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Chapter Text

Hermione’s chair creaked as she leaned further over the scrolls sprawled across her desk. The dependable squeak of her chair always accompanied her mundane paperwork. That, and the routine, thunderous bangs she could expect to hear as the aurors did their usual training upstairs.
She had been crammed into this dusty, dismal excuse of an office that the ministry was able to spare for her to have a place to, professionally, call home. While it had no natural light, the orange light that shown dully from her desk lamp was still capable of capturing the exceptional amount of dust that cascaded off of the old brick walls with each bang from the aurors as they fired spell after spell. Hermione coughed and used her wand to clear the dust off of her parchments. She could always count on a reprieve from the air thickened with noise and debris during the lunch hour. And, sure enough, it was noon and the raucous sound ceased.
So, here she sat mulling over the final details of the case she was working on with nothing but the squeak of her old office chair to chime in.
While that squeak had been a strong nuisance when she first settled into this dreary office space, it now served as a reminder of the purpose in her work. The selection of this space was a strong statement on the ministry’s behalf. In reality, it was a representation of the entire wizarding world’s view of her professional endeavors.
She felt that tingle of rebellion in her bones as she continued to scratch her final comments onto the scroll. At the top of the very long scroll that Hermione hunched over, read PANSY PARKINSON. This had been the case that tested her, pushed her, and made her question her entire professional trajectory and personal philosophies. That was probably the effect that Pansy had on everyone. But, as she crusaded to the ministry and the public, everyone can be saved.
It was with great satisfaction that Hermione wrote her final notes on the scroll and picked up her favorite stamp on her desk. With gusto, she smashed it down on the eery photo of Pansy Parkinson in Azkaban. It was hard to imagine Pansy without her red lips and her hair disheveled but there she was with life missing from her eyes. Shiny green letters that seemed to shine brighter than her pathetic desk lamp shown across the photo: REINTEGRATED.
She signed her name at the bottom and rolled the scroll up while smiling. Hermione penned a memo for the minister to notify him that the report was ready and a debrief meeting is now an option.
As soon as it zipped past her head, the room began to fill with dust as the aurors resumed their daily practice. She leaned back in her chair which seemed to squeal in celebration as an ease settled over Hermione. And then, unease.
Hermione felt satisfaction and melancholy, she did with the closing of every new case. She looked around the room where she had changed many lives for the better, but she couldn’t help but ruminate on the fact that many people believed her to be harming the wizarding world. With each successful case, she became a more controversial figure in the public. The notoriety created an emotional dichotomy for her as she felt proud of her successes and somber about how truly alone she was. So alone in many ways.
It was only three years after the war when Hermione had finished her auror training. Her, Harry, and Ron had all graduated in the same class of aurors. Everyone loved it. The Golden Trio was doing exactly what the wizarding world wanted them to do. It was front page news when they all received their badges together. Hermione had graduated top of the class, of course, while Harry and Ron trailed behind being praised for their charisma.
Hermione had felt consistent deja vu. It was like nothing had changed. The auror academy was a reiteration of her time at Hogwarts. She was known as the swot and, in more ways than one, she was treated like an outsider. Despite the Daily Prophet applauding The Trio for continuing to bring justice to the wizarding world through an auror’s badge, she was not as welcomed among her peers and classmates.
It wasn’t a surprise, she knew why. Hermione was not quiet about her opinions on what she saw happening to the wizarding world. While the academy had felt like a retelling of Hogwarts, the prejudice in the wizarding world was most certainly a mirrored-image of the blood discrimination that fueled the war. The small wizarding population had been divided in half by the terror that Voldemort brought to it. The half that had supported Voldemort, either out of fear, threats, or actual belief, were now the outcasts. They weren’t even given the decency of exile. They were used as social examples of how bad life can be if you step out of line. The Prophet, in particular, enjoyed highlighting the downfall of what was previously the social elite. They even gave the term ‘death eater’ the same discriminatory power as many slurs. It was no longer a simple label, it was an insult often hurled at people who had never even taken the mark. Hermione knew better than to buy into this parade of public shaming and discrimination. While she had not heard the term, mud blood, in years, she still heard the same prejudice and disdain-soaked venom in people’s voices when they called someone a death eater.
It was two months after academy graduation when she became obsessed with following up on what happened to former death eaters who had served their time in Azkaban. As they rounded on the fourth anniversary of the war ending, many of the lesser notorious ones had served their short sentences. She couldn’t help but wonder where they were going after prison. What were they doing? Could they be employed?
Hermione unashamedly utilized resources that the DMLE offered their aurors to track down these individuals. And, that was how she met her very first case: Theodore Nott.
She helped Theo find work, establish a routine, find a home, and create a circle of friends. In working with Theo to help create his new life, she created the basis for her work now. Though it took time, she used Theo’s story to convince Minister Shacklebolt that there was potential in helping those who needed it now.
Besides, it is not like there was anything better to do with her time. The DMLE was overstaffed and underworked which, she supposed, was a good thing. But, she had looked around the office and saw a great deal of people who were content with the way the world was going. It was like they all put their feet up after Voldemort died, assuming that all was right with the world now. At any given time, you could walk through the once prestigious office of the DMLE and find a group of aurors drinking coffee and playing cubicle quidditch with little to no paperwork on anyone’s desk. You would even find The Chosen One twirling his wand and laughing with the red-headed Weasley sitting in the cubicle next to him.
“Seriously, Hermione. Why couldn’t it just be house elves again?” Harry was giving her that very Harry look of concern as he leaned against her cubicle watching her pack up her many, unused quills into a box.
“You know that Shacklebolt is creating this position for you as a favor,” Harry spoke softly and with concern. He still brought Hermione comfort and a warmth she could feel in her chest.
Harry was always the supportive friend even when he didn’t agree with Hermione’s choices. He made it clear that he thought she should stay in the auror’s office and should not be helping those that once opposed her every breath. He discussed at length that Shacklebolt was simply appeasing the Golden Girl with an old office and a pay cut for her new position as a reintegration specialist. But, he also carried her box of quills and scrolls downstairs and helped her clean her dingy office. That was Harry, reliable.
Harry was the one who bought her the orange lamp that was currently illuminating the look of unease on Hermione’s face and had been doing so for two years now.
Hermione startled out of her revery when a memo zoomed into her office. It was from the minister.
Miss Granger,
I am pleased to hear you have successfully completed another case. Unfortunately, I will not be able to meet with you to discuss it.
An urgent matter has come up. One that may require your expertise when it is safe to do so.
Await my instructions.
Minister Shacklebolt
Hermione sat there perplexed for a few moments, looking for any clues in the brief missive. Her expertise had never been requested by anyone. She had to seek out her cases and initiate much of her work. Many of her cases were very apprehensive initially, especially her most recent success. Hermione had had to downright demand that Pansy allow her to help her. She had to follow her for a month before Pansy would even acknowledge her. And, even then, Pansy spent much of their time insulting Hermione and her wild hair.
Hermione nearly toppled out of her chair when the door to her office burst open.
“Pub night, pub night, pub night,” chanted Ron and Harry in unison as they barreled in with the energy of two people who had had a lazy Friday at work.
“Alright, alright. Calm down,” admonished Hermione as she tucked the memo into her drawer. She would stress about that later. Right now, she needed to go to her weekly social obligation and act happy.
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The pub was loud. It was busy and loud.
This always put Hermione on edge. Unlike her friends who looked forward to pub night, she dreaded it.
Hermione couldn’t quite figure out why. She loved her friends dearly and enjoyed being around them but she also couldn’t help but feel more alone when surrounded by the group that had grown over the years.
Ron was walking back to their table with a round of butter beers floating overheard. He had that mischievous grin that gave Hermione an unbelievable feeling of nostalgia. She would always see the little red-headed boy with dirt on his face sitting on the Hogwarts Express.
“Oi scoot in,” Ron said as he slid into the booth.
Hermione was soon squished between Neville and Ginny as Ron settled in. Across from them, sat Harry.
“Ron! Why cant you sit on the other side?!,” shouted an irritated Ginny.
“Oh you don’t know? Harry’s lover is bringing another guest tonight. So, I am leaving space for them,” at that, Ron lifted his butter beer to his lips.
Ginny rolled her eyes and turned to Harry, “Where is that husband of yours? He is late.”
“Oh little, old me?”
Everyone lifted their heads to see a smiling Theo striding towards the table. Theo slid in next to Harry giving him a chaste kiss on the cheek.
“Hi honey,” said Harry whose face was aglow in that glow only Theo could spark.
Harry and Theo had met through Hermione of course. She had not been sure how to feel when one of her cases had become so involved in her own personal friend group but the love between them only made sense. Theo and Harry settled into a relationship that felt like it was always there.
However, Hermione was taken aback when she saw an apprehensive Pansy following closely behind Theo and taking up residence in the space next to him.
“Granger,” drawled Pansy when she notice the surprised look on Hermione’s face.
“Pansy, what are you doing here?”
“Relax Granger. We have gone our separate ways professionally. I can now join this sad little group of Gryffindors for pub night,” Pansy grabbed a butter beer before Hermione could say another word.
“Alright,” Hermione said with apprehension still in her voice, “Well, how is work?”
Pansy’s eyebrows shot up, “Are you asking professionally as my former reintegration specialist who helped me get the job? Or, are you asking personally?”
Hermione scoffed at Pansy’s mocking tone, “Personally. Since that is now our relationship of course.”
“See Granger, that wasn’t so hard,” Pansy chuckled in victory, “We can be acquaintances now.”
“Oh yes, this friend group is a bonus to Hermione’s services,” chimed in Theo, “Play your cards right, Pans, and you could marry someone here as well.”
Everyone erupted into laughter, except Ron who was quite pink in the face for whatever reason.
“Alright everyone,” Hermione spoke as the laughter dissipated, “ You know how I try to keep my professional boundaries in my job, I can’t have anyone questioning me more than they already are.”
With those words, an awkward silence overtook the table. Since Hermione’s departure from the auror department, her friends had shown more and more support in her work. Theo and Harry’s romance lead to Theo’s acceptance into the group. While it took Ron a while to warm to the former Slytherin, they were now the best of friends. And though it was never said, Hermione knew that even Ron understand her desire to help now more than ever. The silence that now hung in the air had a sense of sorrow to it as her friends understood the cruel scrutiny that Hermione endured. Scrutiny that Hermione endured alone.
“So, Pansy,” Ron bravely stated, “How is your new job?”
Pansy returned his question with a bewildered look. After a moment, in which Ron was likely holding his breath, the corners of her mouth quirked up and she responded with enthusiasm.
Any tension at the table melted away as the warmth of friendship grew and stories were traded about their work week. Neville found various ways to sneak in discussions about horticulture even though it never naturally came up in conversation, Theo always humored him and listened attentively. Ginny and Harry enthusiastically discussed quidditch with ease that came from years of friendship. Pansy and Ron were talking to each other quietly as the end of the table with grins on their faces and stars in their eyes. Hermione wondered at what a curious sight that was.
She was surrounded by love and friendship. Hermione knew how lucky she was and how lucky they were to have each other. If the war had taught her anything, it was that these precious moments were something to be cherished. Rationally, she knew this. Yet, she felt a deep emptiness within her, one that she tried to avoid ruminating on. It often left her with more questions than answers. What was wrong with her? What was missing?
Hermione let these questions swirl through her mind as she apparated home. As she stood in her living room, the mask fell. Her smile disappeared and her shoulders slumped showing her exhaustion.
Crookshanks sat on the chaise and regarded her with ambivalence.
Making her way through the stacks of books that lined the walls in her flat, she began undressing as she made her way to her bedroom. Books were the only sign of Hermione in this otherwise plain flat. Selecting a matching set of silk pajamas, she recalled the shopping trip in which she bought numerous pajama sets along with matching bras and underwear. She had thought that she would finally feel like a confident women. One who didn’t feel so lost and alone. Surely a women who had beautiful pajamas and matching lingerie was mature, fulfilled, and confidently independent. But as Hermione looked in her bathroom mirror, she felt anything but.
Even as her reflection stared back, clad in beautiful green silk pajamas, she didn’t feel like the women she had envisioned wearing them. Hermione examined herself and took inventory as she often did. Her chocolaty brown curls were smoother than ever while still bouncy. Her large brown eyes had lightened to a beautiful hazel color and they sat above a smattering of freckles on her cheeks. Her lips had developed a beautiful pout that left them looking full and pink. Many of Hermione’s former insecurities no longer existed. She often wondered at her reflection and thought of the bushy-haired, buck-toothed little girl who would have loved to have developed into this beautiful women.
But, Hermione saw an empty person staring back. And, as she often did, she sauntered to bed wondering what is wrong with me?
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Hermione was awoken early the next morning by a tapping at her window. She was startled to see one of the Minister’s many owls holding a scroll which she wearily accepted. Apprehension filled her as she rolled open the brief message.
Please come to my office as quickly as possible.
Shacklebolt
She allowed herself a brief moment to wonder and panic. Hermione had never been summoned with urgency to the minister’s office. The stark differences between this note and yesterday’s showed an escalation in urgency that left her reeling. What is going on?
For the smallest of moments, pure fear enveloped Hermione and all of her senses. A fear that she hadn’t felt in years and began consuming her. One that left her chest tight, her lungs burning, and her vision darkening as her body relinquished itself to this primal feeling of panic.
No. Stop, stop, stop. You must breathe. Feel the air fill your lungs.
She looked down to see Crookshanks at her feet giving her a knowing look. She obeyed her cat’s silent request and sat on the floor, burying her hand in the orange fur of her companion. Breathe in, breathe out.
While this was certainly not Hermione’s first panic attack, she had not had one in years. As she calmed down, she smiled to herself in appreciation for Crookshanks and the way her old familiar still knew how to help her.
See Hermione, you are not as alone as you feel.
Crookshanks sauntered off, knowing his job was done as Hermione gathered her wits. She hopped up with purpose as she began getting dressed to floo to the ministry.
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As Hermione stepped out of the floo into the ministry’s atrium, the desolate state of her workplace added to the growing anxiety that she continued to quell. She fought to take deep breathes as the lift delivered her to the minister’s floor.
The secretary’s desk outside of the minister’s office stood vacant reminding her of the oddity of her presence here on a Saturday. With as much bravery as she could muster, Hermione delivered two strong knocks on the minister’s office door.
“Come in,” boomed Shacklebolt’s deep voice.
She was certain her anxiety and apprehension shown in the way she shuffled into the large office.
Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt sat behind his large desk looking utterly exhausted. He carried dark circles under his eyes and deep lines of worry in his forehead.
“Miss Granger, thank you so much for coming and I am sorry for the weekend summons. Would you like some tea?”
“Oh, uhm, no thank you,” sputtered Hermione as she tried to hide her dismay at his appearance.
