them that he would return in a few minutes with Crookshanks to explain the new treatment regimen, possibly to allow Hermione some privacy to compose herself.

The floor was vibrating, and her vision had become blurry. The white light of the consulting room and the ascetic smell of the veterinary clinic made her feel overwhelmed. There was a dull pain in her chest and a silent scream in her throat. She felt as if she had woken up from a dream, only to fall into a nightmare. Hermione placed a hand on the wall and closed her eyes.

As she trembled, lost in the labyrinth of her pain, Draco's arms enveloped her with comforting tenderness. Through the darkness, a familiar scent made its way to her—a perfect blend of his elegant fragrance and the natural smell of his skin. It was a combination she was discovering smelled of solace and companionship. The woody notes of sandalwood and cedar intertwined with the warmth of his essence, creating a unique perfume that had become synonymous with home and refuge. This scent anchored her to the present, reminding her that she was not alone.

He called for her, pronouncing her name with absolute tenderness, caressing her with his voice. When Hermione finally managed to open her eyes, she found herself within Draco's attentive and crystalline gaze, his silver mirror eyes reflecting their shared pain. No words of consolation, but experiencing the sad silence together. When Draco felt that Hermione had returned, he spoke with a soft and low voice.

"We'll listen and go straight to the wizarding vet. There might still be options," he said, his tone with strained optimism as he tried to offer a glimmer of hope amidst the heartbreaking news. "We'll do everything we can. I'm here with you. Every step of the way." 

She could only manage to nod as she clung to him, holding him tightly. And for now, that was enough. 

The wizarding vet did not offer a very different outlook, but they did offer better alternatives to provide a peaceful end to this final stage. Crookshanks' regenerative abilities had completely disappeared, so he could no longer defend his body against deterioration. Without that little bit of magic to work with, magical methods would have little to no benefit.

What could be done, however, was to manage pain and discomfort much more effectively than with muggle methods, allowing Crookshanks' last days to be filled with comfort and affection, instead of being marked by medical visits and invasive treatments. It was a not-so-small mercy among the grim news. As soon as they noticed that not even the potions were helping, they could offer a peaceful goodbye.

As they left the wizarding vet, Hermione understood for the first time that there was no way to save Crookshanks. No magic, fortune, care, or love could stop time, and the most loving act towards her loyal companion was to ensure his final moments were the best and to let him depart peacefully.

She knew that accepting her pain in exchange for sparing Crooks was a price she was willing to pay. Yet, it was curious to have that certainty and simultaneously feel guilt for not being able to do more for him; a part of her heart felt she had failed him. Her head throbbed, a bitter taste filled her throat, and she felt utterly exhausted.

She left the clinic with the weight of the inevitable future bearing down upon her. Draco's hand rested on the small of her back, a constant reminder of his presence, the warmth of his touch providing a glimmer of comfort amidst the sorrow. They walked in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, the bustling sounds of Diagon Alley fading into the background.

As they approached the Leaky Cauldron, Draco gently squeezed Hermione's hand, pulling her from her thoughts. "Why don't we head back to your flat? I'll make us some tea, and we can just be together. No need for words, just each other's company."

Hermione nodded, a flicker of gratitude in her eyes. "I'd like that," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

They emerged from the green flames into her flat, the familiar surroundings offering comfort. As they sat in silence, Draco's arm wrapped around Hermione's shoulders, her head resting against his chest, Crookshanks sleeping curled up on their laps.

Hermione stroked Crookshanks' fur absentmindedly while Draco hummed softly, a lullaby of sorts. She remembered the first night after learning of Crookshanks' illness and feared spending another night submerged in the pit of despair. Gathering her courage, she lifted her face and looked at Draco.

"Stay, please?" she said barely above a whisper, her chin trembling nervously.

It wasn't the first time Draco stayed at her place, but there was something profoundly vulnerable in asking directly, in acknowledging that she needed someone to hold her so she wouldn't drown.

Draco offered a small smile, his eyes sad yet still full of warmth and understanding. He kissed the top of her head, inhaling her scent, then whispered as if confessing something deep right above her ear. "Of course, for as long as you want."

Hermione felt huge waves of something akin to adoration pulse from her heart to the rest of her body, pulsing through her veins, almost as intense as the pain she was feeling. This mix of feelings left her scared, confused, grateful, and elated all at once.

