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Chapter Text

Hermione

Hermione ducked under the awning of a small shop as the rain began to fall harder.

“Blast,” she whispered to herself as she stared at her destination on the other side of Diagon Alley.  She avoided the eyes of a few men who were looking at her curiously, no doubt wondering why a witch like herself was out wandering alone.

The wooden sign for The Brown & Patil Agency was being soaked through on the other side of the street, but there was nothing for it.  Hermione had to get inside, as dry and presentable as possible.

It wasn’t really the done thing for a lady to perform magic in public, but Hermione was more practical than polite.  She pulled out her wand and muttered a quick impervious spell over her head before she slipped her wand back into her small beaded reticule.   Then she pulled out the advertisement to confirm she had the right place and nodded to herself.  

She crossed the cobblestoned street quickly, ignoring a few calls from wizards who were obviously not gentlemen.  She breathed a sigh of relief as she opened the agency’s door and a bell tinkled inside.

“One moment!” called a voice from the back.

Hermione lowered herself into a nearby chair as she tried not to bite her lip with nerves.  She desperately needed this to go well or else she might have to seek employment in the muggle world instead.  Hermione knew she could do it if she had to, but she had no deep connections there any longer, and starting over felt insurmountable.

I won’t have to do that.  I’ll be able to get this post.  Just stay calm and confident, while also showing them how demure you can be.

“May I help you?” came a light voice, and Hermione looked up to see a blonde woman wearing a maroon dress.  The dress was very conservative, but Hermione’s practiced eye roved over the well-cut silhouette and the fine silk.  It was obvious that this woman knew what was expected of her station and dressed accordingly; but she was also very successful in her chosen profession to afford a dress this fine.

Hermione’s esteem rose ever so slightly, and she hoped the woman would see something similar in Hermione’s own person.

“Good afternoon,” said Hermione, as she rose.  “My name is Hermione Granger.  I have come to respond to an advertisement that was in The Quibbler for a governess.  The advertisement directed me to apply here for the post.”

The woman nodded smartly and reached out for the advertisement Hermione had torn out of her previous employer’s magazine, just as she was leaving the premises for the final time.

Hermione handed it over, having already memorized it by heart.

The D. of W. is seeking a governess for two witches, aged 7 and 17.  Must be versed in theoretical and practical magical arts, etiquette, and deportment consistent with witches of a particular class.  Serious inquiries only at The Brown & Patil Agency, Diagon Alley.  Rates are negotiable based on references and experience.

“Ah yes,” said the witch.  “Come this way, please, and we can conduct an interview.”

Hermione took a steadied breath and made her way through the door to a small office, where the witch lowered herself on one side of the desk and invited Hermione to sit on the other side.

“Now then, please let me introduce myself.  My name is Miss Lavender Brown.  I am one of the owners of this establishment.”

Hermione straightened up, very impressed.  Miss Brown appeared to be approximately the same age as Hermione, and it was clear she had already made a name for herself in her chosen profession.

“As you may know, we place staff, governesses, and companions in some of the most esteemed households in wizarding Britain.  We have exacting standards, and our clients trust us to separate the crups from the dogs before they ever cross the threshold.”

Hermione swallowed hard, unsure if she was supposed to be a ‘crup’ or a ‘dog’ in Miss Brown’s analogy, but unwilling to question her when it became clear that she would have the final say on Hermione’s future prospects.

“I understand,” said Hermione in her most conciliatory tone.

Miss Brown gave her a smile.  “Very good.  In that case, perhaps you have an application letter I could review, along with references?  I’m afraid we have already turned away six applicants for the post in question.”

Hermione tried not to show her shock.  The advertisement was brand new, published just two days earlier.  Hermione had selected it solely due to necessity and the negotiable rate of pay.  She didn’t know precisely who the D. of W. was nor anything about the girls she was to teach, but evidently the post was an exclusive one if the agency had already rejected six other witches for it.

Exacting standards indeed.

Hermione tried not to let her nerves show.  She simply inclined her head and pulled out her application letter, which included her O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. scores, along with several references.

Miss Brown placed a pair of spectacles on her nose and peered down at the letter, her eyebrows raising when she saw Hermione’s scores.

“Near-perfect O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s… and in far more subjects than we typically see.  You must have had tutoring then?  Most witches only seek O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s in one or two subjects, if any.  I’m sure you know it’s far less common for witches than wizards.”

“I did have extensive tutoring,” said Hermione immediately.  “I was a ward in a genteel household from the age of five, and I had the best education galleons could buy for a witch.”

Miss Brown glanced at her curiously, the unsaid questioning hanging in the air.

Then what happened?

Hermione didn’t answer it, but her mind was pulled to that horrible day when Lily and James Potter were both murdered. 

Hermione had been a ward of the Potters, having been discovered doing accidental magic as a young child in the neighboring muggle village near Godric’s Hallow.  Most muggleborns were eventually found and sent to basic schools that did little more than teach them household magic to enter service one day.  But a few — like Hermione — experienced a more robust education when they were discovered very young or when their muggle parents had enough influence and coin to learn why their children were making toys float in the air.

Lily Potter, who was muggleborn herself, had seen Hermione throw a tantrum on the street and shatter a nearby window in her rage.  Lily had assisted with the clean-up and had taken an interest in Hermione from that moment on.  Hermione’s parents eventually turned over guardianship to the Potters with some relief because it was not the first time she had destroyed property with her magic.

Her parents understood that their daughter’s abilities required training that was beyond them.

Hermione grew up with an adopted brother ten months her junior, and he had been her closest companion during their childhood.  Hermione still saw her muggle parents now and then, but they had become a bit distant over time as Hermione immersed herself in the magical world and became increasingly less muggle with each passing year.

The day the Potters died, Hermione had been in the schoolroom at their manor in the outskirts of Godric’s Hollow revising for her N.E.W.T.s, when she heard Harry shouting from the entry hall.  Of course she had immediately run to his aid, but by the time she arrived, all three Potters were bleeding out.  Hermione watched as a flash of green light took Lily Potter, which was a small mercy considering her injuries.  Before Hermione had a chance to scream and alert the perpetrator to her presence, he was gone in a whirl of apparition, the wards broken.  Hermione had been absolutely frantic when she realized that both Potters were dead and Harry nearly so.  She had managed to save Harry’s life, but after that day nothing had been the same.  The Potters had left behind a mountain of paperwork that showed James Potter had been using the family’s gold to buy influence at the Wizengamot in an effort to bring forth legislation that would end much of the discrimination against muggleborns like Lily and Hermione.  Harry eventually concluded that all the money James had spent to do this was perfectly legal, but it was also a very expensive project.  The moment James Potter died it lost momentum. By the time Hermione and Harry had both completed their N.E.W.T.s it became clear that Harry could not maintain such a large estate on the gold that was left, and he was forced to sell his childhood home.

After Harry sold the manor he bought a small cottage in Godric’s Hollow proper with the proceeds.  He then set aside enough gold to buy himself a commission with the aurors so that he could track down the people who had destroyed his family.  The Ministry investigation right after their deaths had led nowhere, and Harry swore that he would not rest until their murderers had been brought to justice.

Hermione knew she was welcome to live with Harry for as long as she wished, but she felt guilty for taking advantage of his largess, even though Harry had never once begrudged her any reasonable expense.  And given that her real parents could not afford to support Hermione in the magical world either, Hermione had set out on her own to create a comfortable, if modest, living for herself.

Hermione had dreams of working for herself one day, perhaps by opening a bookshop.  Harry was in favor of her plan, but it required money neither she nor Harry had at the moment.  And seeing as how her last employer failed to pay Hermione’s quarterly wages on her way out the door, Hermione suddenly found herself with a much tighter budget than usual and very unwilling to give Miss Brown a single reason to deny her application.

Miss Brown studied Hermione’s face for a moment longer to see if she would elaborate upon her family’s financial circumstances.  When Hermione remained silent, Miss Brown’s expression seemed to clear.

“Your circumspection is a credit to you,” she commented.  

Hermione relaxed ever so slightly, feeling as though she had just passed some sort of test.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

Miss Brown inclined her head and began to review her references, which made Hermione tense again.

“Rather impressive,” she said to herself.  “I see you’ve worked at the Godric’s Hollow Village School and as a governess to Miss Susan Bones and Miss Angelina Johnson, both of whom you tutored through N.E.W.T.s.  They seem to have scored very well themselves…”

Hermione inclined her head.

“However…” and here Miss Brown trailed off and frowned.  “There appears to be a gap in your employment for the past year or so?”

She looked at Hermione shrewdly, and Hermione forced her face to stay passive.

Hermione absolutely would not tell Miss Brown that she had been terminated without reference from her previous employer, and that’s why she had a gap in her references.

“I’m afraid I was in mourning,” she said, as she tried to draw upon her grief for the Potters and give an elegant sniff.  “It was my uncle, you see.  I was his ward, and he was as close to me as my own father who passed when I was very young.  After my uncle died, I used my savings to honor his memory by observing a year of mourning.  I transitioned into half-mourning several months ago and was only recently prepared to seek employment again.  He devoted himself to my education, and that included instilling in me a sense of propriety and tradition.”

Miss Brown eyed the grey dress Hermione had intentionally selected for this lie.  The dress was actually a sky blue, but Hermione was rather talented with charms, and the moment she entered service she quickly learned that certain household and fashion spells were not as frivolous as she once thought.

Indeed, Hermione had turned the fabric a very convincing gray, and she didn’t think that even Miss Brown’s trained eye would be able to tell that it was charmed and not dyed.

Sure enough, Miss Brown’s face softened with sympathy.  

“My condolences on your loss, Miss Granger.  I can certainly understand why you have been out of employment for the past year, and I am confident my client would view your attention to tradition and duty as a very positive characteristic.”

Hermione smiled gratefully, relieved that they had moved past the first big hurdle.  She braced herself for the next, which was her blood status.  Hermione was not ashamed to be muggleborn, but she knew that many would hold it against her.  She and Harry claimed to be related to one another when it suited them — such as in the village of Godric’s Hollow, which enabled Hermione to live with Harry unchaperoned and without scandal when she was in between posts.  They were both very good about keeping their so-called ‘family connection’ intentionally vague, only leaning on it when needed.  It meant that most of Godric’s Hollow believed them to be siblings, and it was an assumption she and Harry had never bothered to correct.  She certainly had ample experience answering to the moniker of ‘Miss Potter.’

Hermione knew the Potter name was an old one, but their politics did not always endear her to employers.  And her true surname was rather close to that of an old pureblood family who had died out when Hermione was just a child.  Most witches and wizards had never heard her real surname until she was seeking employment.  And those who did simply assumed Hermione was the last of the Dagworth-Grangers.  She usually let them believe it as there was nobody left in that family to contradict it.

Hermione certainly didn’t like hiding her parentage or even her true relationship with Harry, but she was, above all, a very practical witch.  Besides, women in her position often disappeared into a household after the initial interview.  Very few employers sought to dig below the surface once she was hired.  In fact, in her entire career, only one ever had, and that employer was the reason Hermione found herself sitting in this office trying to find a new post.  Most of the time, however, Hermione was rather anonymous, and it enabled her to rebel in more subtle ways, such as through the books she assigned to her students. 

With that single exception, her employers had never caught on to Hermione’s true nature or interests, let alone her family history.

Hermione tensed as she waited for the question about blood to come, but to her utter shock Miss Brown did not ask.  Maybe she thought a muggle birth was too outlandish, given Hermione’s impressive O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s.  Miss Brown surely considered herself to be an excellent judge of character, and questions of blood were certainly uncouth.

Whatever the reason, Hermione found herself fully relaxing for the first time since she had walked in, once Miss Brown moved on to more perfunctory questions.

Thirty minutes later, Hermione was still speaking to Miss Brown, who finally sat back and gave Hermione an assessing look.

“Well I must say I think this can work, Miss Granger.  And now I should ask: do you have any questions about the post?”

Hermione straightened up, eager to learn more now that she had been judged suitable.

“I have several, actually, but perhaps you can tell me the things you feel are most relevant?  I’m sure you will answer some of my questions that way.”

Miss Brown smiled agreeably.

“Very well.  As you may have surmised based on the ages of your charges, the position is in the household of the Duke of Wiltshire.”

Hermione froze at the name and struggled to keep her face passive.  The Duke of Wiltshire was a Malfoy, Hermione was almost certain of it.  She had worked for members of Society before, but never for anybody who moved in circles that exclusive.  The only exception to this, of course, had been Harry’s former godfather Sirius Black, who had been an earl before his death, though a very reluctant one.  Hermione knew that Sirius descended from the same families as the Malfoys, but relations between them had always been hostile.  Sirius then died without an heir, and Hermione wasn’t sure what happened to his title and estate.  The gold and property Sirius had promised to Harry and Hermione had certainly never materialized after his death, and Harry had always believed the Malfoys or perhaps the Lestranges had something to do with it, though she knew he had never found proof.  The goblins and the Ministry had simply denied Harry without further explanation when he approached both, seeking the things Sirius had said would be their inheritance.

What would Harry say?

No doubt he would warn her off.  Sirius Black had never had a kind word for his distant cousins, and Harry had internalized that dislike even more than Hermione had.  Hermione knew that Sirius censored his stories about Lucius Malfoy when Hermione was in earshot — gentlemen always did — so there was more to the story of their mutual dislike than some poorly conceived pranks and insults when they were at Hogwarts together.  

Then again, Harry told her a few years ago that Lucius Malfoy was gone.  She couldn’t remember precisely when she heard the news, but she was quite certain that he was now dead.  That meant the current Duke of Wiltshire was presumably his son, whom Hermione knew nothing about.  The papers and scandal sheets which Hermione consumed with more enthusiasm than was strictly proper were surprisingly quiet about him.  It was only the very rare appearance at the occasional ball that ever prompted them to put his name in print, and even then there was very little to report.  She had no idea if he followed in his father’s footsteps and continued the feud with the Blacks once he assumed control of the estate.  In fact, Sirius may have already been dead by the time the current duke rose to his position.  Hermione couldn’t be certain about the timing.

I’ll point this out to Harry.  Besides, the Duke of Wiltshire will know me as Hermione Granger, if he ever notices me at all.  He would have no reason to pay any attention to me in the first place, and if he does then he won’t know of my relationship with the Potters or the Blacks.  I need this post more than I need Harry’s approval.

That was the crux of it.  A post in the household of any duke was sure to give Hermione a kind of professional polish she could never hope to achieve anywhere else, provided she obtained a reference before leaving.  It would allow her to have her pick of households for future employment once it was over.  She might be able to work with Miss Brown again to secure a different position, and that meant her blood status would not be questioned going forward. Perhaps it would even pay well enough or last long enough that her dreams of opening her own bookshop would be realized by the time she left.

“I did wonder…” said Hermione carefully, hoping her shock about the duke’s identity and internal conflict did not show on her face.

Miss Brown smiled.

“Yes, you guessed correctly.  As I’m sure you are aware, His Grace has a young sister and once had two wards who are about ten years older than she is.  The eldest ward secured her match in the last Season, but the younger is still in his household and requires preparation for her N.EW.T.s.”

Hermione straightened up.  “So I would be tutoring both?”

Miss Brown nodded.  “Yes, and candidly that’s been the issue with the other applicants.  His Grace is seeking a governess who is equipped to educate both a seven-year-old and a seventeen-year-old on the brink of her N.E.W.T.s.  The other governesses we have interviewed have been suitable for one or the other, but not both.”

Hermione knew she was qualified to teach both and had the experience to back it up.  Still, the arrangement struck her as odd.

“I certainly have no qualms about teaching both levels.  But is that not unusual?  Surely His Grace would prefer each young lady to have her own, dedicated staff, including her own governess?”

Miss Brown hid a smile.  “Normally you would be correct, and I’ll admit I must dance on the edge of my own confidentiality agreement with His Grace to tell you this… but I think it must be said.”

Miss Brown fell silent for a moment, as though trying to determine how she should phrase the next thing she wished to say.

She’s under a vow of silence.

Hermione nearly jolted in her seat at this realization, but that had to be the case.  Evidently Miss Brown’s discretion was not just good business sense, but was being magically compelled in this instance.  

“As you may be aware,” she said carefully, “His Grace’s household has been entirely above scandal during the years in which His Grace has controlled the estate.  There are reasons for this, one of which is that he does not tolerate public gossip, not even from his servants.  He has taken some unusual steps to ensure loyalty among his staff, and that includes keeping the total number of persons employed within his household smaller than would be typical for an estate of its size.  However, he commands excellence from those whom he employs, so he has never been inclined to increase the number of footmen, for instance, just for the sake of having more.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes, but nodded slowly. 

“And the governess position?” she prompted.

“There has only ever been one governess,” admitted Miss Brown.  “Before His Grace’s eldest ward secured her marriage, she and her younger sister shared a governess because they are very close in age.  That governess was replaced every few years as the young ladies’ educations required it.  With the eldest out of the household now, His Grace prefers the governess position to be shared between his ward who is still under his roof and his younger sister, now that she is old enough to require one.  Given their ages, his sister will need a governess for some years to come, but the elder will not need one once her N.E.W.T.s are complete and she is out in Society.  He sees no reason to employ two different people for this, especially when one of them would have their duties vanish in the next few months.  It does, however, necessitate finding a young woman like yourself who is able to be more…. flexible in the short term than those who have been placed in his household in the past.”

“I see,” said Hermione.  “No doubt His Grace does not enjoy dealing with turnover in his staff.”

“Precisely,” said Miss Brown with some relief that Hermione understood so quickly.  “Their previous governess left when his eldest ward married.  I understand she was sickly, and she did not prefer to teach young children in any event.  But as you said, His Grace does not care for turnover unless it is absolutely necessary, and he is hoping to find a governess who is prepared to teach his sister the full curriculum she will be needing over the course of many years.  He views the current situation as a perfect opportunity to test the next governess’s abilities for the long term, since one of the young ladies needs advanced tutoring and the other does not.  He does, however, recognize that this is an unconventional arrangement, and he is prepared to compensate for it accordingly.”

Hermione did not allow her expression to change, but nodded her head encouragingly.  Talk of money was quite gauche, she knew, but it was a reality of the circumstances in which she presently found herself.  She hoped Miss Brown would simply give her that information without the need to ask for it directly.

“As it stands, His Grace will be offering five galleons per week in wages, which are meant to compensate for the work required for his sister.  For his ward, he is prepared to offer one hundred galleons upfront, plus a ten galleon bonus for every N.E.W.T. she achieves with a score of ‘Acceptable’ or higher.  He feels that this is more than fair given that the work for her will be short-lived and should be completed in the next few months.  He also said that if he has a need for the governess to perform any other duties for his ward after her N.E.W.T.s are complete, then he is prepared to separately compensate for those duties as well, but that is something that will need to be addressed when the time comes.  Of course, your room and board will also be provided for the duration of your employment, as is customary, and he will provide an allowance of twenty-five galleons per year for clothing and other personal items befitting your station.”

It took every ounce of training that Hermione possessed not to gape when she heard the terms.

Her previous post had been rather generous at one galleon per week, though of course her last quarter’s wages were never paid, and she was required to tutor a pair of teenaged twins who were unruly at their best and positively vicious at their worst.  This was five times the rate of pay for a seven-year-old, plus an additional amount in the near-term for the elder girl who needed tutoring for her N.E.W.T.s.  The performance bonus and annual stipend for clothing and personal effects were also not customary in her line of work.  With that stipend and her room and board covered, she would not need to spend her wages on anything, and Hermione rather quickly calculated just how much she could save by working there for a full year or even two or three.

It was similar to what Harry earned with the aurors, and it would be enough to make her dreams of owning a bookshop come true years earlier than they otherwise would.  Only those lucky women like Miss Brown who managed to run their own businesses earned wages that the Duke of Wiltshire was prepared to offer, and only then if they were very successful.  It wasn’t just more than fair, it was overly generous.

“I see,” she said.

“Does that sound suitable?  Do you have any other questions?” asked Miss Brown.

“Very suitable,” said Hermione quickly.  “I assume wages are paid quarterly?”

Miss Brown nodded.  “Yes, your weekly wages are paid quarterly in arrears.  The one hundred galleon bonus, however, will be paid on the day of your arrival as a show of good faith, and the bonus for the N.E.W.T.s will be paid the day results are released.  All of the staff receive a clothing allowance, and as I understand it he has tailors and seamstresses and modistes come to the estate just after the holidays to prepare for the Season and provide clothing for the next year.  Your access to the allowance will occur at the same time as the rest of the staff.”

Hermione knew the wizarding Season tended to align with the muggle one.  As much as the wizarding elite liked to eschew the muggles, she knew that many of them carried muggle titles.  Some titles had been eliminated from muggle records after the Statute of Secrecy went into place, but certainly not all.  And for that reason there was a small, but significant, number of wizards who attended sessions of both the Wizengamot and Parliament.  The social seasons, therefore, overlapped as well and typically picked up in earnest sometime during the spring.

Miss Brown eyed her gray gown again.

“In fact, the timing of that should work rather well for you.  I assume you will be prepared to move past half-mourning at that point, though I cannot imagine that His Grace would object to another year of it if that is your preference.  I am happy to owl ahead and inform him that you are in half-mourning so that he knows what to expect.”

Hermione really wanted to tell Miss Brown not to bother, but she couldn’t come up with an elegant way to say it.  She had told the lie and now had to live it, but she assured herself that another few months of clothing charmed gray and lavender would be worth securing this post.

It’s October.  I can hang on until Christmas.

It would be a rather dull autumn for her wardrobe, but it had never been terribly bold in any event.  She learned very quickly that governesses were expected to be staid, modest, and plain.  Most of her dresses reflected it.

“Thank you,” said Hermione demurely.  “I would appreciate your letting him know, and I agree the new wardrobe will come at the perfect time.”

Miss Brown now rose so Hermione did too.

“Excellent.  Then may I presume that you’re willing to accept the position?”

“I am,” said Hermione, who extended a hand to shake.  “I look forward to starting at His Grace’s earliest convenience.”

Miss Brown smiled.

“I will owl you details as soon as I confirm that he is satisfied with my recommendation. I expect you will hear from me within a fortnight.  If you think of any other questions in the meantime, please reach out.”

Hermione smiled broadly and left her direction with Miss Brown before slipping out of the agency.  She had news to break to Harry.  She knew he wouldn’t like it, but she didn’t care.  

This was her future, and something told her that this position would change everything.

******

Draco

“Your Grace, you’ve received an owl,” came a familiar voice.

“Leave it,” said Draco shortly.  He was looking out of the window of his upper study, as was his habit this time of day.  He felt a twinge of guilt for his tone, but he quickly pushed it away.  His mind was heavy as he observed the thing he had been fearing for months now.  

There was no longer any question about it: the estate was dying, and the magic was turning inward to destroy the Malfoy legacy.  It had taken years, but the last vestiges of life in the gardens were finally becoming affected – the places he had always believed the polluted magic would never touch.  His mother’s passing had started it, and his father’s passing had accelerated it.  Now Draco thought that he must have contributed to it as well because he had waited too long to do his duty. 

He certainly had not discovered any other explanation for it after several months of searching, and it was the last thing he could think of.

He was resigning himself to the steps it would take to find a wife.  It would be no great matter, but it was rather inconvenient.  The Season was always quite busy for him, as he had to make appearances in both the Wizengamot and the House of Lords.  He had little time for balls and other social nonsense, but this year he would have no choice.

It would be expected for him to find a wife out of the crop of young ladies in their first Season.  They would be sheltered and gently bred, fresh-faced and untarnished.  Draco found it all rather distasteful, as he knew the young ladies on the Marriage Mart this upcoming Season would be near the same age as his own ward.  He would have nothing at all in common with them, and he would not be able to see them as anything but children.  He knew most of the men in his position found it palatable or even desirable, but he certainly did not.  Perhaps he could find a hidden gem who was a touch older and had simply been overlooked during her first Season or two…  But that would require him to spend actual time combing ballrooms for such a treasure.

No, it would be better to follow convention.  The needs of the estate came before his own personal feelings about it.  He had known that since he was in leading strings.

His eyes fell on the decay that had encroached upon the section of the rose garden that he had been sure would always remain untouched.  It had been the place his mother spent most of her free time, but whatever she had done to twist the Malfoy magic to her will had slowly poisoned everything after her death, including her most cherished corner of the gardens.

Draco’s mouth tightened.  He had no choice, then.  He had found no alternative solutions, and continuing the bloodline was the last thing he could think of before it was all dead and the magic of Malfoy Manor failed at last.

He turned from the window, and his eyes landed on the letter his butler had just delivered.  He raised an eyebrow to see that it was from The Brown & Patil Agency.  He knew this must be about that blasted governess position.  

Draco loathed turnover in his staff, but he had had no choice with the string of governesses for his elder two wards over the last several years.  All of them had shortcomings of one sort or another.  Some worked well with young children but not older ones, so their shine wore off as the girls aged.  Others had overstated their qualifications.  One had found a beau in the village and left of her own accord.  And before Draco’s father died, there had even been one…

No.  Best not think of that one.

Draco and Lucius before him had never found a governess who was perfect, so now that he was forced to search for one yet again he engaged the most exclusive employment agency in London in the hopes that they would find a suitable match for his household.  He thought their letter rather premature, as the advertisement had only appeared in The Quibbler a couple of days earlier, but perhaps he had gotten lucky for once.

He sighed as he tapped his wand to the parchment, and it unfolded in midair as he began to read.

Your Grace,

Since the advertisement we placed in The Quibbler was published, we have received no less than seven applicants for your post.  We are aware that you are seeking a governess of truly extraordinary ability, along with a willingness to be flexible in the short term and, it goes without saying, one who is entirely above reproach.

The first six applicants to visit our offices were not suitable for any number of reasons, but I feel the seventh may be ideal for the type of witch you are seeking.  I have enclosed a copy of her O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. scores, which you will see are far above what is average, even for those who were educated at Hogwarts.  She has prepared two other young ladies for their N.E.W.T.s – a Miss Susan Bones and Miss Angelina Johnson – both of whom achieved exceptional scores themselves under her tutelage.  Furthermore, she has experience teaching children in a wide range of ages at the Godric’s Hollow Village School, and she spoke with fondness of her time there.

I’ll finish this letter by noting that she has spent the last year or more in mourning for her late uncle.  She said that he prioritized her education, and that included instruction on matters of propriety and tradition.  She said that honoring him by observing a mourning period felt like the least she could do.  I am under the impression that she spent her savings from her previous posts cloistered during mourning and has now emerged due to financial necessity.  She appeared in half-mourning during our interview, and I would expect her to stay in half-mourning through the end of the year.

While the search did not take as long as we anticipated, I would highly recommend selecting Miss Granger for the post.  As you know, Miss Patil and I have been in this business for several years, and we can assure you that a candidate of her caliber is exceedingly rare.

Please let me know if she is satisfactory, and if so I will be happy to owl her on your behalf.

I am, with the highest regards,

Miss Lavender Brown

Founder, The Brown & Patil Agency

Draco slipped the enclosed O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. scores out from the back, and his eyebrows flew up in disbelief.

She had achieved twelve O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s in every subject the examiners offered.  She obtained O’s across the board, except for a single E in her Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.  Her N.E.W.T.s were perfect, however, and she even had a note of distinction attached to the magical transcript she had submitted.

Draco furrowed his brow when he read Recipient of the Albus Dumbledore Award for the highest N.E.W.T. score of the year.

It was absolutely unheard of.  That award always went to a Hogwarts student, or so he thought.  Draco had narrowly missed winning it during his own year – it had been awarded to his close friend and academic rival Theodore Nott instead.

But could Miss Granger have received it too?

If her scores were legitimate, Draco knew that the answer was ‘yes.’  Draco himself had sat for nine N.E.W.T.s.  Theo had managed to sit for ten, and it was the reason he had barely edged out Draco.  To select the recipient of the award, the committee granted one point for each level achieved for each N.E.W.T.  Students always made a calculated decision between taking more subjects and risking lower scores or fewer subjects in which they thought they could achieve higher scores in order to boost their total points awarded.

Miss Granger, it appeared, had achieved the highest score possible, which to Draco’s knowledge had not happened since Albus Dumbledore himself.  She had taken all twelve N.E.W.T. subjects and earned an O in each one of them. 

Had she forged this transcript?

It seemed nearly impossible to think that a witch who had not attended Hogwarts – for no witches attended Hogwarts – had scored this well.  And yet, he recalled a rumor from several years ago that the award had not gone to a Hogwarts student due to some scoring anomaly.  It had been a severe upset, and the examination committee had tried to hush it up when they learned that somebody who did not attend Hogwarts had achieved the highest score.  Draco had found it mildly intriguing at the time, but then the rumors died down, and he forgot all about it.  He assumed that the winner had simply been from one of the rival schools that educated the working class.

But perhaps it had been a witch – this witch, who was now applying to work in his household.  He knew the examination committee used enchantments to ensure the authenticity of their transcripts.  A forgery would be very difficult, though perhaps not impossible.

Draco decided he would write to his old headmaster and confirm Miss Granger’s scores before responding to Miss Brown.  Draco had never been terribly fond of Albus Dumbledore, but he would know the truth of it.  As Headmaster of Hogwarts, Dumbledore received copies of all student examinations and score transcripts, even those who did not attend his school.  It was, perhaps, a trifle unfair, but it ensured that Hogwarts always stayed on top.

Draco decided that if Dumbledore confirmed Miss Granger’s scores then Draco really had no choice but to hire her.  He would be derelict in his duty toward his sister and his ward if he turned down an applicant like Miss Granger without some other reason for it.

Nodding to himself, Draco pulled out a piece of parchment and quill, hoping that Dumbledore would deliver good news.  With any luck, Miss Granger would be the last governess Draco ever had to hire.

Chapter Text

Hermione

“Hermione, are you absolutely certain you want to do this?”

Hermione stood and swiped a strand of hair from her face.  Her curls had a tendency to become unruly during the best of times, and she had been sorting her things and packing all morning.  Her skin was a bit dewey from her efforts, and her hair was revolting in protest.

“I’ve told you a dozen times, I’m certain.”

She looked at the concerned face of her best friend, who was practically her brother.  He was leaning against her door jamb, chewing on his lip.  His dark hair was messier than usual, as though he had been running his fingers through it, and his bright green eyes were dim with anxiety.

“It’s just… there are rumors, you know.”

Hermione pursed her lips.  “You said yourself that you didn’t know him very well and could not corroborate anything.  He was several years above you at Hogwarts.”

“Yes, but I still heard things.  And he’s a Malfoy.  You know what Sirius always said.”

Hermione sighed.  “Harry, if the duke’s father was still alive, you know I would be more inclined to listen to those rumors.  I’ll not deny that Sirius’s stories about the late duke were very concerning.  But he’s dead, and the current duke has never been implicated in a single scandal.  You know this.  You checked with the aurors yourself.”

A muscle in Harry’s jaw tightened.  “I’ll not deny he hasn’t been in legal trouble.  But there are other kinds of trouble, Hermione.  How do we know the man’s not a cad?”

“We don’t,” she acknowledged.  “But I did as you asked and looked back at all the papers and scandal sheets I’ve saved over the last couple of years, and he’s hardly been mentioned.  And in any event, the risk of impropriety in his household is no different than any others for a witch in my position.  There is always the possibility that the men who live there will have a wandering eye and try to act on their baser instincts.  You know that’s why I made an intensive study of self-defense and carry my wand with me at all times.  I also ward my quarters at night.  I’m not a fool, Harry.”

Harry slumped.  “I know you’re no fool, Hermione.  Merlin, if Hogwarts would get its act together and admit witches, you could have run circles around all of us.”

Hermione couldn’t help but smile at this.  It was true she desperately wanted to attend Hogwarts, but it was an elite boarding school for boys.  While witches were allowed to take O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s just before the start of the Season each year, they were usually tutored at home or at finishing schools to preserve their reputations and so as to not distract the wizards in attendance.

Hermione privately thought that virtue was overrated and wizards should simply learn to cope, but nobody had asked her opinion of it.  The rules were the rules, and though Headmaster Dumbledore had appeared sympathetic to her plight when James Potter made a case for her attendance, he kindly insisted that there was nothing he could do to overrule the wishes of the Board of Governors on that matter.

Still, the fact that she and every other witch was banned from Hogwarts had proven to be quite motivating when it came time for her N.E.W.T.s.

Hermione glowed with pleasure every time she remembered winning the Dumbledore Award for her year.  It was especially impressive because the timing of the exams for witches fell earlier in the year than those for Hogwarts and the other schools for boys.  That meant Hermione had several months less preparation than the wizards in her year.

It was designed that way so young ladies could debut in the spring just after sitting for their exams  And as long as witches passed a few subjects they were considered perfectly accomplished and ready to wed.  Nobody ever expected a witch to actually win that award or to even care about it.

But Hermione had cared, so win she did, even with months’ less time to prepare.  

“Then trust me, Harry,” she said.  “I know everything about him that you know.  I will be on my guard, just like I always am.  But this opportunity is too good to miss, and you know it.  Besides, he’s a duke.  He is surely very busy, and I highly doubt he will spare me a second thought after he meets me.  I’m far more likely to court trouble from the other wizards on his staff than from him.”

Harry inclined his head in acknowledgment of this, before stepping forward and holding out his arms.

Hermione moved to them and allowed a hug.

“This is terribly improper you know,” she joked.

Harry just snorted.  “We live together when you’re between posts, and we aren’t related or married.  That is the thing that’s improper.  A hug hardly signifies.”

“True,” she acknowledged, “though none of the residents of Godric’s Hollow seem to realize just how scandalous we are.”

“Merlin knows how they’ve been so oblivious all these years,” agreed Harry with his usual disbelief.  “They all think we are siblings, but we look nothing alike.”

Hermione just grinned.  “Well it helps that your parents always treated me as their own the few times we visited the village as children.”

“It’s true,” Harry agreed.  “And if you need me to claim you as a Potter in front of Malfoy, I’m more than happy to do it.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.  “Don’t bother.  At some point you’ll need to step out into Society yourself and try to find a wife.  It would be terribly confusing if everybody thought you really did have a female relative, and she turned out to be the governess for the Duke of Wiltshire.  It might reflect poorly on you.  No, Harry.  If I need you, it will be the auror version of you that I require, not the brotherly one.”

Harry turned serious once more.  

“Promise me you’ll write regularly and keep me informed?  Even if it’s just a sentence or two to let me know you’re alright.”

“I promise.  Every three days at minimum, just like always.  If you don’t hear from me after three days, and I don’t tell you to expect a delay in advance, then come find me.”

Harry nodded firmly.

“And you’re sure you don’t want to take Hedwig?”

“Harry, you know how much I adore Hedwig, but it’s not necessary.  Miss Brown said that the estate keeps a small owlery, and there are a few owls for staff members to use when needed.  There is also a wizarding village nearby with a post office that I can use if that becomes necessary.  Besides, the quickest way to get on a housekeeper’s bad side is by putting on airs.  Staff almost never have their own familiars.  You know that.”

Harry huffed.  “Fine.  But if I don’t hear from you within a day of your arrival, I’m sending her to you, and there’s no use fighting me about it.”

Hermione gave a small smile.  “Fair enough.”

Harry nodded and stepped away, watching as Hermione closed her trunk with a snap.  

“Is that it then?” he asked.

“That’s it,” confirmed Hermione.  “Next stop: Malfoy Manor.”

******

Hermione landed with a CRACK! and found herself staring up at the gates of Malfoy Manor.  She looked around curiously, noting that the sky was oddly gray, with clouds swirling above.  It was considerably colder here than Godric’s Hollow, which she could not account for – after all, Godric’s Hollow was a full day’s ride north of this place by muggle coach.  And yet, it carried a chill that felt almost permanent.

She peered between the bars of the gate and noted the lawn looked dead.  This was also odd, even though it was October.  In fact, there were almost no colors to speak of, just gray upon gray – a gravel drive and then an enormous stone house, with dead plants that looked more gray than brown.

“What on earth?” she whispered to herself.

It was discomfiting, and she closed her eyes to feel the magic here.  It pulled at her, somewhere deep inside, and when she opened her eyes again the gates were opening for her.

She straightened up before glancing down to ensure the charms had held on her clothing.  An hour or two was nothing, but eventually the charm work always faded.  That was one reason why, despite the existence of magic, fine clothing was still a mark of wealth in the wizarding world.  

Satisfied that her gown matched the dullness of the manor in front of her for at least a little bit longer, she gripped her trunk and tugged it forward.  It had a featherlight charm on it, of course, but it was still a bit awkward.  She huffed and pulled out her wand to levitate it instead.  