At his gesture, she sat in one of the chairs in front his desk. Hermione watched as the usually polished and calm man ran his hand down his face in what appeared to be an effort to ready himself for what he was about to say.
“Hermione,” he said as he leveled his gaze on her, “I had told you that I am in need of your services and that is why I have summoned you here today.”
Again with her services, Hermione attempted to calm her reeling thoughts about the lack of need for her services from the minister in the past.
“I cannot give you all of the details and I know that you will have many questions left unanswered,” continued Shacklebolt, “but, the ministry has someone in their custody who will possibly be released due to some unique circumstances.”
“Oh ok,” Hermione interjected, “That is no problem sir. When should I meet them at Azkaban? What is their release date?”
She tried not show all of the relief that overtook her. It was common practice for Hermione to be present at prison releases. Some of her cases willingly accepted her services before they even left the clutches of dementors behind Azkaban’s walls. She offered many of her cases support via owl and helped set up job interviews, housing, etc prior to their release.
“No, no. I am afraid this individual is not being held at Azkaban. He is being held…in the ministry.”
“In…the…ministry?”
“Well, technically, he is being held under the ministry,” Shacklebolt held her gaze steadily.
Hermione felt her body stiffen. This truly was a unique set of circumstances. Shacklebolt took the look on her face as the question it was.
“Unfortunately, this prisoner is the last living reminder of the ministry’s greatest shame. And, while I know that you will have many many questions, I am not at liberty to divulge everything. What you do need to know,” he reached over to the other side of his desk, lifting a thin folder, “is within this folder.”
Shacklebolt held the folder reverently as though the power of Pandora’s box lay within his hands.
“I don’t understand Minister,” Hermione’s voice strengthened as it often did when there was a mystery afoot, “Why are there prisoners being held under the ministry? What were they charged with? And, why is their release now?”
Shacklebolt dropped the folder on his desk and sighed deeply. He seemed to be mustering something in him. She could see an internal war going.
“You have to understand,” he began, “the war had just ended. We were scared and determined to ensure that nothing ever again could hold as much darkness as Voldemort did. The ministry took a few individuals who began as prisoners, but their title really changed to test subjects.”
“Test subjects?”
“Yes.”
Hermione leaned forward, “Kingsley, if you require my expertise, you will tell me everything.”
Something in the minister’s face broke. It was as if this powerful man wanted to be pushed. He wanted to tell her, but something behind his eyes was holding him back. She realized that it was shame.
“Well, once the war had ended, the ministry selected a few convicted individuals to join a project that was ran below the ministry. We selected five individuals to join the project. Our selection was based on variety in age and previous use of dark magic. Our goal was to create a weapon for the possible need to fight dark magic again,” Shacklebolt exhaled deeply.
“You mean to tell me that you are currently experimenting on convicted prisoners against their will?” Hermione’s blood began to simmer as that familiar outrage spread throughout her body.
“Oh no, the project was discontinued two years ago.”
“And, you are what? Keeping the prisoners below the ministry? I know that Azkaban is not a five-star hotel, but it is at least the proper channel for all convicts, not a basement underground.”
“They all died…except for him,” he gestured at the folder.
Hermione’s mouth fell open in shock, “The ministry’s secret project resulted in the death of four individuals who weren’t sentenced to death? Are you telling me the ministry murdered four individuals?”
“Yes, Hermione. This cannot get out,” Shacklebolt’s voice sounded pleading, “Not only to protect the ministry, but to protect him.” His finger firmly pressed down on the folder.
“The public cannot find out about him. We were successful in creating a weapon and no one can know about him.”
Hermione gulped thinking about the idea of a weapon. What did that mean? How could a person be a weapon?
“If you do not want the public to know about him, why do you require my services? I help people get jobs, find housing, establish healthy routines and friendships? I cannot do that for someone who must remain unknown and unseen by the public.”
Shacklebolt nodded as if to say he knew this question was coming, “Yes, I am aware but you are one of few people that I trust to manage his release. And, I am using the term ‘release’ loosely because he will essentially be on house arrest and overseen by you at all times. Besides, after being underground for nearly five years, he will need to be reintegrated into this world just in a more basic way than you are used to dealing with. He has been mostly alone and hasn’t seen the light of day in nearly five years. He is, however, still a ministry asset.”
At that, Shacklebolt handed her the folder which she accepted with great care. Following his encouraging gesture, Hermione opened the folder. Her eyes went wide as a familiar set of silver eyes stared back at her. Her head snapped up to catch Shacklebolt’s eyes, hers wide with disbelief.
“I know,” he sighed with resignation and guilt, “He was so young.”
Hermione took a steadying breathe and looked back down at the photo in her lap. Draco Malfoy appeared in front of her much the same as the last time she saw him: a scared teenager fresh off the battlefield at Hogwarts with a harrowing emptiness in his eyes.
“I don’t understand,” she ventured knowing that she was failing at concealing her shock and outrage, “If no-one can know about him, why release him? Why now? It seems the ministry was never concerned about doing the right thing so I know that is not the reason.”
The minister flinched at the bite in her tone.
“Well, Miss Granger, that is actually where your work will begin. You will need to start by visiting St. Mungo’s.”
“How is he at a hospital? I thought that he was to be unknown to the public.”
“You will not be visiting him at St. Mungo’s. You will be visiting Narcissa Malfoy in the hospice unit.”

Chapter Text

Redacted. Redacted. Redacted.
Hermione huffed with frustration as she shuffled through the paperwork that accompanied Draco Malfoy’s file. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed with sheets of scrolls surrounding her.
Initially the amount of scrolls had given her hope, but as she saw that line after line was blacked out she felt sheer frustration. However, it was the kind of frustration that Hermione lived for. She wouldn’t admit it, but something sparked in her as she sought answers.
The clock on the wall told her that she still had about half an hour before visiting hours at St. Mungo’s. She laid back and allowed herself a few moments to take stock of the situation.
Hermione was still appalled at what the ministry had done. While she looked at the photo of the boy who had tormented her, she couldn’t help but feel sympathy for him. As she had grown into a women, she learned that the ‘good and bad’ she dealt with as a student at Hogwarts wasn’t so clear cut. While Malfoy had been terrible to her, she now recognized that he was a product of his environment, and many of his actions during his later years at Hogwarts were born out of desperation. She could not begin to imagine what he went through and what occurred behind the walls of Malfoy Manor.
The forgiveness that Hermione had given Malfoy came from working with many people of his ilk. She fondly thought of Theo and even Pansy, they have lives and bright futures. They have opportunities that Malfoy should have had after serving his time. The ministry stole that from him much like the Dark Lord stole his home and, she imagined, his family.
And that only covered the time they stole from him. She still did not know what sort of torturous experiments he had endured. What did the success of those experiments mean? He had lived while others had died. The minister had made it clear that he was still a weapon and the property of the ministry.
Property.
From what Hermione could read in his files, he now had magical properties that were the antithesis of dark magic. But, again, what does that mean? In many ways, a wizard who only does good is the antithesis of dark magic without being experimented on or created.
Shacklebolt had explained very clearly what would be expected of her. She would be overseeing Malfoy in every capacity should he be released. Which meant that Hermione would be spending a great deal of time at Malfoy Manor. Her stomach turned at the thought. It would also mean that Hermione would not be able to discuss this with anyone. She thought of how alone she already felt. However, with horror, she thought of how alone Malfoy must feel.
While Hermione had considered declining, she knew she wouldn’t. This was an extreme example of why she got into the line of work that she had. She wanted to help those who needed it, and she could not deny that she felt completely emboldened by the idea of figuring out exactly what the ministry had been up to.
Hermione sighed at the clock, it was time to head to the floo. At the minister’s request, she was going to see Narcissa Black Malfoy, another face she had not seen since the Battle of Hogwarts.
She took a few calming breathes as she stepped into the floo.
“St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries,” her voice echoed through her flat as she left behind Crookshanks who had taken up residence on the pile of scrolls atop her bed.
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Hermione made her way through the chaotic hallways of St. Mungo’s. She had just stepped off the lift and onto the fourth floor when she spotted the double doors she needed to enter.
HOSPICE CARE UNIT was grandly displayed above the doors that Hermione stepped through. An instant calmness overtook her senses: the chaos of the rest of the hospital was shut out and replaced with soft harp music along with the trickling of a waterfall that stood behind the front desk. The healers that sat behind the front desk wore soft pink robes and kind facial expressions.
“Awe Miss Granger,” the older healer said softly and with a smile, “We have been expecting you. If you would kindly sign in right here, then we can take you to Ms. Black’s room.”
Hermione accepted the quill offered to her and signed where indicated on a clipboard.
“My name is Healer Coltrin and I am in charge of Ms. Black’s care here. Please follow me.”
Hermione scrambled to follow the healer whose pink robes billowed regally behind her. The older women spoke with an air of sophistication and purpose that both enthralled and intimidated her, much like the sleek chignon hairstyle she wore.
Even though it had been years since Hermione had felt any discrimination for being muggle-born, she still couldn’t help but shrink a little when she was surrounded by people who carried themselves as many pureblood witches and wizards do. She shook her head as if to shake some sense into it. She did not even know the blood status of this healer, nor should it matter. Her thoughts came to a halt as she was led to a door labeled BLACK. This was the pureblood she had to be worried about.
“This is Ms. Black’s room. She is expecting you. We request that you stay no longer than a half-hour, Ms. Black requires regular rest. Should you need anything, please let me know,” with that, Healer Coltrin turned on her heal and walked away.
Hermione gulped heavily. She stood there for a moment just staring at the door. Narcissa had chosen her maiden name following the death of her husband. Hermione remembered reading that Lucious Malfoy had died in Azkaban of an unknown illness. However, she made a mental note to dig further into that later. After all, she wasn’t sure how much she trusted what the ministry said at this point.
With the same courage she often had to conjure when braving the unknown, Hermione knocked softly on the door.
“Come in,” came a soft feminine voice.
She stepped through the door to find a lovely, light-filled room. It must have been the nicest hospital room that Hermione had ever seen.
It was glowing with natural light from large windows that encased a picture perfect garden of rose bushes. There was a plush looking chaise to her right and to her left were two large arm chairs. The most out a place thing in this otherwise luxurious room was the standard hospital bed that sat next to the armchairs. And, even more out of place, was the petite women lying in it.
Narcissa was propped up in her hospital bed. She was clad in soft pink pajamas that look silky and expensive. Her beautiful her was brushed and in place. She elegantly laid her clasped hands on her lap. And, while she was the picture of elegance, Hermione could see the exhaustion behind her eyes and the heaviness that lay in her limbs. It was as if a strong breeze could topple her.
“Hello, Miss Granger. Please, won’t you sit,” she gestured to one of the grand arm chairs next to her bed, “May I offer you some tea? I can have some brought in.”
“Thank you so much, but I am fine,” Hermione replied as she sank into the chair that welcomed her weight.
The two women sat and stared at each other for a few moments. There was so much that hung in the air between them. Hermione fought back memories of a drawing room floor and Hagrid carrying Harry’s lifeless body. She could see the same war undoubtedly going on behind Narcissa’s eyes.
“Uhm, Mrs. Malfoy-“
“It is Ms. Black, but I would very much like you to call me Narcissa. Please.”
Narcissa’s eyes sparkled as she smiled at Hermione with a genuine kindness. A lump formed in Hermione’s throat as she recognized the warmth that this witch radiated: maternal.
“And, I would like to call you Hermione,” Narcissa continued choosing to move past the likely ridiculous display of emotion written across Hermione’s face, “Is that alright?”
She nodded.
“Wonderful. Well, Hermione, I am very grateful to you for being here and taking the time to visit me. I take this as a sign that you are willing to help my son, or at least considering to do so.”
“So you know?”
“Know what? Where he is? What they have done to him?” Narcissa continued her show of elegance with a calm demeanor, “Of course I do. While I do not know what they have done to him, I can only surmise based on Lucious’s death that it is…horrible.”
Aha, she had been right to be suspicious of the Malfoy patriarch’s passing.
“I found out quickly that my son and husband were not in Azkaban after being denied visitation over and over again. After confronting the minister enough, he explained to me that my family had been…relocated. After being informed of my husband’s death and uninformed of the circumstances, fear for my son grew and has been growing ever since,” if Narcissa felt any emotion when discussing her dead husband, she did not show it.
However, her face did break as she continued, “I fought for years to get my son out. I tried to contact the Prophet, I tried to get a solicitor, I contacted the Wizengamont, I fought with the minister, I fought…until my body was fighting me.”
“I do not understand, how did no one help you? How have I not heard of this? Surely, the Prophet would be interested in a story such as this.”
“No one cares about a former Death Eater. No one trusts what I have to say. The ministry has bolstered their reputation so strongly that anything opposing them is ignored. Anything that may suggest a Death Eater needs help is debased. And, a Malfoy asking for help, well that is downright laughed at.”
Hermione sighed deeply. She knew that Narcissa was right. It seems unimaginable that the world could care this little about the wellbeing of people, but it also had seemed unimaginable to hate someone based on their blood and lineage.
As Narcissa continued she slowly began to crumble, “It was only when I became gravely ill that the minister listened to me. I think he thinks that this is his redemption: reuniting a mother and son for the last time before…it is to late. While he will never be redeemed for what he has stolen from Draco, I am very grateful for the opportunity to see him again.
“My son has had everything stolen from him. He has never had a choice and that is at the fault of his parents,” a sob broke through Narcissa’s words, “It will be my life’s greatest regret that I did not do right by him. I haven’t seen him in five years, and everyday my heart has broken more and more. He is a piece of me, the very best piece of me, and he deserves more than he ever received in this world.”
Hermione felt wetness on her cheeks. Surprise filled her as she looked down to see that she was holding Narcissa’s hand. And, Narcissa was holding her hand right back.
Hermione did not know what it was that was breaking her. She thought about the devastating story that Draco Malfoy had lived, but she also found herself thinking about the loss of her own parents. She had not given them a choice, and in doing so she had also lost a piece of herself, leaving a void within her, much like the one that the witch in front of her was describing.
Narcissa dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, and she took a deep breath before continuing, “I am afraid that I am the one that you dragged you into this,” her eyes returned to Hermione’s, “I have read about you for a few years now. I have read in between the lines of the Prophet’s attempt to smear your good work. I have been nothing but astounded by you and the unstoppable force that you are when facing injustice in this world. And, I have spoken with Theo at length about the way you changed his life.”
Hermione recalled the strange image of Narcissa Black Malfoy quietly sitting in the back row at Theo and Harry’s wedding. She remembered thinking that she looked so alone, but also proud as she watched the nuptials. Narcissa had disappeared immediately after the ceremony.