She felt a twinge of guilt for being thankful for Draco's presence in her life, as his arrival felt linked to Crookshanks' departure. She wanted to hug him, laugh, cry, kiss him, and run away. So, she decided the best move was to stay where she was, where she wouldn't risk making a decision that could lead to losing doubly.

Draco, as if guessing her thoughts, looked at her with a mix of fear, desire, surrender, and sadness. With one hand, he tilted her chin, moving her face slightly to see her better; with the other, he took her hand.

"Draco, I..." Hermione started, but Draco gave her a small smile. 

"Hermione, it's okay. I expect nothing. Now is not the time. Let's try to get some sleep, yeah?" He kissed her cheek, then took Crookshanks in his arm and stood up, holding his hand out to Hermione as he started walking to the bedrooms.

When they reached the guest room door, Hermione gave Draco's hand a soft squeeze, seeing that he seemed intent on letting go, and led him to her bedroom. Draco didn't say anything; he simply allowed himself to be led. 

After changing into her pajamas and getting ready for bed, Hermione found Draco wearing soft, deep blue pajama pants and a white t-shirt he must have gotten from the guest room, where he had left a change of clothes. Crookshanks was already on the bed, his presence a bittersweet reminder of the love they shared.

Hermione turned down the covers and, taking Draco's hand again, led him into bed. She turned off the lights with a wandless spell. Draco pulled her close, hugging her tightly, his warmth enveloping her like a protective cocoon. He caressed her hair without a word, and Hermione felt a surge of gratitude for his unwavering support.

"Thank you for being here, Draco," she whispered, her voice barely audible in the darkness. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Draco only pressed a gentle kiss to the back of her neck. "Always, Hermione. Now go to sleep."

Gradually, their breaths synchronized until Hermione, without realizing when, fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Hermione arrived at Malfoy Manor after a long day at the Ministry. Draco guided her through the halls, his excitement palpable. "Come on, Hermione," he urged, his voice filled with anticipation. "If we're late and dinner gets cold, Pippit and Tabin might leave me without food for a fortnight. You wouldn't want me to starve, would you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, trying to muster a cheerful tone. She knew Draco was attempting to lift her spirits—it was her birthday, after all—but it was challenging to be in high spirits, especially just days after receiving devastating news.

"The elves prepared a special little meal for your birthday," Draco said, his tone soft and caring. "They are waiting for us with Crooks in the rose garden."

Hermione smiled back, grateful for his thoughtfulness. As they approached the rose garden, Draco opened the doors and led her outside. They walked to the gazebo, where the elves stood, holding Crookshanks. As soon as Hermione took a step on the stairs to enter the gazebo, several disillusionment charms dropped simultaneously.

"Surprise!" multiple voices shouted in unison.

Hermione gasped as she took in the transformed garden. Cat-themed balloons and decorations adorned the space, and a large banner reading "Happy Birthday, Hermione" hung between two trees. Her friends from work, along with Theo, Pansy, Blaise, Harry, Ginny, Neville, and Luna, all stood smiling and clapping.

With tears of joy in her eyes, Hermione turned to Draco. "You did all this? For me?" she asked, her voice filled with wonder.

Draco wrapped her in a hug and whispered, "Of course. I wanted you to have a special birthday surrounded by the people who love you." Then, he added playfully, "Do you like it, Birthday Babe?"

Hermione giggled and hugged him back even tighter. "Thank you, you Dashing Dolt," she whispered in his ear.

"Is that a pet name I hear, Lovely Lioness?" Draco teased, his eyebrow raised.

"Shut up, Alluring Arse," Hermione retorted, a grin on her face.

"Glorious Gryffindor," Draco countered, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

"Fetching Ferret," Hermione shot back, unable to contain her laughter.

"Nerdy Nymph," Draco quipped, pulling her closer.

"Sly Snake," Hermione responded, her smile widening.

"Why, thank you, Sassy Sweetheart," Draco said, his tone playful. "But I'm afraid you'll never beat me. I could do this all night, but we shouldn't keep our guests waiting, should we?"