She began to walk cautiously down the gravel path toward the large building in front of her, but then something caught her eye at her feet.

“Oh!” she declared, as she bent to pluck the yellow daffodil.  She lifted it and studied it, entirely bemused by its presence.

Daffodils bloomed in the spring, she knew.  They were some of the first flowers that pushed through the frost in Godric’s Hollow, heralding warmer days ahead.  They were a favorite of hers, and she could not fathom why this single bloom appeared on the edge of the lane.

Shrugging to herself, Hermione twirled the flower in her fingers for a moment before an uncharacteristic burst of whimsy caught her, and she snapped the stem to tuck the bloom in her hair.

It wasn’t entirely appropriate for half-mourning, but surely nobody would comment.   It was far too pretty to just let it die on the path.

Hermione raised her wand again, and the trunk floated ahead of her as she approached the large edifice.  She found her eyes roving over it, shuddering a little at its cold facade, and as she glanced in the upper left corner she noticed some drapes rustling.

Probably just a maid, she thought, though she kept her eye on that window until she approached the portico and could no longer see it.  She took a deep breath and raised the knocker, which echoed deep into the building in front of her.

It took several seconds before the door cracked open.  She found herself staring at a kindly-looking older man with shocking red hair.  He was in clean-pressed dress robes and pulled himself tall when he saw her.

“Good afternoon, Miss.  May I help you?”

“Hello,” she said, as she pulled Miss Brown’s confirmatory letter from a pocket in her dress and presented it.  “I’m Miss Hermione Granger.   His Grace has hired me as the new governess.  I was instructed to come to the front door, rather than through the staff entrance.”

The man’s eyes widened, and he stepped aside, motioning for her to enter.

She took a tentative step in and nearly gasped at the entry hall in which she found herself.  The floors and staircase were in marble, with a dark green paper on the walls.  Surrounding her were portraits of haughty-looking wizards, all of whom shared the same blonde hair and gray eyes.

They looked down at her and sneered as one.

Hermione swallowed, but forced herself to look away.

They aren’t alive, Hermione, don’t be ridiculous.

Though she had lived in the magical world for most of her life, she had never grown accustomed to the moving portraits.  Her parents’ modest home had only a single portrait of her mother, and it was quite still.  While she knew that Harry found it disconcerting, Hermione much preferred it to those that could spy and sneer.

She took a few more tentative steps forward and then turned to the man who was watching her with an almost improper curiosity.

“I’m Mr. Weasley,” he said.  “I’m the butler here.”

Hermione relaxed into an easy smile and shook his proffered hand.

“It’s a delight to meet you, Mr. Weasley.”

“Allow me to call for my wife.  She’s the housekeeper and can show you to your quarters.”

Hermione blinked in surprise while the man pulled out a wand and muttered a spell.  Before she knew it, a brilliant patronus burst forth and went harrowing off through a set of doors on the far end of the entry hall.  She squinted at it and thought she recognized a weasel.

Mr. Weasley caught her watching, and he gave her a small smile.  Hermione struggled to find something polite to say.

“A beautiful piece of magic,” she commented.

“Mmmm,” agreed Mr. Weasley.  “Most of the senior staff communicate via patronus.  The estate is quite large, as you will find, and while the elves are very helpful at locating the humans within, we try not to pull them away from their duties too often.”

Hermione could not stop the look of distaste that crossed her face at this unwelcome news.

“Elves?” she inquired.

Mr. Weasley was staring at her with open curiosity now.  “Do you not care for elves?”

“Oh, it’s just… well, I’ve always found the terms of their enslavement to be a bit distasteful, that’s all.  I try very hard not to use them myself.”

Mr. Weasley gave her a passive look.  “That is all well and good in a smaller home.  Malfoy Manor is so large we would have no hope of maintaining it without their help.”

Hermione made an indistinct noise just as the doors burst open and a redheaded woman came bustling in.  She was dressed very well, with a large set of keys dangling from her waist and a keen air of authority about her.

The housekeeper.

“Good afternoon, I’m Molly Weasley, the housekeeper.  Arthur just sent me his patronus to let me know you’ve arrived.  Come this way, dear, and I’ll show you to your quarters.”

Hermione bid farewell to Mr. Weasley and followed Mrs. Weasley toward the double doors where she had just arrived.

“The young ladies’ bedrooms and the schoolroom are in a wing of their own on one of the upper floors,” explained Mrs. Weasley.  “You will become very familiar with that section of the Manor in due course.  But for now, let’s get you settled in.”

Hermione felt herself relaxing ever so slightly.  The housekeeper was clearly no-nonsense, but she did not appear to be terribly severe.  She was almost maternal in her fussing, and Hermione took an immediate liking to her.

It was a relief.  She had encountered housekeepers who were far less personable than the short, redheaded woman in front of her.

“How long have you and Mr. Weasley been married?” asked Hermione, as she followed Mrs. Weasley down a servants’ hall.

“For over thirty years,” she said.  “We’ve both been employed at Malfoy Manor since we were teens.”

Hermione found herself exceptionally curious, as this was unusual indeed.  Most of the time the housekeeper and the butler were unmarried, as their duties did not lend itself to a prosperous home life.  

“Do you have any children?” she asked.

“Seven!” declared Mrs. Weasley.  “And in fact, they are all on staff at the Manor now too.”

Hermione nearly tripped at this news.

“Seven?”

“Yes indeed,” chuckled Mrs. Weasley.  “I’m afraid the late duke was rather cross with me by the time the last one was born… but the duchess was very supportive.  She loaned one of the elves to me when the children when they were younger, and it made all the difference.  We have a family cottage on the estate that we call ‘the Burrow,’ where the children spent their childhoods, but these days most of us live in various staff quarters at the Manor, depending on our position.”

Mrs. Weasley was climbing some stairs now and huffing a little.  Hermione was following behind, more curious than ever.

“What do your children do for the estate?”

“Well there’s Bill, who is the eldest.  He is the Duke’s valet,” said Mrs. Weasley with obvious pride.  “I am certain he will be taking over for Arthur one day.  His wife is Fleur, and she is a lady’s maid.  Right now she helps the young ladies, but once the duke finally marries, then I’m sure she will be assigned to the new duchess.  She’s French, you know… most households try to pass off muggleborns as French ladies’ maids, but Fleur is the real thing.  She’s a wonder with hair and fashion charms.”

Hermione’s stomach lurched, and she glanced down at her gown, which was thankfully still gray.  She made a note to stay out of this Fleur’s way, at least until her half-mourning passed.

Mrs. Weasley had finally reached a door and retrieved a key from her waist.  

“Your quarters, dear,” she said, as she stepped back and let Hermione unlock the door.  Hermione stepped in to find a small and rather stuffy room with a window overlooking the drab gardens.  It contained a wardrobe, a small table for one with a single chair, and a rickety bed tucked against a wall with a dark green quilt.

“Will this suffice?” asked Mrs. Weasley.  “Your quarters are set away from the others, due to your station.”

Hermione reddened a bit at this reminder.  Technically, a governess was set above even the housekeeper in terms of social hierarchy, but she knew that in practice this was rarely the case.  A good housekeeper was valued far more than a governess, who was forever stuck between the gentry and staff.

“It’s lovely,” she lied.  

Mrs. Weasley beamed and gestured for Hermione to lower her trunk at the foot of her bed.

“I can spare a few minutes to help you unpack, dear,” she said.  “If you would like some company, that is?”

Hermione was struck by the generous offer, and she nodded eagerly.  

Mrs. Weasley gave her a knowing smile and began to help Hermione put away the few dresses she had brought with her, all of which, thankfully, were still gray and lavender.

“So tell me about your other children,” prodded Hermione.  “Bill is the valet, and Fleur is the ladies’ maid.”

“Oh yes,” said Mrs. Weasley.  “After Bill came Charlie.  He has a talent for magical creatures, so he’s the gamekeeper.  He usually keeps to himself and has his own small cottage on the estate, but you will see him now and then herding the peacocks and feeding the owls.”

“Peacocks?” asked Hermione curiously. 

Mrs. Weasley nodded. 

“Yes, the duke’s grandfather had an affinity for them, and now there are a dozen.  He also raised abraxans.  Charlie tends to them, as well as the thestrals in the nearby woods, and he’s even helping the duke raise a dragon.”

Hermione promptly dropped the dress she was holding.  

“Truly?  A dragon?”

Mrs. Weasley chuckled. 

“Yes, indeed.  Charlie is enamored with it, unfortunately.  He spends a great deal of time trying to train it, though I tell him his efforts are futile.  Between the dragon and the youngest miss… well, Charlie has almost no spare time.”

“What does the youngest miss require of a gamekeeper?” asked Hermione.

Mrs. Weasley smiled.  “Lady Lyra.  She swears she has seen unicorns at the edge of the forest.  The woods have been searched many times, but alas… there is not a unicorn in sight.  Still, that doesn’t stop her from sending Charlie into the forest to find them.”

Hermione found herself chuckling, as Mrs. Weasley winked in a way that told Hermione this Charlie Weasley had no qualms about humoring the youngest Malfoy.

“Charlie sounds very suited to his post.”

“He is,” confirmed Mrs. Weasley.  “And after him, we had Percy.  He is my scholar.”

Mrs. Weasley puffed up with pride, and Hermione herself was very intrigued.  “Oh?”

“Yes,” confirmed Mrs. Weasley.  “He showed a great aptitude for theoretical magic and numbers at a young age.  He was the only one of my children to attend Hogwarts, you know.  The former duke arranged it himself.  Percy and the current duke are quite close – you might even call them friends.  They are only a year apart in age, and my Percy is now the head steward.  He manages the household accounts and helps His Grace conduct business."  

Hermione’s eyebrows flew up.  She was quite impressed too.

“After Percy came the twins… Fred and George.  They send me around the bend, but they are quite an entertaining pair.  They perform the duties of footmen when they are needed, and they are always scheming about their next business venture when they are not.”

“Business?” asked Hermione.

“Oh it’s nothing,” Mrs. Weasley dismissed.  “Those two have big dreams and small pockets.  I don’t think anything will ever come of it, but they have secure positions here, so I do not allow myself to worry about them too much.”

Hermione nodded, though privately she was quite curious, given that she hoped to go into business for herself one day.

“Then my last boy… Ronald,” added Mrs. Weasley.  “He’s still finding his place, as he’s rather young… but as it stands, he often serves as coachman, and he’s a hobby flyer.  Occasionally he entertains Lady Lyra by letting her accompany him on his broomstick.  Of course, he flies quite low when she is with him.”

Hermione blinked in surprise, because as a rule most witches did not fly.  Then again, there were clearly any number of unconventional things happening at Malfoy Manor.

“So you have six boys,” said Hermione.

“I do,” said Mrs. Weasley.  “And my youngest child is a girl.  Ginevra, though she prefers Ginny.  She was a nursery maid to Lady Lyra, but now that you’re here, she’s going to be training to run the household.  She will take over for me one day.”

Hermione nodded.  “And the elves?”

“They fill in the gaps in our staff.  They cook, they clean, they keep an eye on Lady Lyra when other adults cannot.  That sort of thing.  They are indispensable.”

Hermione tried to hide her grimace once more as Mrs. Weasley rose and smoothed the creases in her gown.

“Now then, I’ll let you rest from your journey, but I’ll return in an hour or so to collect you.  You’ll want to see the schoolroom and meet the young ladies next.”

Hermione nodded and bid Mrs. Weasley farewell, as she thought about everything she had just learned about Mrs. Weasley’s large family.

It was different than Hermione had expected.  She had never heard of a family like theirs filling most of the primary roles on an estate.  It was surprisingly kind of the Malfoys to allow it, but Hermione also thought it worked in their favor.

She recalled what Miss Brown said about taking unusual steps to ensure loyalty.  Surely employing an entire family would do just that.  No doubt the Weasleys knew everything there was to know about the duke, but they would keep his secrets because they had been beholden to the Malfoys for their entire lives.

Even the French lady’s maid had married in.

Hermione shivered a little and looked around the drab room once more.  There was a door she had not explored while unpacking, so she opened it to find an even smaller room that contained a chamber pot, a chipped basin and pitcher on a stand, an old copper tub, and a small rack of extra linens for her bed and bath, along with a small basket of harsh-looking soap that made her shudder.  The tub appeared positively ancient, and it was more green than copper thanks to its age, but she had to admit that a private bath was unexpected.  At her previous posts she had been obliged to share a servants’ bath in a different section of the household whenever she needed a wash, and it had never been terribly convenient.

This room had no other door, which meant it was all hers, though it was still quite grim.  She sighed and pulled the door shut before moving to the thin mattress and lowering herself on it.  It creaked violently.  

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were both warm and kind, but this room felt like little more than a prison cell.  In fact, for all of its luxury in the public-facing rooms, the entire Manor projected a sort of austerity and odd kind of neglect that Hermione found very off-putting.

And the temperature indoors was unseasonably frigid.

She settled onto the cot and reached behind her to pluck the daffodil from her hair.  She settled back onto the thin pillow and twirled it in her fingers as she waited to meet the young witches she would be tutoring.

I’ll get used to the cold, she told herself.  It will be worth it in the end.

Hermione set the daffodil on her nightstand and allowed her eyes to close.  

She sank into the mattress, and the chill sank into her bones.

******

Draco

“Your Grace?  The governess has arrived.”

Draco hastily drew the curtains and turned to find Mrs. Weasley entering his private parlor.

Whereas her husband usually took a hint whenever Draco was feeling particularly sullen, Mrs. Weasley never did.  She was an exceptional housekeeper – there was little question about that – but she made it her business to insert herself whenever and wherever she saw fit.

Unfortunately, after the passing of his mother, Draco had never been able to find it in himself to bring her to heel.  She had been his nursery maid, after all, before she became the housekeeper.  Even with children of her own she had mothered Draco along with Narcissa, up until he left for Hogwarts at age eleven.  After Narcissa died, Mrs. Weasley enjoyed that privilege exclusively.  It meant she could take liberties with him that others could not, despite their vast differences in station.

“I’m aware,” he said.

Mrs. Weasley gave him a knowing look.  “Don’t tell me you were spying on the poor thing.  It’s not done.”

Draco grimaced.  “I wasn’t spying.  I was merely curious.  She’s different from the others we’ve had before.”

Mrs. Weasley nodded knowingly.  “Her scores, yes.  You did say that.”

This was not the reason Draco had been observing her arrival, but he grasped upon the explanation.

“Dumbledore confirmed that she did not fabricate them, though of course the matter was hushed up.  It was a stain on Hogwarts’ reputation when his own award did not go to one of their students that year.”

Mrs. Weasley gave an elegant sniff.  “Well perhaps she will suit for Percy, then.  I have little hope of Charlie ever loving anyone or anything as much as your magical creatures, Sir, but Percy is approaching the age when he should be looking for a wife.  A woman who is as studious as he is would be well-matched for him.”

Draco knew very well that Charley Weasley would never marry, though not for the reasons Mrs. Weasley presumed.  Still, he said nothing about this and just watched as she gave Draco a very stern look now.  He could read the subtext in her expression loud and clear.  Her comments had nothing to do with Charley or even Percy at all, he knew, but himself.

You should have settled the matter of your own marriage by now.

“Mmmm,” said Draco.  “You should tell Percy that he should meet her then.”

Mrs. Weasley gave an exasperated huff, but appeared to give up on her hints of marriage for the time being.  

“And you, Sir?  Do you wish to meet her as well?  She is resting in her chambers at the moment, but I can fetch her.  She’s not due to meet the young ladies for at least a half an hour.”

The offer was admittedly tempting, but Draco resisted it.  He had never met any of the other governesses in a formal way, and he had no good excuse to start now.  No doubt he would encounter her in the gardens eventually.  That was the place Draco had usually seen the other governesses who came and went.  

“No,” he said.  “There is no need.  Once she meets Lyra and Astoria, you may pay her the fee that was promised and leave her.  I’m sure she will have lesson planning to do.”

Mrs. Weasley gave him a slightly disapproving look, but even she would not defy a direct order.  She dropped a small curtsy and said, “Very well, Your Grace,” before sweeping out of the room and closing the door behind her.  

Draco pulled the curtain aside once more and stared down at the odd sight on the path.  If he hadn’t seen it happen with his own eyes he would never have believed it.  And now that the governess’s presence had been announced to him, he would have some peace to consider the extraordinary thing he had witnessed.

“Dobby,” he muttered.

The little elf popped into existence, already bowing low.

“Master,” he said.

“Dobby, please go to the lane and gather the flowers you see there.  Bring them all back to me, please.”

Dobby’s eyes widened, but he said nothing more as he winked out, and Draco saw him appear moments later along the path where the mysterious Miss Granger had just trod.  As Draco watched, the elf crouched down and ran an almost reverent finger along the yellow petals of the blooms that had appeared there after Miss Granger walked past.  After she placed the flower in her hair, several more flowers appeared at her feet as she walked toward the Manor.

She didn’t appear to notice, but Draco certainly did.

As he watched, the elf plucked the flowers and with a CRACK! appeared in front of Draco, bowing low once more while holding the flowers up for his perusal.

Draco lifted them from the elf’s hand tentatively and stared down, his incredulity growing.

While it was hard to gauge the course of decay around the Manor, Draco had been watching it slowly wilt and die for years now.  This was the first time since his mother’s death that he could recall anything springing up from the ground truly alive.

He didn’t know what it meant.  His father had tried to halt the encroaching rot by using exceptionally dark magic that twisted and ruined Lucius’s own soul.  Draco knew that the spells his father had cast to reverse the tainted magic made liberal use of the word ‘blood.’  Draco had always believed it was figurative blood, hence the preparations he was taking to find a wife and secure the bloodline.  

His father, however, had interpreted the word ‘blood’ literally, and it led him further into the darkness than any Malfoy had ever gone before him.  Draco knew only hints of it, having never been able to bring himself to look too closely at what his father had done.  Lucius had told him little, but always insisted it was in an effort to save the Manor and their family by extension.  His experiments had slowed the decay, certainly, but once Lucius was gone his magic broke, and the reach of death around the Manor began to accelerate once more.  Lucius’s methods may have halted it temporarily, but he had never managed to reverse it.  For that reason Draco had always believed his own interpretation was correct, and he had resigned himself to marriage as the last resort if he could find no other solution to fix the problem.

But perhaps Father’s overall theory was correct?  Perhaps he simply chose the wrong kind of sacrifice?

Draco knew he would have to think about the matter closely, perhaps even forcing himself to read through his father’s own research and journals for the first time.  He had never fully explored that section of the library, because he knew from personal experience he did not have the stomach for the same sort of darkness that his father did.  His father must have sensed it too, because he had never asked Draco to help directly.  The only thing Lucius ever wanted from Draco was his silence in the aftermath.

But perhaps this time it was different.  Now that Lucius was gone it was truly Draco’s problem to solve.  The magic was more unstable than ever, and Draco feared it was now affecting the only person in the world he truly loved more than himself.  

He would do anything to stop it, anything at all.

For the first time, Draco allowed himself to examine the possibility of recreating the experiments his father had hinted at while he was still alive.  Draco knew he would need to be methodical about it, and no doubt he would finally have to face the atrocities his father had committed.  But if Lucius was right, then Draco suspected that Miss Granger would eventually disappear in her service of the Manor and the Malfoy family.  And if Lucius was wrong, then it would be Draco who would sacrifice himself on the altar of duty during the upcoming Season.

Both outcomes were far better than the answer he feared most.

As Draco stared down at the perfect pair of daffodils in his hand, he struggled to think of any other reason why this woman’s presence on the grounds would have achieved something that had not been seen at Malfoy Manor for over seven years.

Either there was something new happening that Draco had never considered before or Lucius had been correct all along: the only way to restore the Malfoy magic was to find the right person who could die for it.

Chapter Text

Hermione

“Are you ready to meet the young ladies?” called Mrs. Weasley through Hermione’s door.

“One moment!” she called back.

Hermione roused herself from a light doze as she stood and examined her gown again.  The color was already lightening, and she sighed as she grabbed her wand to recast the charm to keep it gray.

She nodded to herself and slid her wand into her small reticule and squared her shoulders to admit Mrs. Weasley.

She blinked to see a young, redheaded woman standing next to her.

“Miss Granger, this is my daughter Ginevra Weasley.”

“Pleasure,” said Hermione, who extended her hand.

“Likewise,” said the woman, who shook her hand hard.  “I’m coming along for your first meeting with Lyra.  I was her nursery maid up until a few days ago, and the transition has been rather difficult for her.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow at the familiarity.  It was not at all proper for a staff member to address a young lady by only her first name or to be so candid about the family employing them, but perhaps this was yet another way in which the Malfoys were different.

Hermione said nothing to this, but just nodded and followed the Weasleys down the small hall until they reached the stairs to the main servants’ quarters.  This time Hermione paid better attention to her surroundings and noticed there were several other doors in the hall.  No doubt they were additional bedrooms for governesses and paid companions, none of which were in use at the moment.

The walk through the primary servants’ quarters ended when she reentered the main hall.  Then the Weasleys marched up the large marble staircase that led to a landing, which then split into two staircases leading opposite directions.

“His Grace’s wing is that way,” said Mrs. Weasley, gesturing toward the direction they were not taking.  “You should never have cause to go there.  The young ladies are in their own wing on this side.  There is a library behind this wall in front of us that connects the two wings.  You are certainly permitted to go in there, especially if it is necessary for your instruction of the young ladies.”

Hermione perked up at this.  Not all of her posts had been in homes that boasted a private library, but it did not surprise her that Malfoy Manor had its own.  Perhaps it would not be as cold and austere as the rest of the building.  She resolved to investigate it at the earliest opportunity in the hopes of finding a quiet corner where she could spend her spare time.  The parts of the Manor she had seen so far and the grounds were not at all inviting.

She watched as Mrs. Weasley drew a key from her belt and unlocked a door to the wing Hermione was permitted to enter.

“Erm,” she said awkwardly, “are they locked in?”

Mrs. Weasley glanced at Hermione, and for the first time a hint of iciness entered her tone.

“His Grace is exceptionally careful with their reputations,” said Mrs. Weasley.  “As their governess, you will have a key to the wing, but yes it is to remain locked at all times.  You may unlock it to enter it, but you will lock it behind you as soon as you are through the door.  Only the three of us, Fleur, and His Grace, will have a key to access this part of the Manor.  The young ladies typically leave their wing twice a day in order to take a walk or have lessons on the grounds with yourself or another trusted member of the staff.  They emerge again in the evenings to dine with His Grace for supper when he is in residence.  Even when they are not inside of their wing, it must stay locked for their security.  The Manor does host frequent visitors, and with Lady Astoria on the brink of her debut we cannot be too careful.  She is an heiress, you know.  She will be a prize for fortune hunters, and His Grace is wary of any wizard getting too close to her before she is properly wed.”

Hermione blinked in surprise, but tried to school her face.

“Very well, I can certainly follow that rule if it is his preference.”

Mrs. Weasley’s expression warmed again, and she locked the door behind her and then gestured for Hermione and Ginny to follow.

“This way,” she said.  “I’ll give you a small tour as we go.”

To Hermione’s slight relief, the promised library was the first door on the right as they entered the hallway.  Once she had a key, she should be able to slip in and out at her leisure, without breaking any of the duke’s rules or alerting the young ladies that she was in their wing at all.

Next they passed the nursery, which contained a cot and two children’s beds.

“Lady Lyra has only recently moved out,” said Mrs. Weasley wistfully.  “She is in her own bedchamber now.  We are eager for the duke to fill the nursery with his own children soon.”

Hermione made the appropriate noises to this, and then Mrs. Weasley led them past several bedrooms, all of which were more elegant than the grim accommodations Hermione had been provided.  There was a parlor near the end of the hall where Mrs. Weasley informed her the young ladies took their meals when they weren’t eating with the duke, and finally at the end was the door to the schoolroom.

“You will be spending most of your time in here,” said Mrs. Weasley, as she knocked on the door and then opened it without waiting for a response.

Hermione couldn’t stop the small gasp that emerged from her lips when she saw it.  Just like the bedrooms she had passed, the schoolroom was well equipped for its purpose, and Hermione quickly took in the very full bookshelves, several tables and desks with parchment and inkwells, a blackboard, a globe, and an area near the window with an easel and paints set up.  She even spied a small stone antechamber just off to one side that contained a cauldron.

An elegant young woman was sitting at the easel, and she rose when Hermione and the others entered.

But it was the small voice on the other side of the room that caught Hermione’s attention first.

“Ginny!” 

Hermione turned and almost gasped again when she took in the sight of Lyra Malfoy.  She had the same white blonde hair that was so prevalent in the portraiture, but she looked small for her age.  She was pale with dark circles under her eyes, and she was confined to a wheelchair, though as Hermione watched she stood on shaky legs and held out her arms for Ginny to embrace her.

“Lyra,” said Ginny’s warm voice, as she immediately approached the tiny girl for a hug.  “I’ve brought you a new governess.”

“Another one?” said Lyra with some disgust.

Ginny just laughed.  “Mind your manners.  You’ve never had a governess before.  Just little old me to teach you your letters and numbers.”

“But I like little old you,” insisted Lyra.  “Why can’t you be the one to teach me sums?”

“Because it’s time you have proper instruction,” came the voice of the girl Hermione was sure must be Astoria Greengrass.  “Your brother is right to insist upon it.”

“Lady Astoria, this is Miss Hermione Granger,” chimed in Mrs. Weasley.  “As you know, she will be instructing you both.”

Hermione dipped into a small, but perfect curtsy, and when she rose she could see Astoria watching her a bit warily.   Her blonde hair was a darker shade than Lyra’s, but she shared the same aristocratic nose as the younger girl.  Astoria appeared poised, but slightly suspicious.

“Miss Granger, Draco has told me you achieved perfect scores on your N.E.W.T.s.”

Hermione blinked to hear the duke referred to by his first name, but neither Mrs. Weasley nor Ginny seemed to find this odd.  Hermione was not precisely sure what the relationship was between Astoria and the duke because nobody had informed her, and it wasn’t proper to inquire on one’s first day of work.  Whatever it was, she doubted the relationship was fabricated like hers and Harry’s.  A young lady like Astoria would be subject to intense scrutiny on the Marriage Mart, so she must have some sort of blood relation to the duke.  Perhaps they were cousins or even half-siblings.  

“That is true,” said Hermione.  “I can help prepare you in any subject.”

“I shall be sitting for six, or perhaps seven, N.E.W.T.s,” said Astoria.  “I suppose it depends on your tutelage.”

Hermione smiled.  “Yes, the agency informed me of that, and I’m sure we will do very well together.  I’ve prepared several other young ladies for their exams in the past, and I have no doubt you will do just as well as they did.  I will be giving you a small test tomorrow to determine your current proficiency in each subject.”

Astoria gave her a thin smile.

“In that case, may I be dismissed for a walk?  I’m sure Lyra would like to come too.  We have not been outside today as of yet.”

“Oh yes, please let us go outside!” begged the small girl, who was now giving Hermione large, pleading eyes.

Hermione hesitated.  She had intended to spend some time with the girls in the schoolroom this afternoon, but after meeting Lyra in particular, Hermione knew she needed to regroup.  Perhaps a walk could be just the thing to learn a little more about her charges. 

“Very well,” said Hermione.  “Why don’t we take a stroll through the gardens?”

Lyra beamed, and Hermione was caught off guard once again.  The smile transformed the small girl’s face, and she sat back down in her chair and looked at Hermione and Ginny expectantly.  

“Well let’s go then!” she announced.

Hermione and the Weasleys couldn’t help but chuckle.  Mrs. Weasley nodded authoritatively and then said, “Rosie?”

Hermione jumped as a tiny elf appeared with a CRACK! and bowed low.

“Yes, Mrs. Weasley?”

“Rosie, the young ladies would like to take a walk.  Can you please collect their cloaks and inform His Grace that they will be out of their wing?  Miss Granger and Ginny will be needing cloaks as well."

“Right away!”

The elf prepared to vanish, when Hermione cried, “Wait!”

The elf turned back to Hermione and peered at her curiously.

Hermione approached and crouched a bit before extending her hand.

“Rosie, my name is Hermione Granger.  I am very pleased to meet you.”

The elf gaped, and around her Hermione could hear everyone gasp, but she ignored them.  The tiny elf finally extended a trembling hand and shook it.

“Rosie is very pleased to meet Miss Hermy!  Rosie is helping with Lady Astoria and Lady Lyra when they is babies!  And my mistress is giving me to Mrs. Weasley to help with her babies too! But Rosie does not have any babies to help right now, so Rosie is helping Miss Ginny take care of Lady Lyra until my Master is having his own babies!”

“Oh!” said Hermione, and she gave the elf a broad smile.  “Well it sounds like you are an expert when it comes to young children!  I hope you do not mind if I ask you questions as I get settled in?”

“Not at all, Miss!” said Rosie with a toothy grin.

“Excellent,” declared Hermione.  “In that case, I won’t delay you any longer, but I’m very pleased to meet you.”

Then Hermione stood, and to the obvious shock of everyone in the room she gave the elf a small curtsy.

Rosie’s eyes filled with tears for a moment, before she remembered her orders and apparated away.  She returned moments later with cloaks for Lyra, Astoria, Hermione, and Ginny.  When she turned over Hermione’s she blushed deeply before disappearing once more.

“Well,” said Mrs. Weasley a bit speculatively, “that was certainly interesting, but I’m sure Rosie will be able to help you with anything you need for the young ladies.  Now you all had best be off, and keep an eye on the time!  His Grace is in residence and will expect the young ladies for supper.”

Hermione and Ginny both nodded, and Ginny took her place behind Lyra’s chair.  She began to expertly maneuver it between the tables and desks as Hermione, Mrs. Weasley, and Astoria fell behind.  When they reached the locked door, Mrs. Weasley retrieved her keys and gave Hermione a spare.

“Bring them back within the hour so they can dress for supper,” she said as she handed the key to Hermione, who pocketed it.  Mrs. Weasley then bustled away as Hermione locked up behind them and followed Ginny and Lyra to the stairs.

Hermione observed closely as Ginny pulled out a wand and tapped the corner of the staircase, which turned into a ramp for Lyra’s chair.

The witches progressed down several switchbacks in the ramp until they reached the bottom.  Ginny pulled out her wand again and tapped a section on the bottom of the ramp, and immediately it transformed back into stairs.

“There’s no incantation for it,” Ginny informed her.  “Just a tap of your wand on the correct section of the stairs does it.  His Grace enchanted it a year ago.  There are a few of us who are permitted to do it.  You’ll want to ask Mother to key your wand to the enchantments so you can do it too.”

Hermione nodded and filed this away for further reflection.

So Lyra’s been in a wheelchair for a year, but only for a year.  She hasn’t always needed one.

They moved as a group to the back of the hall and approached a pair of glass doors that opened onto a low patio.  Hermione shivered once more as she exited into the afternoon air.  She looked up and saw the same grey sky swirling overhead.

“Cloaks!” announced Ginny.

Hermione pulled on her cloak with a shudder, and then assisted Lyra with hers as well.

“Miss Granger,” said Lyra curiously, “why did you curtsy to Rosie?”

Hermione smiled.

“Because she appears to be a very important member of the household.  It sounds as though all the young children on the estate are entrusted to her care.  Why, I cannot imagine a job more important than that!  I think she deserves our respect, don’t you?”

Lyra cocked her head.

“Maybe.  I like Rosie very much.  She is nice to me.”

“Is she your friend?” inquired Hermione.

Lyra frowned a little.  “I don’t think she’s supposed to be friends with me.”

“Oh but of course she can be your friend!” insisted Hermione.  “Elves may work for us and help us, but that does not mean we have to treat them as being less than us.  I certainly want to be friends with Rosie!”

Lyra fell silent, perhaps brooding a little over Hermione’s words.  Hermione just smiled to see her young charge thinking about something new and mulling it over.

Ginny chuckled at the exchange and threw a wink toward Hermione that told Hermione that she, at least, was in agreement with what Hermione had just said about being friends with the elves.

They continued through the gardens, and soon Astoria pulled ahead.  

“You’ll pick up on it quickly enough.  Just make sure you keep an eye on Astoria when you are out of their wing,” whispered Ginny.

“Why?” asked Hermione curiously, but Ginny nodded her chin toward the girl, who was approaching a burly-looking redheaded man.  

“That’s why,” said Ginny wryly, before saying in a louder voice.  “CHARLEY!”

The man looked up and waved as Astoria hurried toward him.  Even from behind, Hermione could see her lighting up.

“Oh Merlin,” groaned Hermione so quietly that only Ginny could hear.  “Does your mother know?”

“Absolutely not,” said Ginny under her breath.  “Other than the differences in station, she’s far too young to attract his attention.  But I think His Grace has noticed her interest.  There’s a reason she doesn’t have a key to her wing, and whatever you do… do not let her pilfer yours.  She got the key off of the last governess and tried to sneak to his cottage in the middle of the night a couple months ago.  It was just dumb luck that I was returning from a late drink at his cottage and caught her before any damage could be done.”

“Blast,” muttered Hermione, who absolutely had not banked on having to keep an eye on a lovestruck teen with a penchant for thievery as part of her duties.  Ginny huffed a laugh.

“You’ll manage,” she said quietly.  “The good news is that Charley is honorable.  He would never give her any encouragement, even if he reciprocated her interest, which he does not.  It’s entirely one-sided.  But Astoria has been harboring tender feelings for him for at least a year now, and I fear she’s growing a bit bolder as she’s about to launch into Society.  My hope is that once she does her head will be turned by the eligible gentlemen she could actually marry, and she will forget all about Charley.  He will not be coming to London with us until she’s wed, that much is certain.”

“Do you all go?” asked Hermione curiously, and Ginny nodded, now speaking a little louder so Lyra could hear too.

“Yes, and we love London, don’t we Lyra?  There are so many parks and museums.  It’s wonderfully diverting.”

“Yes!” said Lyra instantly.  “The British Museum is my favorite!”

“But it’s muggle!” said Hermione in surprise.

Ginny laughed.  “Indeed it is, but His Grace is part of the muggle Parliament.  He doesn’t object to Lady Lyra visiting muggle London with an escort.  Do you know it at all?”

“Yes,” said Hermione carefully.  She certainly wasn’t prepared to explain how she knew muggle London as well as she did on her first day there, but the notion that she would be allowed to visit with Lyra in the coming months cheered her as nothing else had that day.

“Well that’s perfect,” declared Ginny matter-of-factly.  “I have a strong preference for London, and I’ll probably take over as housekeeper for His Grace’s London home in the next year or two.  It’s smaller than the Manor of course, and the family isn’t there as often, but it’s a good way for me to start managing a household.  The housekeeper who is there now is ready to retire.”

“That’s wonderful,” said Hermione sincerely.  

Ginny smiled and looked down at their charge.  “I’ll miss Lyra desperately of course, but I expect she’ll be writing letters to me by then, won’t you?”

“Yes, Ginny,” said the small girl.  “I’m already learning.”

“We can make writing letters part of your weekly lessons,” said Hermione kindly.  “It’s wonderful practice for spelling and handwriting, and a lady always minds her correspondence.”

Ginny threw Hermione another wink, and then turned to Charley and Astoria, who were chatting at the edge of the forest.  As soon as they approached, Charley turned his attention to Lyra as well, and to Hermione’s amusement he fell to his knees dramatically.

“My lady,” he said, clutching his heart.  “I have news of the unicorns!”

Lyra giggled, Ginny and Hermione smiled, and Astoria practically swooned.

“Report!” commanded the small girl.

“The northern portion of the forest revealed nothing, but I did encounter a troll who told me he saw them in the western corridor!  I will be searching there over the next fortnight!”

Lyra seemed to light up.  “A troll?”

“An enormous one,” said Charley sincerely.  “He grunted and pointed in that direction so I took that to be his meaning.”

They chatted for several more minutes before Charley finally turned his attention to Hermione.

“Charley Weasley,” he said, extending his hand.  “I’m the gamekeeper if you haven’t noticed.”

“Hermione Granger,” said Hermione.  “It’s a pleasure.  I’m sure we will be leaning on your experience with magical creatures for lessons.”

Charley grinned.  “As Lady Lyra and Lady Astoria both know, I’m always happy to make myself available.  Though from what I hear, you may not need me.”

Hermione blushed and waved him off.  “I studied to the exam, Sir.  I would never claim to have your kind of experience.”

Charley gave her a charming smile at this and gave a little bow.  “Well as I said, I’m always happy to help with lessons.  Afternoons are best for me, as my regular duties are typically over by then.”