“Theo is a good man. Many of my cases are good people that deserve another chance, I am not a hero by helping them get the chance they deserve.”
“Maybe you are not a hero, but you are Theo’s hero and, I am sure, many other’s as well,” Narcissa smiled and glowed with the same pride that Hermione was just recalling.
It both warmed Hermione, and broke her, to feel the motherly warmth that Narcissa was giving her. It was as if she were coming home sick from school and being tucked into a warm bed with the care that only a mother can offer.
“I must confess that I demanded you be put in this position, I used your name and your status to persuade the minister that your supervision would make it possible for my son to come home. The minister trusts you and he requires trust to keep this…secret.”
Hermione thought for a moment as Narcissa watched her. It was clear that Narcissa was awaiting a response.
“How long do you have?”
“I am afraid only a few months. I had hoped to have Draco home sooner so that we had more time together. My illness has progressed quite quickly. I believe that you might know the muggle term for it.”
“Cancer?”
“Yes, dear. While muggles bodies are destroyed by cancer, a witch or wizards magic is destroyed by it. My magic is withering away by the day. With the little time that I have, and your help, I need to ensure my son has some semblance of freedom. I need to give him a life and a future. I am begging you to help me do that. You are Hermione Granger. You are the very reason that I pay my house elves a wage. You are the brightest witch of her age. Please, Hermione.”
Hermione sat there stunned. Her mind was rapidly working to process all of the information she just learned. It was assumed at this point that Lucious was one of the four test subjects that died at the hands of the ministry. Who were the other three? Did Draco have to see his father die?
She was facing a job with great duality. She had to mind Malfoy for the minister while also work against Narcissa’s deadline to help create a permanent future for him. A future for a man that she hadn’t seen in five years. A man who had never been the kindest to her. But, a man who, nonetheless, deserved this opportunity.
Hermione could not help but think about this as an opportunity to reunite a family. An opportunity that she never got with her own parents. She would give anything to have her parents remember her name, and she could see that same desperation in Narcissa.
“Narcissa,” Hermione leaned forward, resettling her hand on Narcissa’s, “I will do my very best to help you and your family.”
Narcissa smiled and Hermione’s heart grew a little in that moment, making room for the sudden feelings she felt for this witch. This witch that had previously opposed her very existence. Hermione thought about how curious life was as she made her way back to the floo to leave the hospital. She had one more stop to make: Grimmauld Place.
————————
The bright, warm living room of Grimmauld Place welcomed her as she stepped out of the floo. Theo and Harry had made it their mission to ensure their home captured both their personalities and their love. The once dark walls now shown in a beautiful cream color with picture frames covering nearly every space available. These were not the ancestral Black portraits that once hung here, these were photos of Theo and Harry’s loved ones. It always brought Hermione great warmth to see such love illustrated on their walls.
Her steps faltered as she caught a glimpse of white hair among the frames. Hermione hesitantly stepped closer to see teenage Draco, Pansy, Theo, and Blaise Zabini in their Hogwart’s uniforms. They were laughing in the courtyard that Hermione often studied in. She had never noticed this picture before, but now it was all she could see.
“What a pleasant surprise,” Theo appeared in the room and instantly noticed the photo that had her rapt attention. He gave her a curious look.
Hermione jumped a little at the sound of Theo’s voice but quickly recovered.
“Hello Theo,” she put on her best cheery voice, “Is Harry home?”
“No, he is not,” Theo paused and gave her an evaluative once over, “But, you are not here to see him.”
At that, Theo made to sit down on the Gryffindor red couch that sat in the living room. He waived his wand, a steaming tea pot along with two tea cups materialized on the coffee table that sat in front of him. He gestured toward the Slytherin-green arm chair that sat opposite. Hermione acquiesced.
“So,” Theo began as he poured tea, “Have you been to see our fair lady in pink?”
Hermione looked at him with wide eyes. Does Theo know? Does he know where Draco is?
As if he understood her unspoken question, “I do not know what I am not supposed to know. But, I believe what Narcissa has shared with me and, truthfully, that is very little confirmed information. However, your presence here certainly confirms a lot.”
“How so?” Hermione drank deeply from her tea, content to let Theo do much of the talking.
“Well, I know that he is not in Azkaban, but she didn’t share much more than that. Narcissa actually requested a meeting with me to discuss you, she wanted to know of your character. I was there mostly to confirm that her view of your character was correct. She told me that she thought you could help him and help him be released.”
“That’s just it, Theo. I don’t know that I can,” Hermione set her tea down, “This whole thing is so much bigger than anything I have ever done.”
She suddenly felt intimidated by the difficulty that lay ahead.
“Oh Hermione,” Theo set his tea down as well and looked deeply into her eyes, “Everything that you do is big. You are the light in this world. When I was first released, I did not think that I belonged among the living, I did not see myself as worthy of having a tomorrow. You did so much more than coordinate a job interview for me or even introducing me to The Boy Who Lived. Your true work was making me feel worthy of those things. It is your contagious tenacity and, albeit sometimes annoying, positivity that changed my life.”
For the second time today, Hermione found herself wiping away tears that streaked down her face. Theo meant the world to her. Not only as a friend, but as her first successful case that gave her the confidence to pioneer her career. He had shown her the possibilities of what she could do for others.
“And, while I do not know what he has been through in the last five years, and I do not want to know,” Theo paused, glancing at the photo of four young Slytherins, “Draco Malfoy has a good heart and a kind soul. I know that is wild for me to say to you, I know he tormented you. But, I promise, as someone who has known him since birth, that under any cruel facade, is goodness. You just have to look.”
Hermione had gotten exactly what she had unknowingly come here for. Not only had Theo provided encouragement, he had given her strength to face this. Between him and Narcissa, she felt supported and encouraged, not completely alone.
“Thank you Theo,” Hermione stood, “I cannot begin to thank you enough for the gift you have just given me.”
Theo stood, grabbing both of her hands and looking down at her, “Thank you Hermione. You have given me my life and I know that you have it in you to do it again, no matter how impossible the circumstances.”
Hermione smiled and quickly gave him a peck on the cheek.
She decisively turned towards the floo, “I am sorry to run, but I have something important to do.”
The last thing she saw before calling out her destination was Theo’s proud gaze.
“Ministry of Magic.”
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Hermione marched through the ministry’s still empty atrium and marveled at how long of a day it had been. As she took the same path she had earlier to the minister’s office, she explored what had changed, her mind racing.
Just this morning, she had been summoned here and she couldn’t help but feel like that was a lifetime ago. So much had changed, and so much was about to change. Hermione could feel that familiar intuition within her, the intuition that told her when she was on the precipice of a great change. A change that she could not turn back from. The same intuition she felt when reading about the sorcerer’s stone and when holding a mirror to keep an eye out for a Basilisk. The same intuition she felt while looping a time-turner around Harry’s neck and while watching Harry march into a maze.. The same intuition that flooded her as she rode a thestral to the ministry and when she watched Harry select a used textbook in potions class. The same intuition that joined her on a Horcrux hunt. The very same intuition that screamed at her as she watched Harry walk into the Forbidden Forest during the battle.
Hermione shivered as she stepped onto the lift. Her eyes closed and her chest heaving as she attempted to calm herself. Once the doors to the lift opened, she walked purposefully past the still empty secretary’s desk and delivered two swift knocks on the minister’s door.
“Yes.”
Hermione opened the door and confidently walked in to see Shacklebolt, looking somehow more exhausted than this morning, sitting behind his desk right where she had left him.
“What are the next steps?”
He eyed her as she took a seat, “So, you have decided to move forward with this.”
“I told you that this morning.”
“Yes, you told me that before reviewing the paperwork-“
Hermione interrupted him with a scoff which he returned with a knowing look in reference to the little amount of information provided in the paperwork.
“And, you spoke to Mrs. Malfoy-“
“Ms. Black,” Hermione interjected with a more defensive tone than she had intended.
“Yes. Ms. Black.”
“I have and I am certain that I wish to proceed.”
“Well, we may proceed. But, there is one more step before I can be certain you wish to take on this case.”
Hermione huffed indignantly, “And, what could that be?”
“You will need to see him.”
Her breathe caught. She wasn’t sure why this surprised and scared her. She obviously knew that she would be seeing him but being faced with the immediate opportunity caught her off guard.
“I must warn you,” Shacklebolt carried on while digging around his desk, “He is not what you will remember. He looks…different. Very different. Not only is he no longer a boy-“
“Well, I know that,” she interrupted in an effort to keep up her rebellious confidence despite it dwindling.
“He has been through a lot in the uhm project. And, it…shows.”
Before Hermione could ask any further questions, Shacklebolt finally located what he was looking for: his wand. He stood from his decked and walked to the bookcase that lined the right side of his office. His wand tapped the bookcase and he muttered something that Hermione could not make out. The bookshelf began to shake and split down the middle. The, now separated bookcases, began to peel away from themselves and resettling a good distance apart.
Once Hermione’s mind caught up to what was going on, she realized that a lift was just uncovered. She watched with dawning realization as Shacklebolt opened the lift. He stepped inside and looked at her with serious inquiry, his face expression acknowledging the gravity of the situation.
“Well,” he said gesturing to the lift, “Shall we?
Hermione’s intuition was screaming at her. She summoned courage deep within her and began walking towards the lift, thinking about how much bravery she had needed today.
The minister closed the lift doors, and she took her place.
With a jolt, they began their decent down.
A very long way down.

Chapter Text

Hermione felt the change in air as the lift made it’s way deeper into the depths of the ministry. Shacklebolt stood next to her with a solemn look on his face, his eyes glued to the lift doors.
She did not even try to hide her panic.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Her long, deep breathes were the only noise that accompanied them in the lift. Then, she felt it.
Hermione’s breathe caught in her chest, her lungs constricting, as she felt them pass through a ward, a very powerful ward based on her physical reaction. Once they were through, she looked at Shacklebolt to see he was recovering from the same experience she had.
“Is there a reason to use such a powerful ward?” Hermione sputtered while still catching her breath. “Is there any other way to access this place aside from your private elevator?”
“No, that is the only point of access. But, we could not risk anyone getting in…or out.”
Hermione tried, she tried so hard not to think about how far underground they must be at this point. After what surely was miles of travel downwards, the lift came to a stop.
Instead of opening the doors, the minister turned to her. “It is very important that going forward you quietly follow instruction. You will be given a room to meet with him and see uh…what you think.”
Hermione nodded apprehensively.
With that, he turned and opened the lift doors to reveal a narrow corridor. It was very damp and dark, only lit by a sparce few torches. Shacklebolt grabbed one of these torches and led the way.
It was only a few moments before they came to a door. The term door did not adequately describe what Hermione saw in front her. It was an extreme version of what she remembered muggle nuclear shelters to look like.
The door was set in place with rock, wrapping around it greedily, but the door itself was a black, shiny metal with intricate lock mechanisms covering it from top to bottom. The lock mechanisms shown with the glimmering that came with strong magic.
It was truly impenetrable.
Her accompanying wizard pulled out his wand. Much to her horror, he used his wand to slice the palm of his hand open. He muttered a spell while pressing his bleeding palm to one of the rocks that lay to the right of the door itself. When finished, he stepped back.
She watched with curiosity as the blood on the rock bubbled and then appeared to be sucked into the rock, vanishing as if it were never there.
A short moment later, all of the lock mechanisms on the large door began to undo themselves, reverberating loudly through the corridor.
Once they finished, she turned to Shacklebolt with an inquiring look.
“We couldn’t risk anyone coming in who is not allowed to come in. You are not on that list of people so do not ever try to come down here by yourself. The rock will not respond kindly.”
Hermione scoffed and defensively said, “I would never do that!”
Shacklebolt chucked deeply, which was so out of place in the situation. “I read all about your years at Hogwarts, that is very much something that Hermione Granger would do.”
Before she could respond, the door let out a loud groan as it slowly swung open.
The ominous reality returned as he stepped through the door. Hermione quelled her intuition and stepped forward, following closely behind.
On the other side of the door was another corridor, but unlike the previous one, this one was dry and well-lit with multiple doors on either side of it.
As her eyes adjusted to the light, she began her observations. There were five doors on each side of the corridor, each door had a number on it that was mirrored on the door opposite of it. At the end of the corridor was a large glass room complete with a metal table and chairs. It was very bright in that room, much like a muggle interrogation room that one might see in a police station.
Shacklebolt led her to the brightly lit, glass room. She eyed the doors on the way there, they forebodingly loomed over her.
Five doors, five subjects.
“Have a seat,” he said as he opened the door, “He will be brought in here shortly.”
“Are you going to-“
Hermione stopped mid-sentence as she watched him walk back out of the room, her question answered.
While Hermione could see out of the glass room, she couldn’t see very well. The bright lights in the room that she now occupied made the hallway dark. This was purposeful of course. She could only make out Shacklebolt’s silhouette as he walked down the hallway, disappearing into a room. The room on the very end: room number one.
Panic began to spread through her chest, her heart racing and her breathes becoming shorter. Even though she could feel the coolness of the metal chair seeping into her, it was not enough to stop the hot flush that her panic was spreading through her body. Then, as if mesmerized by the sight in front her, her body calmed as if stilling to focus only on what she saw.
The door to room number one had opened, three figures stepping through it. The two shadows on the left and right were clearly pointing wands at the figure that stood in between them. They must be guards Hermione thought as she turned her attention to what they were guarding.
In the middle of the trio that was walking towards her was a very large figure. He was at least two heads taller than the guards. Even with her limited visibility, she could see that his long body was built with muscle, moving gracefully towards her. Something was binding his hands in front of him, accentuating the muscles on his arms.
However, that was far from the most astonishing thing. The door opened as Hermione held her breath. One guard stepped in and then the other. As Draco Malfoy ducked his head to enter the room, she took in the shocking sight before her.
While he was still recognizable as the boy she went to school with, a similar long fringe swiped out his face to one side and the same stormy silver eyes, he had grown into a much larger, more intimidating version of the boy in her memories. With a much sharper and angular face, he stared downwards. It was jarring to see the man he had become, but the most alarming thing was the scars he was covered in.
Hermione did not know if scars was the right term because as the light caught on his skin, they were illuminated into a bright silver. The silvery scars appeared as long lines that stretched across his face, down his neck and under the plain black clothes he wore. The first one began at the left side of his forehead, crossing his right eye and continuing down his face to wrap around the back of his neck. The second one seemed start at his right ear and crossed his mouth while going down his neck and the front of his body. The third one started from his left eye and went straight down his front.
She was mesmerized. She knew she should have felt fear. She knew she should be demanding answers about the sight in front of her. What had they done to him?
However, instead of being the girl she knew herself to be, she sat there taking in the beauty of the man that stood before her, a mysterious beauty. The scars gave off an enthralling glow.