The guests took turns embracing Hermione, offering their well-wishes. Luna handed out cat-ear party hats to everyone, and they all complied without complaint, even Draco. Music filled the air, and tables were laden with Hermione's favorite foods and a pile of presents.

Crookshanks observed everything from a comfortable chair, letting the guests pat him occasionally, like a king enjoying the festivities from his throne. Hermione alternated between the various guests, chatting, dancing, and allowing herself to be present and happy.

As the party progressed, Hermione took a moment to sit right next to Crookshanks and observe—the amazing decorations, the rose-scented air, the heat of the warming charm surrounding the gazebo, protecting them from the cold. She couldn't help but notice the interaction between her friends. Theo and Harry seemed to be engrossed in conversation, their heads leaning close together. Meanwhile, Luna was showing Ginny and Blaise some new dance moves, their laughter filling the air. Neville and Pansy were chatting animatedly near the refreshments, their smiles wide and genuine.

Draco approached Hermione with a small box and a tender smirk. "I wanted to give you this. It's part of your present," he said, handing her the box.

Inside, Hermione found a purple instant camera. "I tinkered with it a bit," Draco explained. "It'll take moving pictures and never run out of film. I thought, since you don't have many photos of yourself, it's time to change that and take as many as possible, starting now."

Before Hermione could respond, Tabin entered carrying a cake with multicolored, flaming candles. The lights dimmed, and everyone gathered around her, singing "Happy Birthday." With a quick wandless charm, Draco levitated the camera and began snapping pictures, yet none of them appeared in the camera. When Hermione tried to ask why, he gave her a sly smile that meant "later."

Harry approached Hermione, enveloping her in a tight hug and pulling her to the dance floor. Despite his lack of dancing skills, he moved with carefree abandon, doing silly moves that made her giggle. "It's nice to see you laugh, you know?" Harry said, his voice sincere. "I missed it, missed this… I feel like I've been a terrible friend to you, Hermione."

Hermione felt her eyes grow misty. She would never have dared to say it, but she had also missed feeling close to Harry. "Thank you, Harry," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. "And I'm sorry too."

"Let's do better, okay?" Harry proposed, his eyes hopeful. "We could have lunch weekly. How does that sound?" Then, blushing and looking away, he added nervously, "Theo told me there is a get-together at his place every two weeks. We should go."

She gave him a mischievous smile. "Yes, I saw he was being… very friendly," she teased. Harry turned even redder but returned her smile, looking almost boyish.

"He seems… very nice," Harry admitted. Then, in a more playful tone, he added, "You know, Malfoy's not so bad after all. It's clear he really cares about you. He wrote to me asking for help with the party." Hermione's eyes widened in surprise. Harry continued, pulling out a folded piece of parchment. "Here, I think you should read it… And listen, I really want to be more present, to be there for you and support you. You're my best friend, and I love you. Don't ever forget that."

"Apologies for the interruption," interjected a slightly tipsy Theo, with Draco right beside him, "but I believe this gentleman owes me a dance." He pointed to Harry. "You two can continue your lovefest later," he teased, winking at Hermione and giving a funny curtsy to Harry.

Hermione and Harry laughed, shaking their heads at Theo's antics.

"Please, don't let me stop you," she replied. " beware about your feet though"

"That's quite alright. He can kiss them better if he hurts them," Theo quipped, while Harry covered his face.

"Okay, that's all I need to know about Potter's alleged foot fetish," Draco said, in mock mortification. "But really, Potter," he continued, pushing Harry towards Theo, "dance with the poor sod before he starts crying."

Shaking his head, Harry took Theo's hand. "You lead, Nott," he said with a playful grin.

Theo smirked and guided Harry to the dance floor, while Hermione watched with a smile, Draco by her side.

Draco then offered his palm to Hermione. "I believe we agreed to dance together again?"

"So we did," Hermione answered, taking his hand with a smile while quickly hiding the parchment in her pocket.

As Harry danced with Theo, he tried to keep a straight face amidst Theo's jokes and exaggerated moves. It was nice to have fun, to forget about the looming threats and simply enjoy the moment with friends.

Meanwhile, Hermione twirled in Draco's arms, feeling light and carefree. They moved effortlessly together, their steps perfectly synchronized as if they had been dancing for years.