He bowed again and backed away as Hermione checked her watch.  

“We should be heading in soon,” she said.  

Astoria seemed to wilt a little, her eyes lingering on Charley, who was disappearing into the distance.

“Fine,” she sighed.  “There’s nothing more to do out here anyway.”

Ginny cast a knowing eye at Hermione, and together they made their way back toward the house using a bit of a detour, all four of them chatting as they slowly worked their way back to the grand staircase.

Ginny converted the staircase to a ramp once more, and soon they were settling both girls back into their wing, with Rosie keeping an eye on Lyra.  Hermione bid them farewell and promised to return the following morning to begin lessons before leaving the wing with Ginny and locking up behind them.

“You’ll want to visit Mother before you return to your quarters,” Ginny reminded her.  “And you can join us for supper if you wish.  Not all of the governesses do, but if you are so inclined…”

“I would love that,” said Hermione instantly.  Her experiences in dining with staff had been mixed during her previous posts.  It typically wasn’t done in proper households like this, but Hermione knew that she would be more of an outsider than ever if she didn’t try to fit in with the Weasleys.  Besides, the prospect of dining alone in her prison of a room was so disheartening Hermione did not think she could bear it.

“Excellent,” said Ginny.  “I’ll bring you to Mother’s office then, and I’ll see you for supper this evening.  We eat after the family does.”

A few minutes later, Ginny was depositing Hermione into a cozy sitting room, which Hermione knew must serve as the housekeeper’s office.

“Mother,” said Ginny.  “You’ll need to key Miss Granger’s wand to the staircase for Lyra.”

“Oh yes, of course,” said Mrs. Weasley, shooing Ginny away.  She stepped back and threw Hermione one more wink before she left.

“Come over here, dear, and I’ll key your wand.  His Grace also left your wages for Lady Astoria with me.”

Hermione perked up at this news and stepped forward to give Mrs. Weasley her wand.  She watched curiously as Mrs. Weasley touched the tip of Hermione’s wand to her own for a moment.  It glowed green, and then Mrs. Weasley nodded with satisfaction and returned Hermione’s wand to her.

“And your beginning wages,” said Mrs. Weasley, handing Hermione a bank draft for a hundred galleons.  Hermione tried not to let her hands shake as she accepted it. 

“Thank you,” said Hermione.  “Erm… is there an owl I can use?  I’d like to make sure this gets to a safe place.”

Mrs. Weasley looked like she wanted to ask, but she refrained.  She gave Hermione the directions to the small owlery on the estate, and Hermione smiled gratefully before slipping out and back to her room, where she wrote Harry a short note.

Dear Harry,

I have arrived safely and have already met my charges.  There is more that I need to learn about them of course, but the younger girl in particular seems to be a delight.  This is good news indeed, as she will be my responsibility for the duration of my employment here.

I have not encountered the duke, but that is not surprising.  I have, however, made the acquaintance of the butler, the housekeeper, the gamekeeper and my charges’ former nursery maid.  Rest assured that all is well so far, and everyone is as pleasant as could be expected.

Finally, I have enclosed a bank draft with the portion of my wages that were paid today.  Please make sure it is deposited into my vault at Gringotts and send me confirmation once it is done.  I worry about sending this to you via owl, but it is really the best choice, as I probably should not be leaving the grounds on my very first night here.  I await your owl confirming the matter has been handled.

I’ll write to you again within three days, if not earlier.

All my love,

Hermione

Hermione carefully folded the bank draft into the note and secured both to the owl before launching it out into the evening air.  She watched it grow smaller and smaller, and something about it struck her.  She felt small in this place – small and somewhat out of her depths.

She sighed and another shiver of cold crossed her spine before turning to head back to her room.

She would wear her cloak to supper tonight.

******

Draco

“Sister!”

“Brother!”

The dual voices of Lyra and Astoria made Draco turn his head.  His former ward, Daphne, was present tonight with her husband, Blaise Zabini, and she rose to embrace Astoria as soon as they entered the dining room.  

Daphne had made a splash during her single Season, though the effort that had gone into it had been wholly unnecessary in Draco’s view.  Blaise was a couple of years Draco’s junior, but they had been in the same house and friendly in school, and they continued to stay in touch through mutual business dealings and their club once they were out of Hogwarts.  Blaise had developed a tendre for Daphne nearly the moment he laid eyes on her at her first ball, and everything had happened very quickly and efficiently from there.  Blaise had a respectable income; he had a title, though he wasn’t as high in the instep as Draco; and most importantly, Draco had not been inconvenienced by having to privately vet the man because that vetting had occurred years earlier the first time they went into business together.

Draco only hoped there would be a similarly elegant solution for Astoria, though he couldn’t think of who it might be.  He glanced at his other friend who was there that night, Theodore Nott, and knew that nothing would ever come of that.

Theo came to Malfoy Manor often, both to visit Draco and his lover, though the latter point was a very closely held secret known to a very small number of people.  Draco just sighed to himself every time he thought about it and hoped that he could get Astoria wed before she realized who held the heart of the man she was currently pining after.

Draco would not have condoned a match with Charley Weasley in any event.  But the fact that Charley would never look her way because he was looking toward Theo instead made the situation fraught with complications.

Not for the first time, Draco wondered what on earth Lucius had been thinking when he offered to open his home to Draco’s second cousins upon the death of their parents.  It was the right thing to do, he knew, but the last couple of years with Astoria, in particular, had not been easy.  He was more than eager to launch her into Society and get her married and out of his household.  The fact that he had resorted to locking her into their wing at all times to preserve her reputation was a marker of just how headstrong she had become.  He excused it with the staff by saying that he did not want gentlemen to be able to enter that wing.  The truth was, he didn’t trust Astoria not to ruin her own reputation by having the ability to sneak out.

He feared that soon she would move on from Charley and fixate on one of the younger men who were far less honorable.  His eyes fell on the twins, who were standing at the ready to serve dinner.

Merlin forbid Astoria ever moves on to one of them…

Draco’s eyes then drifted from the twins to his sister, and Draco softened as he rose to approach her wheelchair and lean down for a kiss.  Draco knew that most of the fussier types in Society would be horrified to learn that a seven-year-old regularly dined with her much older brother and his occasional guests, but Draco didn’t care.  Lyra was the center of his world, and he adored her with his whole heart.  He had been twenty when she was born – in fact, he was actually closer in age to his mother than to his little sister.  And though the circumstances of her birth had spelled its own tragedy, Lyra was a light unto herself.

So no, Draco wouldn’t follow convention and keep her out of sight and confined to the nursery and schoolroom until she was ready to debut.  She was too precious to him for it, and he worried he was on borrowed time with her as her condition continued to worsen.  He knew that Daphne and Astoria felt the same way.  Even the staff couldn’t help but adore her.

Lyra held every heart at Malfoy Manor in the palm of her small hand.

She twinkled up at him, and he smiled at her fondly.

“Over here, Lyra love,” he said, gesturing to the space for her chair immediately on his right.  Draco took the chair from Ginny Weasley, who relinquished her with a small curtsy.  He then motioned for the twins to begin serving the meal.  He wheeled Lyra into place and then tapped his wand to her chair and lifted it off the ground ever so slightly so that she was at the perfect height to eat.

“Now tell me everything about your day,” he said.

Lyra smiled and began to ramble breathlessly about some game she had invented with rules Draco knew he would never have any hope of following.  Then she recited a story from a book she had read with Ginny’s help.  And finally, she began to tell him all about the new governess.

“I didn’t want one at first, but she let me go to the gardens before lessons began!” she declared.  “And she’s very pretty, Draco.  She looks like a fairy princess!”

Draco smiled at the description.  “A fairy princess in half-mourning?” he teased.

Lyra shrugged.  “The Manor is gray too, is it not?  I thought her hair was nice.”

“It’s wild,” chimed Astoria.  “She was trying to contain it, but there was a breeze today, and it was hopeless.”

“I liked it,” declared Lyra stubbornly.  “And she said I could have a friend!” 

Draco’s gaze sharpened.  “A friend?” he asked cautiously.

He wasn’t opposed to the notion, of course, but Lyra was fragile.  She had not spent very much time in the company of other children due to her age and her health.

“Oh yes, she said that Rosie could be my friend!  At first I wasn’t sure about it, but then I decided I liked the idea very much!”

Draco gaped.

“She said an elf can be your friend?”

To Draco’s consternation, his sister rolled her eyes at him.

“Not an elf, Draco, Rosie.  You must use your listening ears when I talk!  Miss Granger told me that listening ears are very important!”

Draco’s gaping became worse, and across the table he could hear Theo and Blaise snickering at him.  Even Astoria and Daphne seemed to be struggling to contain their laughter as Lyra scolded him.

“Lyra, I’m not sure that’s proper.”

“Why not?”

Draco looked down at her stubborn face, feeling rather bemused.  Lyra was sweet and docile and rarely questioned his orders.

“Because Rosie is a member of our staff!  Of course she’s very important,” he hurried to say.  “But she is an elf, Lyra love, and elves are not meant to be our friends.”

Now Lyra actually glared at him, and Draco immediately started to shrink.

“Rosie!” Lyra cried.

The little elf popped into existence.

“Yes, Lady Lyra?”

“Rosie, will you be my friend?”

“Oh, but of course, Lady Lyra!  Rosie is wanting to be friends with all the babies she cares for!”

The elf turned her large eyes onto Astoria and Daphne, who were both blushing, and then she finally looked at Draco, who had to stifle a groan.

Bloody hell.

Rosie had been a nursery elf since before Draco was born.  Unlike the nursery maids, who only cared for the noble children, Rosie had helped care for virtually every child who was raised on the estate for the last thirty years, staff included.  His mother had loaned Rosie to Mrs. Weasley when she began to have her brood of children, and Draco was sure that Rosie would soon be caring for the next generation of Weasleys if Bill’s recent comments about starting a family were anything to go by.  If Draco ever produced an heir, then Rosie would help with that child too. 

Rosie was a critical part of the estate, and everyone was quite fond of her.  Still, Draco had always tried to maintain a veil of professionalism between them.

That veil began to collapse the moment Draco faced the pleading eyes of both his sister and Rosie combined.

He was weak, and he knew it.

“Alright fine,” he snapped a bit more harshly than was necessary.  “You can be friends.  But there are still duties to perform.”

“Oh yes, Master, Rosie has never missed her duties!” declared the small elf.  Then she turned and beamed at Lyra.  “Oh Rosie is so excited to be Lady Lyra’s friend!”

“Miss Granger wants to be your friend too,” added Lyra kindly.  “She told me so.”

At this, Rosie’s eyes began to water, and she sniffed with emotion.  “Oh, Miss Hermy is a perfect governess!  Just perfect!”

Then she turned and bowed to Draco once more before disappearing with a CRACK!

Draco sighed and found most of the table staring at him.

“Right.  Well now that we have established friendship…”

Lyra, however, was beaming with delight at this development, and Draco could not bring himself to say another word against it.  He just sighed.

“Tell me more about the governess, then,” he said.

Draco was already rather cross with the governess for putting notions of friendship with the elves into Lyra’s mind, but he supposed he could forgive it if she was otherwise capable.

“She said she knows about muggle London!” said Lyra excitedly.  “She can take me to the British Museum during the Season!”

Draco raised an eyebrow, because that was unexpected.  Very few witches of his acquaintance knew anything about the muggle world, and they had never had a governess venture into it to his knowledge.  Lyra had visited it a few times thanks to Ginny Weasley, who was intensely curious and utterly fearless.  But if it hadn’t been for Ginny’s willingness to go exploring, Lyra never would have been to those places herself.

“Well perhaps she will be well-suited,” said Draco, as he studied his sister and his ward.

Astoria, it seemed, was still on the fence about the new governess, but he supposed that was to be expected.  After all, they hadn’t even had a lesson yet.

It really didn’t matter how Astoria felt about Miss Granger.  Their interactions would be daily for a few months, but they would soon end.  His sister, however, might be paired with the woman for years, so her opinion was paramount.  Draco could see that Lyra had already been won over, and he internally sighed.

Perhaps I should offer myself in marriage first, before I think about murdering her.

No doubt Lyra would be terribly disappointed if her governess went missing, and Draco could not bear it when Lyra was in distress.  

Then again, if it’s the thing that has to happen in order to save Lyra, I won’t hesitate.

And he knew he wouldn’t.  Lyra came first, and she always had ever since she was born.  Draco did not resent her for it at all – it simply was.  She had been his mother’s top priority when Narcissa was expecting and then his father’s after she was born, and now she was Draco’s as head of the family. And the fact that the magic was now affecting her had given Draco the push he needed to finally take whatever steps were required to fix it. 

It had started a couple of years ago with the minor sorts of complaints children often used for attention.

Draco, my stomach hurts.

Draco, my feet are tired.

Draco, I need a nap.

At first, Draco had thought nothing of it.  He recalled behaving in a similar way when he was her age, and nothing about it was alarming.

But then her energy began to fade, and one day Ginny Weasley came to him, wringing her hands with worry, because Lyra simply could not get out of bed.  She was too weary, too exhausted, and none of the diagnostic spells cast on her could give the estate healer any insight into what was wrong with her.

Draco would never forget the chill that entered his heart that morning, and though she was back on her feet the next day, her energy was still drained.

Then it happened again and again.  Soon she couldn’t run.  Then she struggled to walk.  A year ago she had moved into her chair, and Draco had enchanted the stairs so she could still get around the Manor.  Meanwhile, he hired experts and did everything he could for her failing health, though it was only recently that he had finally accepted that the Manor’s rotting magic might have something to do with it.

His father had been obsessed with correcting the magic, but in the aftermath of Lucius’s death Draco had mostly resigned himself to the necessity of finding a new family seat in the near future.  He didn’t want to do it because Malfoy Manor was his birthright and his home – but at the end of the day, it was still just a house. 

Now that it was clear that the magic was affecting Lyra, Draco knew he had no choice but to find a solution.  He began to spiral badly when he accepted the truth of the matter, especially after he realized that Lyra had to stay close to the Manor or else her condition would worsen.  He couldn’t just remove her to save her life, or he would have shut the Manor permanently a few months ago.

Lyra didn’t know it yet, but Draco had no intention of bringing her to London for the upcoming Season, unless he found a way to help her before then.  He had finally concluded that the Manor’s magic was both the thing that was slowly killing her and also the thing keeping her tethered to life.  The previous spring and summer spent in London had noticeably accelerated her physical deterioration, and it forced him to accept those truths he did not want to believe.

But Draco’s plans to keep Lyra at the Manor during the Season was a conversation for a different night.

“You seem to be in good spirits,” he said, looking at her more critically.  

It was true.  She must be having one of her good days.  Her cheeks had a rosy tint to them, and her eyes sparkled.  Usually she was very quiet at supper, her energy levels waning just before bed.  But tonight he caught a glimpse of the old Lyra as she chattered nonstop, much to the bemusement of the adults at the table.

“I am!” she declared, kicking her legs.  “I’m ready for lessons tomorrow!”

Draco’s eyebrows flew up, and once again he wondered if it would be better to try marrying first to fix the magic that way.  If just the thought of lessons with Miss Granger improved Lyra’s spirits, then he was not inclined to remove the woman.

I suppose it can be the last resort.

He had to remind himself that he hadn’t truly vetted the idea just yet.  He really shouldn't be planning the poor governess’s murder until he did.

“I’m certain Miss Granger will be pleased that you are so excited to begin your lessons,” he said.  

Lyra grinned and to Draco’s astonishment she soon cleared her plate, which was the first time he could recall in months.  

“More?” he asked cautiously.

Lyra nodded.  “Yes, Draco, I’m so hungry!”

Draco exchanged shocked looks with Astoria, Daphne, and even Blaise and Theo, who had dined with them often enough to know that this was very unusual.  Draco’s own spirits rose.  Lyra was far too thin and small, though he knew it wasn’t for lack of trying on his or Ginny’s part.  Her illness gave her little appetite, and normally she just picked at her food.

“Then eat up, Lyra love,” said Draco, as he snapped a finger at the twins, who immediately moved forward and gave her seconds.

Half an hour later, supper was winding down, and Lyra finally began to yawn.

“Off to bed with you,” said Draco fondly, as he stared down at her second clean plate of the night with a mixture of amazement and relief.  He cast a patronus for Ginny to come fetch both Lyra and Astoria to take them back to their wing.  “You ate as much as a hippogriff.  That’s bound to make you tired.”

Lyra giggled before another yawn took over.

“Draco, do you think Miss Granger knows about hippogriffs?” she asked sleepily, as Ginny stepped into the dining room.

“Why don’t you ask her tomorrow morning?”

“I will,” she said with a soft sigh.  “I bet Miss Granger knows everything!”

Draco bid Lyra a goodnight and was silent as Ginny wheeled her away, mulling over the deep respect his sister seemed to have developed for the new governess after a single day. 

There was little question about it: Draco would have to meet this Miss Granger very soon.

Chapter Text

Hermione

“Hermione, dear, you can sit next to Percy,” said Mrs. Weasley, looking pointedly at the empty chair next to Percy Weasley.

Percy rose and bowed a little as Hermione lowered herself next to him with a grimace.

It had only taken a week of suppers for formalities to fall away as Hermione continued to join the rest of the staff to eat in the evenings.  She still took breakfast in her drab little room, and lunch and tea were usually with Astoria and Lyra, but by the end of the day she always craved some adult conversation.  

Mrs. Weasley was not subtle at all as she continued to ensure there was always an empty seat next to her third son.

Hermione supposed she should be flattered.  After all, out of all the Weasley boys, Percy had the best education and was the one who was most likely to break free from the estate and support himself without the Malfoy family at some point in the future.  And Hermione knew that she was no great catch either.  It was true that she was quite bright and only in her early twenties, but she had never considered herself to be a great beauty.  She had no dowry to speak of, and her tongue was often a shade too sharp to be strictly proper.  And most significantly, she had aspirations that did not include acquiring a husband.

After all, once they were married, witches ceded control of their finances and even their children to their husbands, unless those husbands actively gave up control instead.  Hermione knew that almost never happened, except for very sought after young ladies in Society and romance novels.  So while marriage could give her some stability, she also viewed it as requiring great personal sacrifice.

No, Hermione wasn’t interested in becoming romantically involved with Percy Weasley, but she could tell that Mrs. Weasley was very interested.  And as for Percy himself, Hermione didn’t know if his attentions were genuine or if he was simply being a dutiful son.

“Miss Granger,” said Percy cordially, “how was your day?”

Hermione gave him a tight smile.  “Pleasant.  We have plotted out the spells Lady Astoria plans to showcase during her practicals, and Lady Lyra is learning to group by tens.”

Percy raised an eyebrow.  “What do you mean, the spells she plans to showcase?”

Hermione shrugged.  “Students can show any spells they wish during their practical N.E.W.T.s.”

“No, the spells were assigned, weren’t they?” asked Percy in confusion.

Hermione shook her head.  “If you read the rules of the exam, no.  I’m aware that Hogwarts assigns the spells and potions and such for practicals, but those are entirely at the professors’ discretion.  And when you have an entire school showcasing the same things for practicals, it means that only the very best performances get top marks because so many people are doing it.  Lady Astoria will not be showcasing anything that Hogwarts typically assigns.”

There was a stunned silence, but Hermione just sipped her pumpkin juice and tried not to roll her eyes at everyone’s surprise.  The whole Weasley family was there, except for Charlie, along with several other members of the staff. 

Over the past week Hermione had learned that the entire staff wasn’t comprised of Weasley’s, as there were a few others who were not members of the family.  Neville Longbottom was the head gardener and helped manage the elves who worked on the exterior of the Manor.  There was also a Madam Pomfrey, who was a nurse and worked exclusively for the estate.  And there was even a surly man who rarely spoke named Severus Snape, whom Hermione had only recently learned was the estate’s potion master, though she knew his position was relatively new.  He, in particular, scowled at Hermione.

“Miss Granger,” he said in an oily voice.  “What would you know about the Hogwarts curriculum?”

Hermione shrugged.  “I have contacts who went there.  I know what the students showcase.  And seeing as how I won the Albus Dumbledore Award for my year, it stands to reason that my strategy worked.”

There was another uncomfortable silence, and now Snape glowered harder than ever.  

“Tell me, then… what strategy did you use in Potions?”

Hermione tried not to smirk, because she knew Snape had been the Potions Professor at Hogwarts before the duke hired him away.  In fact, he had taught Potions at Hogwarts during the year in which Hermione won the award.  It has been strange and a little jarring to meet the professor that Harry had so despised during his time there.

“Well, I didn’t see any reason to brew Amortentia like every other N.E.W.T. student.  Instead, I chose to brew Wolfsbane.”

Snape was positively glowering now.

“Wolfsbane?   And how could the examination committee verify that it was correct?  Hogwarts recommends Amortentia because it can be scored without ingesting it based on its other properties!”

“I’m aware,” said Hermione calmly.  “But the examiners were able to score my Wolfsbane due to the fact that I brewed it on a full moon and fed it to a werewolf once it was complete.  I performed my Care of Magical Creatures practical the same night, and he was the creature I presented.  Caring for a Class XXXXX creature yields more points than the hippogriff that Hogwarts gives to its students, and since he was easily tamed and subdued it proved that my potion was successful.  It yielded full points for both subjects.  It also gave me the opportunity to present the proper handling and harvesting of aconite for the Herbology practical I presented the night before l brewed the Wolfsbane.  All in all, it was a very efficient project, and I scored top marks in all three subjects.”

The reactions of those around the table were distinctly mixed.

“You know a werewolf?” asked one of the twins in delight, though Hermione still couldn’t tell them apart, so she wasn’t sure which one spoke.  

“Ooooh is he dangerous?” asked Ginny interestedly.

“Ginevra!” snapped Mrs. Weasley.  “That is not proper conversation!”

Percy was now leaning away from Hermione ever so slightly, and Ronald looked torn between interest and distaste.  Arthur and Bill Weasley both appeared interested, though wary, and Snape fell into a moody silence, as he crossed his arms and waited for her response.

Hermione just chuckled.  “Yes, I know a werewolf, and no he’s not dangerous because I have always made a point to keep him well-supplied with Wolfsbane ever since I’ve been able to brew it.  He was more than happy to show up to my exam as my Class XXXXX creature as a personal thank you.”

“Wicked!” said the twins at exactly the same time, and Ginny’s eyes were twinkling too.  

Ronald cocked his head and studied Hermione with interest.  “That’s ruddy brilliant.”

Hermione hid a small smile.  “Thank you.  As I said, it seemed perfectly sensible and efficient.”

“How did you meet him?” came Bill’s soft voice.  “Because as a rule, werewolves run in packs.”

Hermione met his eyes with a bit of a challenge.  “Not all do.  He was an acquaintance of my uncle, and he lived in the village where I grew up.  Over time I put the clues together, and one day I confronted him about it.  He had always been kind to me, and I took pity on him.  I knew him as a cordial acquaintance before I ever knew he was a werewolf, so I wasn’t afraid of him once I figured it out.  I offered to try brewing the potion because my uncle had the most of the ingredients in his greenhouse, and I’ve always had a bit of a flair for potions.  He accepted, and that was that.”

Hermione would certainly not tell the Weasleys the rest of the story: that her werewolf acquaintance had been her own tutor.  He had befriended James Potter when they were both at school – because while Dumbledore would not let witches attend Hogwarts, he did allow a werewolf to matriculate, provided the wolf in question kept his condition a secret.

But James Potter had figured it out and years later hired Remus Lupin to tutor both Harry and Hermione before Harry went to Hogwarts.  James, and later Harry, continued Remus’s employment for Hermione only once Harry left for school.  And Remus Lupin – who was himself a Dumbledore Award winner – had poured every bit of knowledge that he had ever gained into Hermione over those dozen years that he taught her.

To this day, Harry kept a small greenhouse stock with the ingredients needed for Wolfsbane, and Hermione made a point to brew it in her room or else through clandestine trips to Godric’s Hollow.  She would never let Remus feel the pull of the wolf again.

At the conclusion of her story, she could see Bill and Mr. Weasley both softening, though Percy still shifted uncomfortably.

“You have a kind heart,” said Mr. Weasley.

Hermione gave him a smile.  “I try.”

“What will Lady Astoria be presenting then?” asked Bill.  “Wolfsbane like you?”

Hermione chuckled.  “No, I had plenty of experience brewing it before presenting it.  There isn’t enough time to prepare her for it, and it could poison my friend if it goes wrong.  No, she’ll be brewing Pepperup.  She’ll also be presenting asphodel for her Herbology N.E.W.T., as it is a component part of the potion and the most complex ingredient to prepare.”

“And Care of Magical Creatures?” asked Ginny in a teasing voice.  “Which creature have you picked for her?”

Hermione chuckled.  “I’m in favor of showing thestrals, because in my view their classification is much higher than it ought to be due to superstitious nonsense.  It’s a good source of points for the exam.  But unfortunately, she’s insisting upon the dragon.”

Mrs. Weasley audibly groaned at this, and Hermione couldn’t help but laugh.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Weasley.  If he’s truly untamable, I’ll force her to switch.  I told her we could give it a month before we decide.”

“Merlin, I hope so,” muttered Mrs. Weasley worriedly.  “Has His Grace been informed?”

Hermione shrugged.  “Lady Astoria said she would be taking to him about it soon.  I have no doubt he’ll find out about it at some point.”

Mrs. Weasley was wringing her hands so hard that Ginny reached out and covered them with her own.

“Mother, Astoria will be fine.”   Then she turned to address Hermione.  “And you said Lyra was doing well today?”

Hermione softened at the concern on Ginny’s face.  Every day Ginny had asked after the young girl, and Lyra had done the same.  Lyra openly admired Hermione too, but Hermione could tell that the change in rolls for Ginny had been difficult on both of them.

“She’s managing.  Though today was…” 

She trailed off, hesitating.

“What was it?” asked Ginny worriedly.  “Did she faint?  Become too exhausted to complete her work?  Was she able to go outside?”

Hermione tried to give her a reassuring look.  “She didn’t faint, she was just a bit more tired than usual.  We did go to the gardens, and they seemed to improve her spirits.”

“She’s been taking her tonics, hasn’t she?” asked Madam Pomfrey.

Hermione nodded.  “Yes, though some of them seem to–”

“They are all for her health,” snapped the cold voice of Snape from the corner.  “I brew them personally.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes.  “What are they?  Because I’ve asked Lady Lyra, and she doesn’t know.”

“That is none of your concern,” said Snape.  “She is dependent upon them.”

“I just thought I might be able to offer a suggestion or–”

“Absolutely not,” hissed Snape, now standing with anger.  “Despite your ability to manipulate the outcome of an exam, Lady Lyra’s health is not as simple as a school test!  Leave it to the experts, Miss Granger.  The only thing you need to worry about is teaching that little girl to count by tens!”

With that, he turned on his heel and stormed out.  Hermione was burning with embarrassment and looked around at the others.

“I truly meant no offense,” she said.

Mrs. Weasley sighed and patted her hand.  “Ignore him, dear.  Severus is sensitive.  You aren’t the first person who has tripped his temper, nor will you be the last.”

Everyone around her was nodding in agreement.

Hermione gave a frustrated sigh.  “It’s just… do the tonics even work?  Because I can tell no difference between her health before versus after she takes them.  Is it the sort of thing that is meant to build?”

The others exchanged awkward glances at this.

“We do believe they work,” said Madam Pomfrey in an oddly closed voice.  

But Hermione met Ginny’s eye, and she noticed Ginny shaking her head ever so slightly.

Ginny doesn’t think they work either.

Hermione was certain that if there was one person who was an expert in Lyra Malfoy, it was Ginny Weasley.  Ginny had been her nursemaid since Lyra was born, until the day Hermione arrived at the Manor.

However, Hermione could also see the warning on Ginny’s face, so Hermione just nodded to Madam Pomfrey and allowed the Weasleys to change the subject.

But as supper was concluding, Hermione pulled Ginny aside and said in a low voice.  “Can we speak in private?”

Ginny glanced back at her mother and, noticing that she was occupied, nodded quickly.

“I’ll meet you in your room in five minutes,” she said under her voice.

Hermione hurried to her room and several minutes later, Ginny was knocking.

Hermione opened the door for her to enter, and Ginny slipped in, grimacing a bit at Hermione’s quarters.

“I’ve never liked this part of the Manor,” Ginny confessed.  “It feels isolated.”

Hermione sighed, but shrugged.  “There is little I can do about that.”

“If you’d like for me to speak to Mother about moving you to the servants’ wing…” started Ginny, but Hermione was already shaking her head.

“No, at least not yet.  If it becomes intolerable, I’ll let you know, but I don’t wish to inconvenience anyone.”

Ginny gave her a disapproving look but didn’t object as she lowered herself into the room’s only chair.  Hermione perched on the bed and gestured for Ginny to speak.

“Can you tell me then?” she asked.  “About Lady Lyra, I mean…”

Ginny sighed, and her shoulders slumped.

“The truth is, nobody knows what’s wrong with her.  It was just something that started a couple years ago.  General complaints about being tired, feeling ill… that sort of thing.  And within a year she was so out of sorts she couldn’t always walk, so the duke acquired a wheelchair for her.  He has tried everything.  That poor girl has seen more healers and cursebreakers than most wizards who are in their hundreds.”

“Cursebreakers?” asked Hermione curiously.

Ginny nodded.  “The duke seems to think her condition is related to a curse, though to my knowledge he has never found it… well of course he hasn’t found it, because if he had he would have also found a way to break it.”

“And is that what you think?” asked Hermione.

Ginny looked surprised that Hermione was asking.

“What?” said Hermione.  “You know Lady Lyra better than anybody.  Surely they have consulted you about it.”

Ginny grimaced and shook her head.  “Not very much, no.  Of course I’m familiar with her potions regime, and I was always asked to give His Grace a report of anything unusual… but no, they haven’t involved me in solving it.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped at this, and Ginny just shrugged.

Hermione straightened up and let out a huff.  “Well I am certainly interested in your thoughts.  So please… enlighten me.”

Ginny turned pensive and stared at the wall for a moment to gather her thoughts. 

“I think the Manor is killing her,” said Ginny softly. 

Hermione blinked in surprise.  “Pardon?”

Ginny gave a mirthless laugh and gestured around her.  “Surely you’ve noticed just how dead everything is… but I’ve lived here my whole life, and I can tell you… it wasn’t always like this.”

Hermione cocked her head.  “Really?”

Ginny nodded.  “Yes, we’re in Wiltshire, aren’t we?  It’s supposed to be green in the spring and summer, but the Manor isn’t like that anymore.  The moment Lyra was born, things began to die off.  I’ll admit it was very slow at first… and for a couple years it stopped getting worse and was only limited to the outer edges of the property… but eventually it started becoming worse again, and the curse of death or whatever you want to call it… encroached toward the Manor and took over most of the grounds.”

Hermione frowned.  “So you think her birth had something to do with it?”

Ginny shrugged.  “Actually I think it was the former duchess’s death that had something to do with it… but seeing as how she died the same day that Lyra was born…”

“Oh,” said Hermione softly, as she sat back to consider this.

Nobody had told her this either, though of course she had certainly noticed that nobody ever mentioned a dowager duchess.  She knew maternal mortality was fairly common in muggle populations, but it was actually rather rare for wizards.  Usually magic could save the mother.  Hermione wondered what exactly had gone wrong, but she knew it wasn’t her place to ask.

“So you think the duchess’s death cursed the Manor?  And that in turn cursed Lady Lyra?”

Ginny made a helpless gesture.  “Perhaps?  I know it seems absolutely mad, but… yes.  That’s what my instincts have been telling me ever since her symptoms began.”

“Fascinating…” murmured Hermione.  “Did you ever do any research on it?”

Ginny shook her head.  “Not really, no.  My duties with Lyra never gave me the time for it, and in any event I’m sure the duke would have noticed if I started digging.  I’ve never been one to visit the library on my own.  I’ve heard from Bill and Percy that he spends quite a bit of time in there when he isn’t in his study, and I’m sure he would have caught me and wondered what I was doing.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes.  “Well I am somebody who adores a good library.  I make a point to visit them frequently whenever I am employed in households that boast them.”

Ginny’s eyes started to gleam.  “Oh?  And I suppose you have many things to study independently?  After all, your time is your own when you aren’t tutoring the young ladies.”

“Of course,” said Hermione with a grin.  “For example, I’ve recently become absolutely fascinated by cursed buildings.  I think that will be my next little project.”

Ginny beamed as she rose to clasp Hermione’s hand.  

“Thank you,” she said sincerely.  “Even if nothing comes of it… I know you have a brilliant mind.  And while I don’t think Severus is trying to harm her, I suspect his ego is getting in his own way.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” agreed Hermione.  “He can’t see past his own nose or else he would realize that his tonics do nothing.”

“Well his nose is quite large,” quipped Ginny.

“Miss Weasley!” gasped Hermione, though she couldn’t help the peal of laughter that erupted.  

Ginny just grinned.  “Please.  Call me Ginny.  Any friend of Lyra’s is a friend of mine.”

Hermione gave a genuine smile at this.  “Very well.  Then call me Hermione.”

“Oh I already do,” said Ginny cheekily.  “After all, Mother insists you’ll be part of the family one day.”

Hermione couldn’t help but groan at this.  

Ginny just laughed.  “You aren’t the first.  She’s always trying to set up the boys.”

“Is that what happened with Mrs. Fleur Weasley then?” asked Hermione.

Ginny laughed again and shook her head.  “No, actually Mother was not in favor of Fleur at first.  It took quite a bit of convincing, which just goes to show, doesn’t it?  Love has no rhyme or reason.  If I’ve told her not to interfere once, I must have told her a hundred times, but she’ll never listen.”

“I know it’s only been a week, but somehow I do not see Mr. Percy Weasley and me suiting, even if we both have studious natures.”

“Well never fear – she’ll give up on Percy eventually, and then she’ll pair you with each twin and Ronald before it’s all over.  But I promise it won’t last forever.”

“Merlin, I hope not,” declared Hermione.

Ginny was still chuckling as she moved to the door.  “Don’t worry about Mother.  You have more important things to be puzzling out.”

Hermione nodded at this, determination lighting inside of her.

“You’re right, I do.  I think it’s a perfect night to start visiting the library.”

******

Hermione was shivering by the time she left her chambers that evening.

The Manor was bitterly cold at night, despite numerous fires and warming charms cast about.  Hermione thought the others on staff must have grown accustomed to it because while they dressed warmly, none seemed to be as badly affected by the cold as Hermione was.

It dipped into her bones, and she felt it creeping toward her heart.

Even the bath she had taken that evening had been as cold as ice, despite Hermione’s many efforts to charm the water warm.  She couldn’t make sense of it – it was as though the Manor sucked the magic right out of her wand every time she tried.

Not all spells behaved that way.  Her clothes still held the gray or lavender color for the expected amount of time.  She had no trouble demonstrating spells for Astoria or activating the staircase for Lyra.  But when it came to her own personal care, especially in the small tub room, nothing seemed to work to dampen the chill.  She had been sleeping under an enormous pile of quilts for the last several nights, and as she slipped out of bed to head to the library she could see her breath mist in the air around her.

She shuddered and quickly pulled on her dressing gown and then a blanket around her shoulders for warmth.  She even slipped on some thick, woolen socks before easing the door open and stepping out into the hall.

Immediately, the temperature seemed to increase by a few degrees.  

Hermione scowled.  It was still very cold out here, but she could no longer see her breath in her wandlight.  Perhaps it was just her room that dropped to dangerous temperatures at night.  She idly considered taking Ginny up on her offer to move to the servants’ hall, but something stopped her.  She didn’t want to be noticed, especially not if she was going to investigate the cause of Lyra’s illness herself.  Vocalizing her complaints about her room the very first week she was there would do nothing but draw unwanted attention.

She could manage.  It wasn’t ideal, but she hadn’t frozen to death just yet. 

Hermione padded down the now-familiar corridors and moved silently up the stairs until she reached the young ladies’ wing.  She had decided to come in the middle of the night for her first foray into the library because she was sure it would take her some time to learn its organization.  Though she still had not met the duke, the entire household’s schedule revolved around him, and Hermione felt she already had a grasp of at least some of his habits.  He was sure to be asleep at this hour, just like everyone else but her.

Hermione had always been the type to thrive on minimal sleep and a puzzle.  This was both, and she was wide awake as she unlocked the door, wincing a little at the audible click as the mechanism turned.