With the gesturing of the guards, he took the seat across from her, eyes still turned down, refusing to look at her. His manacled hands rested on the table.
“Let us know if you need anything,” one of the guards said while stalking out.
She could feel eyes on the other side of the glass wall as she searched her mind for something to say.
“Hi,” was all she could muster.
It was silent for a long moment before his deep voice filled the space.
“Hi,” he returned.
While it didn’t show and he still wouldn’t look at her, Hermione could swear there was a smile in his voice. She supposed it was quite a humorous greeting given the gravity of the situation.
“Uhm,” she rambled bravely, “I know it has been a long time since we last saw each other, but my services have been requested for you-“
“Your services?” His tone carried that familiar drawl.
“Yes, I am here to help you. And, I am not sure how much time-“
“What? Are you out of house elves to free?”
“What do you-“
He chuckled, “Oh I really must be out of options if Miss Golden Girl is here to save the day.”
His laugh was bitter and his tone biting as he fiddled with his fingers, still refusing to look at her.
“Look, Malfoy,” her voice became indignant as her irritation grew, “I am here at the behest of your mother. And, like it or not I will be keeping my word to her. And, yes, you are out of options. And, and…I actually have already freed the elves.”
Her rant lost steam as she understood what he was saying. He wasn’t trying to insult her. This man who came into this dungeon as a boy, was so completely and utterly hopeless.
“My mother is dying,” he said without emotion and with certainty.
Hermione paused before whispering, “I am sorry.”
At that, his hands finally stilled and his shoulders tensed for a moment.
“Thank you,” he finally whispered back as he released the breath he was holding.
“I want to help you Malfoy. I don’t know what they have done to you, but I want to help you with more than just helping you see your mother. I want to help you have a future outside of whatever this place is,” she gestured grandly at the corridor outside as passion reignited the spark in her.
“A future?”
He sat silently for a few minutes, toying with something in his mind.
“You know I am a Malfoy,” he began.
Hermione prepared herself for some rant about his superiority and him not needing the help of a muggle-born, but she had to remind herself as he continued that he was not the same boy she went to Hogwarts with.
“I have known many many luxuries, I have more gold in my vault than I could spend in a lifetime, but a future is the one luxury that I have never ever had. The one luxury I was never deemed worthy of.”
Hermione’s heart broke. She couldn’t help but think of herself as a little girl, reading books and seeing nothing but possibilities around her. Everything represented a possibility because she had a future and a choice in that future, it truly was luxurious. Would she solve mysteries like Nancy Drew? Would she be a dentist like her parents? Would she go to the university that she drove by almost everyday?
“I am going to try to fix that,” Hermione’s voice came out hoarse and with more emotion than she had intended.
“Alright, Granger.”
He stood and made his way to the door. Hermione jumped up, surprised that their meeting was over.
As he passed the table they sat at, he stopped right in front of her.
“Is that your shampoo?”
She blinked in surprise, “Oh, uhm, yes. It is-“
“Hyacinths,” he said with certainty, still facing the door but only an arm’s length away from her.
“I am sorry does it bother you,” she began sputtering nervously, “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable-“
Her rambling ended as he turned towards her and, for the first time, their eyes met. Hermione felt paralyzed as she stared into the silver orbs in front of her.
“No,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “It does not bother me.”
They stood there for a long moment, her staring up at him and him staring down at her. Her lips parted slightly under his gaze as she felt her cheeks warm and her pulse racing. His gaze was desperate and inquisitive, like he was seeing the sun for the first time.
The door opening broke the spell that had befallen them. Malfoy immediately dropped his gaze and turned towards the guards in an obedient manner.
Hermione inhaled deeply as the door closed. She sat down, her mind reeling.
While she may have been intensely focused on Malfoy’s eyes, she still had noticed that the moment he looked at her, his silver scars had begun glowing. She almost thought she had been mistaken but, no, she was certain that he was glowing. It was as though an ethereal light was trying to break out of him.
What had they done to him?

Chapter Text

Hermione was lying in her bed, staring at the ceiling, surrounded by the evidence of a restless night. Scrolls were scattered across her mussed sheets and the floor, pillows were strewn about haphazardly, and Crookshanks was seated in an armchair, glaring at her for her lack of concern for his comfort.
The morning sun was making entry in her flat as daggers of light stabbed through the air, giving life to the dust that swirled around; a reminder of the control that was slipping out of her grip. Another sleepless night, that was now four nearly-sleepless nights since she had met with Draco Malfoy.
When she did find bits of sleep, her dreams were filled with silver, glowing scars and stormy eyes. He wasn’t the only person now occupying her day-to-day. Her mind also swam with visions of pink robes and hospital beds as she worried for Narcissa who would, undoubtedly, be shocked to see what had become of her son.
In the four days since she had ridden the elevator back up and into the minister’s office, her entire mind and life had truly revolved around the two Malfoys.
But, she supposed that she should get used to it, she thought as she ran through an illuminating conversation she’d had with the minister. The day following her initial encounter with Malfoy had held another meeting with Shacklebolt. He had insisted they hash out some details before she officially agreed to the job.
Job.
Such an in-depth job, as she learned in this meeting.
————————
Shacklebolt informed her that he expected her to keep an eye on Malfoy at all times.
“He is an asset of the ministry’s, I cannot emphasize the importance of secrecy and your knowledge of his whereabouts at all times.”
“I understand sir,” she had replied with indignation to signal she understood what he had already stressed to her many times.
“Wonderful,” he said, returning to a casual tone, “I have spoken with Narcissa and her house elf will be helping you get settled. And, yes you can bring your…is it a kneazle-“
“Wait, what?” Her calm, confident show had now ended as panic filled her voice. “Why would I need to bring my cat?”
“I thought you understood that you would be staying at Malfoy Manor for the duration of this…job.”
“No, I most certainly did not understand that. I am expected to work 24/7? How is that acceptable? Will I never get to leave?” Her voice was exasperated with anger.
“Look, I know that a lot is being asked of you which is why I have emphasized that you need to think about it. But, for this to work, I need someone I trust, and I trust you. If the wrong person found out about him and his whereabouts, it would be bad. He is an asset to the ministry, but he also would be our downfall in someone else’s hands. Which is why I cannot have many people knowing about this. I have one other trustee who will be available to step in when you cannot be there. But, other than those coordinated times, yes, I need you there at all times”
“Who?”
“One of the guards you met downstairs, he has good rapport with the subject-“
“You mean Malfoy?” Hermione’s patience with the minister was dwindling and her tone biting, as she folded her arms in front of her.
“Of course.” He looked stunned. “You have to understand, I have had to create a separation or a barrier for me to…do what needs to be done. While I know I look like the bad guy, I have done things for the greater good.”
“That’s what everyone believes when they do bad things, but the problem is they write their own definition of greater good. What is it that needs to be done? Surely, I am entitled to more information at this point.”
Despite Hermione’s bite, inside she was thinking of herself and her parents. She had thought she was doing what needed to be done by obliviating them, but she questioned those actions everyday.
“No,” he said firmly and with finality while brushing past her insult, “Besides, I am sure the brightest witch of our age will figure out more and more with time. Right now, I need you to be focused on this job. A job that will be doubling your former salary and paying for the round-the-clock supervision that I expect.”
“You cannot buy me-“
“And, that is precisely why I trust you. Now,” he spoke with a tone that was meant to end her arguing, “We have worked with Narcissa to ensure that you are added to the wards at the manor. We are adding our own wards as well which will work to ensure he does not leave. You will be in charge of those wards.”
“If he cannot leave, how is he going to see Narcissa? Isn’t that the whole point?”
“She will be continuing her hospice care at the manor.”
“But, her care must be supervised…how will the great secret of Malfoy be kept if-“
“Healer Coltrin will be continuing to supervise her care in Narcissa’s wing of the manor-which is quite large-but, she does not require round-the-clock care…for now. So, when her healer is on the premises, Draco will be limited to his wing in the manor. Healer Coltrin knows that her son is there and has been sworn to secrecy but it is still best that she not…see him.”
“Sworn to secrecy? How-“
“Hermione.” Shacklebolt’s patience with her was also dwindling. “The details do not concern you. I have given you the parameters of your job. If I say that someone is sworn to secrecy then please know that we have-“
“Done what needs to be done,” Hermione mocked him. “I am assuming you are using Unbreakable Vows?”
“The details do not concern you.” His irritation was showing and so was hers. “The details that do concern you are pertaining to Malfoy. It is important that he remains calm, emotionally calm. He is allowed outside on the grounds, but I imagine that will be rather difficult for him after being underground for…years.
“Also, you should know he will have manacles on his wrists, but they only suppress his magic and only slightly. He is very powerful and he no longer requires a wand to do magic. Be on the lookout at all times. I don’t believe he means any ill will but you never know.”
Hermione was stunned. “He doesn’t need a wand, but how?”
“Details…that don’t-“
“Yeah, I know.”
“You should begin packing and prepare for their elf to collect your things. Malfoy’s release will be next Thursday. He will be brought to the manor at 3’o'clock in the afternoon. You will be there to receive him. Their elf will arrive that morning to gather your things, be prepared.”
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Hermione rolled over in her bed, screwing her eyes shut, trying to get the meeting out of her head. It had revealed so much and so little at the same time.
While half of her was overcome with curiosity and fury over the experiment, the other half of her felt heartbroken for the family that she was about to reunite. The challenges that Malfoy was going to face when returning to his ancestral home were vast. She was trying to suppress the heartbroken half, because at least she could feed the angry, curious half with research. Or, well, try to.
Her research had been fruitless as she scoured every book she could think of and reread every last scrap of information that the minister had given her. It had yielded more questions than answers.
Despite, the minister’s clear instructions, she had sent him quite a few questions via owl. All of which were ignored. She felt stuck in limbo, awaiting the start of her new role and her arrival to her temporary home, while desperate for answers and full of worry.
A tap at the window startled her. Hermione jumped up from the bed, the back of her hair frizzy and her silky pajamas swishing with each step as she padded over to the window. She opened it and accepted a scroll from a stunning eagle owl.
Initially, she had hoped the minister had finally replied, but she knew the moment she saw the white feathers that this scroll was from Narcissa. She didn’t know how she knew, but she just knew that this bird, in all its regality, was a Malfoy bird.
Hermione unrolled the scroll and stilled as the message gave more life to the heartbroken half of her that she was trying to quash.

My dearest Hermione,
I hope that this message finds you well. I have thought of you often since our visit and I am rather looking forward to getting to spend more time with you.
I am aware that you have met with my son. I can only imagine what that must have been like. And, while I have constantly fantasized about seeing my boy again, I know that it will be a difficult reunion. I am prepared for that.
I just wanted to remind you that my gratitude for you is boundless. You are returning a piece of me, filling a hole within my heart, and giving my soul the opportunity to be whole again before my passing. I couldn’t buy a greater gift if I wanted to. Thank you.
Our elf, Mipsy, has gone to great care to ensure your stay at the manor is comfortable. But, if there is anything else that you need or anything I can arrange to ensure your stay is as pleasant as possible, please let me know.
I will be arriving at the manor on Friday afternoon. I thought it best to give Draco some time to settle in prior to our reunion. I know that it will be a great adjustment for him.
Fondly and with great admiration,
Narcissa Black
Tears dripped down Hermione’s cheeks and onto the parchment that she was clutching in her hands. The heartbroken half of her broke free as a sob ripped through her throat. The gravity of the situation settled onto her shoulders as she allowed herself this moment to feel. To feel the loss that Narcissa had endured. To feel the life that was stolen from Malfoy. To feel the pain of losing her own family. To feel that emptiness she carried with her everywhere she went. Hermione felt it all. She sat on the floor below her window, still clutching Narcissa’s earnest letter, and she let herself feel.
After several, luxurious moments, Hermione calmed herself and took several deep breaths. Crookshanks, the ever faithful companion, was laying at her side, allowing her to bury her hand in his fur. He knew when his services were needed.
“Alright,” she said with a huff of determination.
Wiping her tears, she stood and set to work on packing.
————————
It was nearly 5’o'clock when she had finished cleaning her messy flat, packing her stuff, and organizing her research. She had also taken a much-needed shower and gotten dressed for the first time in days.
It was at the sound of her growling stomach that she knew it was time to leave. With a satisfactory glance at her packed trunks, she walked towards the floo. Crookshanks watched her every move with a knowing glare, he knew something was afoot.
She stepped into her floo, disappearing from her flat only to appear in Harry and Theo’s home. The aroma of a something sweet and spicy filled the air. Perhaps it was spaghetti.
She had a standing invitation for dinner at their home and always looked forward to Theo’s cooking.
Even though Hermione had helped Theo obtain employment at a solicitor’s office in Diagon Alley, he had left the position after he and Harry married. Theo lovingly referred to himself as a “house-husband.” With Harry’s odd hours as an auror and the drive to promote, Theo’s support was needed and appreciated in their household. Besides, Theo really worked as a hobby and a way to reintegrate himself into the world. He was still obscenely rich as the sole heir to the Nott fortune. And, he truly enjoyed taking care of Harry. Hermione could see that Theo enjoyed giving the love and care that he had never received in his previous life.
While Hermione was a progressive women herself and hardly the stay-at-home type, there was something quaint about their arrangement. She admired the sacrifices they made for one another and fondly acknowledged that they both worked to make one another’s lives easier in different ways. It was truly symbiotic.
“Hello?” She called as she stepped into the kitchen to see Theo at the stove, an apron donned, and Harry seated at the counter, hunched over paperwork.
“Hi!” The boys spoke in unison, both of their faces lighting up at the sight of her.
“How are you?” Harry stood, waiting his turn behind Theo for a hug.
“I am good and hungry”, she said, noting that her olfactory senses were right about the spaghetti, “That looks delicious.”
“You are just in time. We are waiting on the bread. Will you take this to the table please?” Theo passed her a large bowl of salad with corresponding tongs.
“Of course.”
She made her way through two swinging doors into the dining room where Harry was already adding a third place setting and uncorking a bottle of wine.
Hermione loved coming here. It was the closest feeling she had to coming home to her parents. She didn’t have to worry at Harry and Theo’s house. There was always a place for her, a good meal, and good company.
A large serving bowl came floating to the table followed closely by Theo who carried a tray of sliced bread that had melted cheese on top, still bubbling.
She had not realized how truly famished she was until she saw that bread.
Harry raised a glass as Theo took his seat.
“To my two favorite people,” Harry’s eyes twinkled as they each clinked their glasses.
Hermione took a deep drink of the deliciously bitter red wine. Theo eyed her suspiciously while he served a heaping spoonful of spaghetti onto her plate.
The salad and bread were passed around easily as was the conversation. Hermione ate well and listened attentively, happy to be distracted by Harry’s not-to-serious work stories.