Pansy tapped Draco on the shoulder with a mischievous grin on her face. "Granger, mind if I borrow your dance partner for a bit?" she asked, not really waiting for an answer as she pulled him away. “Come on, Draco darling, I need to see you attempting to follow Luna’s new choreography”

Hermione chuckled at Draco's mock-indignant expression as he was dragged off. Taking the opportunity, she slipped away from the party and found a quiet corner to read the letter Harry had given her. With trembling hands, she opened the envelope, eager to discover Draco's words.

Potter,

I know I'm the last person who should ask for a favor, but I'm doing so for Hermione's sake, not mine.

You may not know the details of her recent struggles or our unexpected connection and its reasons. It's up to her to share those specifics if she wishes. But what I can tell you is that she means everything to me, and right now, she needs us—she needs you.

I know you're not fond of Crookshanks, but this is about more than just a pet. Crookshanks is nearing the end of his life, and Hermione is devastated.

She puts on a brave face, but deep down, she's hesitant to ask for help, fearing rejection or misunderstanding. She's always there for others, but struggles to admit when she needs support herself.

I'm planning a birthday celebration for her, to create some happy memories during this difficult time. I sincerely ask you to come to the manor on Friday and help me gather friends who will be there to support her.

You have every right to hold a grudge against me, but I implore you, for Hermione's sake, let's put our differences aside for this one day. She needs all the love and support we can give her.

Please consider it.

DM

Hermione wiped away a stray tear, touched by Draco's words and the effort he had put into making this day special for her. She took a deep breath, composing herself before rejoining the party.

As she made her way back to the festivities, Ginny caught her eye and waved her over. The redhead had a knowing smile on her face as she linked arms with Hermione, leading her to a quieter corner of the garden.

"So, you and Draco seem awfully cozy," Ginny teased, her eyebrows waggling suggestively. "Anything you want to tell me, birthday babe?"

Hermione felt her cheeks heat up, but she couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips. "Oh, hush you," she said, nudging Ginny with her elbow. "We're just friends."

Ginny snorted, clearly not buying it. "Friends, right. That's why he went to all this trouble to throw you the perfect party."

Hermione's smile softened, her gaze drifting to where Draco was attempting to follow Luna's dance moves, looking endearingly awkward. "He's been wonderful, Gin. I don't know what I would have done without him these past few months."

Ginny's expression turned serious, and she squeezed Hermione's arm. "I'm sorry I haven't been there for you as much as I should have been, Hermione. You're more than my friend; you're my sister," she said, her voice warm and sincere. "I know things got weird with you breaking up with that useless ball sack of a brother of mine, who has the emotional range of a flobberworm, and Harry and me splitting up, but I miss you, and I want you to know that I'm always on your side, always on your team."

Hermione squeezed Ginny's hand, tears threatening to fall. "I'm so sorry for pushing you away, Gin," she said. "It was never my intention, but we deserved better. I've missed you too."

Ginny smiled while squeezing back her hand. "Harry was the one who let me know about the party. We're almost friends now," she revealed. "He's great; we're just not each other's type."

"Oh, yeah, I can see you're more into sexy, inked, and charming," Hermione joked, waggling her eyebrows.

"I can't wait to play in that particular snake pit, if you know what I mean," Ginny said with a wink.

"Gin!" Hermione guffawed, feigning scandal.

"Don't go all puritan on me now, Hermione. I can tell ferret-boy is dying to do lots of things that his father will never hear about," Ginny said, imitating Draco’s drawl.

"Ginny Weasley, you are the absolute worst," Hermione said, shaking her head.

"And you love me for that!" Ginny quipped without a hint of remorse. "We need a girls' night with Luna soon. I'd even invite Pansy," she added before giving Hermione a hug and rejoining the party.

As the party wound down, Hermione found herself swaying in Draco's arms, the soft music and twinkling lights creating an enchanting atmosphere. They moved in perfect sync, their bodies close, and their eyes locked on each other. Draco's hand rested gently on the small of her back, guiding her effortlessly across the dance floor.

The guests gradually took their leave, each one hugging Hermione and wishing her a happy birthday. Neville and Pansy were among the first to go, both grinning and whispering to each other as they made their exit. Harry and Ginny were the last to depart, both promising to stay in touch more often. With a final wave, they disappeared into the night, leaving Hermione and Draco alone in the garden.