She eased the door open and slipped through it, immediately locking up again behind her.  Then she turned to enter the first door on her right, which Mrs. Weasley had pointed out to her during her original tour of the wing.

She took a deep breath and then pushed it open.

A jolt of something coursed through her as she stepped over the threshold.  She felt an odd blend of terror, elation, and anticipation as she looked around the dim shelves.  There was a fire that had burned down to almost nothing in a grate on the other side of the room, and several lamps turned low that threw off just enough light for Hermione to observe a reading table, several masculine-looking armchairs, and shelves of books that meandered and disappeared into the inky darkness.  

She walked near the table and froze as she felt an odd breeze pass through, rustling the pages of a book that had been left out.  Then the moment passed, and Hermione felt like she could breathe again as she held her wand aloft.

“Right,” she whispered to herself.  “Organizational methods first.”

The light was too low for her to have a sense of the library’s scope, but she knew that any library of the size that the Manor surely commanded must have a system of organization.  She would have to learn it to have any hope of finding what she needed.

She moved toward one of the shelves she could barely make out in the darkness, and as she approached she realized it wasn’t just a shelf or two, but an entire corridor that seemed to snake off of the main reading room.  She held her wand up and saw a plaque overhead that said Charms.

Hermione studied it curiously before she moved to the next one and saw that this corridor was labeled Transfiguration.

She slowly worked her way around the entire room and discovered Herbology, Potions, Arithmancy, Dark Arts, Blood Magic, Creatures, Astronomy, Divination, Numerology, Alchemy, History, Biographies, Records, Muggles, Languages, Philosophy, Arts, Sports, and finally Fiction.

She was breathless by the end of it.

“It’s an enormous hub with spokes then,” she muttered to herself.  “Each section leads back to the main reading room.”

She could not see the end of any of the corridors she had peered down.   All seemed to disappear into the darkness.  But it was comforting to know that if she stayed on a simple path, she could always find her way back to the center.

She was just starting to wander back toward Dark Arts when a deep voice echoed through the reading room, causing Hermione to spin around as her heart nearly failed.

“Tell me, Miss Granger,” said the voice.  “Do you make it a habit of prowling dark libraries at night, or is that honor reserved for mine?”

******

Draco

Draco had doused his light the moment she walked in.

He had called to the shadows that lingered throughout the library and drawn them toward him, giving him a better disguise than any disillusionment charm or invisibility cloak ever could.

She had walked within a meter of him and failed to see him sitting there at the reading table, not even when the library reacted to his magic and caused the pages of his book to flutter.  She froze for a moment and then seemed to shake herself out of it as she made a systematic investigation of the reading room, studying the plaques over each Hall of Learning.

He had observed her closely as she examined the library, but it certainly wasn’t the first time he had watched her.  He had been observing her quite a bit as she took Lyra and Astoria out for the daily walks in the gardens.  He had an excellent view over the gardens from his own wing, so just like that first day she arrived he watched her passively through a window and from a distance.  She always arrived pushing Lyra’s chair while occasionally stopping to gesticulate toward one dead plant or another for Astoria’s benefit.

Most days Neville joined them, bringing out young plants from the greenhouses to assist with Miss Granger’s lectures.  The greenhouses, mercifully, had been spared from the growing decay thus far, but Draco knew that whenever it came time for Neville to bury his plants in the earth, they would immediately start to wilt thanks to the perversions in the magic.  It was a shame because Neville had a true talent for Herbology.  And yet, even his skills had not been enough to stop the slow rot, and now he was reduced to a few greenhouses filled with vegetables and a handful of medicinal and rare plants necessary for Lyra’s treatments.  The elves who helped maintain the exterior of the estate still raked the gravel paths and removed branches from the beds, but their skills were going to waste as well.

It did not seem to deter Miss Granger, however, who approach each outing as an opportunity to learn.  After a week of suppers, Lyra was enamored with her and even Astoria had come around.  Rosie, too, practically revered her, and Draco had engaged the elf in several conversations about the new governess.  It was obvious that Miss Granger could do no wrong in the little elf’s eyes.

As his sister’s energy continued to improve and Lyra’s ridiculous friendship with the elves rapidly deepened, Draco plotted ways to meet the governess himself.  He could have simply summoned her to his study at any time, but something had always made him pause.

Meeting in the gardens or in the corridors would feel more natural, and she wouldn’t have her guard up that way.  Draco was intensely curious about her — and still rather irritated for all the elf nonsense — but he didn’t think he would get an honest first impression if she had any time to prepare.

An organic ambush was what he needed, and he had been waiting for it.

He certainly hadn’t expected it to happen this way, but the opportunity was too good to miss.  Besides, he knew he had to say something when she began to drift toward the Dark Arts section a second time.  He had only begun to read Lucius’s journals, but what little he had learned thus far made him distrust the Manor as she wandered down that aisle.

After all, if family history was to be believed, the Manor had been known to consume overly curious witches and wizards before.  If Miss Granger was going to be sacrificed for the Manor and its magic, he would make sure it was done in a way that would be sure to fix the magic permanently.

When he spoke, she spun around with a gasp, and Draco finally got his first close look at her face.

Her eyes were huge and molten in the dim light.  He could not ascertain their precise shade, but he could tell they were darker than his own.  Her frame was slight, though it was buried under a dressing gown and, oddly enough, a thick woolen blanket.  Her hair, however, seemed to occupy a space unto itself.

Astoria had told him that her hair was unruly, and Draco had to agree when he watched her through the window.  She was constantly fighting her curls, which liked to escape in the breeze of the gardens, and she was forever trying to contain them into a severe bun at the nape of her neck with mixed results.

Tonight, however, her hair was in a very loose braid, trailing down her back, tied off at the end with a ribbon.  The plait was only tight enough to train the curls toward a particular direction, but not enough to truly subdue them.  Draco watched the firelight flicker across them with slight fascination.

“Your Grace,” she breathed, dropping into a quick curtsy.  “I was merely exploring the library.”

“At midnight?” he inquired.

He thought he caught the trace of a blush on her cheeks, though it was difficult to tell in the low light.

“I couldn’t sleep.  I thought that perhaps a new book would help, and Mrs. Weasley said I was welcome to come in here.”

Draco cocked his head to study her.  Something about her struck him as being entirely untruthful, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“And you thought that some books on dark magic would put you to sleep, is that it?”

She shrugged.  “As I’m sure you are aware, dark magic isn’t nearly as interesting as it sounds.  Much of the theory is rather dry, in fact, and it’s nothing more than charms or potions with some malicious intent behind it.  I have certainly fallen asleep over a dark magic book or two in my time.”

Draco raised an incredulous eyebrow.  Now he was sure she was lying to him, but then again, she also wasn’t wrong.  Dark magic was not that different than other theoretical branches.

“And is it proper for a young woman such as yourself to seek such knowledge?”

He saw a flash of irritation cross her face, but she quickly buried it.

“Forgive me, Your Grace, but the door to this library is accessible to two young witches who have a much greater concern than I do for things like reputations and propriety.  If it’s proper for them, then I see no reason why it shouldn’t be proper for me as well.  If you truly believed it to be improper then I am certain you would have blocked their access to it.  Given that you have not taken those steps, then I must assume that your question is merely rhetorical.”

Draco sat back and crossed his arms as he contemplated her.  Her eyes tracked his movement, and he thought she blushed again as she realized he was in his evening clothes.  It was true he wasn’t as underdressed as she was, but Draco was still in his shirtsleeves.  He would not have to wake Bill to dress for bed tonight.

“There is one key difference between you and your charges,” pointed out Draco.

“Oh?” she asked.

“They are family, and you are not.”

Another flash of irritation crossed her face.

“Your Grace, if you mean to say that the library is closed to staff—”

“I didn’t say that,” he said.  “Mrs. Weasley was correct that you’re welcome to explore the library.  But it’s not always safe for visitors… especially not at night.”

Miss Granger frowned.  “If it isn’t safe, then why didn’t she say something?”

Draco shrugged.  “Perhaps because none of the other governesses have ever crossed the threshold.  At most they took a peek through the door and then decided it wasn’t for them.  No doubt she thought you would behave the same way.”

Miss Granger looked offended at the very notion.

“But how on earth did they know which books to use for the young ladies if they didn’t explore the library?”

Draco smirked.  “I filled the shelves for them after… appropriate consideration of content.”

She scowled at this.  “Well that strikes me as a waste of your time, Sir, and an underutilization of my own expertise.  I certainly shall not be asking you to assist with that in the future.”

Draco couldn’t help but grin.  He sensed that she was the type of witch to chafe under the various social constraints that governed their world.  That accounted for her sharp tongue, which was not nearly as demure as it ought to be given that he had caught her wandering the Manor in her nightclothes.  And yet, she was entirely beholden to families like his for her employment.  He sensed her biting her tongue more than once, and for a moment he wished she wouldn’t.  He wondered what she would say if she wasn’t actively censoring herself.

“Very well,” said Draco.  “But if you wish to be a guest of the library, then I suggest visiting during daylight hours.  And if you choose to return at night, then proceed with caution, Miss Granger.  Do not succumb to its temptations, and if you find yourself being… drawn in… then that is the sign that you should turn and run.”

Her eyes widened ever so slightly before turning resolute, and Draco just sighed to himself.  She was reckless, then, and no doubt she would be back the following night.

“I thank you for the warning, Your Grace,” she said.

Draco stood slowly and gathered his own book to take back to his room before peering down at her once more.  

“Allow me to suggest a book for your nighttime reading,” he said, as he strode toward Philosophy and selected a book near the front of that section.  He knew it to be one of the most boring books that had ever been penned.

“I am confident that this will put you to sleep, Miss Granger,” he said, as he held it out for her to take.

“Meditations on the Merits of Sobriety,” she read out loud before wrinkling her nose.

“Now off to bed with you,” he said, while making a shooing gesture with his hand.

She grimaced at him while dropping into another small curtsy and then turned and stomped out of the library.  Even in her socked feet he could hear the thud of her footfalls as they grew fainter down the hall.

A little smile crossed Draco’s face before he looked back down at his own book, and it slowly disappeared.

After all, Lucius’s journals were the stuff of nightmares.

Chapter Text

Hermione

After her fourth failed trip to the library at night, Hermione was struck by the odd thought that perhaps the Duke of Wiltshire was a vampire.

It seemed impossible, but then again, the evidence was starting to lean that way.

He has pale skin like moonlight.

He only emerges at night.

Neville mentioned he doesn’t grow garlic on the estate.

He frequents the Blood Magic section of the library.

His staff is so loyal there could be magical compulsions making them behave that way.

Hermione knew it was absurd, and yet she couldn’t seem to shake the thought.  If he was a vampire, then none of the other staff ever spoke of it.  But then again, why should they?  Hermione had only been there for a few weeks.  She had not been raised on the estate like so many others.  They kept his other secrets so well from the world that why not keep this one too?

The fact that Hermione had only ever encountered him alone in the library was the most damning thing.  After her first failed attempt she tried again the following night – this time waiting until two o’clock in the morning – and she encountered him again.

That time he sent her back to her room with a book titled, Propriety Is As Propriety Does.

She tried again a few nights later, this time going earlier, and there he was again.  That night he presented her with Sermons and Lectures For the Young and Innocent.  Then several nights after that, nearly at daybreak, she tried once more, and he was just emerging from the Blood Magic section, already holding a book titled Fortitude and Folly: A Governess’s Companion.

He gave her a blinding smile as he handed it to her and sent her back to bed.

Hermione’s lack of progress had been galling.  She had not made it further than the main reading room since she began exploring, because he was always there.  She considered visiting during the family’s supper because he was guaranteed to be away at that time, but it never lasted very long before Mrs. Weasley or Ginny was called away to escort Lyra and Astoria back to bed.  Hermione craved more than thirty minutes for her search, and she did not feel it wise to prowl the library while the girls were awake.  If they realized what she was up to, they might report it to the duke, and Hermione preferred to wait until she had a solution in hand before approaching him about it.

It was obvious to her that the duke was trying to keep her out of the library’s stacks, but he had not shared his reasons for it, other than some vague hints about safety.  Hermione almost wished he would simply forbid it, because allowing her in and then turning her away over and over again felt like he was dangling something in front of her that he would never allow her to have.  There was a subtle cruelty to it, one she had not expected or encountered before.  She had certainly worked for other employers who liked to toy with their staff by flaunting their differences in position, but those employers had always chosen the wrong thing when targeting Hermione.  They had dangled gowns and jewels and even marriage prospects in front of her as a way of putting Hermione in her place and elevating themselves instead.

Hermione had not cared.  She didn’t need gowns or jewelry, other than a few sturdy pieces that were seasonally appropriate.  Nor did she care about marriage – she doubted she would ever get married.  So when the Duke of Wiltshire taunted her with the books inside of Malfoy Manor’s library, the pain of it sliced through her in an unexpected way that made her both desolate and very angry.

The fact that she wasn’t part of a noble family or even a pureblooded family had never hurt quite that much.

She knew that at some point she would have to explore it during the daylight, because if he was a vampire he would surely retreat to his chambers at that time.  Furthermore, that was the time he always invited her back.

“You should see the library during the light of day, Miss Granger.”

“The books are more welcoming by daylight, Miss Granger.”

“Nobody has to keep their wits about them once it’s morning.”

But something about the library seemed to call her at night.  She didn’t know if it was simply the need to best the duke at his own game or if it was the magic in the Manor itself that did it, but she had no interest in seeing it during the day.  

After her fourth failed attempt, Hermione knew she had to bide her time before returning, and given her new suspicions about her employer it would be wise to acquire a wooden stake before she tried again.  Besides, Hedwig had arrived the previous evening with a concerning note from Harry, and Hermione had a more urgent matter to attend to before she attempted another visit to the library.

Dear Hermione,

As you know, the full moon is approaching.  Our aconite plant has developed spotting consistent with fairy’s blight, and I’m afraid it is spreading too rapidly to save the plant.  Remus’s stores of Wolfsbane are low, and he will need more for the moon next week, but without aconite we have no hope of brewing it in time.

I am hoping you have a source of it at Malfoy Manor.  We could use muggle aconite in a pinch, but as you know from the past the brew is not as effective without the magical variant.  I will search for a new plant for our greenhouse here in Godric’s Hollow, but I’m sure you recall that it took me several months to locate one for sale the last time our plant was lost.

Please write back and let me know if you have aconite on hand.  If so, I’ll send Hedwig with the rest of the ingredients, assuming you have a private place to brew there.

All my love,

Harry

Hermione immediately wrote back to inform Harry that there was magical aconite in one of the greenhouses that Neville Longbottom managed.  According to Neville, it was not a terribly mature plant, but Hermione thought that even juvenile aconite would perform better than the muggle variety.  

She then waffled about whether she should approach Neville for help with it or not.  Aconite was not common in magical greenhouses due to its poisonous properties and the fact that it was very temperamental to grow.  Most greenhouses that kept a plant did it for a reason, and there were only a small number of potions that required it.

From the things Neville had told her, Hermione suspected the aconite at Malfoy Manor was being kept for Lyra’s potions, and though Neville was a gentle and empathetic soul he would no doubt be hesitant to give her any for her own use.

And so, Hermione ultimately decided to say nothing and simply take it for herself one night.  She did not believe the potions Lyra was consuming did anything for the girl at all, so if Severus could not brew them because there wasn’t enough aconite for both, then so be it.  Lyra would not be harmed at all, and Remus needed it.

Decision made, she waited until Hedwig returned to her one evening with every other ingredient she needed for the brew.  Hermione’s personal cauldron was kept in the small potions room just off the schoolroom, where she was training Astoria to brew the Pepperup for her N.E.W.T.s.  Hermione had debated whether to move the cauldron into her own bedroom for this, but something about the magic made her hesitate.

She still had trouble with certain spells in that room, and Wolfsbane was one of the rare potions that required spellwork as part of the brew.  She couldn’t risk it going wrong.

The night she decided to brew, Hermione carefully packed away every other ingredient into her beaded reticule, which she had prepared for this task.  It never failed to make her think of James and Lily Potter every time she used it.  The bag was actually a Potter heirloom, one that she and Harry had found in the rather empty vault that they explored together soon after the Potters’ deaths.  Lily had used it on occasion, and it contained any number of enchantments, including a preservation charm and an expansion charm.  Harry had given it to her, insisting that Lily would have wanted her to have it, and she had to admit it had been put to good use over the last several years.  She had smuggled more than one potion for Remus in and out of Society homes using the small bag.

She was still in her dull gray dress from the evening, and she donned her cloak, pulling the hood over her distinctive curls.  She retrieved her bag and cast a disillusionment charm over herself, wondering for a moment if she would be able to get into the library this way too.

No, it would probably take Harry’s invisibility cloak to avoid the duke.  Disillusionment charms can be seen in close quarters.

The possibility of using Harry’s invisibility cloak had real merit, and she knew she would have to think about it further once her task for Remus was complete.

She slipped out of her room, relaxing a little in the slightly warmer air she encountered in the corridor.  She moved like a ghost through the empty halls, her path lit by low lamps that never went out, until she was easing open the door to the gardens.

She had not seen the aconite plant herself, but Neville mentioned that it was in one of the three large greenhouses on the estate.  Hermione quickly made her way to the first and opened the door, looking around curiously.  Usually Neville brought the plants out himself.  Hermione had not yet been invited in.  But a quick survey of the first greenhouse led her to believe that this was filled with common edibles – vegetables, a few fruit trees in pots, and herbs.  No doubt the kitchen elves frequented it.

The second greenhouse contained more of the same, though in the back section there were some plants that could be considered mildly medicinal, though they were all muggle in origin.  She saw echinacea, aloe vera, chamomile, even turmeric.  Sensing that the final greenhouse had the thing she needed, Hermione exited from the second greenhouse too and then carefully opened the door to the third.

The moment she stepped through it, she knew she had found the place.  This greenhouse was filled with magical species, many of which Hermione knew were considered dark.  There was a venomous tentacula pulsing in one corner.  The leaves of mandrakes were rustling on a potting bench, as though they were struggling to emerge from the soil.  She even spotted some cowbane, which Hermione eyed warily.  The innocent white flowers looked innocuous, but Hermione knew that just three of the tiny blooms baked into a pie were enough to kill a grown man.

And there, in the back corner, she spied it: a young aconite plant that was bathed in moonlight.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.  It was being stored properly, then, and a quick glance at the underside of the flowers told her that it had not fertilized itself recently.  This was excellent news.

She approached it slowly and began to sing a French lullaby that Lily used to sing to her and Harry when they were children.  It was a silly song about the moon and two men named Pierrot and Harlequin, but Hermione knew from experience that aconite plants responded to song, and they were particularly docile whenever she sang about the moon.  She was always reminded of her Herbology N.E.W.T. and the dumbfounded expressions on the examiners’ faces when they saw that aconite flowers could be coaxed open, rather than forced.

Over and over again she sang it, until sure enough, the tight purple petals began to open slowly, revealing themselves to be pristine under the light of the moon.

Hermione did not stop singing while she reached forward and quickly harvested the petals from five flowers.  There were still several left behind, but Hermione estimated that she had taken enough to give Remus at least three moons’ worth of potion while Harry sourced another plant.  Satisfied that she had enough, she slowly drew back, still singing her song as she gave the plant a small curtsy, as was her custom.

Hermione had always believed that aconite was almost sentient and respecting the plant meant that it would show her favor in return.

It was only when she placed the petals in her reticule and backed out of striking distance that she ceased her song.  Immediately the plant shuddered and seized, and then the flowers closed with an audible snap just as the stemen released a puff of poisonous pollen into the air before it settled back down on the closed flowers.

Hermione knew that over time that pollen would work its way back into the flowers to fertilize it and generate new growth, but for the next several days just touching the plant could prove fatal.

Hermione wondered if she should warn Neville of it, but aconite fertilized itself spontaneously too.  Surely he would know to look for the signs before touching it.

Hermione cast a final glance back at the plant and then moved toward the door, pausing only when she passed a cluster of garden stakes near some empty pots at the entrance.

She hesitated for a moment, but then crouched to pick one up and place it in her reticule as well, as her recent suspicions about the duke came back into focus.

She retraced her steps through the night, and soon she was letting herself into the young ladies’ wing, passing the door to the library cautiously.  She would not be going in there tonight, but she knew the duke was likely inside.

She tiptoed past it and moved down the corridor to the schoolroom, which had the small potions lab attached to it.  

Hermione closed the door to the room and finally cancelled her disillusionment charm.  She began to quickly set up her ingredients, her motions practiced and confident as she started the brew from memory.

It was a challenging brew, with several precarious steps that Hermione always thought needed an extra set of hands.  However, it was mercifully short, and she knew it would be ready within the hour.

She was absorbed in her task, and as the final spell was cast over the cauldron, she smiled with satisfaction to see the potion turn white and begin to smoke in that familiar way.

She then moved to the small window in the lab and unlatched it before leaning against the sill and giving a low, but distinctive whistle.

Within seconds, Hermione stepped back as the ghostly form of Hedwig swooped in silently, landing on the table with the potion and eyeing it haughtily.

“Here we go,” whispered Hermione, as she cast several obscure stasis charms on the potion before dividing it into three separate jars and sealing them with her wand.  She placed them back inside of her reticule and secured the whole thing to Hedwig’s leg.

“Come along girl.  Let’s give him his medicine, alright?” 

Hedwig hopped up onto Hermione’s proffered arm and allowed Hermione to carry her to the ledge before giving a soft, reassuring hoot.

“Be safe,” Hermione whispered before launching her into the air.

She watched Hedwig fly off into the night before she turned around, and her heart nearly failed her.

The Duke of Wiltshire was standing in the doorway, a lamp casting light on his pale face, which was an expressionless mask.

But his eyes burned with something terrifying, and for the first time since she had come to Malfoy Manor Hermione felt true fear.  

She lunged for the wooden stake that was on the table, sitting there innocently after Hermione had removed it from her bag.  Her fingers closed around it, and her magic pulsed as she raised it up to eye-height.

“Don’t come any closer!” she declared.  “If you do, I’ll shove this through your heart!”

******

Draco

The governess was an enigma, and Draco did not like it.

He had more than his fair share of puzzles at the moment, and learning the secrets of the new governess should not be occupying his time.  She should be a boring, dull paragon – somebody he could trust with his sister and ward.  She shouldn’t be a lovely, stubborn young woman who crept through the Manor under the cover of darkness and continued to enter his library at night after he had told her multiple times that she should visit during the day instead.

Draco should terminate her, and he knew it.  He would not have tolerated this sort of behavior from any of the other governesses who had lived under his roof, but for some reason Miss Granger had caught his attention, and he was too curious about her to turn her out.

What was she looking for in the library?  Why wouldn’t she just take his hints and browse during daylight hours when he knew she would be safe?  Why did she continue to return over and over again, despite meeting him every time she entered the reading room?

After that first night in the library he had cast a few special wards around her door so that he could keep an eye on her, because he didn’t trust her not to get herself killed through sheer stubbornness.  Sure enough, the wards had been tripped the following night and then two more nights during the recent weeks, and every time it happened he simply rose from his bed and headed to the library to meet her.

That night, however, she hadn’t shown.  And it wasn’t until he felt some different wards trip near the exterior garden doors that he pulled the darkness from the Manor around him and set out to find her.

It had been difficult at first.  She had cast her own disillusionment charm, and in the darkness she was nothing more than a ripple through the shadows until he heard a voice singing in a light soprano.

He had walked toward her as if in a trance.  It was a song his mother used to sing to him as a child, and he watched in astonishment as the aconite – which he knew was one of Neville’s least cooperative plants – opened like a lover before her.  

He had never seen anything like it, and he had made a furious study of every plant and ingredient that was a component part of Lyra’s potions, especially the poisonous ones.  In all of his reading about aconite, he had never encountered this technique to subdue it.  And yet, Miss Granger approached it confidently, and within minutes she had collected several blooms all for herself without a single moment of hesitation or fear.  It was apparent to him that she had done this many times before.

He then followed her to the small potions lab he had set up for Daphne and Astoria that connected to the school room.  Here, he watched in disbelief as she brewed a potion he did not immediately recognize from memory, using so many advanced techniques and odd shortcuts that it was a wonder she didn’t have a mastery in the subject.  He had never seen anyone approach potion-making like she did, not even Severus.  

Once the potion was complete she gave a strange whistle out the window, and a stunning, gorgeous snowy owl whom Draco knew did not live on the estate swooped through the window, and Miss Granger loaded up a very curious reticule with potion and stroked the owl as though it was her own before sending it out into the night.

He should have stopped her in the greenhouse when she stole from him, but he didn’t.  Just like her continued employment, which he also should have ended before now, he couldn’t seem to help but see what came next.  And as he looked up in the sky and saw the nearly-full moon bathing the dead grounds in light, it suddenly occurred to him what she was doing.

She was brewing Wolfsbane.  

Bill had told him about it of course.  Bill told him everything of interest that arose during staff suppers.

“The new governess is different from the others,” Bill said as he dressed Draco for dinner the night after Draco caught her in the library for the first time.

“Oh?”

“She says she brewed Wolfsbane for her N.E.W.T.s If you don’t mind me saying so, your Grace, I think Percy nearly shat himself when he heard.”

Draco looked at Bill in the mirror in surprise.  

“Never say so.”

Bill shrugged.  “I’m just reporting it as she told the story.  Severus was in a snit about it because he said that potion wasn’t scorable.”

Draco struggled to remember the properties of Wolfsbane, but that was the sort of information he had learned for his N.E.W.T. exam and then promptly forgot as soon as it was over.

“If Severus says so, I’m sure he’s right.”

“Well Miss Granger found a way around it.  Apparently she fed it to a werewolf she knew on the night of the full moon to prove that it worked, and she scored top marks on her Magical Creatures exam at the same time because he was the creature she presented for her practical.  She says she’s brewed it for him many times before to keep him safe.  It made Percy and Mother uncomfortable, but the rest of the family found it fascinating.  In fact, I think Ronald’s half in love with her already.  He’ll have some competition from Neville though.”

Draco narrowed his eyes at Bill in the mirror.

“They want to pursue her?”

Bill shrugged.  “Hard to say.  Percy’s first in line because it’s obvious that she’s studious, and Mother has fully given up on Charley.  Percy will try since Mother wants it, but I don’t think Miss Granger’s interested.  You know Mother, though: after Percy she’ll move through the twins before trying with Ronald.  I’ll say this much… I can tell that Miss Granger has caught Ronald’s interest, so he’ll be ready once the older ones give it up.  Neville though?  That poor man is smitten, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he tries to draw her interest now, assuming he can work out how to do it.  Apparently she knows plants.”

She did know plants, Draco had seen that for himself that evening.  And as he watched the beautiful owl disappear into the night, something about all of it – the sneaking around, the theft of the aconite, the late-night brewing, the werewolf she was obviously in contact with – made him very, very angry.

He connected with the magic of the Manor and allowed the shadows to recede so she would finally see him.

When she turned from the window, she blanched and then dove for a wooden stake that was inexplicably resting on the table.

“Don’t come any closer!” she said in a quavering voice.  “If you do, I’ll shove this through your heart!”

It took Draco a full five seconds to realize what she was implying.  His anger vanished as quickly as it had come, and he had the oddest urge to laugh.

“You think I’m a vampire?”

Even in the dim light he could see her flush, but she didn’t lower the stake in her hand.

“And why not?  Each encounter with you gives me more evidence for it.”

Draco crossed his arms and relaxed against the doorframe.  “Oh?  Please enlighten me.”

She looked wary, but she still did not lower the stake.

“You’re pale, nocturnal, and the last time I saw you in the library you were coming out of the Blood Magic section.  Oh, and Mr. Longbottom says you don’t allow garlic on the estate.”

Draco tried to stop the smile that crossed his face, but he couldn’t.  Instead, he approached her slowly, confidently, and he watched as her eyes widened in shock and a little fear.

He reached up and plucked the stake out of her hand, which caused her to give an inelegant squeak before she fumbled for her wand.

Draco reached out and gripped that hand too to stop her.  She looked terrified now, and she was breathing hard, bending away from him as though she thought he might lean forward and suck her blood at any moment.

“Let me make one thing clear: I am not a vampire.”

She relaxed ever so slightly, and Draco released her and stepped back, placing the stake on the table out of her reach.

“But you’re pale.”

“That’s because I’m a Malfoy.  We’re all pale, or haven’t you noticed the portraits?”

“You’re nocturnal.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are, I am always seeing you in the library.”

“That’s because you wake me up every time you trip my wards.  I’ve told you more than once the library is not safe at night, and a member of the family needs to be there if you’re going to explore it after the sun goes down.  Seeing as how Lyra and Astoria are not equipped to do that, the only one left who can mind you is me.”

She blinked in surprise.

“Wards?”

“Of course, wards.  What did you think?  That I spend all night in the library?”

“Well… yes,” she confessed.

Draco couldn’t stop the grin that crossed his face at the perplexed look on her face.  She appeared both baffled and irritated, as though she was angry with herself for overlooking something so obvious.

She’s academically brilliant, but she must forget about practical magic now and then.

“I don’t,” he said.  “You’ve been setting off wards on your way to the library every single night.”

“Oh…” she said softly.  But then she gave him another suspicious look.

“And the garlic?”

“I love garlic,” he confessed.  “But the smell of it in the parlor during after dinner drinks is not pleasant for guests.  I often find myself hosting with barely a moment’s notice, so I don’t grow it on the estate.  It’s easier on the elves if we don’t use it.”

She huffed in irritation, and Draco couldn’t help but smile again.

“Well there’s also the loyalty from the staff… they are inordinately loyal to you.”

“Miss Granger, I’m sure you are aware of what I pay you.”

She flushed again, but nodded once.

“You are not unique,” he added.  “All of my staff are well-compensated, and many of them were born and raised here.  Of course they are loyal to me.”

She seemed to slump.

“You aren’t a vampire.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Then I apologize for accusing you of such, your Grace.”

“You do not need to apologize for that.”

“Oh, but–”

“What you should be apologizing for is the aconite you stole from my greenhouse not even an hour ago… and communing with a werewolf from the estate’s grounds.”

A look of shock and fear appeared on her face.

“I didn’t,” she said automatically.

Draco raised one, unimpressed eyebrow.

“So you’re a thief and a liar then.  I’ll admit, I suspected it.”

He gestured down toward her gown, which had faded from gray to a charming blue while she was brewing the Wolfsbane.  

She glanced down at herself and flinched.

“It’s just a color charm!  I don’t have a separate wardrobe for half-mourning!”

“And why not?”

Now she was looking at him like he was daft.  “Because of the expense, of course.”

“I know for a fact that a draft for a hundred galleons was deposited into your account the day after you arrived here.  While I will acknowledge that you may not have had the blunt for it before your arrival, we both know that you have plenty of galleons now to purchase a true wardrobe for that occasion.”

Now she crossed her arms and scoffed.  “Please... That would be an enormous waste.  Why would I buy a wardrobe for it when I’m to emerge from half-mourning by year’s end?  My charms work perfectly well until that time arrives.”

“Except when you forget to cast them,” he pointed out.

“You are the only person who has seen me dressed like this, and you wouldn’t have if you hadn’t followed me!”

“It’s my house.  I’m entitled to follow you anywhere.”

She looked like she wanted to argue, but she closed her eyes for a moment and then exhaled.

“Of course, Your Grace.  It is your house.”

“And since I watched you steal the aconite and brew the Wolfsbane, there’s no use lying about it.  That will do nothing but make me believe that I can’t trust you.”

She went pale again.

“You watched me?”

“Of course I did.”

“And you didn’t stop me?”

Draco shrugged.  “I have plenty of aconite for Lyra.  I didn’t think it was necessary.”

“Then why do you care about–”

“Because it’s dishonest and underhanded, Miss Granger.  And need I remind you that I have employed you to educate my ward and my sister?   You are meant to give both of them an example of a young woman with an unblemished character.”

“Your Grace, you must understand… my friend who needs it… he is a good man.  And as you say, you have plenty of aconite, and isn’t it honorable to use it to keep a village safe from a werewolf?”

She was wringing her hands, looking at him beseechingly.  Another surge of anger rose deep in his gut, but it was mixed with fascination that she was actually arguing with him about this.

“I do not particularly care what kind of man he is.  What I care about is loyalty and honesty among my staff.  You, it seems, are neither loyal nor honest.”

“Your Grace!”

“Miss Grange: tell the truth.  Did you take my aconite?  And before you answer, remember that I watched you do it.”

She worried her lower lip between her teeth, but then nodded once.

“And will you do such a reckless and untrustworthy thing again?”

Now she looked very torn, and she was glancing everywhere but him.

“I—”

“Yes?” he prompted.

“Your Grace, you say you value honesty, but I fear that you will not like what I have to say in this instance.”

Draco crossed his arms and loomed over her.  She instinctively took a step back.

“Miss Granger.  Speak plainly and answer me.”

She slumped.  “Very well, if you insist.  The answer is yes I will do it again if my friend is unable to acquire an aconite plant within the next three moons.  His plant became diseased, and it was urgent.  He is sourcing another, but the last time this happened it took several months for us to find a replacement for him.”

It took every bit of training that Draco possessed not to gape at her.

“To be clear,” he said slowly, “you would steal from my greenhouse a second time?”

Her fists clenched and her eyes suddenly started to burn. Draco found himself watching in slight fascination.

“I just told you, Sir!  He is a good man, a kind man, and he is very important to me!  Furthermore, that potion keeps the village where I was raised safe from the wolf during the full moons.  So yes, I would take flowers from your aconite plant if he is unable to find his own by the time it is needed next!  They are just flowers, Sir!  When you harvest them, they grow back!  Besides, a few flowers in exchange for a man’s health and a village’s safety seems like a very small trade, and I would not be able to live with myself if I had the means to help, and I chose not to do it!”

She fell silent, her chest heaving.  Draco stared into her eyes, wondering what on earth he was supposed to do next.  Flowers or not, he should not keep a thief on staff.  He certainly should not have a woman who appeared to be in love with a werewolf near Astoria and Lyra.  Her boldness and sharp tongue were also very problematic, and if any other member of his staff had spoken to him this way — with the possible exception of Mrs. Weasley — he would have turned them out without a second thought.  

And yet, it was obvious to him that her N.E.W.T. scores had been acquired honestly.  She was inordinately talented and would surely prepare Astoria as best as anybody could.  Furthermore, Lyra adored her, and that first supper after Miss Granger arrived had not been a fluke.  Lyra’s energy still flagged on occasion, but for the most part she was eating more, she was livelier, and while Draco had been hesitant to grow too optimistic, even he was now willing to admit that Lyra seemed to be noticeably improving under the care of the new governess.

And none of this even touched on the contents of his father’s journal.

I will do anything or work with anyone if they help Lyra get better.

He knew this, but he also had to make it clear that this sort of behavior would not be tolerated in the future.  He was silent long enough as he contemplated what to say to her, that Miss Granger’s fists unclenched, and she began to chew her lip nervously again.

“You will not steal from me,” he said.  “If you require aconite, you will inform me in advance.”

She blinked in surprise, but nodded.

“Furthermore, I cannot allow a werewolf to come to the estate, not even one with whom you are infatuated.  The Malfoys have always been willing to look the other way when it comes to romantic entanglements among our staff because it builds loyalty and retains talented servants… but a werewolf is a step too far.”

To Draco’s surprise, her eyes flashed in anger again.

“Infatuated?  I am not infatuated!”

Draco’s stomach jolted unexpectedly. 

“Oh?” he pressed.

She actually threw her arms up in the air and made an irritated little noise.

“Of course not!  He’s old enough to be my father!”

Draco relaxed even more at this news.  

“Plenty of young women are married to men who are old enough to be their fathers.”

Miss Granger’s face twisted.

“Yes, that’s true,” she agreed.  “And if you fed veritaserum to them and asked them if they wanted it, I’d wager at least ninety percent would say no.  The ten percent who would say yes are simply playing the long game and are hoping to become widows very soon so they don’t have to answer to any man again.  Furthermore, you will find that in most cases, the young ladies in that situation have a father or guardian who has arranged matters for them, and there is nothing they can do about it.”

“And you do not have such a guardian?”

She scoffed now.  “Of course not, Sir.  There is nobody in my life who can bind me in magical matrimony.  The gentleman in question would need my cooperation, and I enjoy my independence far too much.  Besides, in the case of my werewolf friend, there is no interest on his part.  He has never once looked at me in that way.”

Draco sat back and crossed his arms in contemplation.