The time passed effortlessly as it always did with good friend, food, and drink.
“Thank you so much, Theo,” Hermione said while Harry cleared the table, floating everything into the kitchen where he disappeared to, “That was truly delicious.”
“You are most welcome,” Theo said, raising his glass, “Thank you for being my favorite house guest.”
House guest.
With those two words, Hermione’s reality returned to her and she couldn’t help but sink into the anxiety she felt about tomorrow. It must have shown on her face because Theo’s expression shifted, wearing worry as his eyebrows furrowed.
“You saw him, didn’t you?”
Hermione nodded, refusing to make eye contact. Instead of answering, she passed him the letter from Narcissa that had been residing in her jean pocket, folded and crumpled.
Theo opened the note, sighing deeply. Initially a smile took over his face, but that quickly turned dark as the note progressed. He sat silently for a long time, likely feeling the same sadness that had overcome her when she first read the letter.
He passed it back to her and finally made eye contact with her.
“Hermione,” he said with great depth, “You are not alone and Narcissa is not the only one who is incredibly grateful for what you are doing for that family.”
Her vision was blurring as unspilt tears filled her eyes. Theo grabbed her hand a squeezed.
They sat there looking at each other for a long moment, a moment filled with many unspoken words as the secrecy of everything was somewhat honored.
Then, Harry burst through the door holding three dessert plates and forks meant for the large serving dish floating in behind him.
Theo and Hermione’s hands jumped apart and she quickly wiped the wetness from her eyes, replacing her sad demeanor with a forced, jovial one. She smiled up at Harry who was none the wiser as his excitement for dessert was the only thing on his mind. Theo had followed her suit and was looking at his husband with a smile.
A large dish of tiramisu settled onto the center of the table.
“Oh wow.” Hermione’s joy was now genuine. “You two have really outdone yourselves. And, to think I just dropped in.”
“Well,” Harry said while dishing up the dessert, “Theo said he just had a feeling you would be joining us.”
Hermione turned in surprise to look at Theo. He winked at her with a smile.
“Like I said, never alone,” Theo whispered just loud enough for Hermione’s ears. Her heart warmed.
It was nights like these that split her in two. She felt such love and warmth from her dear friends. It fed her and breathed life back into her. But, as did every time she enjoyed their company, a guilt would overcome her when she got home and ruminated on everything. She felt she had no right to feel so alone and incomplete with this love in her life. That guilt compounded tonight as her thoughts were filled with silver eyes.
Draco…he was truly alone.
————————
Hermione was attempting to pull a pair of jeans up her legs when a loud crack knocked her over with surprise. She landed on her bottom with a thud and took in the sight before her.
Mipsy was a very small house elf, probably middle-aged, and she wore a stern look as she eyed Hermione from a few feet away. However, the stern look was a stark difference to the elf’s appearance. Mipsy was wearing a frilly pink dress, it looked to be a children’s dress. The straps hung on the elf’s shoulders holding up ruffles that cascaded all the way down to her ankles. Atop the ruffles, were numerous pink, satin bows that Hermione was sure were added on by the elf herself.
“Uh,” Hermione said, embarrassment filling her as she realized the elf was staring at her red, silk thong, “I am so sorry that you quite literally caught me with my pants down.”
She laughed, trying to ease some of the awkward tension that hung in the air, but Mipsy just continued to look her up and down with a unreadable expression.
Hermione decided she could wait no longer and hopped up, quickly yanking the denim up to their final resting place on her hips.
“Again, so sorry about that. My name is Hermione Granger. It is so nice to meet you.”
She extended her hand for a handshake that was not instantly returned.
Mipsy studied her carefully. After a moment of immense discomfort for Hermione, Mipsy took Hermione’s hand, apparently coming to a decision of sorts as her face became more neutral.
“Mipsy is very pleased to meet you miss,” the elf squeaked, her voice matching her outfit far more than her expression.
After a quick shake, Mipsy turned to look at Hermione’s trunks. The elf snapped her fingers and they disappeared. Then, Mipsy began eyeing Crookshanks who was trying to escape his cage.
“Oh,” Mipsy said with clear concern, “That is actually coming?”
Hermione fought the urge to laugh. This small creature was already quite the character, and the disdain on her face created even more of an unexpected, pink visual.
“Yes,” Hermione said patiently, “Crookshanks goes where I go, but I promise he is very well-behaved. I am sure that he will love the extra space that the manor provides.”
“Well, if he must,” the elf said as she snapped her fingers, vanishing the squirmy cat and his crate.
“Is Miss Granger ready?” Mipsy turned to her with wide eyes.
“Please, call me Hermione and yes, I am ready.”
“Mipsy will grab Miss Granger’s hand now,” she replied, ignoring Hermione’s request.
Hermione felt a small hand wrap around her pinky finger, and, with a crack, they disappeared leaving her flat behind.
————————
They reappeared in what seemed to be the grand foyer of the manor. Hermione turned around to see the large front doors behind her, confirming her assumptions about their location.
Turning back around, she evaluated her surroundings. To her left was a large sitting room that revolved around a stunning grand piano. To her right was a large, very large, stair case.
Everything was exquisite. Her eyes were darting around almost frantically as she took in the art, vases, and overall grandness. She marveled at the fact that she had yet to take a step in the manor, but she was certain she could be entertained from this very spot for an inordinate amount of time.
She realized that she was being watched as she turned to see an irritated Mipsy standing at the bottom of the stair case.
“Mipsy will now show Miss Granger to her room,” she said with finality, turning up the stair case.
“Hermione.”
Mipsy just grunted in reply and Hermione fought a smile as she followed the cranky creature up the stairs.
Mipsy pointed out Narcissa’s wing of the manor as they made their way around. Hermione tried not to show her wonder as she followed the elf.
The manor was beautiful, it had definitely been redone by Narcissa. Even through the haze of trauma, Hermione remembered it as a dark, gloomy place. At present, it was anything but. The manor was bright and airy as large, arched windows brought in sunlight. The furniture and decor was exquisite, offering warm woods and a soft color palette. Instead of portraits of, undoubtedly, cruel blood-supremacists on the walls, there was gorgeous art showcasing landscapes. Hermione could swear she saw a Monet, she would have to return to it when she did not have a tiny elf dragging her along.
Mipsy abruptly stopped her in front of two doors.
“The door on the right is Master Draco’s chambers and the door on the left is Miss Granger’s”
“Hermione.”
Mipsy appeared to be deep in thought as she stared at the door on the right.
“Mipsy is so grateful to have been able to prepare for Master Draco’s arrival,” the elf whispered reverently, “The manor has missed him and his warmth so very much.”
Hermione watched Mipsy, images of Lucious Malfoy kicking Dobby running through her mind. She knew she had to let go of her preconceived notions of this family and of Draco. Never would she guess that one of his elves would describe him as warm, but here she stood watching as Mipsy lost herself in happy memories, a smile slowly growing on her face.
In an instant, the elf returned her stern expression and gestured toward the door to Hermione’s room.
“Come,” said Mipsy, “I don’t trust that creature of yours.”
Mipsy opened the door, Hermione following closely behind. She was soon enveloped by a beautiful room brimming with books.
Every wall was lined from floor to ceiling with books, except for the wall that the bed was against, that wall was all windows, letting in the same natural light that graced the rest of the manor. The wall to her left had a door that sat amongst the books, it was slightly ajar, revealing a bathroom. The wall to her right also had a door nestled amongst the bookshelves. Accompanying the large four poster bed was two night stands, a lovely seating area, and a desk.
Hermione smiled at the Gryffindor-red sheets that were on her bed and appreciated the effort that was put into this room.
“Mipsy, it is perfect. Thank you so much for making me feel so comfortable.”
At that comment, Mipsy smiled, abandoning her scowl and looking very pleased. That is, until, her eyes caught onto something.
Hermione turned around and saw that Crookshanks had managed to escape his cage and was currently sitting on a chaise in the sitting area. His leg was raised proudly in the air as he cleaned himself, returning Mipsy’s glare intently.
After a moment, Mipsy abandoned the rivalry and turned to Hermione.
“Mipsy will let Miss Granger get settled. Lunch will arrive shortly.”
Before Mipsy could disappear, Hermione spoke. “What is that door?” She gestured to the door on the right.
“Oh, well Mipsy followed instructions,” the elf said with a new nervousness in her voice. “It is a door to Master Draco’s chambers-“
“What? Why?”
“Mipsy was given clear instructions that Miss Granger needed to be able to access Master Draco at anytime. The door only opens from Miss Granger’s side, not that you would need to worry. Master Draco only behaves as the graceful gentleman that he is.”
Mipsy’s attitude had returned at the negativity that Hermione’s alarm had insinuated.
“Of course,” Hermione replied. “Thank you for explaining that Mipsy.”
“Yes, Miss Granger,” Mipsy replied and curtsied.
“Hermione.”
At that, Mipsy disappeared with a loud crack, leaving Hermione to get settled.
————————
Getting settled probably should have involved unpacking her things, but Hermione took to climbing the rungs of the rolling ladders that leaned against the bookshelves and began her literary exploration. She was shocked and thrilled to find many of her favorite muggle titles: The Count of Monte Cristo, Pride and Prejudice, Wuthering Heights, and Great Expectations. She was much less shocked to find that they were all first-editions.
She only paused her digging when a delicious lunch appear in her room. Hermione quelled her laughter as she noted a small bowl with delicately sliced meat on the tray for Crookshanks.
Curling up on the chaise and opening one of the many books from her pile, she tucked into her lunch.
Hermione stayed like this until a loud crack pulled her focus from the book in her hands.
“Miss Granger is to get ready to receive Master Draco. Miss must meet him at the front door.”
The elf disappeared immediately.
Hermione was startled to find that she only had a few minutes before 3 o’clock. With rush and panic, she stood, returning the book to her large pile. She wished she had time to look in the mirror, then she wished had time to explore why she had that desire in the first place.
Unnecessarily smoothing her jeans, she made her way to the door and retraced the steps she had taken much earlier in the day. She found Mipsy at the front door awaiting her arrival.
“Miss Granger is to wait outside to receive Master Malfoy and assume custody. They will be arriving shortly.”
She made her way through the now open doors, the feeling of a warming charm overcame her after hearing Mipsy’s fingers snap. Her gratitude for this elf was growing with each caring gesture.
Hermione found herself standing on the steps of Malfoy Manor, greeted by the winter sun. She looked around as she stood, noting frost that had rested on the grounds. The cold air was silent, only the sound of her soft breath accompanied her as she waited for him. The calm that reading had brought her was disappearing as she tried not to panic.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
White puffs of her breath were clouding her vision as she fought the unease that was overcoming her.
But, she did not have long to attempt to regulate her breathing. She jumped as multiple cracks of apparition rang out at the gates that lay in front of her.
He is here. He is home.

Chapter Text

Hermione’s lungs prickled as the cold air quickly entered them. She momentarily wondered where the sun had gone as she noted the cold, grey clouds that were now darkening the grounds outside of Malfoy Manor.
However, that thought quickly passed as she was mesmerized by the scene in front of her. Malfoy stood at the center of four guards, all of whom had their wands trained on him, or, rather, their wands were trained up at him as he towered over them all. His wrists were bound together and he still wore the simple, black clothes that he had worn the last time she saw him. His eyes were fixed downward as he was marched forward, the scars on him gleaming and catching light with each of step.
Hermione silently scolded Shacklebolt as she wondered how many Unbreakable Vows or obliviate charms were needed to make this transfer of custody possible. Despite the vigilance and caution taken with Malfoy, she felt no fear. She noted this as odd, but she just knew in her bones that he was not a threat, or, at least, not a threat to her.
One of the guards stepped forward as the group halted in front of the steps. He was a burley, middled-aged man, sporting a dark mustache. His eyes met Hermione’s as she noted he was quite short, exactly as tall as her.
“Hi, Miss Granger I presume?” He held out a hand.
“Yes,” she said accepting the handshake, “And, you are?”
“My name is Mac Lindley. I will be your point of contact for him.”
Hermione followed his gesture towards Malfoy and was surprised to find he had finally looked up, his gaze locked on her hand which was currently being held by Lindley’s.
“Anyways, if you need me at all or need me to cover your watch here, please just owl me. I will need to transfer custody to you. Wand please?”
She apprehensively handed her wand over.
“Come on, Malfoy,” Lindley said, turning towards the group of wizards.
Malfoy stalked past the other three guards and climbed the steps to where Lindley and Hermione stood.
He held his bound wrists forward, obviously knowing what to expect. Lindley held Hermione’s wand to the manacles and muttered an incantation. Both her wand and the manacles let off a soft glow. At that, Lindley passed her wand back to her.
“You will be able to track him,” Lindley now turned to her. “You may apparate to his location at anytime. His manacles are linked to your wand and they will notify you if…an…event were to occur.”
She nodded, knowing she wouldn’t get more information, and watched as Lindley removed the binding charm that held Malfoy’s manacled hands together.
“Alright, Malfoy.” Lindley spoke with fondness and made eye contact with Malfoy. “You be good. I am looking forward to seeing you soon.”
Malfoy nodded and Lindley reached very high up to clap him on the shoulder as he walked away. Him and the other guards disappeared with sporadic cracks echoing in the air.
And then, it was just the two of them standing on the large steps of the manor, breathing in the cold winter air.
“So,” she said as she turned to where Malfoy had been standing. But, she was surprised to find him at the door, walking inside.
She scurried in after him, trying to match his long strides as he walked into the foyer. He walked with purpose, like he was looking for something.
He stopped right in front of the grand piano that stood in the sitting room to the left of the foyer, staring at it intensely as if he were assessing its current state.
She watched him for a moment before speaking. “Do you play?”
He jumped a little at her voice, as if he had forgotten she was there.
“Not in this life,” he replied quietly, still staring at the piano.
“So, Malfoy, I think we should talk about a few things-“
She was once again cut off as he walked away purposefully towards the staircase, intent on ignoring her.
And, once again, she followed him, fighting to keep up with him as he ascended the staircase and stalked towards the wing that they now shared.
“Malfoy,” she called after him as she practically jogged, “Malfoy! I really think that we should talk about some things. I want to know how I can help-“
She was stopped abruptly as she walked into something hard and jumped in surprise. Glancing up, she realized she had walked into him as she was met with intense, silver eyes looking down at her.
Hermione couldn’t move, she knew they were to close to each other as she craned her neck to look up, but she couldn’t move. She was paralyzed, staring up at him, him staring back down at her, both of them unmoving.
Her mouth opened and closed as she fought for words and her breaths became shorter.
“I wish you wouldn’t call me Malfoy,” he whispered, eyes still locked on hers.