Hand in hand, they made their way inside the Manor, the silence a comforting contrast to the lively celebrations. Draco led Hermione to a cozy living room, where a plush sofa and a crackling fireplace awaited them. Crookshanks, who had been napping in a corner, perked up at their arrival and padded over to Hermione, nuzzling against her leg.

Hermione sank into the sofa, kicking off her shoes with a contented sigh. Draco, noticing her slightly pained expression, sat down beside her and gently lifted her feet onto his lap.

"Dancing takes its toll, doesn't it?" he chuckled, his fingers expertly massaging her aching soles.

Hermione laughed softly, relishing the relief his touch brought. "It was worth every second, though. I can't remember the last time I felt this happy."

Draco smiled sweetly, his eyes crinkling. "Good. You deserve all the happiness in the world."

He reached behind him and pulled out a beautifully wrapped package. "I have one more present for you," he said, handing it to her.

Hermione carefully unwrapped the gift, revealing a stunning leather-bound album. As she opened it, her eyes widened in surprise. The pages were filled with moving photographs from the party, each one capturing a precious moment.

There was a picture of her laughing with Ginny, their faces bright with joy. Another showed her and Harry sharing a heartfelt hug. A particularly amusing shot featured Theo and Blaise, their arms slung around each other, grinning madly as they sported the cat-ear party hats.

But the photo that caught Hermione's eye was one of her and Draco, dancing close together, their eyes locked on each other, and their expressions soft with unspoken affection. Beneath the picture, a small footnote appeared: "The birthday babe and her dashing dolt, lost in their own little world."

Hermione felt a lump form in her throat, her heart filled with gratitude. "Draco, this is... it's perfect. Thank you."

Draco's smile widened, his hand gently squeezing hers. "There's one more thing," he said softly, reaching into his pocket.

He pulled out a small, intricately designed locket and placed it in Hermione's palm. She carefully opened it, and her breath caught in her throat. Inside was a magically painted portrait of Crookshanks, his fluffy face almost lifelike in its detail.

"I painted it myself," Draco explained, his voice slightly trembling with nervousness. "And when the time comes, when Crooks... passes, the painting will come to life. A part of him will always be with you."

Tears spilled down Hermione's cheeks as she clutched the locket to her heart, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness and emotional impact of Draco's gift. Crookshanks, sensing her emotions, leapt onto the sofa and curled up between her and Draco, purring contentedly.

Draco's hand gently wiped away a stray tear from Hermione's cheek, his touch soft and comforting. "I hope you like it," he said quietly, his eyes searching her face for a reaction.

Hermione looked up at him, her vision blurred by tears, but her smile radiant. "Draco, this is so beautiful. I can't even begin to tell you how much this means to me."

She leaned in, resting her head on his shoulder, the locket still clutched tightly in her hand. Draco's arm wrapped around her, pulling her closer, as they sat in comfortable silence, watching the flames dance in the fireplace.

October, 2006

Grief is a strange thing. It is like a cloak one wears all the time, making everything more intense, the good and the bad. Grief reminds us that death is always near, and that somehow, reminds us we are alive.

Hermione, who once thought that losing someone meant only one feeling, one color, now knows that grief can make everything sharper, the good and the bad.

So, one afternoon at work, she decides she needs to ask for a leave of absence. It takes her a couple of days to get everything ready. Promising her team that they can still owl her at her flat if the need arises, she leaves.

She doesn't want to miss anything. She's been too afraid of life, too afraid of loss, keeping everyone at an arm's length. Yes, she's been in control, and that way, things cannot hurt, but it doesn't feel like fully living, and she doesn't want that, not anymore.

The pain-killing potions work marvelously, so well that she needs to remind herself they are, indeed, on borrowed time. Crookshanks experiences a newfound vitality she has not seen in years; he is more vocal and dramatic than ever, he is also more playful, more needy, sometimes almost kitty-like, and she relishes in it. It's as if he, too, understands the preciousness of these moments and wants to savor every last one.