“Very well.  If the werewolf is not your great love, then I must know what he is to you and what you are to him.  I have a ward and a sister I must be thinking of, Miss Granger.  And while I will acknowledge that you seem very well-equipped to manage your duties toward them, I have caught you doing things that would have resulted in your immediate termination if it had been anybody else. I need you to tell me why you insist on brewing a very dangerous potion for this particular wolf.  Great love or not, there is obviously something about him that has captured your interest.”

She began to wring her hands again, but Draco decided to wait her out.  He knew he should terminate her on the spot, but he didn’t want to.  He needed her skills for Astoria and more importantly, he needed her care for Lyra.  All he wanted from her now was the truth.  He wanted to understand her motives so he could reassure himself that Lyra, in particular, was safe near this woman who kept the company of werewolves.

And I need to know that Miss Granger will stay safe too, at least until I’ve drawn my own conclusions from Father’s notes. 

This bloody woman had no idea how dangerous her life had become ever since stepping foot inside of Malfoy Manor.  Draco could sense she was very important, but he still wasn’t certain why.  He needed to make sure she wouldn’t get herself killed before he understood what her role would be.  And regardless of how much she cared about her werewolf, fraternizing with one was not safe unless she had an unshakable relationship with the creature.

If it wasn’t love, then Draco couldn’t imagine what else it might be.

“Your Grace, please…” she said.

She was giving him that beseeching look again, and to his horror he felt his resolve crumbling.  But Draco clenched his own fists and made himself say it.

“Tell me, Miss Granger.  I do not want to terminate you, but you must convince me to let you stay after this night.  This is my price.  I want to know what he is to you.”

She seemed to deflate in front of his eyes, and Draco felt a strange lurch of guilt for pressing the issue.

No.  She’s the one in the wrong here.  And I need to know this to make sure the estate is not going to be visited by a lovesick werewolf who believes his mate is being held captive in the Manor.

“Very well.  He was my tutor.  He educated me from the age of five all the way through my N.E.W.T.s.  He is a mentor and a friend, and I give him credit for all of my academic and professional successes.  I have a flare for potions that he does not share, and it’s one of just a small number of subjects where I outstripped him by the time I reached N.E.W.T. level.  He’s not able to brew Wolfsbane for himself, so I do it for him.  I’ve been doing it safely for years.  It’s the least I can do to thank him for everything he did for me.”

Draco was dumbfounded.  He had not expected this explanation at all, and he wondered if she was lying to him yet again.  But something told him she was finally being honest — perhaps for the first time.

“A male tutor for a young girl?”

She flushed, but gave him a mulish look.  “And why not?  He was a close friend of my uncle’s and very well-suited for his post.  My uncle knew of his condition and showed him no prejudice for it.  The arrangement gave my tutor years of honest employment, and it gave me an education that exceeded even that of Hogwarts.  I still learned to paint and sew and act like a lady, but my education… there was nobody better than him.”

Draco understood now, but he was still agitated to think of it.  He would never have considered a male tutor for his female relations because it was fraught with risk of impropriety.  And yet, he could not deny that this wolf’s tutelage had yielded exceptional results.

“What is his name?” Draco demanded.

She was already shaking her head.  “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I cannot tell you that.  He’s not registered, and I would rather lose my job than cause any trouble for him.”

Draco scowled.  “I could find out.  Bill told me you presented him for your Creatures N.E.W.T.”

To Draco’s surprise, a sly smile crossed her face. 

“I did present him, that’s true.  But I’m afraid he wasn’t wearing his own face when I did it.  He retrieved some hair from an unsuspecting registered werewolf and polyjuiced into him for my exam.”

If Draco had been dumbfounded before, he was truly shocked now.  

“And where did you get polyjuice?” he demanded.

She looked at him like he was dense.

“I brewed it of course.”

“But how?”

“How else?  I used a cauldron and followed the instructions in a book.  It wasn’t difficult.  I  brewed it for the first time when I was thirteen on a lark.”

Draco has to grip the table to steady himself at this news.  

“A lark?” he asked weakly.

“Yes, it was great fun.  So it was no matter at all to brew more for my tutor so he could appear at my exam without revealing himself.”

“Polyjuice shouldn’t work on transformed werewolves though.”

“Well of course it doesn’t, but I thought that once a fully grown, fully transformed werewolf appeared in front of the examination committee, they wouldn’t notice if his markings were a little different from the registration papers.  Sure enough, the examiners seemed very preoccupied and overlooked it.”

She’s mad.

Draco knew she must be truly mad to have done something like this during an exam.

“Polyjuice is banned during exams,” was all he could think to say.

To his consternation she actually rolled her eyes.  

“Honestly, I am becoming convinced that nobody who attends Hogwarts ever bothers to actually read the blasted rules.  Polyjuice is banned for examinees. That’s all.  There is no rule banning it for anybody else who is in the examination room, and that includes teachers, tutors, even the examiners themselves.  It is certainly not banned for werewolves who are being presented.  I didn’t break a single rule during my exams.”

She sniffed irritably, as though offended that he would dare imply such a thing.

Draco found he was developing a headache as he tried to sort his thoughts about this.

“So you won’t tell me who he is,” he summarized.

She just shook her head stubbornly.  “No, Your Grace.  I told you what he was to me against my better judgment, and I hope you will understand that I told you that in good faith so that I could stay here.  I enjoy teaching Lady Astoria, and Lady Lyra is a true delight.  I do not wish to leave either one of them.  However, my former tutor has been in my life since I was five years old, and I only have two people left in the magical world who are truly mine.  He is one of them, and you cannot expect me to betray somebody like that for any post.  I can assure you that he will not come here.  Furthermore, I will not ask you for anything in return except for your discretion and the occasional flower if he is unable to source his own.  I hope you will allow me to stay and will view this as a private, personal matter that does not involve anyone else on the estate.”

Draco stared down at her resolute face.  He could tell she was already preparing for very bad news, but she would not budge on this, and it made something inside of him stir.

She was loyal, then.  She was fiercely loyal.  But she was loyal to those two mysterious people she claimed were hers first.  

In the abstract, Draco could not blame her for this because his temperament was precisely the same.  He was loyal to Lyra first, and as far as he was concerned every other person on earth could burn if that was what it took to make her well again.  And yet, it was utterly galling that Miss Granger would place a werewolf above him.

What would it be like to gain her loyalty too?

A reckless part of him was begging to know, but he sensed it would take time.  He was accustomed to having loyalty from all of his staff, and even those who were new gave it to him quickly thanks to the generous wages and lenience he afforded them.  He was so used to it that he took it for granted.  

But this small witch was different.  She was here for a post, that was all.  She wasn’t here because the Duke of Wiltshire asked her to be.

“Very well,” he said slowly.  “You may stay, and I will keep your secrets on the condition that you inform me before harvesting any other dangerous plants.  Even Neville and Severus do not do that sort of thing on their own because it’s dangerous.  They always have backup.”

She looked as though she wanted to roll her eyes, but she managed to resist and just nodded curtly.

“Furthemore,” he added, “no more late nights in the library.  If you wish to browse, you will do it during daylight hours when the magic of the Manor is more stable.”

Now she was chewing her lip, as though thinking about it denying him this.

“Miss Granger, I must insist.  That is one of my terms.”

She sighed.  

“Yes, alright.”

“And finally,” he added, “you can cease charming your clothes gray.  The color does nothing for you.”

She gave him a sharp look.

“I will not do that until my wardrobe is replaced.  Everyone thinks I’m in half-mourning and—”

“Aren’t you?” asked Draco with interest, finding himself intrigued once more.

She flushed.  

“Of course I am,” she snapped.  “But my point is everyone knows I will be in half-mourning until the seamstresses and tailors come in the new year.  They do not know my clothing is charmed, and I don’t wish to explain myself.  I will not be changing it until I can change my whole wardrobe.”

“And you won’t use your hundred galleons for it,” he stated.

“Absolutely not,” she declared.  “I can think of an infinite number of things I would rather purchase with that money than gowns that will be replaced within the next few months in any event.”

Draco sighed.

“Then you leave me no choice.”

Her eyes widened.  “You’re terminating me because of my gowns?”

Draco’s mouth thinned.  “No, Miss Granger.  I’m calling the seamstresses and tailors to come before the holidays.  I had planned to have a modiste come regardless because Astoria will be attending the annual Yule Ball that I always host for the first time this year, but I will bring in the others to outfit the staff at the same time.  Merlin knows there are enough things in this place that are gray that I cannot change.  But those that I can…”

He gestured toward her gown.

To his surprise, her face seemed to light up.  For all of her insistence that she didn’t care about gowns, Draco sensed she despised the gray and lavender wardrobe she was forced to wear just as much as he did.

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

“Fine, yes.  Now get out of my sight before I change my mind about any of it.”

She dropped into a small curtsy and then fled the room without another word.

Draco looked down at the potions station she had left behind and the wooden stake she had threatened him with, and he just sighed.

Perhaps I should have let her stab me in the heart.

As he listened to her footsteps growing distant in the hall, something told Draco he had just miscalculated by letting Miss Granger stay.

He had miscalculated badly.

Chapter Text

Hermione

After her near-miss with the Duke, Hermione did not dare to venture out of her room at night again.  She had investigated her corridor as well as the young ladies’, but she could not sense the wards she had evidently tripped.

They must be keyed to him, then.  

Hermione knew this kind of magic was possible, especially in homes as old as Malfoy Manor.  Her own wards were quite subtle, and that was without the benefit of having a blood connection to them.

Still, it was frustrating that she couldn’t identify them.  She had no idea where she had to walk to avoid them, and until she figured that out she decided she would not go exploring at night again unless it was urgent.

She poked her head into the library during daylight hours, but immediately retreated the single time she did it.  She couldn’t understand why the library called to her at night, but it did.  Visiting during the day held absolutely no appeal at all, and in fact Hermione felt a strange sort of discordant magic when she tried.  It rippled across her skin and made her immediately anxious.  Her stomach plummeted and she broke out into a cold sweat.  

Not now, it seemed to say.

Hermione knew she needed to research Lyra’s condition, but she decided to give herself a little more time to observe the girl before fighting the odd magic and trying again during the day.  She simply couldn’t bring herself to go in there at that time, and she knew the duke would waylay her at night.  Talking Harry into letting her borrow the invisibility cloak was the best path forward, but that would take some persuasion too.  Harry didn’t mind her borrowing it, but he would want to know why.  Somehow she doubted he would be thrilled about assisting her with sneaking around an obviously enchanted library after she had been explicitly told to stay away.

She dwelled on the encounter with the duke in the potions room as she waited for him to appear again and continue his questioning about Remus.  But days passed, and he didn’t appear, and soon Hermione began to think that she truly had gotten away with it.

Her spirits were lifted further when Harry reported that Remus had experienced a good moon, and he had received word of an aconite plant he may be able to acquire before the next one.

Other than the poor conditions in her room, Hermione was beginning to settle in, and her most pressing concern became Astoria.

Astoria’s work in Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology, Potions, Defense, and Astronomy were adequate, and Hermione felt certain she would achieve at least an ‘Acceptable’ in all six subjects.

The possible seventh subject, however – Care of Magical Creatures – was proving to be disastrous.

“But Miss Granger, I want to show the dragon!”

Astoria actually stomped her foot as she said this, while an exasperated Hermione and slightly singed Charley had their wands trained on the beast.  They were in a clearing within the warded area where the dragon was allowed to roam.  It was a juvenile, but still quite large, and it seemed to be growing larger by the day.

Astoria was frustrated and Lyra was watching the whole encounter curiously from a safe distance away in her chair.

“Lady Astoria, I know that’s what you want, but he’s not trainable.”

“I beg your pardon!” interjected Charley.

“He’s not trainable in the time frame we have,” clarified Hermione, and Charley gave a mollified nod.  “You will get yourself and the entire examination committee killed if we bring him out like this...”

As if to emphasize her point, the Norwegian Ridgeback gave a roar and shot a blast of flame toward Hermione.  She flicked her wand and cast a shield just in time, but she nearly got singed herself when a deep voice made her jump and lose focus.

“What is going on here?”

Hermione blinked in surprise to see the duke step out from behind a tree, dressed in leathers that were rather similar to Charley’s.  Hermione knew that Charley had been slowly and painstakingly training the dragon to accept a rider, and Hermione had assumed it was him.

Based on his dress, it appeared that the duke wanted to ride the dragon too.

“Draco, I’m trying to study for my N.E.W.T.s!  I wish to show the dragon for my Creatures practical,” said Astoria imperiously.

The duke turned to scowl at Hermione.  “Was this your idea?”

Hermione barely suppressed a groan as she realized that Astoria had not yet shared this plan with him as promised.

“Of course not,” she said cooley.  “But Lady Astoria has made her preferences known, and I told her we would give it a month before deciding.  That month is now up, and so far there has been no progress.”

The duke’s eyes roved over his sister as Hermione was speaking, and he stepped toward her to wheel her back a little bit more.  Then he looked at Astoria and assumed a commanding expression.

“You will not be showing a dragon.”

“But Draco!”

“I mean it, Astoria, it’s not safe.  What did Miss Granger suggest instead?”

“A thestral,” she said miserably.  

The duke cast a questioning eye at Hermione, and she lifted her chin defensively.

“It’s an excellent choice.  They are a higher classification than hippogriffs because of superstitious nonsense that has no bearing on their true natures.  The herd on the estate is relatively tame as far as thestrals go, and Lady Astoria is sure to receive at least an ‘Exceeds Expectations’ if she shows one competently.”

The duke was giving Hermione an appraising look, but he turned back to Astoria.

“Well?  That seems like a perfectly sensible choice.”

“I don’t like them!” she insisted.

“Astoria–”

“I don’t!  They are horrid creatures.”

She crossed her arms stubbornly.

“Maybe she could show a unicorn!” piped up Lyra.  “Once Charley finds one, I mean.”

“Lady Lyra–” started Hermione hesitantly, but Astoria had had enough.

She threw her arms in the air and now turned on the younger girl.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Lyra, there are no unicorns!”

“There are!” Lyra insisted, and now she was growing distressed.  “I know there are, I saw one!”

“You were dreaming!” declared Astoria.  “You had a dream and thought it was real, and now Charley spends half of his time combing the woods for something that doesn’t exist.  Give it up!”

She turned and stormed back toward the Manor as Lyra began to cry.

Hermione was torn between her two charges, but feeling like Lyra’s need was greater at the moment she rushed to crouch in front of her and reached up to wipe a tear.

“Don’t be upset, Lady Lyra.  She didn’t mean it,” said Hermione.

“She did,” sniffed Lyra.  “She’s never believed me.”

Hermione bit her lip.  She hated to lie to the girl, but she also couldn’t stand to see her this upset.  Lyra could be a little spoiled and self-centered as all young children were, but she had such a sweet and trusting nature that Hermione had grown very fond of her.  She studied the girl, barely aware of Charley and the duke studying her in turn.

“Let me tell you a story about unicorns.”

Lyra sniffed, but nodded slowly, inviting Hermione to go on.

“This is a true story, mind you,” said Hermione seriously.  “When I was your age, I lived on an estate too.  It was not as grand as this one, but it was still quite elegant in its own way, and it backed up to a forest that contained magical creatures just like Malfoy Manor does.”

Hermione could tell from Lyra’s expression that she had caught the girl’s attention.

“Just like you, I adored unicorns.  I wanted to find them so badly that my tutor agreed to set a unicorn trap for me.”

Lyra’s eyes were wide now.

“A unicorn trap?”

“Indeed.  We laid out a net in the center of a clearing very much like this one.  We researched their favorite foods and placed them in the middle of the net – sugar lumps, clover, and tiny spring flowers  – and my tutor cast a spell so the net would close as soon as a unicorn stepped onto it.”

“Did it work?” she breathed.

Hermione smiled a little.  “No, it didn’t work.  I went back to that clearing every day for weeks.  The sugar lumps dissolved and the clover and flowers wilted, and yet my net remained empty.  I replaced their food every single day.”

“What did you do?”

Hermione shrugged.  “I grew despondent.  Eventually I started to worry that there weren’t any unicorns.  We lived in a magical place, but what if it wasn’t magical enough for my favorite creatures to live there too?  I became very sad, just like you, until my tutor told me something I’ve never forgotten.”

“What was it?”

“Nobody is meant to catch a unicorn.  They only come to you in their own time and in their own way.  Sometimes they leave gifts behind, like their tail hair caught in brambles for our wands.  Or they might shed a horn in the woods, which we can grind into a powder for our medicinal potions.  But the only witches and wizards who get to see a unicorn are the ones the unicorns choose themselves.”

“Then why did he set out the net?  Why did he help?”

Hermione smiled.  “My tutor said it was a lesson I had to learn on my own.  I had to be patient, and I couldn’t rush it.  It takes some people years before they ever see one.  Some people never see one.  I could try to catch one myself, but I would probably fail because it’s not in their nature to appear for those who seek them out.  And if I did catch one against its will, I would have to do terrible things to it to keep it all for myself.”

Lyra’s eyes were huge, and her breath caught.

“I’ve seen a unicorn, Miss Granger.”

Hermione smiled and reached up to wipe the last of her tears.  

“I know you have.  And tell me what that means.”

“It means the unicorn chose me!”

“That’s exactly right.  Sometimes the unicorns come to us through visions.  Sometimes they appear in dreams.  Sometimes they are in our imaginations, and every once awhile they show up in the flesh.  But all of those unicorns – regardless of how or where we see them – must choose us first.  And every single person who is chosen is very special.”

Lyra was beaming, and she leaned forward to fling her arms around Hermione.

“Thank you, Miss Granger.  I hope you get to see a unicorn someday too.”

Hermione chuckled, and only now did she catch the duke’s eye over Lyra’s shoulder.  He was watching the exchange with an inscrutable expression on his face.  His gaze was intent, and Hermione could not tell if he approved of this or not.   Still, he said nothing to stop her, so Hermione turned back to the little girl in her arms.

“I hope I see one too, Lady Lyra.  And you will be the first person I tell if I ever do.”

******

Hermione approached the door and raised her hand to knock.  The young ladies had just finished supper, or Lyra had.  Astoria had been moping in her chambers all afternoon, refusing any visitors, and when Hermione heard that the girl refused supper too, she knew she couldn’t delay this any longer.

“Lady Astoria, may I come in?”

There was a long pause before Hermione heard a dull voice say, “Enter.”

Hermione eased the door open and walked in slowly before turning and shutting it carefully behind her.  

She observed her student and noted the red-rimmed eyes and clenched hands.  She was already dressed for bed.

Hermione approached her and lowered herself into a chair.

“Lady Astoria, may I speak plainly?”

Astoria glanced at her and nodded.

“Can you see thestrals?”

Astoria flinched, but lowered her gaze and nodded again.

“And is that why you don’t wish to present them?”

There was a long pause before a third nod.

Hermione took a deep breath and sighed.

“I see.  Can I ask how old you were?”

“Seven.  Daphne was eight.”

“Your parents?”

“Yes,” she whispered.  “It was dragonpox.”

“My condolences.  That never gets easier.”

Astoria looked at her cautiously.

“You can see them too.”

It wasn’t a question, but Hermione inclined her head.  “I can.”

“But you seem to like them.”

Hermione shrugged.  “I rode one while it was invisible once.  I am not at all happy about the reason I can see thestrals, but it’s not the thestrals’ fault, and I would rather be able to see what I’m riding than not.”

Astoria blinked, and she looked so surprised that Hermione suspected she may have pulled the girl out of her mood just a little bit.

“You rode an invisible thestral?”

“Well it was not at all ideal, and I would not recommend it, but yes.  There was a small herd of them in the woods near the estate where I grew up, and I did it for a dare.  Being unable to see the creature below me was rather terrifying, and once my feet were back on the ground I was shaking like a leaf.”

Astoria’s mouth was hanging open, and then to Hermione’s relief she let out a little laugh.

“Never say so!”

“Every bit of it is true, but you cannot tell His Grace about it.  I fear he will terminate my employment preemptively just to save himself the trouble from doing it later.”

Astoria grinned, and Hermione gave her a small smile too as she rose.  

“Chin up, Lady Astoria.  I certainly won’t force the thestral on you, but the dragon won’t work either.  We can think on it a bit longer, but it may be best to just focus on the other six subjects.”

Astoria nodded and Hermione moved to the door.

“Miss Granger,” called Astoria.  Hermione turned to look back.  “Thank you.”

Hermione smiled once more and nodded as she left the room and silently passed back down the hall and through the locked door toward her own chambers.

Merlin, the emotional side of teaching could be exhausting at times.  Hermione knew that was part of her job as a governess, but twice in one day was draining.

At least both girls had been easy to draw out of their moods.  She was lucky that they were both rather even-tempered by nature.

Hermione was not up to dining with the rest of the staff tonight.  Mrs. Weasley was growing a bit desperate as Hermione continued to spurn Percy’s lukewarm advances, and the previous night Hermione had noticed the woman eyeing the twins instead.  

Hermione found the twins amusing, but she was even less interested in them than Percy, and she just couldn’t face it tonight.

Hermione entered her chambers and immediately began to shudder with cold.  She lowered herself onto the chair of the small table, and a hot meal soon appeared, its steam rising in spirals in the frigid room.

She breathed a sigh of relief that it worked just like breakfast.  It seemed the elves knew whenever she was seating herself to dine in her chambers.

She ate quickly, the warm meal putting up a good fight against the cold, but soon it began to seep into her bones again.  Hermione groaned as she contemplated the next thing she really had to do tonight: bathe.

She was already two days past when she should have bathed, and cleansing charms only took personal hygiene so far.  The encounter with the dragon that day meant Hermione smelled of woods and smoke, and she had to get clean.

She wondered if she would freeze to death.

Hermione gritted her teeth and made her way into the washroom, where she filled the old tub with a few rounds of aguamenti.  

She tried charming it warm, but of course it didn’t work.  Hermione eyed the frigid water with dislike, but there was nothing for it.

“You can do it,” she whispered to herself.

She reached for the towel and soap, ignoring the harsh bars left for her on the small stand and reaching for those she brought with her instead.  Several generations ago the Potters had started a thriving business making soaps and hair potions after their title was stripped by the Wizengamot for marriage to a muggle.  That law had since changed — though the title was never restored — and they continued in the soap trade until James sold the business when she and Harry were young. Hermione had been raised with certain standards for her baths and grimaced when she surveyed what was on offer for servants of the Manor.  She could do nothing about the cold, but she wouldn’t emerge smelling like lye.

She took a deep breath, intending to make this as fast as possible.  And then before she could think twice she quickly disrobed and stepped into the tub.

Her skin felt like it was on fire, and her bones ached with the cold as she quickly began to scrub.  She was shivering so hard she lost her grip on the soap twice, and Hermione was nearly in tears at the extra time it took to retrieve it.

She was in the water for just a few minutes, but it felt like forever.  Unquestionably the worst part was washing her hair, which had also reached a critical point of need.  And as she finished with a final dunk for her hair and then slathered the ends in potion to enable her to use a drying charm on her curls, Hermione knew this would be intolerable going forward.  She would have to say something to Ginny or Mrs. Weasley and bathe with the others.  She couldn’t bear to do this again.

As clean as she could be given the circumstances, Hermione rose and quickly toweled off, before throwing on her night dress and three pairs of woolen socks for her feet.  She tried casting a drying charm on her hair, but of course it didn’t work, and she almost cried as she remembered the extra time she had taken in the bath to prepare her hair for it.  But try as she might she couldn’t get the spell to work, and in the end there was nothing she could do except burrow under a pile of blankets trying desperately to get warm.  Tonight she couldn’t seem to manage it.  This was the third bath she had taken at Malfoy Manor, and somehow it got worse every single time.

She could not, would not do this again.

Hermione curled into a ball, still shivering as her eyes closed.  She pulled the blankets over her head and before too long she began to drift.

******

Draco 

Draco was trying to focus on the words on the page of the journal, but he wasn’t seeing them.  It was late, and he had sought refuge in the library for his studies, for once opting to visit without Miss Granger summoning him here herself.

And yet, Miss Granger was at the forefront of his mind.  He remembered her kneeling in front of his sister and slowly easing her tears while teaching her a gentle lesson at the same time.

Nobody is meant to catch a unicorn.

Draco had never heard it phrased quite that way, but he knew it was true.  The forest next to Malfoy Manor used to contain a large herd of unicorns, but they were rarely spotted.  Instead, it was their stray tail hairs and the occasional shed horn that Charley and other gamekeepers before him harvested and sold as part of the income for the estate. 

The Wiltshire unicorns had lived there for so long that their tails and horns had developed their own peculiar properties that were much sought after by wandmakers and potioneers.  The hair, which was usually well attuned for charms work, seemed to have a broader magical affinity than hairs from other herds and could be used for dark spells just as well as light.  The horns, too, were far more potent than others, and potioneers sought them out because it was easy to stretch their stores when making restorative draughts and other medicines.

The Malfoys had always prized the unicorns and done what they could to preserve the herd’s health and safety because the gifts the herd left behind were exceptionally valuable.

And the gifts, he knew, were numerous compared to actual sightings of them while they lived there.  Draco knew that Charley had seen the unicorns a few times in earlier years.  Draco himself remembered seeing the unicorns just once, the morning his mother gave birth to Lyra.  A female emerged from the edge of the woods along with her small foal, which was still pure gold, and Draco had been spellbound for the few minutes he was allowed to observe them.

But soon after that day, the herd disappeared, though it took some time to be certain that the gifts left in the forest were dwindling without being replenished.  And Draco was sure that Lyra had never seen one herself because they had inexplicably vanished that day and had never left gifts behind again.

Draco was sure that it was the story of the mother and golden foal on the day of Lyra’s birth that had caught the young girl’s attention and made her so obsessed with finding them.  Draco had told her the tale so many times that it had become the stuff of legends.  And yet, she insisted she knew what she had seen, despite all evidence pointing to a dream or simply a figment of her imagination.  Charley really had spent hours of time searching the woods fruitlessly for signs of their return.

But then Miss Granger put the matter to rest with a simple story that left his sister feeling important and also very protective of the unicorn she was sure she had seen.  When Miss Granger excused herself to check on Astoria, Lyra had turned to Charley and demanded he cease searching for them at once because they didn’t want to be found.

As he watched the whole thing unfold in front of him, Draco had the oddest sense that perhaps he had seen a unicorn again, but this one was disguised as a young woman with wild hair and golden eyes.  He had never observed a governess relate to a child in quite the same way that she did.

The thought was unsettling, and though Draco still didn’t fully trust her, he could not deny her connection to Lyra.  In the few weeks she had been there, Miss Granger had worked her way into Lyra’s heart and had firmly established herself as a trusted caregiver who could gently guide his sister toward the things she needed to learn without destroying her innocence.

Draco’s eyes moved over the journal passage he had read several times now, his heart sinking once more.

The answer to the mystery of the Malfoy unicorn herd was staring him in the face, and Draco had not wanted to believe it.  It was terribly ironic that he had stumbled across this the same day he watched Miss Granger discuss the unicorns with Lyra.  And try as he might, he could not think of how he was meant to correct the horrid things his father had done.

My beautiful wife gave me another child this morning, and yet her strength is weakening rapidly.  I fear I will be too late to save her.  The babe she bore after so many years of trying is also becoming weak, and Narcissa says I must do whatever I can to save her.

I know this to be true, and I will damn my own soul to see my daughter grow and for my wife to be there with me.

My son reported a very rare unicorn sighting this morning — a mother and her foal.  I will use him to find the unicorns again, and I will try to save them both.

Draco’s finger moved down the page until he found the thing that he was sure had caused the unicorns to disappear for good.

I told my son he must draw them out again.  He has courted their favor, though I do not know how.  But I am grateful for it because it meant that my plan worked.  I hid out of sight while he stood at the edge of the forest for nearly an hour before the mother and foal emerged again, and this time he coaxed them forward with sugar lumps and daisy shoots.  I cast the spell before he knew what I was doing and slaughtered them both with a cutting hex.  Then I stunned my son and obliviated it from his memory.  I must record what I did here so that he can find it someday — but he will not know of my betrayal to the herd until I am gone and rotting in the family mausoleum.

I collected their blood and rushed to my wife and child, but for Narcissa I was too late.  She was taking her last breath just as I arrived.  The child, though — Lyra Soliel — was still just there, and the foal’s blood brought her back from the brink of death.

I fear I have cursed my daughter through my acts, but even a cursed life is better than none at all.

Draco was sickened as he read the passage yet again.  His father had been desperate, and Draco did not hate him for it, but how was he meant to fix this while helping his sister at the same time?  Perhaps it wasn’t the Manor’s magic that was affecting Lyra at all, but a curse from the unicorns.  Maybe after years it was finally exacting its own price with her failing health, and the herd had moved on so that none of their own could be touched with violence again.

And yet, Draco could not blame Lucius for his actions.  Before delving into his father’s research, Draco had not known that Lyra had nearly died in childbirth too.  Lucius had obliviated every person on the estate who witnessed Lyra’s birth, and he had developed an odd paranoia for her health while he was still alive.  Draco had not understood it at the time because Lyra seemed perfectly healthy before Lucius died.  But once Lucius was gone too, Lyra began to deteriorate, and now Draco knew why his father had been so obsessed.  It was for the same reasons that Draco was now obsessed.  And despite his revulsion with the thing his father had done to save her, Draco was also grateful for it. He, too, would slaughter unicorns if it meant Lyra would recover.  

But something told him this wouldn’t work a second time even if the herd was still in the forest.  He doubted they would ever come out for him again.

Draco rubbed his temples as he sighed and slumped back.  

Every passage in his father’s journal seemed to raise just as many questions as they answered.  He would have to think on it further.

He closed the journal and was about to snuff the lamp when he froze.

The Manor’s magic had just activated, and it felt eager.

It is time, it whispered.  Soon I will collect another…

Draco felt the edge of panic begin as he stood and immediately moved to the library door that connected it to the young ladies’ wing.  He had felt this happen once before, soon after his father had died, and the following morning a chambermaid by the name of Katie Bell had been found, her hand clutched around the Malfoy marriage necklace that had once belonged to his mother.  

Draco had never been certain why Katie touched it – perhaps she had been trying to steal it or maybe the Manor had lured her there – but Draco had known his whole life that only Malfoys could touch it without risking a fatal curse.  It was exceptionally valuable, and the curse prevented theft as well as providing the reigning duchess with a piece of jewelry that could kill any others who took liberties without her consent.  It had always been kept in its own case in the duchess’s chambers, and his mother used to wear it during the occasional Society ball, especially when known rakes were in attendance.  Lucius had left it in its case on top of her bureau after she died to honor her memory, and Draco had never considered moving it.  After all, his own duchess would wear it someday.

After Katie’s death, however, Draco had moved the necklace to Gringotts so it could not claim another life.  But Draco would never forget the anticipation from the Manor that night as Katie fought for her life and lost.

Not Lyra, he thought desperately, and he rushed through the dark corridor and opened his sister’s door silently.  He moved to her bed, his wand casting a dim light so he could see her properly, and he exhaled.

She was nestled in with the stuffed dragon and stuffed unicorn that Ginny Weasley had made for her.  Her breathing was normal, and a pass of his hand across her head assured Draco that she had no fever or sudden illness.  Her eyelids fluttered at the touch, before she rolled over in her sleep with a sigh.

The blinding panic was receding now, but Draco still needed to find the person who was in trouble.  The Manor’s magic was practically vibrating with anticipation, so the deed wasn’t done just yet.

Draco slipped out of Lyra’s room and headed next door to Astoria’s.  He entered her room too and found Astoria also asleep, though she was clutching a hair comb that had once belonged to her mother.  Draco grimaced, now remembering the thestrals.  Astoria spoke of her parents so rarely that he hadn’t thought of this when questioning her about them earlier that day.  He realized now he had been insensitive about it.  He wondered if Miss Granger had realized this too.  Perhaps he should find her the next day and mention it in case she…

Draco froze.

Miss Granger.

The answer slammed into him with such force that he rocked back on his heels.

The Manor was about to kill Miss Granger.

If it wasn’t Lyra or Astoria, then it almost had to be the new governess.  

He raced from Astoria’s room and fled down the hall, taking a shortcut through the library and his own wing to enter the servant’s quarters.  He climbed a small set of stairs to a section that was set apart from the others.  Draco had not been here since casting the wards around her door, but he knew which chamber was hers.

The moment he entered the corridor Draco knew he had guessed correctly this time.  This section of the Manor had always been a little colder than other sections, but tonight the temperature was positively frigid.  And as he made his way toward her door his breath started to appear in the chill of the air.

“Merlin, no,” he muttered, as it occurred to him precisely how the Manor was trying to claim his sister’s governess for itself.

He knew this was very improper, but he couldn’t worry about that now.  He reached for the door knob and turned it, before pulling his hand back with surprise as he felt a sharp sting cross his palms.

“Never says so…” he muttered as he tried again, and the same thing happened.

That bloody witch had warded others out of her room.  And while Draco had cast his own wards on the threshold of her door, he hadn’t tried to enter her room the last time he was here.

“Merlin, she’s going to get herself killed,” groaned Draco out loud as he began to cast spell after spell, trying frantically to remember all the lessons on warding his own tutors had given to him over the years.  It took precious minutes before he tried a countermeasure that was frightfully obscure, and to his great relief the door glowed red as the spell she had cast finally broke.

He swung the door open and gasped as he felt the freezing air inside of her room.  If the outer corridor had been cold, this felt like ice, and Draco looked around frantically for what he was sure would be her body.

For a split second he saw nothing.  And then he spied a pile of quilts on the bed, with a large lump underneath it.  

He approached, and – without allowing himself to think too much about what he was about to do – he pulled back the quilts to find Miss Granger huddled into a ball.  Her curls were loose and wet, and as he cast a light from his wand over her face he could see that her lips were blue.

Draco reached forward to touch her face, and he recoiled when he felt how cold she was.  She was like a corpse, and for a harrowing moment Draco thought that was precisely what she was.  But then he studied the light near her lips and saw tiny puffs of steam rising, and he could see that she was still breathing, but only just.

She’s dangerously hypothermic.

That was incredibly obvious, and Draco looked around the room to see if there was any explanation for how she had gotten to this state.  Obviously it was bitterly cold in here, but he couldn’t make sense of why.  He spied the door to the small wash room, which was ajar, and Draco strode over to it, the unexpected scent of jasmine penetrating his nose as he looked down at the tub, which was still filled with murky water.

Draco hesitated for a moment before leaning down and touching the water, and he recoiled when he felt just how cold it was.  It reminded him of the time he had fallen through the ice on holiday with his parents.  They had traveled to a friends’ hunting lodge in the Scottish highlands during winter, and he had stepped on a pond where the ice was thin.  He hadn’t been under long enough to fall unconscious, but he would never forget his parents’ panic as they pulled him from the depths, nor the shocking cold that was so frigid it felt like he was burning from it.

Had she actually gotten into the tub voluntarily?

Draco had learned that Miss Granger could be willful, maybe even reckless, but surely she wouldn’t have tolerated living in conditions like this for long.  It must be recent, because Draco could not imagine her keeping quiet about it since her arrival.

Draco cast one last, perturbed look over the dark water before he moved back to her room and checked her once more for a pulse.  It was slow – too slow – and he sensed she was fading.

The Manor seemed to sense it too because it was growing more eager.

Draco didn’t know how the Manor would react to this, but he didn’t care.  He still didn’t know what Miss Granger’s role was to be, but the more he watched her the more curious he became.  And after the most recent interaction with Lyra, he did not want the Manor to take her like this.  

He gathered her into his arms, her frame much smaller in her nightdress than it normally appeared under the heavy gowns she wore.  The cold sank through her clothing and into his, and goosebumps erupted as he straightened up and strode toward the door to her room.  

The Manor’s magic was reacting now, sensing that Draco had found its most recent victim and was intervening before another life could be claimed.  Draco could tell it was not pleased, but he gritted his teeth and connected to the magic as its master.

She is mine... let me have her...

She is not yours just yet! 

I must have her...

No!  And if she ever becomes yours, it will not be done this way!

It felt like an odd battle of wills, but eventually the Manor’s magic seemed to retreat.  Draco breathed a sigh of relief and hurried through the corridor and down the servant’s hall until he took the stairs two at a time to reach his own wing of the Manor.

He burst through the door to a spare bedroom and lowered her onto the bed before calling for the elf that Draco suspected admired Miss Granger even more than her actual master.

“Rosie!”

The young elf appeared with a CRACK!

She started to speak, but then spied Miss Granger and gave a small yelp instead.

“Rosie, I need the thickest blankets you can find.  Quickly.”