“Oh, uh-“
“Malfoy is the boy who used to call you slurs and treat you with cruelty. Malfoy is the coward who thought he could best Dumbledore. Malfoy was many terrible things. Please, call me Draco.”
“Oh ok,” was all Hermione could manage to whisper as she remained frozen in astonishment, her eyes still glued to his.
“Thank you…Hermione,” he whispered back as the slightest smile graced his lips, continuing to search her face for something.
As abruptly as he had stopped, he turned on his heal towards their rooms which were now a few feet away.
“Now, I am going to take the longest bath of my life. We will talk at dinner.” His voice echoed loudly down the hallway as he abandoned whispering.
The sound of his bedroom door closing gave Hermione permission to breathe again as she gulped in air.
Well, Draco, was certainly keeping her on her toes, so far.
————————
Hermione paced in her room. Not even the books that accompanied her could calm her as her mind raced.
She did not exactly know what it was that she was worrying about. She couldn’t put words to it. She could not-no matter how hard she tried-describe that feeling that she was frantically trying to explain as she recalled her interaction with the blonde that was only a short distance away in the neighboring bedroom.
Why was she so flustered?
Yes, these circumstances were odd. She was staying at Malfoy Manor with Draco Malfoy and, soon, Narcissa. Even putting their history aside, it was an odd situation, it was not one that she was ever put in with any of her other cases.
Then, again, Draco was not just one of her cases.
She tried to rationalize that buzz that was currently running through her. She ultimately decided that she just needed somewhere to put her energy, and that was the true issue at hand.
Yes, that’s it.
She usually had a clear, actionable motive with each of her cases: secure employment, ensure a healthy living situation, help create positive social connections, etc. Even running through the list in her head was giving her comfort. With Draco, things were not so clear, she wasn’t sure how he would need her other than to monitor his whereabouts for Shacklebolt.
Goodness, she was so looking forward to Narcissa arriving. Something about having her here would be a comfort to Hermione, her behavior was predictable and, often, endearing. Narcissa would bring the maternal warmth that grounded her and, hopefully, would do the same for Draco.
A quick glance at the clock was enough to end her rumination as she noted hours had passed. Surely, it would be dinner soon. She decided it was time to get ready, wandering into the beautiful bathroom that she had yet to explore.
It was covered in floor-to-ceiling white marble with a gorgeous tub in the middle. The tub was outfitted with luxurious whirlpool jets that Hermione could not wait to put to use.
She continued into the adjoining closet and noted that Mipsy had unpacked her clothes. Wondering if she should change out of her jeans and jumper, she looked through her wardrobe, seeking inspiration.
What does one wear to dinner with Draco Malfoy?
She felt uncomfortable even wondering and attempted to dismiss the notion. In an effort to rebel against her superfluous worries, she stuck with her jeans and jumper. But, she did fix her hair. That didn’t mean anything though, she always had to fix hair. No matter how smooth her curls had become, they still took effort.
Just as she finished fixing her long locks, a crack startled her.
“Dinner will be ready momentarily, Miss Granger,” Mipsy said with a squeak, disappearing before a response could be spoken.
Hermione realized that she did not know where the dining room was. She soon became flustered as she thought about wandering around Malfoy Manor. Hurrying, she made her way to the bedroom door, stress fueling her every move as she yanked the door open. She let out a small yelp and halted her movements, stopping herself from running into Draco for the second time that day.
He casually stood in the doorway, looking much more like himself, or what Hermione had imagined adult-Draco to look. He donned black trousers with a black button-down shirt and beautiful dragon-hide shoes, all of which fit impeccably highlighting his wealth in the way only bespoke clothing can. Mipsy must have helped him with his last-minute tailoring since the last time he had been home his sizing was much, much different.
Suddenly, Hermione felt very silly in her denim and, then, even sillier as she realized she had been visually appraising him for to long.
He looked at her with a hint of a smirk, as if he were holding something back.
“I thought I would escort you,” he said after a moment, without emotion, holding his bent arm out for her like the refined gentlemen that he was.
He went back to avoiding looking at her as he so often did. She thought about how peculiar it was that he oscillated between disinterest and intensity, recalling the burning stare she had received from him earlier.
With caution she placed her hand around his arm, closing her bedroom door behind her. They silently made their way towards the staircase and began descending it. Hermione chanced a glance up at his stoic face, noting the way his scars caught the light as they walked through the halls.
He led them past the grand piano and further into the first floor of the manor. Looking around, Hermione noted that she did not see the drawing room anywhere.
“You won’t find it.” His deep voice stopped her search as she looked up to find him still staring straight ahead.
“How is that possible? It is part of your home.”
She could feel the muscles in his arm tense as she spoke with a slightly more accusatory tone than she had intended. He was quiet for a moment, working his jaw muscles.
“Not anymore,” he finally replied.
Before the conversation could continue or awkwardly hang in the air, they arrived to a beautiful dining room.
Much like the rest of the manor, it had a great many windows that let moonlight flood in. Accompanying the moonlight were candles across a dining room table that was impeccably set for two.
Horror settled on Hermione, as she evaluated the situation, it was far more intimate and lovely than it should be. As if to exacerbate it, Draco pulled out her chair for her. She sat uncomfortably, her movements tense as she thought about the strange state of affairs she had found herself in.
Draco settled across from her, seemingly unbothered as he delicately placed his serviette in his lap. Despite being locked up for the past five years, his aristocratic etiquette appeared to be second nature that was easily practiced.
Awkward panic bubbled in Hermione’s chest as she felt the need for conversation, but she could not summon any words. Suddenly, the champagne flutes in front of them filled with a beautiful, bubbling wine, giving her something to do with her hands and mouth.
Thank you, Mipsy.
Before Hermione could take the deep drink that she had wanted to, she noticed Draco was actually looking at her, holding his glass up in the air, looking as uncomfortable as she felt.
“Uhm…” he muttered, quickly looking down again, “Cheers to you for making all of this possible, I am very grateful.”
Their glasses clinked and she felt her heart swell a little bit at the earnestness in his voice, the awkwardness she had felt was replaced by an unidentifiable warmth that spread to her toes. The bubbles from the champagne that she drank deeply helped push the warmth through her body, making her feel more relaxed and at ease.
A loud crack startled her as she turned to see that Mipsy had arrived.
“Good evening Master Draco, Miss Granger,” Mipsy said while performing a slight curtsy.
“Please call me Hermione.”
As expected Mipsy ignored her and continued to recite the menu for the evening: a traditional roast dinner complete with Yorkshire pudding.
“The champagne is to celebrate your first night at home, Master.”
“Thank you very much, Mipsy,” Draco replied, “And, I am very much looking forward to dinner.”
Mipsy smiled wildly back at him, fondness gleaming in her eyes as she disappeared.
Hermione could see that Draco was uncomfortable, his fingers were tapping a beat on the table while his other hand delicately held the stem of his champagne flute on the table, slowly twisting it in circles.
He continued to look down as he spoke. “So, still into charity work? Are Death Eaters the new S.P.E.W.?” His face pinched a bit as if recoiling at his own words.
“Well, no. I don’t help Death Eaters. You are not a Death Eater,” Hermione replied, “Are you still a blood supremacist?” She decided to match his attitude, but was still reeling at the fact that he remembered S.P.E.W.
“No, I am not. I am not sure I ever was.”
An awkward silence stretched, as she let his words settle over her. It made her feel…well, she didn’t know. Perhaps, it was melancholy.
“How is it that you were able to get away from the Weasley brood to come babysit me?” Draco’s voice carried a hint of humor in it.
“What do you mean?”
“You must have three or four little red-headed heathens running around at this point.”
Hermione looked at him puzzled and then, when realization dawned on her, she started to laugh. He looked up at her in shock as her laugh grew.
“Are you suggesting that Ron and I have children?” The giggles she couldn’t keep in made their way out as she attempted to quell her laughter.
“Well, yes, I just assu-“
“Ron and I are not together. We are still great friends, but just friends. After the war, we realized that really is all we ever were. There was nothing dramatic, just a mutual, amicable understanding that the stress of war had pushed us together.”
He was looking at her intently now, searching her face as she spoke, hanging onto every word.
“In fact,” she continued, “I believe that him and Pansy went on a date quite recently.”
“Parkinson?”
“Yes, just the one.”
“That is hard to believe. I cant imagine her dating a Gryffindor.”
“Yes, well, people change. A lot has changed.”
Draco was looking down again with a dark look on his face, his scars catching the candle light and reflecting a silver glow that matched the moonlight. She imagined it must be hard to see the time that was stolen from him represented in the changes that surrounded him. A pain sparked in her chest as she watched him shrink back into himself.
Before the moment could take over the evening, their food appeared on their plate. They both silently began to eat the beautiful meal in front of them. Draco still upheld his perfect manners, but he ate ravenously. He had devoured his whole plate and looked up to see Hermione was still grazing at hers.
“Oh,” he said as a blush crept over his cheeks, “I am sorry. It has been a long time since I have had food this good.”
“It is perfectly fine,” she said smiling at him, his eyes finally catching hers, if only for a moment.
Mipsy appeared with a crack. “Master, would you like more?”
“Yes, please.”
As Mipsy disappeared, Draco’s plate refilled and he began to neatly devour his food again.
This time, he finished as Hermione did, their plates disappearing and their champagne refilling.
Hermione felt a little more brave to continue conversation as she sipped her champagne. “Do you like what your mother has done with the manor?”
“I do, I explored a bit earlier and I was pleased to find that a lot of the physical reminders of bad memories are gone.”
The drawing room.
“So,” Hermione continued, determined to keep up her bravery and not let silence hang in the air again, “Typically with cases, I have many goals in mind. I help with finding employment, housing, social connections, things like that. I know that those items are not applicable to you-“
Hermione stopped herself, guilt washing over her as she thought about what she was saying.
“Oh, Malfoy-I mean Draco- I am sorry, I didn’t mean to be so callous.”
“It’s ok, it’s true,” he replied, looking down with a dark look, his jaw tensed.
“My point is,” she could feel herself rambling, “I want to know how I can help you. I know that it must be weird for you after being imprisoned for so-“
“I do not need your help.”
“Oh well, I am here-“
“…To guard me.”
Silence settled over them, Hermione watching him as his expression grew even darker.
“You are here because you are trusted with…something…like me.” His gaze lifted and his darkened eyes locked on hers as the repressed anger spread across his face. “That is the only reason, not because I need your help or that you want to be here. I know that you think of me as charity, nothing more than something like a helpless house elf.”
He had risen from the table, dropping his serviette, and looking down on her.
“Draco, that is not true at all-“
“Oh really? You mean to tell me you don’t feel sorry for me? You don’t look at the scars on me and wonder if I was tortured or what I am?”
She looked up at him with wide eyes, unable to speak.
“That’s what I thought: charity. In my five years of imprisonment I was only ever the subject of hate or pity. But, then again, that’s not much of a difference from my life before. And now, I have come home to pity.”
He looked down, sadness overcoming his features, and he walked away.
Hermione watched him as he disappeared, his words leaving her dismayed. She knew that she should go after him and talk to him. But, she also did not know what to say, he was not wrong; she did pity him. She pitied everything he had been through including his life experiences prior to his imprisonment. She pitied the boy he was, and now, she pities that man who just wants to be respected.
Guilt was rotting inside of her as she sipped her champagne alone, wiping a few tears away from her cheeks. This was far more complicated than she had anticipated, and for that, she felt foolish.
————————
Hermione was awoken from her already troubled sleep by Crookshanks. He was yowling at the door that joined her room to Draco’s.
“Crooks,” she whisper-shouted, “Come here. Leave it alone.”
He continued to yowl as she watched, hoping that he wouldn’t wake Draco.
Suddenly, Crookshanks stopped yowling and turned to look at Hermione with determined eyes, eyes that communicated to her exactly what he was going to do.
“Oh no, Crookshanks, don’t!” Hermione actually shouted this time, clambering out of bed to grab her defiant feline.
She was too late. Crookshanks had walked through the door, vanishing to the other side.
“Shit,” she bit out through clenched teeth, followed by a huffy sigh.
What was she supposed to do now? Storm into Draco’s room for her cat. She felt ridiculous as she had all day, Hermione was tired of feeling ridiculous.
After some pacing, she ultimately decided that yes, that is what she had to do.
Summoning her bravery, she approached the door and slowly turned the door knob, ignoring the way she could feel the pound of her heart beat everywhere.
The door opened easily and silently, leading the way into the darkened room. Her eyes searched, looking for the orange nuisance that had put her in this exact position. She found him immediately. He was right next to Draco, and, suddenly, his odd behavior made sense.
Draco was sitting on the floor leaning against his bed and gasping for breath, his eyes closed and his body tense. Crookshanks was laying next to him, as he always did for Hermione, waiting for him to rest his hand in his fur.
She cautiously moved towards the pair and slowly sank to her knees next to Draco who was still gasping for breath.
“Draco,” she whispered a whisper that she could barely hear over the pulse of her own heart.
His eyes shot open, immediately locking onto hers. She noted briefly that his manacles were giving off a soft glow along with his scars which were more silvery than normal. It was unknown to her if it was the dark state of the room or the dark state of his emotions that was causing this. Regardless of the reason, Hermione was dismayed by all of the scars she could see spreading across his shirtless body. It was jarring, she had only just adjusted to the scars she could typically see.
Keep him calm. She remembered the minister’s words which snapped her back to the present as she frantically tried to think of what to do.
“Draco,” she said, this time with more confidence, “I am going to touch you.”
She reached out and softly touched his hand, expecting him to pull away. But, instead, she felt him grasp at her desperately. He held her hand tightly, continuing to look at her intently as he tried to calm himself.
Continuing to clutch his hand, she gently picked up the other one and placed it on Crookshanks who was beginning to lose patience with Draco.
Draco jumped a little, suddenly aware of the creature next to him as his eyes widened further.
“It’s ok, this is Crookshanks. He is here to help you as he has helped me many times. We need to calm your breathing. I am going to sit next to you.”
Draco nodded slightly, his bare chest heaving.
Hermione scooted close to him, still facing him and maintaining eye contact.
“Can you try to breathe with me?”
Draco nodded, looking at her and trying to calm his breathing. She could see his frustration as control continued to allude him, his scars glowing slightly brighter.
Without thinking, but an action that she would think a great deal about later, she placed his hand on her chest, startling him.
“Feel my breathing,” she said with confidence.
She could feel his large hand relax into her bare skin, his finger tips and thumb resting at the base of her throat.
Hermione had to fight to be the example of calm breathing as his touch sent tingles throughout her body.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Draco’s breathing slowly calmed, his hand still resting on her chest, seeping warmth into her body. The intense eye contact remained, highlighting the intimacy of this moment. His eyes and expression were open, almost desperate for her in an unwavering effort to calm himself.