Draco, in tune with Hermione's wishes, plans a series of increasingly extravagant adventures for the three of them. They spend two delightful days in France, watching Crookshanks prance through fragrant lavender fields, his orange fur a vibrant contrast against the soft purple blooms. Draco surprises Hermione with a picnic in the countryside, complete with all of her favorite French delicacies and a bouquet of freshly picked lavender for her to take home.

Next, they visit a secluded beach in Greece, where they spend a lazy afternoon lounging on the sand, sipping cocktails and watching Crookshanks explore the shoreline. They discover Crookshanks' aversion to sand but delight in his playful interactions at the water's edge. He chases the waves, attempting to catch them between his paws, while Hermione and Draco laugh and cheer him on.

Picnics become a regular occurrence, each one featuring a different culinary theme. One day, they sample an array of sashimi, watching Crookshanks delicately nibble on the tender fish. Another day, they indulge in French cuisine, with Crookshanks eagerly trying foie gras. When Draco attempts to offer him caviar, Crookshanks spits it out, his face scrunched in offended disgust.

"Well, that's a no for caviar then," Draco chuckles, wiping a bit of the discarded delicacy from his shirt.

Hermione giggles, scratching Crookshanks behind the ears. "He's always been a bit particular about his food. Aren't you, Crooks?"

Crookshanks meows in agreement, rubbing his head against Hermione's hand.

A visit to a half-kneazle shelter proves to be a highlight for Crookshanks. His eyes widen in amazement as he meets other cats like himself, and he takes great joy in playing and cuddling with a litter of kittens, even taking it upon himself to groom them with gentle licks.

"Look at him, Draco," Hermione whispers, her eyes misty as she watches Crookshanks nuzzle a tiny black kitten. "He's so gentle with them."

Draco wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "He's always had a big heart, just like his mum."

Crookshanks approaches them, carrying the smallest kitten of the litter and placing it on Draco's lap, who doesn't know how to react.

"What's this, Mr. Shanks?" Draco asks, gently petting the tiny kitten.

Hermione watches the scene with a mix of affection and melancholy. She thinks that perhaps Crookshanks is worried about them and doesn't want them to be alone, but she doesn't dare say anything. She's not ready to talk about what will happen afterward.

"I think he wants you to have a new friend," she says softly, with a wistful smile.

Draco looks up at her, understanding dawning in his eyes. He nods, cradling the kitten close to his chest.

Their final adventure takes them to a butterfly farm, where vibrant flowers and even more colorful butterflies surround them. Crookshanks watches the delicate creatures with rapt attention, occasionally chasing them or reaching out to caress them with his paws. In a magical moment, a particularly bold butterfly lands on his nose, its wings gently fluttering against his whiskers.

Throughout these weeks, Hermione and Draco cherish every moment, capturing memories with the camera Draco gifted her. They fill entire pages of the album with moving photographs of Crookshanks' adventures, each one a reminder of the love and happiness he brought into their lives. There's Draco, nose smudged with flour giving Crookshanks new treats, Tabin and Pippin fussing over an annoyed feline and Hermione sleeping by the fire, Crookshanks curled up on top of her.

Despite the joy of these moments, Hermione can't help but feel a sense of fear and uncertainty about the future. She knows their time with Crookshanks is limited, and the thought of losing him fills her with a deep sadness. In the quiet moments, when it's just the three of them, she allows herself to cry, to express her fears and her grief. Draco holds her close, offering silent support and understanding.

They spend evenings cuddled on the couch, Crookshanks nestled between them, reminiscing about their favorite memories and finding comfort in each other's presence.

"Do you know he once stole a whole roast chicken from the Great Hall?" Hermione asks, chuckling at the memory.

Draco laughs, wiping a tear from her eye. "How could I not? He dragged it all the way while Filch pursued him. The little rascal," he says affectionately. "But he shared his treasure, right, Mr. Shanks? That night a chicken thigh appeared right on top of my pillow."

They split their time between her house and the manor. More than once, they find themselves sharing a bed, not for physical intimacy, but for the emotional comfort and closeness it brings, and it becomes as natural and vital as breathing.    

One night, after a lovely dinner where Draco prepared a colorful light show with Crookshanks dancing and chasing the marvelous colored lights projected on the walls, Draco notices Hermione's eyes growing heavy with sleep. He gently guides them to his bedroom, where he projects a starry night sky on the ceiling. In his soft bed, with the comforting weight of Crookshanks on her legs and listening to the steady rhythm of Draco's heartbeat, Hermione murmurs sleepily, "You know, one could get used to this."