Rosie nodded and disappeared with another CRACK! as Draco took a deep breath and removed his waistcoat before he started to unbutton his shirt.  

Normally he asked for Bill’s help to undress, but he didn’t want to risk the rest of the staff finding out what he was about to do.  Elves could be ordered to stay quiet.  Accomplishing the same thing with humans was a different matter entirely.

Draco kept his trousers on, remembering how his father had done this for him when he was just a boy.  It was the core body temperature that mattered, not the extremities.  He had to get her chest and stomach warm again before it would move down her arms and legs.

Now with his shirt removed, he approached the bed and lowered himself onto it before reaching for his wand on the nightstand and whispering a spell to dry Miss Granger’s hair.

Rosie appeared a moment later with another CRACK! carrying an enormous pile of thick blankets.

“Cover both of us with them,” he ordered.  “Do not cast warming charms on them – she has to be warmed up slowly.  And for Merlin’s sake, do not tell any person or creature about this.”

“Yes Sir,” whispered Rosie, who snapped her fingers and levitated several large blankets over them, lowering them until Draco and Miss Granger were both fully covered.

“Leave us,” he said.  “I will call you when she wakes.”

The elf disappeared, and now Draco closed his eyes for a moment, already hating himself for what he was about to do to her, but knowing that he had no choice.  He reached out to feel her nightgown and decided the fabric was thin enough to stay on, thank Merlin.  It would not impede him overly much, and it would give them both at least a modicum of modesty on the off-chance she woke up while he was doing this to her.

Not that he intended to stay as soon as she began to stir.  It would be best if she never knew about this.

He reached for her and pulled her toward him, draping her over his chest so his arms could circle her back and cover her fully.  She was still frigid and seemed surprisingly fragile and small in his arms – but positioned like this he could feel the very slow thud of her heart against his and feel the tiniest puffs of her breath on his skin that told him she was still alive.

He stayed like that with her until he lost track of time, sharing his body heat under a thick pile of blankets.  Some part of him wondered what he would have to give to the Manor to satisfy it now that Draco had deprived it of its latest victim.  And another part wondered why he was here at all, saving her from something that might be inevitable in any event.

But as Draco closed his eyes and he clutched at the thin fabric of her nightdress, he found himself less interested in the answers to those questions and more curious than ever about the young woman who had unexpectedly ended up in his arms tonight.

Who was she?  Why had she really come here?  And what was he to do about her now?

Draco had no answers yet.  But he would find them.

Chapter Text

Hermione

Hermione woke with a raging headache.  Somewhere in the place between wake and sleep she thought she felt the mattress dip and something very warm leave her.  As her eyes started to flutter open she heard the faint click of a door closing and then the CRACK! of apparition that made her finally open her eyes to stare down at Rosie, who was watching her worriedly.

“Miss Hermy is alright?” asked the elf.

Hermione frowned and started to sit up, but then stopped herself and sank back down into the pillows.  She was dizzy, her brain cloudy as though it was full of feathers, and moving at all seemed to make her headache worse.

“I…” she started, but she fell silent and just shook her head.

“Miss Hermy can speak?” pressed Rosie.

“Yes,” whispered Hermione, with her eyes closed.

“And Miss Hermy knows where she is?”

Hermione forced her eyes open again to look at the elf, who was wringing her hands with anxiety.

“I’m at Malfoy Manor.  Why wouldn’t I know where I am?”

It was only now that Hermione realized she was on a much softer and more comfortable bed than she was accustomed to.

“Wait, I am still at Malfoy Manor, aren’t I?”

Rosie looked relieved.  “Yes, Miss Hermy.  You is having an accident last night, and we is not knowing if you is still having your mind.  I is telling my Master.”

Hermione’s eyes widened.  

“Wait!” she cried, but it was too late.  The elf was already gone.

She sighed and closed her eyes again, fighting the throbbing headache as she burrowed herself under the enormous pile of blankets on top of her, trying to remember the so-called ‘accident.’  

She couldn’t remember anything.  She didn’t know what happened to her.  The only thing she recalled from the night before was a frigid bath and shivering under the blankets in her room when she closed her eyes and went to sleep.  After that, there was nothing.

She stayed that way for several long minutes until the sound of a door made her open her eyes.  She lifted them to find the duke entering the room, dressed in his shirtsleeves, while he stared down at her with a peculiar expression.

He had dark circles under his eyes, and his normally impassive face appeared strained.  She got the impression that he was very angry, though she wasn’t certain if she was the reason for it.

“Miss Granger, you’re alive,” he clipped.  “Rosie says you haven’t lost your mind.”

She raised an eyebrow and winced.  He noted her movement and frowned harder.

“What is it?”

“Just a headache.  It’s nothing.”

His mouth tightened further.

“It’s obviously not nothing.”

“Please, Your Grace,” she implored.  “I do not have the acuity or the energy to spar with you today.  I don’t know what happened last night, but if you will allow me a day to rest I’m sure I’ll be back to myself very soon.”

A shadow crossed his face, and he reached up to swipe it with a broad hand, as though unsure of how he should proceed.  She was not accustomed to seeing him like this: obviously agitated but without a clear target for his ire.

“You nearly froze to death,” he said.  “That’s what happened last night.  When I found you, your lips were blue.”

Hermione was surprised.

“You found me?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched.  “Yes, the Manor’s wards alert me when somebody is in mortal peril.  After checking on Lyra and Astoria, I quickly realized it must be you.”

“How?”

“Lucky guess,” he said.

Hermione did not believe him, but she didn’t press him on it.  She was feeling distinctly flustered to learn that he had been in her bedchamber without her knowledge.

“Your Grace, I know this is your home, but my chambers…”

His eyes flashed.  

“Miss Granger, let me assure you I do not take any pleasure in entering the bedchamber of an unmarried woman on my staff.  But this was life or death, and you were very close to death.  The Manor’s magic is connected to my own, so I was the only one who was alerted to it.  I acted on instinct.”

Hermione bit her lip.  She supposed she could not fault him for it.

“Very well… and once you brought me here?”

He turned a very dull red and looked away.

“Your Grace?” she prompted hesitantly.

“You required warming, Miss Granger.”

Hermione felt a keen sense of trepidation now.

“Warming?” she asked carefully.

“Warming,” he repeated.

“I’m afraid I do not understand…”

“You were hypothermic,” he snapped.  “You had to be warmed, or you would have died.”

Hermione bit her lip.

“Very well.  But warmed how?  Surely blankets and warming charms would–”

“Warming charms are too hot,” he interrupted.  “It must be gradual.”

“And you have experience with this?”

“I feel through thin ice, once.  I recalled what my parents did to save my life and performed a similar… procedure… on you.”

“Sir, I wish you would speak plainly…”

“Fine!” he barked.  “I used body heat!  I shared my body heat with you under the blankets.”

There was a long and awkward silence as Hermione absorbed this.  

He had shared his body heat with her?

“Your Grace, that is most improper…”

“It was the best way!” he insisted.  “I made sure that none of the other members of staff would be aware of it.  Only Rosie knows, and she has been ordered to keep her silence.  There will be no rumors about this, provided you hold your tongue.”

Hermione blushed.  “But Sir–”

“Your virtue is intact, Miss Granger, and you are alive.  What would you have had me do instead?” he snapped.

Hermione fell silent and subtly felt under the covers to ensure her nightdress wasn’t missing.  Sure enough, she was still dressed, though woefully underdressed. 

Then she remembered the feeling of the mattress dipping when she woke, and she blanched.

“Wait, did you stay the whole night?”

The duke’s face turned carefully blank, as he met her eyes.

“Miss Granger, I strongly suggest you do not ask questions unless you are prepared to hear the answers to them.”

Hermione bit her lip, feeling terribly flustered.  Evidently she had spent the whole night with him and had absolutely no memory of it.  But he assured her that her virtue was safe, and there was nothing to suggest that he was lying about that… Nor could she blame him for doing whatever was necessary to save her life.  It was whatever took place after she was out of danger and his presence now with the door closed that was scandalous.

No, it’s just his presence here now that’s scandalous.  If I don’t ask about the rest of the night I can maintain plausible deniability that anything inappropriate happened…

“Very well,” she said tightly.  “I will consider whatever I may or may not have noticed upon my waking to be nothing more than a fever dream due to my accident, and I thank you for saving my life.  Though now that I’m awake I feel it’s best if we discuss this once I am back on my feet.”

She looked pointedly at the closed door, and to her surprise his cheeks tinged pink.

“I’m afraid the information I must collect from you is too urgent to wait,” he responded.  “As I said, none of the staff are aware of what happened last night.  Only Rosie knows, and she will not speak of it.

A flash of irritation burned through Hermione at the casual mention of the elves’ servitude, but she knew better than to contradict the duke.  And in this instance she could see the wisdom of entrusting the secret to an elf instead of another staff member.  There would be no leaks that way.  

“Very well,” she said stiffly.

The duke’s eyes narrowed at her tone, but he appeared willing to set it aside for now.  

“I need you to tell me what the magic felt like last night.  Why were you compelled to enter the bath?  Do you have any notion of why it was so cold?”

Hermione looked at him incredulously.

“I was compelled to enter the bath because I was due for a bath,” she said.  “And as for why it was so cold last night, you’ll have to tell me.  It’s been that cold every night.”

The duke’s eyes widened, and he visibly paled.

“Do you mean to tell me you bathed in ice voluntarily? And you’ve been sleeping in a frigid chamber since your arrival?”

“Yes, of course,” she said, now very confused.  

Surely he knew how cold certain parts of his home could become.  

“Miss Granger, why didn’t you say something?”

Irritation lit again.

“And what was I to say?  Was I to complain about the conditions of my employment when – as you have recently reminded me – you are such a generous employer that you command immediate loyalty from every member of your staff?  Was I to inform Mrs. Weasley that I found it intolerable and give her an excuse to move me closer to her family members, more than one of whom she is obviously hoping will form a romantic attachment to me?  Was I to tell my two dearest friends, both of whom would require your permission to visit the estate and one of whom you have already explicitly banned due to a medical condition?”

Hermione shut her mouth, breathing a bit hard from her rant.  She had certainly intended to inform Ginny that she needed to bathe elsewhere after the previous night, but she had not intended to ask about moving rooms.  The duke was already far too aware of her, and Hermione would never be able to work on the mystery of Lyra Malfoy if she continued to draw attention to herself.

Besides, she really did not want her bedchamber to be just down the hall from Percy or the twins.

The duke’s mouth was so thin now it had nearly disappeared.

“Miss Granger, I do not care who you would have preferred to tell.  But it is my business if my home is becoming dangerous to my staff!”

Hermione recoiled.

“I beg your pardon?”

He swiped a hand across his face again in frustration and looked away. 

“Nevermind,” he muttered.  “It’s… merely a working theory for now.  I do not yet know if I am right about it.  But my point is you cannot keep this sort of thing to yourself.  It was obvious to me when I entered your room that the magic is very distorted in there, and your stubbornness or need for privacy is no excuse to keep something like that quiet from me.  I was not aware that the magical decay had made its way into the Manor itself until I stepped into your chambers last night.”

Hermione fell silent, watching him warily now.  He was making a fair point – it was his home, and obviously the magic here was tainted in some way.  The grounds were dead, but the Manor itself seemed largely unaffected, with the exception of her room.  

She suddenly felt foolish that she hadn’t connected the dots.

“My apologies, Sir,” she said.  “Candidly, I thought you knew and assigned me to that room anyway.”

To her surprise, real anger crossed his face at her words.

“Do you really believe me to be so callous that I would knowingly assign a room that is uninhabitable to any member of my household, let alone a female who is obviously gently bred like yourself?”

Hermione was growing weary of his ire.  She felt far too ill for this.  She just sighed and sank into her pillows a bit more.

“You Grace, with all due respect I know very little of your nature.  You may not be aware of this, but I have worked in any number of households, and in my experience it is best to expect cruelty or at least disinterest from one’s employer and then be pleasantly surprised if that employer turns out to be kind and caring to staff.  And if you don’t mind me saying, Sir, every encounter you and I have had since I have arrived has been… contentious.  A few nights in the library even felt a little cruel, because you continued to allow me in so that I could see what I was missing, before turning me away.  I do not know you well enough to say what kind of man you are, and in my defense the room has been like that since the day I arrived.  Why would I believe that you were unaware of the magic in your own home?”

The duke’s facial expression did not change during Hermione’s little speech, but she felt something shift in the air.  It felt unsettled and slightly hostile, but underlying it was a sense of determination.

“Very well,” he snapped.  “Then allow me to show you that I am not that callous.  I will order Rosie to move your things out of that room today while you rest and recover.”

Hermione’s eyes widened.  “But Sir!”

“Do not contradict me, Miss Granger, it won’t work.  You nearly died.  And regardless of how other employers treated you or your opinions of me, I won’t allow you to return there, nor to any other room in that hallway.  The magic felt cold in the hall as well, and I worry it will be encroaching upon the other bedchambers very soon.”

Hermione closed her eyes, her head still pounding and her body begging for rest.  But she had to finish this conversation with him.  She had to make him see sense.

“Sir, I do not wish to move to the servants’ wing.”

“Because of your station?” he pressed.

Hermione huffed.  “No, because as I said, Mrs. Weasley is plotting to arrange a romance between me and one of her available sons.  I fear the twins are far more creative than anybody gives them credit for, and I do not trust them to stay out of my room if I move there, even with wards in place.  At least in my own wing I’m out of sight.”

The duke stilled, and magic crackled alarmingly.

“Miss Granger, if the twins have made any unwanted advances…”

“No!  No, they haven’t,” she clarified, not wishing to get them into trouble.  “It’s just… uncomfortable, Sir.  I have no interest in becoming a Weasley, and I do not think anybody who sleeps on that hall is safe from the twins’ pranks.”

The unstable magic in the room seemed to melt away, and the duke nodded once.

“Very well.  I wasn’t intending for you to move to the servants’ hall in any event.”

Hermione frowned in confusion.  “Then where?”

“You will move to the young ladies’ wing.  You can have the nursemaid’s room.”

Hermione blinked in surprise.

“Pardon?”

“You heard me.  There are several bedchambers that are not in use in that wing, and one of them has historically been used by the nursemaid.  Ginny always preferred to sleep in the nursery itself, as it’s larger – but we do have a spare room for a dedicated nursemaid in that wing.  It will be suitable.”

Hermione was intrigued, despite herself.

“Very well… may I ask why I wasn’t assigned there in the first place?”

The duke pursed his lips.  “Before you arrived, Astoria insisted she did not need a childminder, and I’m afraid Lyra adopted the same view.  Now that they know you, I do not think they will mind overly much if you sleep in their wing at night.”

“And if they do mind?” she pressed.

The duke’s eyes flashed with irritation once more.  

“Miss Granger, I am ordering it.  I do not particularly care whether they mind or not.”

Hermione fell silent and eyed him warily.  “Very well, Sir.  But what will we tell the staff?  They are sure to hear of it.”

He gave a negligent shrug.  “We’ll tell them I became concerned that Lyra may need assistance at night.  It’s sensible to have you sleep nearby as a precaution.  Nobody will question it, Miss Granger.”

“Alright,” she sighed, eyes closing once more.  It sounded as though she did not have a choice in the matter.  He was obviously not concerned about gossip or her charges feeling as though Hermione was intruding upon their space.  And if Hermione was honest, she loathed the bedchamber where she had been sleeping since her arrival, and moving to the young ladies’ wing sounded like a paradise compared to where she had been sleeping.

And the entry to the library is there.

Her eyes flew open, as this made her remember something she had been meaning to ask Ginny or Mrs. Weasley.

“Sir, why bother to lock Lady Astoria into the wing?  Can’t she simply go through the library to exit through your wing instead?  I understand they are connected.”

The duke gave a cold smile.  “She would never dare.”

“I don’t understand,” Hermione confessed.

“You don’t have to understand.  Trust me though – Astoria would rather be confined to her wing than walk the halls of the library in order to escape.”

Hermione gave the duke a deeply skeptical look, but he did not clarify so she did not ask.

“Very well.  I’ll keep my room warded at night so that she cannot steal my key.”

“See that you do,” he said wryly.  “If she gets out, I’ll know who to blame.”

Hermione scowled, but the duke gave her a mocking smile and to Hermione’s shock, he inclined his head in a short bow from the neck.

“Your health, Miss Granger.  I will send Rosie to attend you.  I will be ordering her to answer your call wherever you may be, so if you need anything at all, you need only to summon her.  And now I’ll bid you farewell.”

“Thank you,” she said softly, very surprised that he was willing to assign an elf to answer her call.  Mrs. Weasley and Arthur Weasley both had that privilege as the housekeeper and butler, respectively, but to Hermione’s knowledge nobody else on staff did.  Everyone else who could call elves was part of the family.

Hermione supposed that out of all the elves at the Manor, Rosie was the most sensible.  She was the one who was responsible for Lyra when she was not in lessons, so Rosie spent most of her time in their wing in any event.

The duke turned and opened the door sharply, before striding through it without another glance her way.  He closed it with a SNAP! and within a minute Rosie had appeared by her side again.

“Rosie is helping Miss Hermy!” she said excitedly.  “Rosie is answering Miss Hermy whenever Miss Hermy is calling her!  And now I is having a potion for your head!”

Hermione reached for it gratefully and drank, the sharpness in her head fading into a dull ache.

She sighed and relaxed back into her bed, her body aching for rest.

“Thank you, Rosie,” she said.

“You is welcome, Miss Hermy.  And now you is to sleep.  I is helping you with it this time.”

Before Hermione could object, she reached out with one long finger and pressed it to her temple.  Immediately Hermione began to drift, her mind blurring as she suddenly remembered strong arms that were gripping her tightly under the blankets.

How peculiar, she thought, before she was claimed by sleep.     

*****

Draco

Draco was brooding by the time night fell again.

He had barely slept the previous night.  He held onto Miss Granger for what seemed like hours, until her body slowly and painstakingly warmed again.  It was only when her core temperature felt normal that he eased her off of his chest and settled himself against her back while she continued to sleep.  He pulled her to him and only then did he begin to doze in and out too, though it was fitful at best.

He couldn’t bring himself to leave her until he was certain she would wake up again, so he stayed with her until she finally began to stir the following morning.

He knew that she had suspicions about the full scope of what he had done for her, but there was no need to tell her that he had removed his shirt for it.  She took his hint and eventually ceased her questioning, and he was grateful that she had the sense not to press for details.  Nothing about it was appropriate, and it even edged on dishonorable once her body temperature had risen.  He couldn’t help it, though.  The depth of his fear had shocked him, and once she felt like a woman instead of a corpse… he couldn’t seem to stop holding onto her.

He had memorized every dip in her back and stomach as the scent of jasmine soap trained his brain to associate the smell only with her.  He had made a point to halt his hands from wandering further than that, but what he did feel was delicate and surprisingly soft for such a sharp-tongued young woman.  

He flexed his hands as he remembered it.

It had been entirely innocent and inspired by medical necessity, but he had never spent the whole night with a woman before.  Nothing had ever come close to it, not really.  His occasional interactions with women who sold their bodies had been entirely transactional, rather efficient, and very intermittent.  He had never kept a mistress, and he certainly had not sullied the reputations of any young ladies.  Nor had he ever had a true paramour – the few widows who expressed an interest had never lasted more than an evening or two.  And Draco maintained a firm rule that he would not touch another man’s wife, no matter how much the woman in question might wish for it.

The experience of chastely holding a woman in his arms all night had been entirely novel, and he found himself unexpectedly moved by how lovely it felt.  His father had been devoted to his mother, but even he slept in his own bedchamber most nights, while the duchess slept in hers.  Draco had always assumed he would do precisely the same thing when it was his turn to marry, but now he was wondering if would spend his married nights in a different kind of embrace.

Still, the fact that he had done that with his sister’s governess – a woman who was exceptionally vulnerable by the nature of her position and under his protection while she worked in his home –  made him despise himself for it just a little bit.  He couldn’t fault his actions when she was on the brink of death, but once she was warm again he should have left her to sleep alone.

Merlin, he should have left.

She told him she didn’t know what kind of man he was, and it galled him.  He was defensive at first, scarcely believing she could think him to be so cruel as to knowingly keep a woman of her station in a place that was so inhospitable.  But her words about her expectations and their previous interactions had shaken him and made him realize, perhaps for the first time, just how cautious a woman like her must be to guard herself from unfeeling employers and lecherous men in the households she served.

Was he really better than the others?  He had slept with her while she was unaware of it, and while he saved her life in the moment he was still not sure she wasn’t meant to die to save Lyra.  He didn’t like to think of it — and the more he learned about her the less he liked it — but Lyra came first, and if the Manor had chosen Miss Granger then he may not be able to stop it next time.

The fact that he was still thinking of it meant that he was even worse than she believed him to be.

He had been stewing on it all day because it distracted him from the deep worry he felt over the state of her health in the immediate aftermath.  She had not gone mad, which was a real risk with severe hypothermia.  But the obvious headache was concerning, as was the fact that she still slept through most of the day, only waking for meals.  Rosie had been giving Draco hourly reports on her condition, and while the elf assisted her with a light sleeping charm the first time, evidently Miss Granger had fallen asleep entirely on her own after luncheon and again after tea and supper.      

Not knowing what else to do, Draco had decided to explore her old room himself, and now he was sitting on her former bed, and he could smell the soap and her in the bedding.  The whole chamber was filled with it, in fact, and Draco felt it permeating his nose while he waited for the temperature to plunge as it had the previous night.

It didn’t.

This room was colder than the others, there was no doubt about that.  The chill was uncomfortable, and Draco was chagrined that any Malfoy staff member had been forced to sleep there over the years.  But it was considerably warmer than it had been the night before, and it did not feel dangerous this time.

The Manor had been targeting Miss Granger, then.

It was as concerning as it was perplexing.  There had been a few other deaths over the years — most were ‘accidents,’ and none since Katie Bell.  Katie’s was the first death since the Manor became Draco’s, and he did not know if the Manor also lit up with anticipation for those who had died during his father’s tenure.

He was becoming convinced that Katie’s death had not been an accident, but something arranged by the Manor.  The near-miss for his governess was certainly arranged by the Manor, because the magic was different — the cold was different — now that she was no longer here.

An odd glow from the tub room pulled Draco from his rapidly darkening thoughts.

He frowned and rose to investigate.  When he saw the cause of it, his breath hitched, and his pulse began to race.

It was a ghost.

“Hello,” he said cautiously.

The ghost appeared to be crying, but at the sound of his voice she turned her head, and Draco got a clear view of her.

“Miss Warren?”

Myrtle Warren had been one of Daphne’s and Astoria’s governesses while Lucius was still alive.  Draco tried not to think about her very much, because he had been there the day she died.

“Draco, there’s been a tragic accident!” cried his father, as he approached Draco in the gardens one day. 

Draco was alarmed and looked up from a book he was reading.  

“What happened, Father?”

“The governess… she decided to try her hand at flying, and she must have slid off of her broom.  She’s over there by the aviary.  I’ve sent a patronus to the village healer, and he should be here soon, but I do not think she’ll make it.  Can you go attend to her?  I need to meet the healer when he arrives.”

Lucius hurried off to the Manor and Draco leapt to his feet and ran to the aviary, where the young woman was twitching on the ground, her head twisted at an unnatural angle.

It was obvious her neck was broken.

“Miss Warren?”

She said nothing, and as Draco watched her body stilled.   Her eyes were still open, and an old broom was lying on the ground nearby.

“Dobby!” he cried in alarm, as his elf popped into view.  “Dobby, you must help her!”

But Dobby had not been able to help, because Myrtle Warren was dead.  And Draco knew it was fruitless the moment he raised his eyes from her body and spied a thestral at the edge of a clearing, finally seeing it clearly for the first time.

He didn’t like to remember that day, but every time he caught a glimpse of a thestral he thought of her.  And after Katie’s death a few years later Draco wondered if Myrtle had been coaxed by the Manor to fly that day.  She had never done it before – none of the governess flew regularly because it wasn’t strictly proper for grown women to fly – and it had always struck him as a very odd way to die.

Still, odd or not, Myrtle’s accident was the reason he never permitted Ronald to take Lyra more than a meter off of the ground whenever he took her on his broom.

Draco was staring at her now as though she was a ghost – and then it struck him that this was precisely what she had turned into.

He had not known that she became a ghost after that day.  Draco had never seen any ghosts around the Manor.

She sniffed and raised her chin defiantly.

“What is it, Your Grace?”

She spat his title as though it was a foul word.

“I…”

Draco trailed off, having no idea what he should say to her.

“Isn’t it bad enough that I died in this wretched place?  Disturbing my death like this is improper!”

At the word ‘improper,’ Draco suddenly remembered Miss Granger.

“Have you been haunting this chamber all this time?”

“Among other places,” she sniffed.

“Does Miss Granger know?”

Now Myrtle gave a cruel smile.

“Oh yes, you are very concerned for her, aren’t you?  A thief and a liar she may be, and yet you seem absolutely fascinated.”

Draco flushed, but he refused to be baited.

“Answer the question,” he commanded.

Myrtle sniffed and looked away.

“No, of course she does not know of me.  I generally do not reveal myself to the living.”

“Then why are you here?”

“This was my room.”

“Was it?  I’m afraid I don’t recall.”

She scowled.  “Of course you don’t.  Great men like yourself never seem to notice staff… not until you decide to punish them or compromise them, that is.”

Draco blanched, as it occurred to him that Myrtle may have seen him with Miss Granger the previous night.

“Miss Warren, speak plainly… what are you implying?”

“Absolutely nothing,” she said miserably.  “Only that you were so quick to rescue her last night, weren’t you?”

Draco looked at her warily.  “And afterwards?”

“I could not say.  I can only dwell in the places where I trod during my life.”

So she must have seen the exchange with Miss Granger in the small potions lab, but she cannot go to my wing or the library, then.

It was absolutely wretched that ghosts could make themselves invisible, but he quickly catalogued all the places he had interacted with Miss Granger and concluded that Myrtle had not seen anything too untoward.  His rescue from the night before had been entirely necessary.

Draco made a mental note to abide by strict behavior in the young ladies’ wing going forward. 

“Then why are you here now?”

“I was just thinking of my death, and also wondering how long it will take before Miss Granger suffers a similar fate.”

Draco went cold, despite the fact that he had wondered precisely the same thing.

“Oh?” he said tightly.

“Yes, oh.  You’ve moved her, haven’t you?  I tried to follow the elf that moved her things, but I could not enter her new room – I never went in there myself while I worked here.  And it makes one wonder… what will happen next time she’s in mortal danger?  Do you think you will be alerted to it next time?”

He narrowed his eyes.

“What are you saying?  That you alerted me?”

“What do you think?”

She was maddening, though Draco knew it was not entirely her fault.  The few ghosts he had met at Hogwarts had all talked in circles too.  They were mere impressions of their living selves, not the real thing.

“I think it was the Manor.  The magic spoke to me last night.”

She shrugged carelessly.  “I suppose we’ll see, won’t we?  Maybe it was the Manor… maybe it was me… maybe it was even the spirit of the unicorn foal I watched your father kill.  Who could say?”

Draco paled again.

“You saw it?”

Myrtle snorted.  “Of course I did.  And then I made the mistake of asking too many questions about it and the other mysterious deaths from the surrounding area.”

Draco froze.

“Miss Warren… are you saying you were murdered?”

“I’m saying the Duke of Wiltshire – whoever he happens to be – always seems to get his way in the end.  And powerful men keep dark secrets.”

She rose and began to drift away.

“WAIT!” cried Draco, but she ignored him.  She disappeared through the wall, leaving Draco’s heart racing as he struggled to accept what she had just implied.

It wasn’t the Manor that killed her, but Lucius.

Some part of Draco had always suspected it, but just like the other odd disappearances around the countryside while Lucius was alive, Draco had made a point to stay ignorant.  He had turned a blind eye and never asked the right questions, despite the thinly veiled hints Lucius dropped in his presence.  But as Draco reviewed the evidence before him, it was clear that Myrtle’s accident had not been accidental at all.

Hadn’t his father been the first person to announce her fall?  Hadn’t Draco always thought  it odd that a governess would fly a broomstick in the first place?  And if she had fallen from the air, shouldn’t there have been shattered bones or scrapes or any other injuries besides a broken neck?

Bile rose in his throat as he thought about his father twisting her neck until it broke.  He had not made it that far in his father’s journals just yet, but now he wondered if the details of Myrtle Warren’s murder would be inked across the pages, just as the unicorns had been.

There was nothing to be done, except continue to read whenever he felt he could stomach it.  Myrtle was dead, and there was no saving her now.  But Miss Granger was still alive, and now Draco was more worried than ever about the events that took place the night before.

What would happen next?  Draco had halted her death and then removed her from this wretched room, which he now knew had housed two governesses that suffered grave injuries on the estate.  The Manor may not have been responsible for Myrtle’s fate, but it was surely responsible for Miss Granger’s.  Was moving rooms enough to keep her safe?  Or had the Manor locked in on Miss Granger and now danger would be following her within striking distance of Lyra too?

It was discomfiting, and Draco didn’t know what else to do except wait and watch or else send the governess away.

His hands flexed once more at the second thought.

No.  I can’t send her away.  Astoria will be taking her N.E.W.T.s in just a couple of months.  We need Miss Granger’s tutelage at least until then.

That left him with one possibility then: wait and watch to learn if the Manor would turn its attention elsewhere.

He would observe her more closely than ever.

Chapter Text

Hermione

The Duke was lurking again.

Ever since Hermione’s accident, he had become a fixture in the young ladies’ wing.  He rarely entered the schoolroom directly, but Hermione could always sense him there, waiting at the door, listening to their lessons.

It was maddening and suffocating and perplexing.

Neither Lyra nor Astoria had been in danger that night.  And ever since Hermione moved into the young ladies’ wing with them, her living conditions had dramatically improved.  The room was small, but the furnishings and linens were much finer than the grim cot she had originally been assigned.  She was permitted her own bath, and the water held heating charms so well that Hermione nearly roasted herself the first time she tried it.  

It was such an improvement that she was sure she could stay at Malfoy Manor indefinitely, as long as the magical rot did not approach that wing too.

So why couldn’t the duke let it go?  Why hover like a ghost, watching and waiting… for what?

It made Hermione a bit uncomfortable, but more than that it was incredibly frustrating.  She was being watched more closely than ever, and she knew that it would be impossible to work on the mystery of Lyra Malfoy while his attention was fixed on her.

It was the end of the third week after her accident, and Hermione sensed his presence once again, hovering on the edge of the clearing as Astoria approached a thestral for the first time.

“Come along, Miss Astoria, there’s no need to be frightened.”

“I don’t know if I can do it, Miss Granger.”

“You can.  It’s just a bit of raw meat.”

Predictably, the duke sidled into view with his arms crossed as Astoria gingerly took a small piece of meat from Hermione’s hands and tentatively offered it to a curious thestral.  It was black and skeletal, with leathery wings and white eyes that looked dead. 

Astoria yelped as it snatched the meat from her and then backed up a few paces as Hermione chuckled.

“See?  You can do it, and the first one is the hardest.  You’ll be an expert in no time.”

The duke was keeping his distance, allowing Hermione to lead the lesson as she saw fit, though his constant hovering was still grating on her nerves.  

He seemed to hold his breath, along with Lyra who was observing, as Astoria approached the thestral a second time.  Hermione positioned herself in between Lyra and the thestral if it charged, but she was also ensuring that the little girl had a good view.  She saw the duke smiling to himself to observe just how fascinated his sister was. 

“Palm out, and hold the meat flat in your hands,” said Hermione.  “This time, try not to pull back when he takes it from you.  Thestrals are very precise creatures, and he won’t take a bite at you as long as you grant him respect.”

Astoria approached again slowly, swallowing hard as she held out her palm exactly as Hermione described.  This time, when the thestral snatched the meat Astoria flinched, but she did not pull back.

“Good!” cried Hermione.  “Excellent!  Now carefully reach forward and stroke his mane.  Make sure you stay in his line of vision.”

Astoria did as instructed, and when she petted the thestral for the first time, she gasped in surprise.  

“He’s so soft!”

Lyra was clapping her hands with delight, and Hermione  was beaming.  “Yes he is, isn’t he?  I think we should continue to work with this one.  He seems to like you very much.”

Astoria continued to pet him tentatively as she asked, “What would this earn me in my N.E.W.T., then?”

Hermione cocked her head as she considered the question.  “At least an ‘Acceptable,’ certainly, but the more you interact with the creature, the higher the score.”

“Can you show me?” asked Astoria innocently as she took a step back and then pulled out her wand to cast a scourgify on her hands.

Hermione glanced at the duke, as a sense of recklessness took over.  He had been watching her for weeks, and it was driving her absolutely mad.

“Only if His Grace agrees.”

“And what am I agreeing to, precisely?” he drawled. 

“Hmmm, that remains to be seen… but if I show Lady Astoria an example of an ‘Outstanding’ demonstration, I must be assured that you will not terminate me for it.”

The duke raised one eyebrow, but he appeared intrigued.

“Very well,” he said.  “I won’t terminate you, though I do not guarantee that I will permit Astoria to engage in whatever reckless behavior I’m sure you’re about to exhibit.”

Hermione grinned.  “Fair enough.”

If he wants to watch me, then I’ll give him a show.

Then she turned to the girls, and winked at Lyra.  “Are you both ready?”

“Yes!” cried Lyra excitedly, while Astoria nodded.

Hermione exhaled and reached down for another piece of meat.

“Here goes nothing,” she muttered, as she approached it confidently.  

The thestral sniffed her hand and took the meat, chewing contentedly as she immediately began to stroke its neck.  She leaned in toward it and ran her hand firmly down his neck until she reached the wing joint.  Then she took a deep breath and jumped.

The duke appeared to be shocked, and Lyra and Astoria were both whooping with glee as Hermione rather awkwardly settled onto the thestral’s back.

“Miss Granger…” warned the duke.

“We have struck our deal, Your Grace.  A demonstration is in order.”

She leaned forward and whispered ‘Go,’ into thestral’s ear, and then she laced her fingers through its mane as it immediately took off at a gallop.  Hermione couldn’t stop the broad grin that crossed her face.  She enjoyed riding horses as much as the next person, and a thestral’s gait was perfectly smooth.

Lyra and Astoria were both cheering in the distance, and Hermione could practically feel the duke’s disapproval radiating toward her.  She couldn’t help but laugh in delight as she turned around and then whispered, “Fly!”  

With a few beats of its wings, the thestral was in the air, and the sounds below turned into laughter for the girls, along with a great deal of male shouting.

Below her she could see Charley Weasley running forward.

“SHE’S MAD!” he bellowed, as he waved his arm, trying to coax the thestral back down.

“SHE’S DONE IT BEFORE!” cried Astoria’s voice, who was bouncing with glee, her dislike of thestrals vanishing before Hermione’s eyes.

They all watched as Hermione made a slow spiral in the air, back toward the ground, and when she landed it was with a whisper of hooves as the thestral trotted back toward them.

Hermione slid off its back, feeling distinctly windswept, and she reached for several more pieces of meat to feed it as a reward.

She scourgified her hands and then turned back to the group, where she nodded firmly.

“That would receive an ‘O’ I believe.”

Astoria turned to the duke, her eyes already pleading, but he just looked at her sternly.

“Absolutely not!”

“But Draco!”

“I said no.  You only need an ‘Acceptable’ to pass that exam, and showing care for it on the ground will be sufficient.”

His gaze slid to Hermione, who couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes at his heavyhandedness.

Astoria huffed and crossed her arms.

“I’m going to keep asking you.”

“And I’m going to keep telling you no.  It’s reckless and not at all ladylike.”

Hermione froze, and she arranged her face into an insincere smile before she could stop herself.

“Well, you heard His Grace.  He has deemed it to be unladylike, just like so many other enjoyable pursuits.  Alas, I’m afraid we must follow his orders on this.  Charley?  You can take the thestral away.”

Charley nodded gratefully and stepped forward to coax it from the group, while Hermione turned to face the girls.  

“Now then, since His Grace has decided that riding thestrals are not appropriate female behavior, you two should head back to your wing.  I’ll join you shortly.”

Astoria and Lyra both rolled their eyes too, and Hermione suppressed a proud smile, which became nearly impossible when she noticed the duke’s consternation at being outnumbered.  Astoria grasped Lyra’s chair, and together they moved away.

Hermione turned back to the duke to find him scowling at her.

“I am not being unreasonable,” he insisted.

“Of course not,” said Hermione her eyes widening theatrically.  “After all, dignified men like yourself are always the final arbiters of proper female behavior.”