As he calmed, she ventured to speak. “Draco, what-“
“Please, don’t leave,” he breathed out, fatigue lacing his voice and desperation written in his gaze.
She looked at him for a long moment, neither of them shying away from each other, his large hand still resting on her chest in an almost possessive touch. Hermione noted that his scars and manacles were no longer giving off light, something that she would examine thoroughly later.
“Alright,” she replied in a whisper, pressing into his hand slightly.
And, she stayed with him.

Chapter Text

Hermione woke to the feeling of warmth on her skin, blinking her eyes open, she realized it was morning sunlight. Her eyes adjusted slowly, and she looked up to see a pair of yellow eyes staring down at her. Crookshanks was perched on the edge of a bed, judgement laced in his features. Dismay scrambled her mind as she worked to piece together the events that had brought her here. Turning her head, she found another pair of eyes on her, piercing grey eyes.
Her surroundings became more apparent to her as she quickly assessed what was happening. She was laying on the floor next to Draco, or, rather, on Draco, whose arm was under her head as he lay on his side facing her, watching her with a desperate, searching look on his face. She could feel the heavy warmth of his hand still on her chest, his finger tips grazing the base of her neck.
He must have noted the surprise that had overcome her, because he immediately jerked his hand away, closing the expression on his face which was previously open and earnest. A shiver overcame her as her body immediately felt the lack of his touch.
“I am sorry about last night,” he said, his tone clipped, “It will not happen again.”
Hermione sat up, slowly and with caution.
“Oh, it’s ok.”
They both stood and stared at each other. Draco was looking at her intently and in her entirety, she did the same to him. He was only wearing a pair of boxer briefs, the scars that marred his pale skin showing and his size even more intimidating as his muscular build was on display.
She was suddenly very self conscious. Looking down, she realized that she was wearing a very sparse amount of clothing. The blush that spread across her cheeks matched the silky, red negligee she wore.
“Sorry,” Draco said as he averted his eyes, his cheeks also flushing.
“I am going to leave now.” Hermione walked towards the door. At least, she hoped it looked like walking, but she knew her movements were hastened.
“Come on Crooks,” she called from the doorway, and this time he actually listened by scampering towards the doorway, but not before lovingly brushing through Draco’s bare legs.
She stood on the other side of the closed door for a long moment, her blood pumping profusely as her heart hammered in her chest. The door that separated their rooms suddenly felt very thin, making her feel vulnerable. Vulnerable to what? She did not know. Her mind was racing with emotions to encapsulate the evening and, yet, she could not identify any of them.
She hadn’t felt this…mindless…in years. Hermione was not this girl. She was not the girl that was out of control of her emotions, the girl who couldn’t rationalize a series of events, or the girl who was so easily flustered. She, Hermione Granger, was the girl with a plan, an actionable plan that left little room for uninterpretable feelings.
Ultimately, while pacing around the same room she had paced just the night before, she decided that she had just been doing her job. She was here to help Draco, and last night he had needed help. She chose not to examine the way his touch had felt or how he had looked at her or how she had looked at him. No, those topics would be ignored, nothing good would come from analyzing them.
With a fresh vigor and determination to move forward with as little irrational thoughts as possible, she headed to her bathroom for a long bath and fresh clothes. Insouciance was the only way forward.
————————
Hermione descended the staircase and wandered towards the same dining room that they had preoccupied the previous evening. She was pleased to find that daylight had extinguished the mood from the night before, leaving a much more normal dining environment for her and Draco.
Draco was already at the table, reading and grazing at a croissant that accompanied his coffee.
“Good morning,” she said in the most neutral, uninterested tone that she could muster.
“Morning,” he replied equally.
She sat down in a chair that was not pulled out by him and poured herself some coffee.
Unfortunately, her disinterest could only last so long as she noted the book in Draco’s hands.
“Are you…are you reading Dickens?” She knew the shock in her tone was maybe a little rude.
“Yes.” He continued looking at the book, his eyes determined not to find her and focused only on the copy of Our Mutual Friend that was in his hands.
“I am sorry. I am just surprised is all, it’s-“
“Muggle.”
“Well…yes.”
Draco sighed a heavy sigh that carried with it a deep exhaustion, perhaps an exhaustion that he had carried his whole life, one that he had expressed in many different ways along the way.
“I suppose we should get this out of the way,” he said calmly, setting his book down on the table, “I do not have anything against muggles, nor do I believe that my blood is superior to yours. As I mentioned last night, I don’t think that I ever did, but…I was raised a certain way which left little room for other options.
“But, that is no excuse for the options I chose. I should have never treated you the way that I did. And, for that-“
“Oh, no. It’s ok. I forgave you a long time ago.”
“No, I need to say this. I am so sorry for the way I treated you. I am sorry for every terrible thing I ever said to you.” His voice began to soften into a whisper. “And, I am so sorry for the horrors that you experienced…here.”
She gulped deeply, staring at him through the glassiness of the tears gathering in her eyes. It’s true, she had forgiven him long ago, but, somehow, she needed to hear this. She felt a piece of her was sliding into place, a door closing on something unspeakable, a peace settling into her soul as his words washed over her. The forgiveness she had given him now had so much more meaning because, she now knew, he actually wanted it.
They held each other’s gaze for a few moments, the air thick with a lifetime of remorse and sorrow.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“No. Thank you.”
A loud crack ended the moment, Mipsy appearing with it. She had donned a new princess-pink dress today, this one sporting a tulle skirt with butterflies woven into it.
“Miss Granger-“
“Hermione.”
“-I trust you slept well. May I bring you anything else?”
“No, thank you.”
Mipsy disappeared quickly, leaving behind Draco and Hermione to stare at each other.
“Freedom certainly suits her,” she said, stifling a giggle, choosing to seize the mirth that had become available.
“Oh, yes. She certainly knows how to spend her wages.”
Hermione let out a laugh before bringing her coffee to her lips, the smell feeding her buoyed spirit.
Draco went back to not looking at her, but he did speak a little more comfortably. “When I was first…taken…from Azkaban, one of the guards thought it would be funny to give me muggle reading material. It was wonderful actually, I was able to read many classics and learn a lot about a world I knew little about. When Mac was eventually brought in, he continued to get me as many books as he could.”
“That’s excellent,” Hermione said softly, looking at him intently.
“Dickens has been one of my favorites, I have learned a lot about things that I have never understood.”
“Like being poor?” she blurted out before she could stop herself.
Draco scoffed, taken aback by her bluntness. “Well, yes and muggle, but yes.”
She giggled a little and he smirked slightly, the tension of earlier gone. She felt more confident in this moment than she had since the beginning of this whole ordeal. Maybe, she could do this, help him.
“Your mother is coming today,” she stated neutrally.
“Yes.”
“Are you nervous?”
“Maybe.”
His expression was closing, gaze averted, and she knew that concluded his openness. She was learning that talking to Draco was a delicate dance, one that she had to enter in lightly in order to stay. She wasn’t entirely sure why he guarded himself so closely, but she could imagine that after what he has been through trusting people would be hard.
“Great Expectations is one of my favorites.”
“Mine too.”
She hid her victorious smile in her coffee cup.
————————
Narcissa’s arrival was interesting.
Draco stayed in his room, as advised by Hermione, while Healer Coltrin worked to get Narcissa settled.
Narcissa’s wing was as lovely and bright as the rest of the manor. It was becoming apparent that she enjoyed floral beauty as Hermione eyed the numerous arrangements that Mipsy had placed strategically around her room. The sassy elf was very caring, she stood watch with bright eyes as she watched Narcissa float in on the magical equivalent of a stretcher.
“Hermione, my dear,” Narcissa said, while beaming, “I am so happy to see you and so grateful for your presence at the manor.”
Narcissa’s joy was evident and contagious. Hermione found herself beaming right back as she felt the wash of warmth come over her that happened in the presence of the older witch.
Healer Coltrin was assisting Narcissa in getting off of the stretcher and laying down in the beautiful bed in her room. In dainty, delicate movements, she slid into the silky, pale blue sheets. Upon Healer Coltrin’s snapping fingers, the stretcher immediately folded in on itself and disappeared.
“Now, Ms. Black can walk, but she should never do so without assistance and only for very short periods of time. I am leaving the chair which she hates to use, but I know that she hates being cooped up inside more.” The pink-clad healer gestured at the levitating chair that was now sitting near Narcissa’s bed. “I will be here twice a day to check on her diagnostics and give her the usual potions. That will usually be first thing in the morning and at some point in the evening.”
“Thank you, Healer Coltrin. I am so grateful for your care,” Narcissa said with elegance, but also with an unspoken request for her exit.
“Of course, Ms. Black. Please, be good. Do not do anything without assistance and take care of yourself.”
“Yes, Healer Coltrin.” The smile on Narcissa’s face was tightening with subtle obstinance.
With a swish of pink, the healer was gone, leaving behind a pleased patient.
Mipsy ran to Narcissa, climbed up onto the bed, and gave her a big hug. Once again, Hermione found herself jarred. She could not understand the polarity between the loving image in front of her and the memory of Lucious’s horrific interactions with Dobby.
“Mipsy, my darling,” Narcissa said, holding eye contact with the elf, “You look lovely. I adore this ensemble.” She gently grabbed at the tulle that was threatening to swallow the small elf.
Mipsy’s face was soaked in tears. “Thank you, Madame. Mipsy’s heart is so full. Mipsy is so happy to have our family back in the manor.”
Narcissa beamed, Hermione fought her own tears, and Mipsy sobbed.
Then, it was time.
“Hermione, dear, I fear I can wait no longer. May I please see him?”
“Of course. Let me just go get him.”
————————
Hermione knocked on Draco’s door, waiting anxiously for him, thinking of the gravity of what was about to take place.
The door swung open, he stood there, donning his closed facial expression. She noted that their rooms were very similar, both lined with books. She had not noticed this last night or this morning. Fighting the curiosity within her about what occupied his bookshelves, she moved her gaze back to him where he was waiting expectantly.
“She is ready, if you are.”
He nodded gravely and took a deep breath.
“Ok.”
They walked silently towards Narcissa’s wing.
“I do know where it is,” he said.
“Yes, but I just want to be here for you in case you-“
“I don’t need anything.”
“Of course,” she replied, with ambivalence, no longer offended when he spoke sharply.
They arrived at Narcissa’s door. Turning to him, she noted he was very tense. The muscles in his jaw were clenching and unclenching while he looked down.
“I am going to give you two some privacy,” Hermione said, turning to walk away.
She abruptly stopped as she felt him grab her hand tightly. She turned back towards him, searching the side of his downturned face. Her heart trembled at the sight of him, his desperate vulnerability that he was trying so hard to hide was sneaking out from under his rigid exterior.
She squeezed his hand back. “It is going to be ok, she is your mother.”
“She is going to be terrified of me, of what I am,” he whispered.
“No, she won’t. She will be overjoyed to have you back, no matter what you look like. Besides, I was never terrified of you.”
He finally looked at her, his open expression was pensive and fearful.
She looked at him with as much confidence as she could, hiding the sorrow that she was feeling for him. Squeezing his hand gently, she smiled up at him in an encouraging gesture.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
He finally turned away from her and apprehensively took a step towards the doors. He stopped, still not letting go of her hand, took a deep breath, and finally let go, leaving Hermione’s hand empty in every sense of the word.
As he disappeared into Narcissa’s chamber, Hermione made her way down the hallway and away from the sobs that she could distantly hear.
She took a deep breath as she found a sitting room not to far away.
A family was reunited today.
She tried not to reel at the way this made her feel. It wasn’t good, it wasn’t bad, but it was overwhelming. A completely all-consuming feeling that weighed her down, and made her curl into herself with both joy and grief. Grief for her own family reunion that she would never have.
————————
Hermione found this to be her favorite sitting room. The fire was positioned perfectly in relation to the lounge that she was currently curled up on. Adjacent to the fire place was a large arched window that showcased the garden in magnificent splendor. The flowers must have been charmed because the colorful display of petals was a stark contradiction to the grey-winter sky that they would not usually be flourishing in.
She had found Our Mutual Friend on the table and decided to lose herself in a book, briefly wondering if Draco enjoyed this sitting room as well. It was the perfect, cozy distraction from her untamable thoughts at the moment. At some point, a steaming pot of tea had appeared next to her. Hermione silently expressed gratitude to Mipsy with every sip that accompanied her fervent reading.
Subconsciously, she knew that hours must have been passing her by as she enjoyed the luxury of escaping into the pages within the bounds of this book.
It was the lightest creak that alerted her to his presence. He stood in the doorway, looking down the moment she looked up. She was a little taken aback, not knowing how long he had been standing there.
“Hi,” she said softly.
He smiled. “Hi.”
“How is your mother?”
“She is…exhausted. She is sleeping right now and I am sure that her healer will be by at some point soon.”
“How was it?”
“Fine.”
Hermione knew that, for the moment, that was all she would get.
“I see you found my book,” he gestured towards her, sitting on an arm chair that sat across from her. The fire danced across his gleaming scars, the sight of it was disarming.
“Oh,” she sputtered, “I am sorry, it was just sitting here and I needed the distraction.”
“Don’t be sorry, I have read it many times. Please enjoy it.”
A silent moment sat with them, interrupted only by the crackling of the fire. Hermione’s mind finally caught up to her surroundings, exiting the book that sat on her lap, and she registered that it was getting dark outside.
“I didn’t realize how late it was getting,” she said while gazing out the window. “I suppose I should be going.” She made to stand, but was stopped.
“Wait, stay,” he said with a voice that carried some urgency to it. “I mean…you need to eat. Please, join me for dinner. We can even eat here and you can continue your reading.”
He was looking at her intently now, seeking an answer to his question with a hopeful look.
“Uhm, ok,” she replied, returning to the seat she was half-way out of, “That would be fine.”
“Mipsy,” Draco called.
Crack.
“Yes, Master Draco?”
“Miss Granger-“
“Hermione,” she stated in an emphatic tone.
“-and I would like to take dinner here. Would that be alright?”
“Of course Master. Let me alter my preparations slightly. Dinner will be here shortly.”
The elf disappeared, taking all of the pink in the room with her.
A moment later, wine glasses with a decanter topped up with red wine appeared between the two of them.
“May I?” Draco gestured at the glasses.
“Yes, please.”
He delicately poured the red wine, placing a glass in front of her with graceful movements. She picked up the glass and held it up, seeking contact with his.
“To reunions,” she said.
He reciprocated her toast with the clink of glasses. “Yes, all kinds of reunions.”
Hermione took a deep drink and pondered that statement for a moment.
Draco, true to his word, conjured a book of his own, opening it as he sipped his wine.
“Oh, I am sorry. You may have your book back.” Hermione got up and leaned over the table, offering his book to him.