The room is warm and cozy, the soft glow of the enchanted stars casting a gentle light over them. Crookshanks purrs contentedly, his soft fur brushing against their skin. Draco's arm is wrapped securely around Hermione, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on her back. In this moment, everything feels perfect, like a dream she never wants to wake from.

Draco continues stroking her hair as she drifts off to sleep, and just as she's on the cusp of slumber, she thinks she hears him whisper, "I really hope you do, love."

And so, amidst beautiful and tranquil moments, one day Hermione notices that the last day has arrived. She notices it in Crookshanks' eyes, more tired than the previous days, in his apparent confusion, as if he were looking at them through a dense fog. At that moment, she feels the certainty that the end has come.

No words are needed between her and Draco. With their gazes, they communicate everything, and with teary eyes, they both embrace Crookshanks.

Draco goes to the vet for the potion, Farewell Friend Elixir, a shimmering potion that seems to hold the essence of a peaceful goodbye within its iridescent depths, very similar to Felix Felicis.

When Draco returns, he finds Hermione curled up in a ball, Crookshanks wrapped in his favorite blanket and cradled to her chest. Without a word, he gathers them in his arms, holding her close, both of them trying to find strength in their embrace for what's to come.

Draco explains the vet's instructions to Hermione, his voice gentle and filled with emotion. Tomorrow morning, they will give Crookshanks the potion, granting him one final day of perfect health to spend as they wish. As the sun sets, he will gently drift off into a peaceful, eternal sleep. It's a bittersweet gift, a chance to say goodbye without pain or suffering, but it doesn't make the impending loss any easier.

Afterward, they need only bring him to the vet's office to ensure Crookshanks has found his final rest.

Draco and Hermione spend the rest of that day alternating between tears and planning, preparing themselves, both ready and not for the inevitable. They fall asleep like that, exhausted and drained, taking comfort in each other's presence.

When morning arrives, Hermione holds Crookshanks while Draco administers the potion. Crookshanks takes it without complaint, almost gratefully. He is tired, and it's as if he understands that the time has come to rest, and this will help him.

That day, they watch "The Aristocats" again while the potion takes effect. By the time it ends, Crookshanks is lively and playful. Pippit and Tabin prepare all his favorite food.

They all play with him, doing their best to show how much he is loved, how deeply he'll be missed.

Draco brushes Crookshanks' fur one final time, leaving it shiny and soft as the cat purrs contentedly, while Hermione sings him the same calming song she's used to soothe him since the day she adopted him. They take one last photo together, one last precious memory to cherish.

Time seems to accelerate, the hours slipping through Hermione's fingers like sand in an hourglass. They try to savor each moment, each purr, each playful swat of Crookshanks' paw, but the sun continues its inevitable descent towards the horizon.

With Crookshanks in their arms, they go to the Rose Garden. Draco spreads out a blanket and casts a heating charm on it so that Crookshanks doesn't feel cold.

When the sun begins to set, Crookshanks starts to look sleepy. He rests his snout on Hermione's lap as if trying to comfort her one last time. She sobs softly and silently, thanking him for everything. Draco, by her side, does the same. Until, with the last ray of sun, Crookshanks falls into a deep, peaceful, and eternal sleep.

Hermione and Draco hold Crookshanks close, their tears mingling with his soft fur. She takes comfort in knowing that they gave him a life filled with love, and that a part of him will always be with her, forever cherished in her locket, her heart, and memories.

As Draco prepares to take Crookshanks to the vet's office, Hermione stays behind. She doesn't feel capable of going to the sterile office, so she goes to her apartment to prepare for the journey to Crookshanks' last resting place. The place where it all began.

With heavy hearts, they prepare for the final goodbye. Draco gently places Crookshanks in a wicker basket, lined with soft blankets, ensuring that he is comfortable for his final journey. Hermione gathers Crookshanks' favorite blanket and a few cherished mementos - a vial of lavender from France, a seashell from Greece, a pressed butterfly from the farm. She places them carefully in her beaded bag, along with their most treasured photo together.

"I can't find his snake," Draco says, his brow furrowed with worry. "I think I left it at your flat."