“I am merely concerned for their reputations!”  

“And is that why you have been hovering for the last several weeks?  You’re worried about their reputations whilst in my care?  Because I can think of no other reason for such discomfiting behavior, Sir.”

The duke’s lips quirked in amusement, and he seemed to sense that he was now on firmer ground.  

“Oh certainly not, Miss Granger.  You are a paragon of a governess, surely.  You would never dream of allowing them to ruin themselves.”

Hermione huffed and crossed her arms.  “Then is there some other issue with my lessons?  Because despite my demonstration with the thestrals, I certainly would not permit Lady Astoria to do anything unsafe.”

“No,” he said shortly.

“Then are you concerned for Lady Lyra’s health?  Because she has been a bit quiet the last few days, but her spirits seemed to rally this morning.”

The duke grew serious.  “I am always concerned by my sister’s health.”

“And yet you did not feel it necessary to lurk until I moved into her wing!”

“Perhaps I am concerned for your safety as well, Miss Granger.  After all, it is clear to me that you have very poor communication skills when it comes to that sort of thing.”

Hermione’s cheeks reddened with shame, as she remembered her accident.  “Your Grace, I must object!”

“By all means, object.  But while I am in residence, I will be watching closely.  You are a valued member of my staff, Miss Granger.  We cannot be too careful.  After all, if you are willing to ride a thestral in front of me, what might you do to risk your life when my back is turned?”

Hermione shut her mouth, internally fuming, but knowing that she could say nothing more.  It was his home.  He had a right to go anywhere he liked, even if his reasons for it were maddening.

“Relax, Miss Granger,” he murmured.  “I will be away in London for the next three nights on matters of business.  You’ll be free to prowl the Manor in my absence, though I must insist you stay away from the library and your former bedchambers.”

Hermione froze, excitement rushing her as she realized she would be properly alone for the first time since her accident.

“Don’t get too excited,” he said wryly.  “I’ll be ensuring your safety while I’m gone.”

And with that, he gave her another small bow, which made her blink and drop into a hasty curtsy as he turned and strode away.

Hermione exhaled and leaned against a nearby tree, wondering if she dared to try the library while he was gone.  She didn’t know what he meant by ensuring her safety, but surely he wouldn’t have her followed.

“Tomorrow,” she whispered to herself.  “I’ll try tomorrow.”

A whisper of magic brushed across her cheek in response, and something about it made Hermione smile.

She thought the Manor might approve.

******

It wasn’t until their walk the next day that Hermione was sure the duke had left for London.  She couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched that morning, despite receiving word of his departure.  She made a point to leave the schoolroom several times to find the source of the eyes she could feel, but they were nowhere to be found.  And it was only when she left the Manor itself for her daily walk with her charged that the odd feeling melted away and she was finally free from scrutiny.

“Miss Granger, may I visit with Charley and the thestral again?” asked Astoria in an innocent tone that did not fool Hermione for an instant.  Hermione gave her a knowing look, but nodded.  

“Fine, but no more than twenty minutes.  Lady Lyra and I will make a circle through the gardens and join you shortly.”

Astoria beamed and darted away, leaving Hermione chuckling behind her.

“She’s in love with Charley,” sighed Lyra.  “It’s so romantic.”

“It’s foolish,” countered Hermione, as she pushed the chair forward.  “The duke would never permit it.  Miss Astoria is destined for a great match in the upcoming Season, but I will admit that matters of the heart are rarely sensible.”

They continued along their normal route for a distance before Lyra spoke up.

“Miss Granger, may we visit my mother please?  Since Astoria is with Charley?”

Hermione came to a halt.  “Your mother?”

“Yes, she’s in the garden over there.  It’s a bit hidden.”

Hermione hesitated, but she could not think of a reason to deny the young girl this.  According to Ginny, the former duchess had died in childbirth.  Perhaps it was natural that Lyra wished to visit where she was buried and pay her respects.

“Very well, but I’ll need you to show me the way.  I’ve never been there before.”

Lyra nodded agreeably, and Hermione turned from the path and slowly wheeled her toward a very high, very dead hedge where Lyra was pointing.

“The gate is just on the other side,” she said.

Hermione walked around it and saw that Lyra was correct: there was an iron gate that appeared to be locked when Hermione tried to enter.

“I can do it,” said Lyra, who reached for Hermione.  

Hermione leaned down and helped Lyra stand, as the small girl approached the gate and placed her palm on the latch.  Immediately it glowed gold, and the gate swung in soundlessly.  Hermione helped Lyra back into her chair, and they entered a small courtyard that Hermione observed with interest.

Like most of the gardens, it was distinctly gray.  But it was well-maintained, with a perfectly combed gravel path that led to a large white tomb in marble at one end of it.  There were several benches placed nearby, and in front of the tomb was a semicircle of dead rose bushes, each planted behind a small marble marker.

“Over here, please,” said Lyra, as she pointed to the first rosebush.

Hermione pushed the chair forward, and Lyra pointed at it sadly.

“The roses are dead now.  It used to be so pretty here.”

Hermione cocked her head with interest.

“When did that change?” she asked.

Lyra shrugged.  “I don’t know.  It started to die when we got back from London after the Season last year, and by the start of autumn it was like this.”

Hermione frowned, but Lyra just sighed.

“They’re my brothers and sisters,” she explained.  “Draco says they were all born too early.  Mother planted a rosebush for each one.”

Hermione stiffened, very unprepared for this piece of news.

“I beg your pardon?” she said.

Lyra turned and looked at Hermione sadly.  

“My brothers and sisters.  Draco was the first.  I was the last.  But they were in the middle.”

She gestured in an arc to indicate all of the bushes and markers.

Hermione quickly counted them and realized there were eight.

Eight children.

“Oh Lyra,” she sighed, forgetting for a moment that the young girl should be addressed more formally than that.  Lyra, however, didn’t seem to notice.

“It scares me,” Lyra confessed.  “I don’t think I ever want to get married.  What if my babies are like Mama’s?  What if I die like she did?”

Hermione moved in front of the little girl and knelt down.  

“Lyra, that’s not going to happen.”

“You don’t know that!” she insisted.

Hermione sighed.  “You know what?  You’re right.  I don’t know that.  But I can tell you that it’s very rare, and you have many years before you have to worry about that sort of thing.”

The little girl looked at her cautiously.  “What about you?  Aren’t you worried?”

Hermione gave her a small smile.  “Not at all.  I don’t have any plans to marry at the moment.”

Lyra’s eyes widened.  “Miss Granger!”

“It’s true,” said Hermione conspiratorially.  “No doubt His Grace would tell me it’s unladylike, but between you and me…  I’m quite content being your governess.”

This had the effect of cheering Lyra up, and she smiled shyly.  “Maybe I won’t marry either!”

Hermione chuckled.  “Just don’t tell His Grace that it was my poor influence.  He would surely turn me out without a reference.”

“Never,” insisted Lyra loyally.  “I would tell him to let you stay.  He gives me whatever I want.”

Hermione fought a smile, because she had seen this for herself.  The duke – for all of his rigid rules and stern features – practically melted whenever faced with a request from his little sister.  Hermione sensed that Lyra Malfoy could walk all over him if she wished, and the duke would be helpless to stop it unless the thing she wanted posed a threat to her health or safety.

“Well in that case, when it’s time for you to make your debut in Society, perhaps you should tell His Grace that you don’t wish to marry right away.  You can wait for love or never match at all.  After a few Seasons, you’ll be on the shelf.”

“I’d like that,” said Lyra sincerely.  “Wizards are…”

She trailed off and wrinkled her nose.  Hermione smiled again.

“You say that now, but in a few years you might be just as mad for them as Lady Astoria.”

“No!” insisted Lyra seriously.  “I will never be as mad as she is!”

Hermione chuckled again, and they fell silent as Lyra took a moment to compose herself and then turned her attention to her mother.  

Hermione pulled back to give the young girl some semblance of privacy, and she made a slow circle around the eight dead rose bushes, reading the names as she went.

Atlas Orion – 1812

Phoebe Aurora – 1814

Caelum Altair – 1817

Stella Selene – 1818

Astra Carina – 1821

Alphard Pollux – 1823

Hesper Ursula – 1824

Cyrus Cignus – 1827

It was heartbreaking, and Hermione felt her chest tighten in sympathy for the late duchess and even the current duke.  She wasn’t certain how old he was, precisely, but this explained the enormous age gap between him and his younger sister.  No doubt he had become aware of his mother’s difficulties by the time she was carrying Astra, if not earlier than that.  It also explained his deep, almost paternal concern for his only surviving sibling.  He was presently the head of what should have been a very large family, but Lyra was the only one left.

The names were all celestial, she noticed, and of course that made her think of Sirius Black, who had once said that with few exceptions, most of the Blacks were given names from the stars.  Narcissa, of course, was one of those exceptions, and yet she had obviously honored it rigorously with her own children.

“What’s your middle name, Lady Lyra?” asked Hermione as she reached down and brushed one of the markers with her finger.

“Soleil,” said Lyra.  “It means–”

“Sun,” said Hermione softly.  “In French, I know.  That’s perfect for you.  You are as bright as the sun, Lady Lyra.”

Lyra smiled at this, but then she furrowed her brow.  “Draco’s middle name isn’t like the others, though.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow at this, more curious than she dared let on.  Inquiring about the duke’s given name was not appropriate, but if Lyra wanted to share…

“It’s Lucius,” she said.  “Like my father.”

Hermione suppressed a grimace, remembering Sirius’s hatred for Lucius Malfoy.

“Well Draco Lucius is a very strong name,” she said instead.  “And he was born an earl, surely.  It is appropiate that he carries your father’s name as part of his own.”

Even if the stories of Lucius Malfoy make me shudder. 

Lyra nodded absently.  “I suppose.  He was always meant to be different from the rest of us.”

“Perhaps,” agreed Hermione.  “But he’s not that different from you.  Your middle name means ‘sun,’ and his means ‘light.’  It’s fitting, don’t you think?”

Lyra noticeably brightened at this.

“I never thought of that before!”

“And just think: there can be no light without the sun, not really.”

“What about fire?”

“It’s small and temporary compared to sunlight,” pointed out Hermione.  “It doesn’t allow plants to grow.  It doesn’t warm the earth.  No, the sun is certainly the source of our light.  I’m sure His Grace would agree with me on that.”

Lyra was smiling softly to think of it, as Hermione circled back to the very first rose bush for Atlas.  

“It’s a tragedy, what happened to your mother,” said Hermione seriously, “but I do not want you to believe that it is destined to be your fate too, Lady Lyra.”

Hermione brushed the rose bush as she said this, and then winced as her finger caught a brittle thorn.

“Blast,” she whispered as a drop of blood spilled and touched the plant before she had a chance to pull it away.  Instinctively she popped her finger in her mouth and looked back at Lyra wryly.

But Lyra wasn’t looking at Hermione.  She was watching the plant with huge eyes.

“Miss Granger!” she said, pointing at the rose bush, her mouth gaping a little.

Hermione frowned in confusion, but then she turned back and gasped as well.

The plant was slowly coming back to life before her very eyes.  The dead brownish-gray was turning green, all the way down one stalk of the plant until a brilliant rose bloomed in the softest white.

“Oh,” breathed Hermione.

“How did you do it?” asked Lyra.  “It hasn’t bloomed like this in nearly a year!”

Hermione eyed the plant cautiously and then looked back at her thumb.  A small bead of blood was emerging again, and this time Hermione reached forward and brushed it on a different section of the plant.

That stalk immediately came back to life also, and Hermione’s heart was pounding as she stared at it, realizing what it meant.

“It’s… my blood,” she said cautiously.  “I pricked my finger, and this is what happened.”

Lyra straightened up eagerly.  “Would mine work too? Should I try it?”

She reached forward, and Hermione darted a hand out to catch her wrist.“Absolutely not, Lady Lyra.  His Grace would have my head if I allowed it, and he would be right.  If anybody is bleeding all over the garden, it will be me.”

Lyra pulled her hand back, but she was biting her lip as she looked at Hermione longingly.

Hermione knew why: Lyra wanted her to bring the garden back to life, but she didn’t want to ask Hermione to bleed for it.  The sweetness of her obvious concern made Hermione sigh just a little.

“This stays between us, alright?” asked Hermione.  “And whatever else happens… this is one of those ‘do as I say and not as I do’ moments.  By that I mean you should never do this to yourself, do you understand me?”

Lyra’s eyes were huge and solemn as she nodded her agreement.

“Very well,” said Hermione, already gritting her teeth as she pointed her wand to her palm.

“Diffindo,” she whispered.

Her palm split, and blood immediately began to pour out of the wound.  Lyra gasped, but Hermione just clenched her teeth and held her hand over the rose bush, which almost seemed to sigh with relief as Hermione’s blood coated it.  Within moments the blood vanished, and the rose bush turned green again, its white blooms fragrant in the afternoon air.

Then she moved to the plant behind Phoebe’s marker and did the same thing.  This time the roses were a pale pink that made Hermione’s heart ache as it came back to life.

She moved to the next and the same thing happened, and then the next.  And as she reached the end of the semicircle, it seemed that the very air began to warm and the temperature grew balmy, despite the late autumn chill.

“The weather charms are returning!” gasped Lyra.

“Pardon?” asked Hermione through clenched teeth.  Her palm was burning.

“The weather charms!  Mama’s garden was charmed to always be warm so the flowers would bloom.  It disappeared when the roses died, but now it’s coming back!”

Hermione gave Lyra a tight smile as she finished the final rosebush and then pulled out her wand to heal her palm.

She was feeling pale and clammy, but the roses were vibrant once more.  Their fragrance was almost overpowering, and Hermione leaned on Lyra’s chair to steady herself.

“Lady Lyra, I need a blood replenishing potion,” she said.  “If it’s not too much trouble, let’s collect Lady Astoria and head indoors.  We can see if the roses are still alive tomorrow.”

Lyra looked like she wanted to object, but perhaps she noticed just how faint Hermione felt.  Hermione had wrung quite a lot of blood from her hand and had not been prepared for it at all.  She needed a potion and a rest before she attempted to visit the library that evening.

“Very well,” said Lyra.  “But I do wish to return tomorrow!”

“Of course,” said Hermione, relieved that the little girl wasn’t going to argue with her.  “Come along.”

They slowly retraced their steps until they found Astoria talking animatedly with Charley.  The thestral was just being led back to the woods.

“All done?” asked Hermione.  “I’m afraid I’m feeling a bit under the weather.  I need a potion and a rest.”

Astoria looked concerned, but nodded and said farewell to Charley before following Hermione and Lyra back indoors.

“Ladies, if it’s not too much…” said Hermione faintly.

“I can call Rosie to stay with Lyra,” said Astoria.  “Please go rest, Miss Granger.”

Hermione smiled with relief and headed to the small potions room where she quickly mixed together a blood replenishing potion.  It was a challenging, but very short, brew, and before too long Hermione was drinking it and feeling considerably less faint.

She still made her way to her room and laid down to rest, but now that she didn’t feel as though she was going to pass out her brain kicked on as she considered the remarkable thing she had just done.

Her blood had healed the rose bushes.

It was strange – as strange as the odd affliction that was making Lyra sick.  Hermione had never heard of such a thing happening before, though admittedly she had not studied blood magic as much as she wished.  The Potters had always viewed it as rather dark, and though Hermione’s own views of dark magic were distinctly neutral, she had never been able to convince the Potters of that.  In any event, their library only had a single shelf of books on blood magic, and it consisted primarily of their family grimoire and a few volumes on blood wards for their estate.  Hermione was sure that the odd phenomenon she had just observed would not have appeared in any of those books.

But the Malfoy library has an entire aisle on blood magic…

The Manor seemed to whisper to her once more as Hermione laid still and waited for the hour to grow late.

She would stay in the library all night if she had to.

******

Draco

Draco sitting at one of the card tables in his club, watching Theo take Adrian Pucey for all he was worth.

“If you win this hand, you’re going to have an estate to manage,” warned Draco.

Theo just grinned as Adrian blanched, and Draco sighed.

“Theo,” he chided.  “I mean it.  You’ve always said that the best day of your life was when your father gambled away the estate.”

Theo shrugged carelessly.  “And it was.  You know that crumbling mausoleum was a wretched burden.  I was delighted when Yaxley won it off of him.”

“And then your father Avada’d himself in shame,” added Blaise.

“Yes, that was the second best day of my life,” agreed Theo.

Adrian looked ill, as though he was contemplating doing precisely the same thing.

“You could both just stop,” pointed out Draco.

Theo pouted.  “You’re no fun.”

Draco rolled his eyes, as the others at the table grinned.  In addition to Draco and Blaise, Terrance Higgs and Derrick Boles were watching the impending ruin of Adrian Pucey with interest.  Draco had never been close to either one of them, but they were all part of the same club so he was forced to socialize with them now and then. 

At least they were all better than his father’s generation of friends.

There was an eager silence as everyone waited to see which hand Theo would place next.

With a flip of the wrist and an overly-dramatic flourish, Theo placed a winning hand, and Adrian swayed on the spot.

“You can have a couple weeks to move out, mate,” said Theo.  “It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

Adrian didn’t say a word.  He just stood and drained his drink before flinging his vowels toward Theo and stomping out of the club.

“Are you really going to collect?” asked Draco wryly.  

“No,” said Theo, as he pocketed the vowels.  “But I’m going to let him sweat a bit, and when I return this to him he’s going to owe me for the rest of his natural life.  So don’t you lot say a word about it.”

The others grinned, and Draco just shook his head at his best friend’s antics.  

Theo still had quite a bit of gold thanks to his mother’s family.  Theo’s maternal grandfather had the foresight and social capital to force Thomas Nott to voluntarily give up his husbandly claim on a significant share of Elizabeth’s fortune when they married.  But after his mother died when they were children and Thomas gambled away the Nott estate, Theo was technically left homeless, despite his very full Gringott’s vault.  

These days he drifted between the homes of his closest friends.  He spent most of his time living in Draco’s London townhome when he wasn’t visiting Charley at Malfoy Manor.

Theo claimed he liked it that way, because he no longer had an estate that required a male heir for entailments.  All he had was gold, and he could give the gold away to anybody he liked when he died. 

There were times when Draco was secretly very jealous of his best friend for the freedoms he enjoyed, but then again, Theo didn’t have a sibling.  There was no Lyra or other female relation who was dependent upon him, let alone an entire estate like Malfoy Manor.  And while Draco knew he would be relieved when Astoria was matched and out of his home, he privately wondered if he would ever be able to let Lyra go, assuming she lived long enough to debut.  He wouldn’t trade her for all the freedom in the world.

Draco was finishing his drink as Terrance and Derrick caught his eye.

“We’re heading to Madam Rosmerta’s, do you want to join?”

Draco raised an eyebrow.  Madam Rosmerta’s was a brothel, though a very expensive one.  The women who worked there were clean, lovely, and they were very well trained in the sexual arts.  The establishment also served food and drink, and a gentleman could spend the whole evening there enjoying its pleasures.  Draco had visited a few times, but he hadn’t gone recently.  He weighed his feelings about it as the two other wizards exchanged excited looks.

“Rosmerta has some new girls, and they’re just…”

Terrance trailed off, his eyes going a bit glassy.

Draco forced himself to grin knowingly, but he knew what his answer was going to be.  

“Not tonight.”

Terrance’s face fell.  “It’s been ages since you’ve come with us.”

“That’s because I’ve been very busy.  I’m only here for a couple more nights before I need to return to my estate.”

“And Draco’s saving himself for marriage,” teased Theo.  “Now that he plans to get married, I mean.”

Terrance and Derrick’s eyes widened, while Draco scowled at his best friend.

“You’re going to find a wife during the Season?”

“Unfortunately,” gritted Draco.  “And while I’m not saving myself – because it would be far too late for that – I’m also not going to visit Madam Rosmerta’s or take up with any opera singers for the foreseeable future.  It may create complications with the Society mamas if they get wind of it.”

The wizards nodded in acknowledgment of this.

“Well fair enough.  Maybe you can tumble one of your maids while you wait,” said Derrick, as he rose and clapped a hand on Draco’s shoulder.

Something inside of Draco cracked at this.  The common practice of using one’s servants for easy sex had always made Draco feel ill, and he had never once touched a female member of his staff.

Not true, whispered a mocking voice in his head.  You did touch Miss Granger.  You held her all night.

Draco felt his cheeks heat, and unfortunately his friends noticed his blush.

“Oh ho!” cried Terrance.  “So there is a pretty little thing at Malfoy Manor for His Grace’s pleasure!  Tell us – what does she look like?”

“There is not,” said Draco with such a cold voice that Terrance’s eyes widened, and he raised his hands in defense.

“Joking!  Joking… no need to call me out.  We’ll be seeing you, then…”

He and Derrick scurried away, and Draco caught Theo and Blaise watching him curiously.

“There is…” said Theo slowly.  “And based on what I know of your staff, it must be the new–”

“Stop right there,” demanded Draco.  “It’s not that.  I can’t.  She’s just…  I can’t.”

Theo and Blaise exchanged looks.

“You could, actually,” said Blaise slowly.  “You’re a duke.  You certainly don’t need any dowry.  And even if she’s impoverished she must be gently bred or you wouldn’t have hired her for–”

“No,” insisted Draco.  “She’s a member of my staff.  It doesn’t matter that she’s so… no.”

“She’s so what?” pressed Theo.  

“Maddening,” said Draco without hesitation.  “Stubborn.  Mouthy.  Impertinent.  Take your pick.  If she weren’t so bloody brilliant I would have turned her out weeks ago.”

Pretty, his treacherous mind added.  Soft.  Warm.  Feminine…

Draco erected his occlumency shields so quickly he nearly fell out of his chair.

He couldn’t be thinking of her in that way.  It was impossible.  It was wrong.  And just because he had grown a bit paranoid that his house was going to kill her prematurely, that was no excuse to allow his mind – or his hands or anything else that was attached to his body – to wander in her direction.  

She was an innocent.  She was respectable.  She was wonderful with his sister.  She was vulnerable.

There were rules about keeping distance between employer and staff, and they existed for good reason.  It was true that many gentlemen in Society broke those rules when a pretty face entered their household, but Draco would not.  Miss Granger wasn’t at the Manor for him, she was there for Lyra and to a lesser extent Astoria.

“Right,” said Theo skeptically.  “I’m just saying –”

“Don’t,” said Draco wearily.  “Please don’t.”

Theo and Blaise fell silent, watching him with some concern now as Draco swirled his drink and then drained it.

“Right,” he said.  “I need to head back to–”

He cut himself off when Dobby appeared with a CRACK!

The elf was wringing his hands, and Draco felt a keen sense of trepidation as he stared at the small creature.

“What did she do now?” he demanded, because there was only one reason the elf would be standing in front of him, showing himself at Draco’s club.  

Rosie was already very loyal to Miss Granger, but Dobby was loyal only to Draco.  And Draco had given Dobby very explicit instructions to keep an eye on Miss Granger and alert him if she was about to do something very stupid.  

Again.

“Sir can guess,” said Dobby nervously.

“That bloody library…” he growled, as he stood.  “She’s going to get herself killed.”

“Yes, and…” Dobby trailed off, tugging on his ear now, looking slightly terrified by the news he was about to deliver.

“And what?” insisted Draco.

“And Dobby is thinking Miss may have done something to the Manor, Sir.”

Draco felt the blood drain from his face.  “What do you mean, she did something to the Manor?”

Dobby shrugged in dismay.  “Dobby is not knowing, Sir.  Dobby is letting the garden elves watch her on her walk, Sir, so that Dobby could rest, but they is not doing a good job!  They is telling Dobby they is finding some of the roses alive again, Sir, after her walk!  They is not knowing how she is doing it!”

Draco felt distinctly faint.  He couldn’t be sure how such a thing was possible either, but house elves were sensitive to the Manor’s magic, and he couldn’t dismiss their theories.

“And you think she did it…”

“Yes Sir!  Dobby and the other elves is not knowing who else it could be!”

Draco swore and reached out a hand for Dobby.  

“Take me to her,” he ordered, and then he turned to his friends, who had been watching the entire exchange with a blend of concern and amusement.  “Not a word,” he added.

He saw Theo give him a mocking salute before Dobby twisted and pulled him away, arriving at Draco’s door to the library.

Sure enough, Draco felt a keen sense of anticipation from the Manor the moment he arrived.  It made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

“Thank you,” he said curtly as he flung the door open and marched in.  Miss Granger had her wand aloft and was standing in front of the entry to the blood magic section when the crash of the door made her spin around in alarm.

She was staring at him with huge eyes, and just like that first visit to the library she was dressed for bed.  This time, however, she wasn’t wearing a dressing gown or a blanket.  She was simply in her night dress, which Draco knew from personal experience was exceptionally thin.  Her hair, too, was loosely contained in a long braid, and it was settled over one shoulder, while several curls sprang free.

He swallowed hard and did not allow his eyes to move from her face, as much as they wanted to.

“Which part of ‘do not go into the library at night’ do you not understand?” he asked in a dangerous voice.

Miss Granger swallowed hard, but she pulled herself up and glared back.

“The part where you have not explained yourself to my satisfaction, Your Grace,” she retorted.  “Banning me from the library with vague warnings about safety is utterly absurd.”

Draco closed his eyes and prayed for patience.  But when he opened them again, the challenging expression on her face made him lose every bit of patience he possessed.

He strode forward, and she yelped in surprise as she scrambled to back up.  She hit the side of the large bookcase with a thud, and she stared up at him with huge eyes.

Draco knew he had erred badly the moment he invaded her personal space, and he reached up to steady himself on the bookcase above her head.

He needed to do something with his hands because it was far too tempting to reach down and grip her throat.

The scent of her – which smelled of jasmine and which he had unfortunately memorized that night he saved her life – entered his nose.  He could feel little puffs of air on his face.  Draco closed his eyes and tried to steady himself so that he would make his point clear and not break any of those sacred rules he had just been contemplating in his club only minutes earlier.

“I am not required to explain myself,” he said softly.  “This is my home.  I am your employer.  I have forbidden you from coming here at night, and that is all you need to know about it.  You have free access to this place during the day when the Manor’s magic is more stable.  And yet, I know for a fact that you have not visited during those hours.  So I must ask you: why?”

She hesitated long enough that Draco finally opened his eyes and stared down at her.  She was chewing her lip, giving him a pleading look, and Draco mentally steeled himself for whatever she was about to say.

“I can’t,” she confessed.  “It feels wrong.  It makes me ill and cold to come here during the day.  But at night?  It’s perfect at night.  It feels right… and I want it so much…”

Circe, Merlin, and Morgana, Draco was in trouble.

Her eyes had fluttered closed while she was begging him for his library, and Draco allowed his own gaze to fall to a place where it should not.  The fine lawn of her night dress was too sheer, and the neckline was both innocent and yet wide enough that a single push could make it drop from one shoulder and likely expose her to him.  

This woman was an utter menace.  She infuriated him just as much as she tempted him.  And then she turned sweet and pleading, and Draco found he couldn’t tell her no.

“You will tell me which books you want, and I will retrieve them for you.”

Her eyes opened, and Draco wrenched his gaze back to her face so that she would not sense the true direction of his thoughts.

“But I enjoy the search.”

“I do not doubt that, Miss Granger, but the library cannot be trusted at night.  And apparently no amount of warning will dissuade you from your purpose here.  If it feels uninviting during the day, there is a reason for it.  And the reason is that the Manor is trying to coax you here at night.  You must not let it draw you in.  I will not let it draw you in.  Therefore, the only solution is for me to retrieve the books you so desperately seek so that the temptation of it is removed entirely.”

Her dark eyes turned wary, but he could see her turning his offer over in her mind.

“You will not deny me any books?”

“No,” said Draco.

“And you will not ask me what I am researching?”

Against every bit of his better judgment, Draco said, “No.”

“And there is no limit on how many you will retrieve for me?  Because I am a very fast reader, Your Grace.  You may be surprised by how quickly I work through them.”

“No limit,” agreed Draco.  “I just ask that you stay out of here.  And don’t call me that when there’s nobody but me to hear it,” he added.

Miss Granger cocked an eyebrow.  “Don’t call you what?”

“Your Grace.”

“But you’re a duke, and that’s how you’re to be addressed.”

“Yes, I’m aware.”

Of course Draco was aware.  And hearing her call him ‘Your Grace’ never failed to remind him of those bloody rules that were becoming less and less clear with each encounter.

“And it’s proper to–”

“Miss Granger, we exceeded the boundaries of proper the moment you stepped foot into the library the very first time.  We have never been perfectly proper.”

She fell silent, and Draco knew she was weighing his words.

“Perhaps,” she acknowledged.  “But you are still my employer.”

This had the same effect as if she had thrown a bucket of cold water onto Draco’s face.

“Yes I am,” he said, and he pulled away, stepping back to place more physical distance between them.

Unfortunately, it also gave him a much better view of her nightdress.

“I will still call you ‘Sir,’” she added.  “You still call me ‘Miss,’ and it is only polite for me to reciprocate.  You surely cannot object to that.”

“Fine,” he clipped.

“Then I must ask you, Sir… could you please retrieve the books on spell-less blood rites?”

Draco’s eyes narrowed.  

“Miss Granger, what are you–”

She held up a hand to stop him.

“We have an agreement, Sir.  You may not ask me what I’m studying.”

Draco snapped his mouth shut, already deeply regretting the offer he had made to help her.

“Very well,” he gritted.  “I will find them and have an elf deliver them to your bedchamber.  I ask that you leave.  Now.”

Miss Granger couldn’t suppress a small smile of triumph as she dropped into her familiar curtsy before turning to leave.

Something about it stoked Draco’s ire yet again.

“You also don’t have to do that when it’s just us,” he snapped.

Miss Granger stopped and turned back to look at him in confusion.  

“Sir?”

“Curtsying to me.  Bowing to me.  It’s just like my title.  I know certain formalities must be observed in public, but I don’t care for them.”

“Oh,” she said, clearly thrown by his irritated tone.  She paused and cocked her head.  “But you’ve bowed to me twice.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, as he realized she was correct.

“Yes, because you’re a lady.”

“I’m not,” she objected.  

“You are,” he insisted.   

“No I’m not.  It’s true I was raised as a ward of a genteel family, but any blue blood within me is so distant as to be entirely irrelevant, Sir.  As far as hierarchy goes, I’m so far beneath you that you should never even notice me.”

She looked oddly hopeful as she said this, and Draco was struck by it.

Was that what she had been wishing for, then?  That she would come to Malfoy Manor and go unnoticed?

Draco internally scoffed.  It would be impossible not to notice a woman like her.  She was too lovely, too sharp, too bold for her own good.  Even when she censored herself, the frustration of doing so lit her expression.  Try as she might, she would never be able to just fade into the background, at least not around him.  

“I can assure you, Miss Granger… if you were ever beneath me, I would certainly notice.”

The words just slipped out, and Draco bit his tongue hard from saying anything more.  Miss Granger’s eyes widened in shock, and even in the dim light Draco could see her cheeks turning red.

She huffed and spun on her heel, but not before giving him a quelling look that told Draco he needed to hold his tongue if he didn’t want to risk getting hexed.

“I’ll expect your books on blood magic by tomorrow morning, Sir,” she said imperiously over her shoulder.  “And do not make me regret asking you for help!”

She flounced out of the library, and Draco just stared after her, a smile and something else growing as he allowed himself to feel the distinct pleasure of a lovely young woman chastising him for taking liberties.

It was novel, to be sure.  He doubted anybody but Miss Granger would have the courage to take him to task for it.  But Merlin, was it delightful to push her just that far and watch her carefully composed facade fall away in the face of her indignation.

She had a temper, and he wanted to see more of it.  He thought it could be extraordinary.

Shaking his head at the direction of his thoughts – and grimacing a bit that his obvious weakness for her now meant he was practically a servant himself – Draco turned to the blood magic section of the library.

“Well, Miss Granger,” he said quietly.  “Let’s see if I can figure out what you’re studying…” 

Chapter Text

Hermione

“I would be happy to show you a new species of Belladonna we have just acquired,” said Neville.

“Oh I thought she might wish to go for a fly,” said Ronald.

“But the Belladonna is rare and–”

“It’s such a beautiful day.  Much warmer than normal for this time of–”

“I could use your expert advice while–”

“His Grace has just ordered new brooms for–”

“HERMIONE!”

Hermione sent a silent prayer of thanks to the sky as she spun and found Ginny striding toward her.  The two men who had been walking on either side of her fell quiet and looked back too.

Ginny was hurrying toward them, her bright red hair shining in the late afternoon sun.  It was a rare afternoon with no lessons for either of Hermione’s charges, as the promised modistes, seamstresses, and tailors had come from London to fit the entire household with new clothing.

The young ladies, she knew, would have fittings more than once this year, and Astoria in particular would have a new dress for each major social event when she launched in a few months.  But while they were here for the staff, the duke ordered that the young ladies should receive new garments for the winter as well, including a gown for Astoria that would be used for the traditional Yule Ball the duke hosted at the Manor.  It would not be her official debut, but Astoria was viewing it as excellent practice for the Season that was imminently approaching, and the duke had agreed that she could attend this year.

As it was, with no students to tutor this afternoon Hermione had decided to take a walk back to the small garden where the late duchess was buried.  She and Lyra had visited several times over the previous two weeks, and to Hermione’s surprise the gate now opened at her touch.  The flowers had held for several days before the blooms started to fade again, and Hermione had slipped out in the middle of the night to add a bit more blood in order to keep them fresh.

Lyra’s spirits had never been higher, and something about that garden seemed to be returning the little girl’s energy.  She had even walked from her chair to one of the benches without assistance during their last visit, and Hermione had privately committed to keeping the garden green for Lyra, even if she had no idea why the garden reacted to her blood in that manner.

The books the duke had given her had not provided the answers she sought, though to be fair, she was mixing in requests for books on botany and politics and fashion charms too.  None of those were useful in the slightest, but she didn’t expect them to be.  She simply did not want the duke to figure out what she was researching, and so far nobody had asked her about the roses.  Hermione rather thought she had gotten away with it, and she decided to keep it green under the cover of night as she slowly worked through her list of helpful books while ignoring the useless ones.

A quick check of the garden that afternoon told Hermione that it was starting to fade again.  It had been nearly a week since the last time she spilled any blood there, and it was no great surprise that it required more.  

She made a mental note to return that night, and then she was immediately accosted by both Neville and Ronald as soon as she emerged back onto the path.

They were lovely gentlemen, truly.  She liked both of them very much.  But the eagerness in their expressions made her uncomfortable, especially now that they were openly competing for her affections.

Mrs. Weasley had given up all hope for Fred and George, and now Ronald was the only one left.  It was with some dismay that Hermione suspected he would be the most tenacious of all because it was rather obvious that he actually liked her and not just because his mother told him he should.

As flattering as it should be, Hermione was not interested.  She grasped upon Ginny’s inadvertent rescue with relief.

“Ginny, what brings you out here?”

“It’s our turn,” she said breathlessly.  “They just finished with Astoria.  Mother asked me to come fetch you.”

Hermione brightened, and she turned to Neville and Ronald with a smile.

“I am sorry to disappoint you, but I’m afraid I must be going.  I’ll try to join you all for supper tonight, though I have no idea how long this is meant to last!”

They both looked very much like they wanted to object, but Hermione brushed past them and strode toward Ginny before they had a chance to say another word.

Ginny hurried to catch up with her and said under her breath, “Alright, Hermione?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I thought you could use a rescue.”

Hermione huffed a laugh.  “Thank you.  Is it just a rescue then or are they truly done?”

“Oh they’re done with the young ladies, and the seamstresses are taking measurements for the rest of the female staff now.  It never lasts very long, as we do not have any need for formal gowns… but the duke is generous to replace our worn items each year without asking us to spend our own coin for it.”

Hermione knew she would not require very much by way of clothing because she had intentionally worn the same three dresses ever since she arrived.  She had several others still at Godric’s Hollow that she had never bothered to charm, and she thought that she could manage with ordering very little in order to use her allowance on something she would rather have instead.

“You told me once that the personal allowance can be used on parchment, quills, and books, correct?”

“Yes,” said Ginny.  “The duke purchases supplies for the household of course, but if you wish to have something different for personal use he allows it to come out of your annual allowance.  I know Percy usually requests a book or two for himself each year.  I usually request some finer soaps and lotions from the village.”