He looked at her with a hint a humor playing with his features.
“No, please keep reading it. Maybe, tomorrow, you can give me one that you recommend in exchange.”
She held the book affectionately, sitting back down slowly, a light smile gracing her lips while she opened the book.
“I can do that,” she said softly, returning to reading and thrilling in the literary deal they had struck.
They sat silently but comfortably, eating the beautiful meal that Mipsy had made, sipping their wine, and reading their books. Each of them occasionally chancing glances at one another, both unaware of the other’s eyes. The fire brought a warm and comfortable glow to the room that matched the contented warmth Hermione felt inside of her.
She did not know it at the time, and she certainly wasn’t ready to accept it or even understand it, but later she would look back on this evening fondly, thinking of the comfort she felt in his company. She would eventually mark this as the point that the emptiness she carried within her began to feel a little less empty, only to begin being filled with him and his presence.

Chapter Text

Narcissa was a demanding–but elegant–host in more ways than one. She liked to be busy and social, attempting to spread joy throughout the manor and structure for those under her roof. She had created a routine of sorts for herself and her housemates that worked with her expected exhaustion and low stamina.
One of those routines was afternoon tea in the conservatory.
The conservatory was a beautiful, grand room that had white-washed brick on the floor and large glass walls that were lined with raw-wood beams. Outside the windows, lush green plants stood with flowers interspersed. It was a tranquil, organic environment and Hermione loved it. She especially loved when a heavy winter rain was beating down on the glass roof, creating a soothing sound that calmed the noise in her head.
This is where she found herself today with Narcissa and Draco as they had taken tea everyday for the last five days.
Afternoon tea had been the bulk of her and Draco’s interactions since their dinner by the fire. Draco had taken to receding back into himself, avoiding her at every chance he got except in the presence of Narcissa. This, of course, left Hermione overthinking and wondering about…well, everything. His absence was notable, even at meal times.
More often than not, she found herself pacing in front of the bookshelves in her room wondering why she was wondering about him so much. She regularly found herself laying awake in bed wondering if he was sleeping well. While Crookshanks had not alerted her to anymore panic attacks, every time she saw Draco she could see the evidence of sleepless nights in the dark circles bordering his eyes. Which, of course, left her to wonder.
She was tired of wondering.
And, she was just tired.
“Hermione, dear.” Narcissa’s melodic voice interrupted the sound of the rain and Hermione’s musing. “Have you been enjoying the selection of books in your room?”
She had to scramble to respond, abandoning honesty. “Oh, yes. Thank you so much. They have been quite lovely.”
She couldn’t tell Narcissa that she had been spending most of her time hyper-analyzing every little detail of her interactions with Draco. When she wasn’t doing that, she was rereading the commandeered copy of Our Mutual Friend.
She was fully aware that she was behaving oddly, and it made her feel wayward. In addition to her strange behavior and feelings, she was beginning to feel useless which maddened her. She wanted to help Draco, but he certainly wasn’t allowing it which left her restless. Although, she did not know exactly what helping him would look like and that maddened her even further.
“That is wonderful.” Narcissa smiled brightly, but the exhaustion in her was visible as her hands shook slightly while raising her tea to her lips. “You know, Draco is also a voracious reader.”
The tired witch gestured to Draco who was sitting silently and looking out the window as he often did during afternoon tea. He was always looking anywhere other than in Hermione’s direction.
Draco turned to his mother and gave her an obligatory nod. Narcissa had taken to attempting to create conversation between the two of them. She had noticed the cool tension that seemed to exist between Draco and Hermione.
Narcissa must have been very tired at this point, because she did not push any further. “I am sorry to say that it is time for me to retire to my chambers, but I will see you at dinner, Hermione. And, Draco, perhaps you will grace us with your presence this evening.”
Hermione smiled at Narcissa, rising from her seat. “May I help you to your room?”
“No, no. And, not you either Draco,” she said, turning to her son who had also risen from his seat. “Mipsy!”
Crack. “Yes, Madame?”
“Will you please help me to my room? Draco and Hermione are going to stay here and enjoy the rest of their tea.” She looked at Draco with a slightly demanding look. He returned her notion by sitting back down in his chair with a resigned look on his face.
Hermione smiled at Narcissa and Mipsy who were both visions in pink today, much like every day. They slowly made their way to the door.
Upon their exit, she turned to him realizing they had not been alone together in days. She reached into the pocket of her jeans, retrieving what she had been saving for an opportune moment.
She pulled out something small. Using her wand, she returned the item to its normal size revealing a book.
“I have been wanting to give this to you,” she said, placing the book in front of Draco who briefly glanced at it.
He sat silently for a moment, a moment that felt like it might break Hermione. While she did not know why, the gravity of his withdrawal weighed heavily on her.
“Draco, please,” she whispered, returning the desperation he had previously shown her.
He looked up suddenly and with surprise, eyeing her wearily, his eyes searching her face.
“Pride and Prejudice?” He scanned the title of the book and picked it up.
“Yes, it is one of my favorites. I reread it every year, and I think I find something different every time.”
“What is it about?”
“The upper echelon of society, superficial goodness, forgiveness, and…well…there is a touch of romance.” Hermione couldn’t help the juvenile blush that overcame her at the mention of romance; another unexplainable response to being around Draco Malfoy.
“You’re giving me a romance to read?” Draco drawled as a smirk began to form on his lips.
She couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her lips. “Well…yes, but I promise it is more than that. There is so much to take away from this book. I really think you will enjoy it. Jane Austen predates Charles Dickens and they are very different writers, but I think you will find something of value in it.”
“Alright,” he said, holding the book reverently.“To be clear, I don’t have a problem reading a romance.”
He was looking at her intently, a look that she hadn’t realized that she had been missing. Underneath all of her worries and overthinking, she missed him. But, how was that possible? She had barely spent any time with him and their interactions weren’t always the most…positive. Yet, his presence had somehow found a way into her being, a fact that she oscillated between avoiding and over-analyzing.
She looked away abruptly as she realized how long she had been staring at him.
“Uhm, how are you?” She braved the question while looking out at the rain.
“Fine.”
“Have you been sleeping well?”
“Yes.”
She turned back to him, thinking of how to proceed, how to not be shut out.
“Draco?”
He held her gaze, head cocking to one side. “What?”
“What’s wrong?”
His jaw muscles were clenching and unclenching as he fought the turmoil behind his eyes. The brief glimpse of ease in him was vanishing before her eyes.
“Nothing is wrong. I don’t have anything for you to fix. I am sure that is frustrating for the overachiever that you are, but I am afraid the ministry is paying you far too much to be here.”
His tone was biting, causing her to flinch. She was piecing things together as she watched him.
“Are you mad at me for being paid to be here?”
He did not answer, he just sat there staring at the book.
Hermione was stunned and trying to process exactly what was going on. “I can’t help the circumstances that brought me here, but I do care about-“
“Me? Do you care about me?”
A stunned look overcame her as she stared at him intently. The shock of this confrontation was all-consuming and panic began to prickle in her. She wasn’t sure how to proceed or what the boundaries were, this was such an unfamiliar situation.
She waited to long to respond and watched as he stood abruptly.
He took a deep breath and locked eyes with her. “I am not mad at you in particular. I am mad at…at…everything. And you,” he started to whisper, “are just another reminder of things that I can’t have.”
Hermione looked at him in bewilderment. She knew she should be responding and questioning him. She had so many questions, but at the moment they were buried under the shock of his honesty.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered back, knowing it was a completely inadequate thing to say.
He looked away, rolling his jaw and seemingly gathering himself with a heavy sigh. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. I should be sorry for punishing you for no reason. You certainly deserve better.”
With that, he grabbed the book and walked out, leaving Hermione alone with the sound of the rain pattering on the glass panes of the conservatory.
The sound was not calming her as she waded through the emotions that were threatening to overcome her. She could see where Draco was coming from; she could rationalize him being angry. She was angry for him when she thought about all that was stolen from him. He had been robbed of the chance at normalcy from the time he was born, his fate as a Malfoy and the son of a death eater was sealed. She empathized, but she was still confused. She failed to understand how she represented anything that he could not have.
Frustration seeped through her. She thought she would just add that to the list of things she did not know as she thought of her stunted research into Draco’s condition. She was beginning to feel a little trapped with her lack of progress in helping Draco or coming any closer to some sort of solution for him.
Hugging her midsection and shivering, she suddenly felt cold and hopeless. She missed Theo and Harry as her brain automatically pushed her towards comfort, the daydream of walking through their floo and feeling the comfort of their hospitality taking over.
She resolved to write to them as she made her way to her room.
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That evening, Hermione returned to her room for bed after another cordial dinner with Narcissa, and only Narcissa.
Hermione loved spending time with Narcissa, but their dinners were full of superficial conversation and pleasantries. They had yet to have another conversation like their first one at St. Mungo’s. Narcissa seemed to be treading carefully as though the balloon of comfort at the manor might pop. She was always in very high spirits and as gracious as ever, avoiding any unpleasant topics, especially around Draco. She seemed to be holding her breath, waiting for him to disappear.
Hermione settled on the chaise in her room, stroking Crookshanks and letting out a heavy sigh of exhaustion. Her eyes settled on the door that stood between her and Draco’s room, wondering if he was in there.
Without thinking, she stood abruptly, startling a purring Crookshanks. She made her way to the door in quick strides and raised her fist as if to knock.
She stood like that for a long moment, stuck in the in-between of decision.
Deciding to leave this limbo, she huffed, dropping her fist and made her way to the bath where she would try to wash away the frustration.
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Hermione startled out her sleep, jolting upright and breathing heavily. She had been having a nightmare, one that she had often.
Her breathing was rapid as she grasped the faint scar on her forearm. The faded scar brought her back to the present, reminding her of the amount time that had passed since receiving it.
Slowing her breathing, she gathered herself. She had yet to experience this dream at the manor, and, luckily, it wasn’t as jarring as she thought it would have been.
Remembering the distance between her present self and the relived memory wasn’t the only thing that calmed her. She found herself comforted by the books that lined her walls and the red sheets that she lay on, reminders of how thoughtful Narcissa and Mipsy were. She even smiled as the thought crossed her mind.
While she missed Theo and Harry, and she felt many stresses here, she still felt comforted and taken care of in Malfoy Manor. The irony wasn’t lost on her as she let out a soft chuckle, still caressing her forearm.
She lay back down, ready to return to sleep when she heard something. She sat up abruptly again, slowing her breathing to listen intently. She was sure she had heard something, but silence was resting heavy in her room.
Energized by the mystery at hand, she climbed out of bed and padded to her bedroom door. As quietly as she could, she slowly opened the door and paused, straining to hear anything. And, she did.
She heard music, piano music.
Shock and curiosity coursed through her, fighting for residency, as she quietly stepped down the grand staircase that led to the foyer.
The music was gaining more claim on her ears the closer she got, its volume increasing with her proximity. The haunting and melodic sound had so much soul that she was certain a dementor could feast on it’s tune.
As she continued descending the staircase, a beautiful view came into her line of sight. Draco, in all of his regality, was sat at the grand piano, playing.
He was shirtless, donning only his muggle-looking joggers, bare feet exposed. His eyes were closed and his face expressionless, his body relaxed and swaying into the keys that he was rapidly pressing. It looked as though he were lost in the song, the music overtaking him as he gave it everything he had to offer.
Hermione sat on the second-to-last stair and leaned against the baluster next to her. She took in the beauty of the image in front of her. She had yet to see him look so unburdened. It was as if he were pressing all of his disconcertment into the keys of the piano, turning the darkness within him into something beautiful as the sound flowed around him.
She reached up to her cheek to find tears sliding down to meet her finger tips. It struck her how heartbreakingly beautiful this moment was. Even at Hogwarts, even the first moment she laid eyes on first-year Draco, she had never seen him look as peaceful as he did right now in front of the piano. The contrast solidified the way she visualized his difficult life, his heavy life filled with sorrow that he carried everywhere, weighing him down.
She felt privileged to take in this beautiful image of him, an image that would forever remain with her. And, while she knew she was intruding, she couldn’t look away for he was magnificent.
So, she sat there, clad in her pajamas, leaning on the stairs, with damp cheeks and stars in her eyes as she took in the rare view.
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Hermione awoke to a peculiar feeling. She opened her sleepy eyes to find Draco. A brief moment of incredulity settled on her as she came to the realization that he was holding her. His bare arms looped under her waist and equally bare legs.
She must have fallen asleep on the stairs, because he was carrying her softly towards her bedroom. His arms radiated warmth as they wrapped around her, his bare chest was welcoming her as the comfort of it filled her with both physical and emotional contentment. She had an overwhelming desire for more of him, and, in a bold move, she took more.
Looking up at him, she lifted her hand, wrapping it around the back of his neck and nestled her face into the space just below his jaw. He immediately stiffened and slowed his walking.
“Thank you,” she whispered into his ear.
Standing outside of her door, he stood still for a few moments, suspended in wait for her next move. Hermione briefly wondered if he was going to put her down here, but she didn’t want him to. For whatever reason, she needed him close and in her sleepy haze she wasn’t denying herself that. She kept her face nestled in his neck and hand in the hair at the nape of his neck.
Draco cleared his throat. “Of course,” he whispered back, his voice husky.
He began moving and opened her door, entering her room. He made his way to her bed and gently lowered her onto the already pulled back sheets that she had left in disarray.
As he began to sit up, she placed her hand on his cheek, her thumb slowly going back and forth over the high point of his cheek bone. This was the only point of physical contact that remained between them, and it still sent warmth through her whole body, fueling her every move as she needed more of him. She would later try to explain this warmth, in her denial many romantic cliches would be tossed around. This warmth fed her in a way that breathed life back into her, life that she wasn’t sure how long she had been missing, and life that she would never be able to go on without again.
He was returning her stare, his eyes alight with an intensity that matched the one she felt within her. She knew she should read the warmth from him as fire, because deep down, logically, she knew she was playing with fire. A fire that could consume her, but, at the moment, she didn’t care.
“Will you stay with me?” Hermione’s voice was barely above a whisper that she could hardly recognize it in this moment, carrying an emotion she wasn’t used to hearing in herself.
He stared back at her for a long moment, never breaking eye contact. His hand raised slowly, catching her cheek as he returned the touch she was still giving him. She leaned into it, closing her eyes. When she opened them, his face had softened a bit, looking more like the Draco who was sat at the piano downstairs.
In lieu of a response, he climbed into bed next to her, gathering her in his arms. It was with great surprise that she felt nothing but contentment in this moment, her face pressed against his chest. Any nerves that she felt around him earlier in the day melted away as she allowed herself to enjoy him without overthinking. She knew she would overthink it later, but, for now, she would enjoy this serenity.