Hermione gives him a sad smile, understanding how much the toy snake means to him. "It's okay, Draco. You go to the vet, I can go to my flat, and I'll meet you at the tree with Crooks."

Draco nods, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before Apparating away. Hermione takes a deep breath, steeling herself for the difficult task ahead.

Lost in her own memories, Hermione didn't hear the footsteps approaching her. It was only when she felt a hand on her shoulder that she realized Draco was beside her, the wicker basket in his other hand.

His eyes were also red and puffy, as if he had allowed himself to break before reuniting with her. They tried to smile at each other, but their lips were quivering. Draco knelt beside her and gently placed the basket in front of them.

Leaning on each other, Hermione allowed herself to cry as she had cried that day in front of this same tree for the first time, just as Draco had probably cried when saying goodbye, thinking he would never see the furry friend who refused to leave his life again.

They cried because love hurts, because letting go tears a piece of your heart, and yet, Hermione couldn't help but be grateful for these tears, for all the pain was a testament to everything Crookshanks had given them in life.

With the utmost care, as if holding someone asleep, Draco took Crookshanks out of the basket. The body was cold, without the spark of life that had characterized it for so many years. The image was familiar and foreign at the same time, and Hermione could only think of the word uncanny. Crookshanks seemed smaller, shrunk in on himself, looking so fragile that she yearned to take him in her arms and caress him until the warmth of life returned. At that moment, there was nothing she wanted more than to take her beloved pet away from the icy embrace of death.

Both of them gave him one last hug, and Hermione silently thanked Crookshanks for making sure to find them before departing. Gently, Draco placed Crookshanks in the soft earth of his grave, Hermione covered him with his blanket and placed his toy snake and one last photo of them beside him to keep him company.

It was Draco who drew his wand to cover the space with earth again, conjuring grass, roses, and lavender in the small patch. With a wave of his wand, Draco added one of Crookshanks' many nicknames to the gravestone: "Here lies Mr. Smushface, the bravest and most loving feline," right under his name. A delicate butterfly appeared, fluttering above the grave before coming to rest on the stone, as if paying its respects.

They remained together in silence, looking at the space, thinking of all the butterflies that would come to visit the flowers. Holding each other in a comfortable and grateful silence. Until, at last, the rain resumed its mourning.

Hand in hand, they both stood, looking at each other, and for a moment, Hermione felt lost and uncertain of what was next.

Draco turned to Hermione, his voice soft and filled with understanding. "Have you thought about getting another cat someday?" It was more than just a question, and they both knew it.

Hermione met his gaze, a flicker of something akin to hope in her eyes. "Maybe, not yet though," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Draco gave her hand a gentle squeeze, his ears reddening as he spoke. "Well, I'm willing to share custody again if you want." His eyes were full of hope, but his tone conveyed that there was no rush, that he too wanted to take things slowly. The important things in life deserved to be done with care and patience.

Suddenly self-conscious, Draco stammered, "I mean, not now, obviously. I know now is not the right time. Shit, I'm sorry, you're probably exhausted, and I—"

Hermione squeezed his hand, cutting off his rambling. "You know? I think I'd like that. We can come back to it when the time is right for us." Her words carried a hint of a future together, a promise of something more.

Shivering slightly, Hermione added, "I'm freezing, and I think I need a cup of tea. Would you like one?" It was more than a simple question; it was laying her desires on the table, hoping to be reciprocated.

Draco's expression softened, his heart swelling with affection. "I'd like nothing more right now," he replied, his voice filled with warmth and understanding. "I'll light the fire, and you make the tea?"

Hermione smiled in acceptance, and with a gentle pop, Draco Apparated them back to her flat.

As they settled on the couch, steaming mugs of tea in hand, Hermione allowed herself to lean into Draco's embrace. She was sad, and she was tired, but so was he. There was something precious in sharing this grief with someone who truly understood, someone who had been there through it all.

In the flickering light of the fire, Hermione felt a glimmer of solace amidst the sorrow. Though Crookshanks was gone, the love she and Draco had shared with him would live on, forever cherished in their hearts. And perhaps, in time, the bond between Hermione and Draco, forged through the most unexpected of circumstances, would grow to encompass something even greater.