Hermione tried not to smile too broadly at this news, but it was what she had been hoping for.  She had access to all the quills, ink, and parchment she could ever hope to need through the schoolroom, but books that were hers…

A vision of her future bookshop materialized in her mind’s eye, and Hermione knew precisely what she would be spending her allowance on if she could help it.  She couldn’t hope to have a bookshop without inventory, and twenty-five galleons could purchase dozens of books that Harry could store for her at Godric’s Hollow.

“Brilliant,” she breathed.

Ginny just chuckled and motioned for Hermione to follow her to a section of the servant’s hall that was filled with feminine chatter and laughter.

“Come along, I’m sure they will be ready for you soon!”

Hermione entered Mrs. Weasley’s office to find a screen erected and several seamstresses bustling around, while Mrs. Weasley took notes on a ledger.

“I will need panels in my dresses!” declared a voice from behind the screen that Hermione was sure belonged to Fleur.  Hermione looked at the screen and could see a feminine shape that was obviously not wearing any real clothing being measured by another woman in a dress, but mercifully she was spared having to see anything more than a shadow.

“Panels?” asked Mrs. Weasely as her quill dropped in surprise.

“Yes, has Bill not told you?  We are in the family way!”

Mrs. Weasley released the most unladylike squeal Hermione had ever heard in her life, and she darted around the screen to pull the smaller woman into a great hug.  Fleur’s shape disappeared entirely behind the much rounder form of Mrs. Weasley.

Hermione rubbed her ear, but chuckled at her obvious pleasure, and even Ginny’s eyes were shining.

“Oh I’ll finally have a niece or nephew of my own!  And Rosie will be so thrilled!”

Hermione gave a genuine smile to her friend. She knew just how much Ginny missed being nursemaid to Lyra.  And Rosie would certainly be in raptures to learn that she had another baby to care for.

The Weasley women were in high spirits as the seamstresses finished their measurements, and soon it was only Hermione left.

“Miss Granger, you are next!” snapped an elegantly dressed older woman who was obviously in charge.  

“Just two dresses in your most basic, sturdy fabric, two chemises, and a new cloak for winter,” said Hermione quickly.  “It shouldn’t be more than two or three galleons altogether at most.  I will be out of half-mourning very soon and have other dresses I can wear.”

Mrs. Weasley furrowed her brow, and the woman pursed her lips.

“Hermione, you have twenty-five galleons by your name,” she said.  “It’s far more than the rest of the staff thanks to your position.  The duke was quite clear that he expects you to spend every bit of it, and I would think you’ll need to set aside at least eight or ten galleons for your gown for the Yule Ball.  Madam Malkin here is not just any seamstress, she is a fashionable modiste.”

Hermione jolted.

“Ten galleons on a single gown?”

That was absurd, and it made Hermione feel ill to imagine such a thing.

“Well of course,” said Mrs. Weasley, like Hermione was being dense.  “You’re to chaperone Miss Astoria, are you not?  You will need a gown.  Not to mention the rest of your wardrobe… you are the young ladies’ governess, and I believe the duke expects a certain look, if you don’t mind my saying so.  Your clothing does not need to be as fine as the young ladies’, of course, but you still have an important position in this household, my dear.  It is important for you to dress in accordance with your station.”

Hermione stared at Mrs. Weasley, her mind racing with this news.

“I’m sorry, but no.  I was under the impression that the allowance was mine to spend how I wish, and I do not wish to spend it on clothing.”

“Well what on earth do you require then?”

Hermione shrugged.  “Books.”

“We have a library!” insisted Mrs. Weasley.

“Yes, but those books are not mine, and my access has been… somewhat limited.  No, I do not need fine clothing, Mrs. Weasley.  I need books.”

“Surely not twenty-five galleons’ worth!” she said indignantly.

Hermione just shrugged again.  “I like to read.”

The modiste’s face had turned stoney during this conversation, and Mrs. Weasley chewed her lip nervously.  Hermione got the impression she was thinking very fast.

“Very well, I will speak to His Grace about it, but you need to be measured in any event.  Please, Madam Malkin, do what you must.”

Hermione frowned, but she supposed she could not object to this.  The modiste motioned for her to head behind the screen.

“Undress,” she snapped.

Hermione flushed.  It was obvious the woman was quite offended to hear that Hermione would prefer books to gowns, but twenty-five galleons could go a very long way toward stocking inventory for her future shop.  A year or two more and she could have enough gold saved from her wages to lease premises for quite some time before she started turning a profit.  She could not collect the allowance the duke offered in galleons herself, so why not spend it on inventory she could take with her?

One look at the modiste’s face told Hermione it would be useless to explain herself.

She grimaced as she began to unbutton her drab gray dress and removed it.  The modiste’s eyes narrowed when she saw what Hermione was wearing underneath.

“Stays!  And shabby ones at that — there is hardly any boning to them!  You will need a true corset.”

“A corset!” recoiled Hermione.

“Yes, they shape the waist and bust much better than stays like this do.  These have been out of fashion for several years now for obvious reasons.”

Hermione opened her mouth to object, but the miserable woman simply flicked her wand and then Hermione’s stays ripped.

“I beg your pardon!”

“Cease prattling on, arms out, and then stand still.”

Hermione was left in nothing but her chemise and drawers, which left almost nothing to the imagination.  She gulped as she followed the other woman’s orders.

The magical tape measure quickly got to work, with the woman barking out measurements to the seamstresses who were helping her.

It wasn’t just her bust and waist and height that were measured.  The modiste measured her arm length and the length of her torso and the distance from her shoulders to the very top of her breasts.  Even the distance between her shoulders was measured.

“I only create dresses with open necklines,” commented the modiste.  “The style is off the shoulder or near-so to show an expanse of neck and a hint of bust.”

“That is entirely unnecessary.  A dress like the one on the floor is perfectly sufficient.”

“That is servants’ wear, and I do not create dresses for servants!”

“Then perhaps you should find somebody else to dress, because I am a servant!”

“Is there a problem?”

The deep, aristocratic voice coming from the other side of the screen made Hermione gasp and then groan as she realized who it must be.  And only then did it occur to her that she was practically naked, and no doubt he was getting the same view of her silhouette that she had gotten of Fleur’s.

“Your Grace!” she exclaimed, instinctively covering herself.  “This is not proper!”

Something shifted in the air, and she felt the magic surrounding her thickening and becoming slightly unstable.

“Out!” he barked.  “All of you!”

“But–” started Hermione.

“Not you, Miss Granger.  You and I are going to have a little chat.”

“Your Grace…” said Mrs. Weasley’s uncomfortable voice.

“You heard me, OUT!”

Hermione heard scrambling and rustling of fabric, as the modiste and her pernicious tape measure vanished to the other side of the screen.  Hermione stared down at her ripped stays on the floor and bent to grip her dress.  It would not fit properly without the stays, but it would be better than speaking to him in her chemise and drawers.

“Don’t bother, Miss Granger, I intend to speak with you just like this.”

“But Sir!”

“You’re behind a screen for privacy.  If you wish for me to stay on this side of the screen then you will drop that shapeless lump of fabric on the floor and speak to me just as you are.”

Hermione blushed all the way to her toes, as anger and a stirring of something unfamiliar heated her blood.

But she could tell that the duke was entirely serious about his threat so she released her dress and slowly stood.

“Better,” he said, his voice both softer and somehow rougher.  “Much better.  Now I will ask once again… is there a problem?”

******

Draco

As a rule, Draco Malfoy was not a jealous man.

He was temperate, staid, careful, and intensely private.  His orders were not questioned, and his presence commanded respect.  He could drift in and out of Society at his leisure, knowing that his name was placed higher than nearly any others.  The hostesses of the Ton felt lucky whenever he graced their doorstep.  Society bowed to him and everyone who was a part of it went out of their way to accommodate him. 

Draco had never bowed to another person in his life, with the exception of his parents, the monarch, and now a certain witch who dwelled in his household.

The closest Draco had ever gotten to feeling jealous was the occasional rumination about Theo and his freedom.  But over time Draco had come to realize it was less about jealousy and more about feeling the pressures of his name, as his best friend no longer shared those burdens.  And inevitably, the moment he thought of the things he did have – such as Lyra – his discontentment would wane, and he would not wish to trade places with any man.

This had held true until Draco watched Miss Granger walk in step with two of his servants from the window of his study.

She had just emerged from the rose garden where his mother’s tomb rested.  He still wasn’t certain how she brought the flowers back to life, but he suspected the books he was gathering for her had something to do with it.  He knew she was performing her magic in the middle of the night.  Still, even when he followed her she disillusioned herself, and it had been impossible to see what she was doing.  He heard no words or song from her – she was just a shadow that passed in front of each rose bush before she left as silently as she had come.  He had set it aside for now and decided he would continue to follow her until he learned more about it.  No doubt she would grow complacent at some point and err.  

She had used her free afternoon to take a walk and check on his mother’s garden, as was becoming her custom.  Then she was accosted by two male staff members, both of whom Draco immediately recognized from a distance.

And of course Percy was there to narrate it for him.

“My brother certainly has some competition,” said Percy wryly, as he observed the trio in the gardens below.

“I take it you’ve abandoned your own efforts on that front?” inquired Draco.

Percy glanced at him and nodded.  “Yes, your Grace.  I would have done my duty had she expressed any interest, but it was clear to everyone that she does not care for me.  It was no great matter to step back and let my brothers try their hand because the feeling was mutual.  I find her perfectly pleasant and amiable, but I have no strong feelings for her.”

“And the twins?”  

“You know them.  They take nothing seriously, not even their futures.  They barely tried before they told Mother they were done with it.”

“And Ronald?”

“Smitten.  I hope he can earn her affections because it’s obvious to all of us that he cares about her a great deal.”

“He barely knows her,” insisted Draco, who was mentally running through the list of things he knew about the governess that others would not.

She holds controversial views on dark magic.

She roams the Manor at night and is bringing mother’s garden back to life.

When she sleeps she instinctively seeks warmth.

“He knows enough,” said Percy, shrugging.  “She dines with the staff rather often.  Ronald hangs on her every word.”

Draco found his lip curling at this, and he raised his drink to his mouth to conceal it. 

“Mmmm,” he said.

“It will create conflict with Neville,” continued Percy seriously.  “I hope she picks one soon.  They are the closest of friends, but with a woman between them… I won’t pretend as though it hasn’t been tense at staff suppers recently.”

“Neville’s a gardener,” scoffed Draco.  “And Ronald is the coachman when he is doing anything at all.  Miss Granger may be impoverished, but she’s exceptionally well-educated and gently bred.”

Percy inclined his head.  “Yes, she would be a prize for any man on the estate.”

Draco made a discontented noise.

“Except for you, Your Grace.  Please forgive me, I meant no offense.”

Draco fell silent, knowing that it would be impossible for him to tell Percy why his comments grated.  He could barely face it himself.  All he knew was that he felt anger wrapping him hot and thick, and he was suddenly fantasizing about turning out both of the young men who were following Miss Granger around like dogs.  

He was struck by the uncomfortable realization that he, Draco Malfoy the Duke of Wiltshire, was jealous of a gardener and a coachman.  It was ridiculous.  It was madness.  And yet, he knew that had to be what he was feeling.  There was no other explanation for the twisting in his gut as he watched them walk together.

What could men like them ever hope to offer a woman like her?  Draco and his father were the ones who had given them their positions, their gold, their entire livelihoods.  But despite the facts, Draco sensed that if Miss Granger ever chose a man for herself it would be someone like them — a man who was kind and loyal and who could never hope to compete with her fire.  She would run roughshod over her chosen partner and convince herself that it was true love.  

Draco sneered once more and turned from the window, missing the arrival of Ginny and the subsequent departure of Miss Granger.  So when Mrs. Weasley’s patronus appeared a half an hour later, he was surprised.

“Your Grace, Miss Granger is objecting to the modiste.  I’m afraid I must speak to you about this urgently because Madam Malkin will be expecting an order placed as soon as Miss Granger’s measurements are complete.  I am in my office.”

Draco found himself perking up with interest as he dismissed Percy and quickly headed to the housekeeper’s office to settle whatever issue Miss Granger was causing this time.  

He was not at all prepared for what he discovered when he arrived.

The modiste was snapping orders from behind a thin screen that was casting silhouettes, thanks to the light from the window behind it.  She was moving briskly and calling out measurements to a bevy of seamstresses while a much slighter figure had her arms spread behind a screen.  Draco immediately took in the curves of her hips and breasts, which were obviously uncontained.  

He clicked his jaw before summarily dismissing everyone but her.  He glanced back at the door to confirm that Mrs. Weasley had kept it cracked for propriety’s sake before refocusing on the form of a lovely woman that the gods must have placed before him as a test of his willpower.  Perhaps they were the reason he then threatened her so that she would leave that horrid grey dress she had been wearing in the gardens at her feet.

Yes, surely it was the gods who made him do it.

“…is there a problem?” he asked.

Other than the fact that I’m obviously going mad, and you are the cause of it?

“No,” she clipped.  

“Then please explain why Mrs. Weasley felt the need to summon me.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I do not wish to spend my allowance on gowns.  I requested only the items that require replacement.  It should not amount to more than a few galleons, and I’m afraid the modiste took offense."

Draco could not explain why this made him angry, but it did.  Perhaps it was because she was obviously rejecting his generosity.

“And what of the rest of your wardrobe?  Or your gown for the Yule Ball?  I assigned an allowance to you that would be sufficient for both.”

“I have no need for additional clothing, and I will not be attending the Yule Ball.  Obviously,” she added.

Draco scowled.  “Of course you will be attending!  I am hosting it!”

“And I am a governess!  I have no reason to be there!”

“Astoria needs a chaperone!”

“Then ask her sister to do it!  I cannot properly chaperone her, as I am unmarried.  Surely I do not need to explain this to you!”

“I’m aware you’re unmarried, but you can attend as a lady’s companion.  Most of them are unmarried, and they help keep their charges accountable and out of trouble.  Daphne is not old enough to serve as a proper chaperone, so my Aunt Bellatrix will be doing it, just as she did for Daphne.  But Bellatrix is older and is not capable of keeping up with Astoria all night.  She requires another person to help.”

“Again, Lady Astoria’s sister can serve as back-up then.”

“No, because Daphne loves to dance.”

“Married women rarely dance.”

“That may be true, but Daphne is an exception.  It’s one of her favorite pastimes, and I do not trust her to keep an eye on Astoria while she’s otherwise engaged.”

“You’ll need to find somebody else who can watch Lady Astoria, then,” Miss Granger declared.  “I am no companion.”

Draco closed his eyes, breathing hard and praying for patience.

“I wish for you to attend,” he said through gritted teeth.

“And I’m afraid I must decline,” she retorted.

There was another pause as Draco scrambled for words.

“Why?” he finally asked.  “It’s just a ball.”

“You ask why I do not wish to hover by a young lady for hours when I am not being paid to do it?  You ask why I do not care to spend any more of my free time childminding your ward and sister than I already do?  You ask why I have no interest in spending nearly half of my allowance on a gown that I will never wear again?  Really, Sir, I know you are not that daft!”

She actually stomped her foot behind the screen, and Draco watched in slight fascination as several interesting parts of her reverberated from it.  Then she crossed her arms over her chest, and he scowled as it ruined the line of her figure.

“Miss Granger,” he said through clenched teeth.  “I was under the impression that you understood your duties when I hired you.  I require your assistance in preparing Astoria for–”

“Her N.E.W.T.s,” interrupted Miss Granger.  “That is all.  Miss Brown was very clear that if you required any services from me beyond those in the schoolroom then you would compensate me for them separately, and we would negotiate them when the time came.  As I said, I already spend a great deal of time childminding both Lady Astoria and Lady Lyra while outside of the schoolroom.  They are lovely young ladies so I do not mind it overmuch.  But this is a step too far, Sir.  I do not wish to spend hours at a ball watching a headstrong teenager bat her eyes at gentlemen who are only after her fortune.  I have done this for a previous employer before, and I won’t do it again.  Balls like this are dreadfully boring and yet somehow terribly exhausting at precisely the same time, and it is outside of my duties as a governess so I do not have to attend.  You will not convince me otherwise.”

“I’ll pay you.”

The words just slipped out, and Draco internally cringed.  He wanted her to want to attend the Yule Ball, though he could not really say why.  He had set the clothing allowance for the new governess before Miss Granger was ever hired because he assumed that whoever she was, she would be flattered to serve as a companion for this single event before Astoria was launched.  She would need a nice, if not spectacular, dress for it, and it could serve as a sort of trial run for the Season if all went well.  Draco was entirely serious that he felt Astoria required both a formal chaperone and an informal one because her head was too filled with romantic nonsense to be trusted.  Astoria was so sly he had been forced to lock her into her wing for Merlin’s sake, and he wanted a second set of eyes on her at all times because he would not be able to do it while on the hunt for his own wife.  Using a trusted governess as Astoria’s companion for the Season had seemed entirely sensible to Draco when he advertised the position because she would know Astoria well and would already be in his household.  But instead of being flattered, Miss Granger sounded almost offended by his expectations.

“How much?” she asked shrewdly.

“A galleon.  It’s only a single evening.”

“Try fifteen galleons.  I despise balls.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“I am perfectly serious.  If none of your other female relations or acquaintances will keep an eye on Lady Astoria, then you can hire a companion easily enough.  Companions do nothing at all except make small talk and blend into the wall hangings.  It is a position that requires no special skills.”

Draco gritted his teeth.  “Five galleons,” he said, unable to believe he was actually doing this. 

“I said fifteen.”

“That is not how negotiations work!” he insisted.

“Who said I am negotiating, Sir?  If you had published an advertisement in The Quibbler requesting a lady’s companion instead of a governess, I would not have applied.”

Draco fell silent, wondering what on earth had gotten into him.  He should let this go.  He knew he should let this go.  Astoria needed somebody other than her sister or his Aunt Bellatrix to follow her through his ballroom, but Miss Granger was also correct that finding somebody who wasn’t her would not be challenging.  Hiring a dedicated lady’s companion would take very little time.  Merlin, he could even put Mrs. Weasley or Ginny into a gown and then plant them on the fringes of the room, and that would probably be sufficient for one night.  Both of them had manners that were refined enough to make it through a single evening without drawing comment.  Fifteen galleons for Miss Granger was highway robbery.

But Draco could not let it go.

“Is that what you will be charging me for the Season as well?”

Behind the screen Miss. Granger’s arms fell as she cocked her head in thought, and his gaze greedily traced her silhouette once more.

“I’ll give you a discount of ten galleons per event for the Season,” she said.  “I still do not care for it, but by that point my other duties for Lady Astoria will be complete, and I will have more time to recover from the late nights.”

Draco swiped a hand over his face and made himself ignore her shape on the other side of the screen because it was terribly distracting.  This was utter madness.  It was worse than gambling because at least when he gambled he occasionally won.  This was nothing more than pissing away hundreds of galleons to drag a woman through the Season who obviously did not want to be there.

And yet…

“Fine,” he said.  “But if I ask you to dance, then you must accept.”

“Your Grace!”

“I told you not to call me that when it’s just us.”

“I think it’s needed in this instance!”

Draco relaxed, sensing that he had just gained the upper hand… finally.  And with that realization, his objections to the cost of it vanished.

“Don’t tell me you can’t dance, Miss Granger.”

“Of course I can dance!  But companions don’t dance!  They just follow their charges around the room and watch!”

“For the rate I am paying you?  You’re right that you aren’t a companion, so I won’t be treating you like one.  You will be keeping an eye on Astoria, but you will be interacting with the other guests while you do it.  And that means you will have a dance card.”

“Unbelievable,” she grumbled.  “And impractical.  The clothing alone for something like that…”

“I thought you said you would not buy a gown from your allowance,” he pointed out.

“I won’t,” she said.

“Then tell me what you intend to use it for.  I have final say in all expenses, after all, and it’s no use keeping it from me.  I’ll see the expense request from Mrs. Weasley in any event.”

She was silent for a long moment.

“Books,” she finally said.  “I was going to buy my own books with it.”

Anger rushed him again.  “Have I somehow broken our agreement about my library?  Are you not satisfied with the many books I have provided for you already?”

“They aren’t mine!” she insisted.  “I wish to start a small collection, that is all!”

“Twenty-five galleons’ worth?  That is more than a small collection — that is several crates of books!”

“Precisely,” she said.  “Crates of books are what I want, Sir, not gowns.  So before you agree to this, you should be prepared to buy the ball gowns yourself because I will not be doing it.  I am perfectly happy to wear what I already own.”

Draco’s nostrils flared at her impertinence.  Of course she could not dress like that in Society if he wished for her to dance.  She would look like nothing more than a companion if she did – a dowdy one, an unfashionable one – she wouldn’t look like…

Draco shoved the very dangerous thought away before it fully materialized.  Instead, a different idea came to him, one that he could not possibly ignore.

“Very well,” he said in a clipped tone.  “Let me summarize the terms of our bargain then, so that we both know what to expect.”

At this, Miss Granger placed both hands on her hips, and Draco clenched his fists at the sight.  But he made himself ignore it to ensure that they were in agreement.

“I will provide the following: fifteen galleons for the Yule Ball.  Then ten galleons per event once Astoria’s N.E.W.T.s are over and the Season commences.  Furthermore, I will not object to your spending your own allowance however you wish, and I will provide the gowns and accessories that you require for this role from my own funds.”

Miss Granger tilted her head.  

“Go on,” she said.

“And in return, you will attend any event that I schedule for you.  I will have full authority over your wardrobe for each one, and you will not object to anything I choose for you to wear.  You will be introduced as Astoria’s friend to ensure that her reputation does not become compromised.  Aunt Bella can chaperone you both so that it’s proper.  You will be amiable and sociable, and if I ask you to dance you must agree to it.”

“Merlin…” she huffed.   “So I must dance with you…  But what of other gentlemen?  Will I be required to dance with them as well?”

“No,” said Draco quickly.  “Just me.  And rest assured I will only ask you to dance if Astoria is engaged in a dance as well.  I cannot have you shirking your duties toward her.”

There was a long silence as Miss Granger contemplated this. 

Finally she said, “Just one amendment, Sir.”

“And what is that?” asked Draco, irritation stirring once more.  This bargain they were striking was very one-sided already.

“No rigid corsets,” she said.  

Draco closed his eyes to compose himself as his mind was immediately flooded with the image of her without one.

“And why not?” he asked through gritted teeth.  “I’m sure Madam Malkin will insist upon it.”  

“I’ve worn one before,” she said. 

The images in Draco’s mind imploded, and he frowned as he realized her voice had changed.  It sounded distant and tense.  

“I will not deny that they compliment a woman’s natural shape,” she continued softly.  “But corsets are so restrictive that they can make one lightheaded and unable to move easily when advanced spell-casting becomes necessary.  I will cancel our entire bargain if you try to force me into one.”

Draco went cold as he took her meaning.  She was a governess, one who was genteel enough to serve as a companion too when the occasion warranted it.  Most working women wore light stays or skipped them altogether in favor of a heavier chemise.  She would never lace herself into something very rigid on a daily basis.  But she had found reason to do it once, and something untoward had happened.  The corset had restricted her movements and stopped her from helping herself.

“Were you…” he said in a rough voice.  “I mean, did you…”

“I managed perfectly well,” she said tightly.  “But I do not care for them, and I will never put fashion ahead of my own safety again.  Women are already woefully disadvantaged due to the many pounds of clothing we are expected to wear, and corsets do nothing but make it worse.  If I may be frank, Sir, I suggest you ban corsets from Lady Astoria’s wardrobe as well, as long as you are the one paying her bills.  If Madam Malkin is unable to fashion a gown without one, then you should find a modiste who can.”

Draco was silent as he listened to her speak.  It was a perspective he had never once considered, and the fact that she expressed her opinion about it so freely was not at all proper.  But Draco was grateful that she was honest with him about this and had not tried to moderate her speech.  It was too important, and it opened his eyes to a complication of the female condition that was entirely new for him.

Draco knew what his answer would be of course, but he was also grappling with anger that for once was not directed toward her.  He made himself breathe and raised his occlumency walls ever so slightly to push the troubling emotions away before speaking again.

“You have my word,” he finally said.  “I will never ask you to wear one, and I will take your advice regarding Astoria as well.  I am afraid it is not something I have ever considered closely before.  I will also ensure that both of you have wand pockets sewn in.”

Through the screen he could see her relax.  

“Very well, Sir.  Then we are in agreement.”

“Then I will bid you good day, Miss Granger.”

Draco bowed to her, though he was not entirely sure if she could see him or not.   He turned on his heel and strode out, coming to an abrupt halt when he saw the small crowd of seamstresses, Madam Malkin, and Mrs. Weasley, all loitering just outside of the door.

“Your Grace,” said Mrs. Weasley quickly, “I do not know what that was about, but–”

“You will allow Miss Granger to select whatever she wishes for her allowance,” he said, cutting her off before she could scold him for impropriety.

Then he turned to Madam Malkin.

“And you will prepare a ball gown for Miss Granger that is to my specifications, and you will add it to the bill for the young ladies.  It will not come from the staff account.”

Madam Malkin blinked in surprise, but nodded cautiously.

“Very well, Your Grace.  May I ask what–”

“I want her dress to be fashioned in crimson silk,” he said.  “Trim it with gold.  Do not add those wretched puffed sleeves to the arms – they are so large they require their own undergarments to hold their shape, and it makes it nearly impossible to move one’s arms at all.”

“But Your Grace!  Those sleeves are the fashion, and–”

“I do not care,” he said.  “Create a new fashion if you must.  I do not object to the popular necklines, but the sleeves are horrendous.  I am not the only wizard in Society who thinks so, either.  Her arms should be free for movement.  Dress Lady Astoria that way as well.  It would please me if they set trends together.”

Madam Malkin swallowed hard, but nodded.  “Yes, Your Grace.  Anything else?”

“Nothing that requires a rigid corset.”

Her eyes started to widen, and he hurried to add, “Nor for Lady Astoria, either.  I have recently learned that they restrict a lady’s movement so much that she may not be able to cast spells defensively if that ever becomes required.  And on that note, I will require wand pockets in every gown you create for them, whether now or during the upcoming Season.  I will not have any lady’s reputation compromised while under my roof, do you understand me?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” she said with a worried look on her face.

“Excellent.  Then I expect Miss Granger’s gown to be ready at the same time as Lady Astoria’s, and her regular day wear will be provided at the same time as the rest of the staff’s.”

Madam Malkin dipped into a curtsy, as did all of the other women in the hallway, including Mrs. Weasley.  He just raised an imperious eyebrow and then turned and strode away, his head already filled with Miss Granger in her red and gold gown.

She would not be a wallflower at his ball.  She could never go unnoticed, no matter how much she may wish for it.  He would drag her out, kicking and screaming if he had to, and she would learn that he was a rival who would always get what he wanted in the end.

He didn’t allow himself to think about what that could be, because there were still rules and traditions and the complication with his home that seemed perfectly content to kill her.

He decided he didn’t have to know what he wanted from her just yet.  Draco had won this round, and that could be enough for now.  She might be getting his gold, but he would be getting a dance with the lady in red – one who would emerge from the sidelines as the diamond that he had dug from the earth and polished into something so brilliant it would blind everyone around her.  

He smiled to himself as he imagined it.  Then he prepared to light his vault on fire.

Chapter Text

Hermione

The duke was maddening, and Hermione could not make sense of it.

His insistence upon her attendance at the Yule Ball was not only improper, it was ridiculous.  The trajectory she sensed her life would be heading once the Season began in earnest was just as absurd.  

She had thrown out sums that were so large she felt certain he would decline her help, and yet he had doubled down and insisted she dance with him.

What on earth could he be thinking?

She was a governess.  Yes, she could perform the duties of a companion as well, and she had even been hired as a companion in the muggle world for a single month while in between posts early on in her career.  She had done it again for a couple of balls for a wizarding employer when there was nobody else to help.  Contrary to what she had implied, she even had two dresses that were suitable for that role, and they were stored in her wardrobe at Godric’s Hollow, ready to wear at a moment’s notice.

True, they were a bit unfashionable now, but that was to be expected.  Companions were genteel, but uniformly poor.  No companions wore fine silks in modern cuts, and for the most part they were simply so bland they disappeared into the background.

Companions certainly did not dance.

It wasn’t that Hermione objected to blending in — no, that had been her goal since her very first day at Malfoy Manor — it was the sheer tedium of those events that she disliked, not to mention the fact that the duke had seemed to expect her full cooperation.

Besides, it was dangerous for Hermione to show her face in a ballroom.

In fact, despite the ridiculous quantity of gold the duke was willing to part with in order to ensure her attendance, Hermione had still not fully made up her mind until she coaxed Rosie to show her the guest list.

“Here it is, Miss!” the little elf announced, as she produced it with a flourish.

Hermione knew the duke might be informed that she was inquiring, but there was nothing for it.  Hermione had to know who else might be attending that night before she went along with his plan, and she made a quick and furious study of the names.

She had read about many of these names in the scandal sheets, but she knew none of them personally.  None of the young girls she had tutored would be there, and her last employer was not on the guest list either.  It wasn’t terribly surprising because their circles were very different, but it was a relief to learn that she would be truly unknown in that crowd.

That meant she could attend and would still be relatively unnoticed, at least until the duke danced with her.  

Hermione knew that any time an unmarried wizard with a title like his danced with anybody, gossip would follow.  But Hermione told herself that he would only dance with her a single time at the Yule Ball – just to prove to Hermione that he could do it – and by the time the Season began the gossip would die down.  It wasn’t as though the duke was requiring Hermione to dance with anybody else to fulfill her end of the bargain, and surely the duke would have the sense to dance with Astoria and any number of other women as well.

She could be explained away as an old family friend if it came to it.

So that left the gold he was providing, and Hermione knew the opportunity was too good to miss.  She still thought it was absurd that he wanted to bend her will so much he would spend that sort of money to force her into a ballroom, but who was she to look a gift horse in the mouth?  If she could make it through the upcoming Season without drawing unfortunate notice, then she would emerge on the other side with enough galleons that she would only need to work another year or two — at most — before she could afford her bookshop.  Even if it was unprofitable at first, she would be able to float the cost herself for a couple of years while she built her reputation as a bookseller.

Then she would not have to rely on any man for her keep.  She wouldn’t have to risk her reputation and safety by working in homes with lecherous employers.  She wouldn’t have to accept charity from her best friend.  She still didn’t have any plans to marry, but if she ever did fall in love she could follow her heart instead of her purse strings.

Perhaps it was overly romantic of her, but loving another person without the need or obligation to do it was the only type of union Hermione had ever considered.  She was too practical to believe that it would ever happen for her, but perhaps she would get lucky someday and a customer would come into her shop and sweep her off her feet.  Or perhaps she would fall in love with one of her book suppliers as she got to know them.  Or maybe she would fall in love with Ronald Weasley before she left her post at Malfoy Manor, and they would move to London to be away from his kind, but very interfering, mother.

She glanced up at the sky, where Ronald was showing off his flying, doing corkscrews that looked positively dangerous.

Alright, that last scenario is not terribly likely.

Hermione sighed.  

The problem with Ronald was the same problem with all of them. Hermione knew she could never marry unless she was truly in love.  And she knew she wouldn’t be able to fall in love with any man who would not give her the space to be financially independent from him and in control of her own life.  She knew better than to ever expect it, so she was determined to build her life alone in precisely the way she wished to live it, leaning on her few friends and relations for social engagement.  

The duke’s offer to pay her exorbitant fees to participate in the Yule Ball and the upcoming Season, therefore, could not be ignored, even if she didn’t fully understand his motives for it.   

“Well?” came Ronald’s breathless voice.  “What did you think?”

She sat back and tried to consider him objectively.  He was tall, which was a mark in his favor.  He was also quite handsome, she could certainly acknowledge that.  But that would never be enough for her.

“Your velocity was impressive, Sir.”

“Velocity?”

He was politely puzzled, and Hermione sighed again.  It was obvious he did not understand the word.

Most men like him had a basic education – enough to sign one’s name or count coins or perform simple household spells.  The Weasleys were all able to read and write as well, but with the exception of Percy, none of them enjoyed using books as a way to improve their minds.  Ronald, she knew, read the Quidditch section of the paper religiously, but it was the only thing she had ever seen him consume. 

“It means ‘speed,’” she said.

Ronald brightened at this and offered her a blinding smile, puffing up with pride at the compliment.  Hermione watched his enthusiasm spread across his face dispassionately, and she sincerely wished she could be attracted to a man like him.  It would be easier, she knew, to become the wife of Ronald Weasley or Neville Longbottom than to squirrel away her gold for years so she could go into business for herself.  Both of them had secure positions on the estate.  Both of them were very kind and treated her with the utmost respect.  And Hermione knew they would not be a bad choice for any woman of her station, even if her social position was a bit higher than theirs.

But she couldn’t do it.  No matter how much she wished that she wanted a simple life, it had never been appealing.  And Merlin help her, a man who did not know the word ‘velocity’ would never be able to earn her true affections, no matter what else he might offer.

Ronald tossed his broom aside and settled down with her on the bench where she had been watching him.  It was after supper, and he had asked her to accompany him to the gardens for a fly before turning in for the evening.  Hermione, who had planned a trip to the gardens after dark in any event, agreed.  Then she immediately regretted it when she saw the terribly disappointed look on Neville’s face when he overheard her acquiescence.

She didn’t want either one of them, but Hermione didn’t wish to hurt them either.  She had never been in this sort of position before, and she didn’t know what to do about it.  There had been other young men who mooned over her now and then, but never two at once who were the best of friends.  It was terribly awkward.

“Hermione… I can call you Hermione, can’t I?”

“Well, I suppose…”

“Excellent,” he breathed, smiling again.  “Listen, I know that I may not have your keen mind, but I am very loyal to the people I care about.  I’ve never done this before, but Mother has pointed out that I’m old enough to court, and nobody has ever caught my eye quite like you…”

He trailed off, looking at Hermione hopefully, and she struggled not to grimace.

“Mr. Weasley…”

“Call me Ronald.”

“Mr. Weasley,” she insisted.  “At this point I do not see myself being tied to any man.  I value my independence.”

Ronald’s face fell.  “Is it because of my station?  I know you are born higher than me, but–”

“No,” insisted Hermione before he could wallow further.  “I doubt I was born higher than you.  I am simply educated thanks to good fortune and very generous guardians.  But no, it has nothing to do with our respective stations.  Merlin, the duke could propose this very minute, and I would tell him ‘no’ because I do not love him.”

Ronald’s eyes widened, and then they narrowed.

“Is that his angle, then?  Because the rest of the staff has wondered.”

“Pardon?”

“The duke.  I heard you’re attending the Yule Ball as an actual guest.  It has never been done before.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.  “I’m to be there as Lady Astoria’s companion, that is all.”

“But it sounded like–”

“That is all,” she insisted again.  “The duke sensed my reluctance to assist because I have done it for other employers and do not enjoy it.  I believe he derives some perverse pleasure in teasing me about it, and that is why he plans to force me into a ballgown for an evening.  However, I am still being paid to attend just like any other companion, and my duties to Lady Astoria come first.”

I’m being paid an exorbitant fee, which I cannot account for, but the rest of it is true.

Ronald seemed to relax ever so slightly at this.

“Could I ever win your affections?” he asked hopefully.  “I understand if your feelings for me are not yet warm, but in the future?  Would it be possible?”

Hermione looked at his eager face, and she felt slightly ill.  She did not wish to let him down, but it would be kinder to make her position known to him, rather than to give him false hope.

“No, Mr. Weasley.  I will always value your friendship, but I do not think I will ever have tender feelings for you.”

His face fell.  “And what of Neville?”

“The same goes for him,” confessed Hermione.  “He is a wonderful young man, and any woman would be lucky to have him or you – but that woman cannot be me.  You should not allow me to come between your most valued friendship because it would be a great personal loss, with no upside.”

Ronald looked perturbed, but he just nodded glumly as Hermione rose to slip away to a more private section of garden.  

“Goodnight, Mr. Weasley.  I wish you well.” 

******

It didn’t take long for Ronald to leave the bench and head toward the greenhouses, no doubt to deliver the news that Hermione was not interested in either young man who was giving her attention.  It felt callous, but she could not help it.  There was only one man on the estate who was even the slightest bit interesting, and that was the duke.  Her interest in him, however, was largely driven by his obvious interest in her.  

The fact that he sparred with her and teased her and insisted she dance with him baffled her.

Still, he was a duke, and she was a governess.  Even if she did love him – which she most certainly did not – it was so mismatched that it didn’t bear considering.  At most he might wish to make her a mistress, but even that seemed out of character for him.  She had not gotten a hint of any former mistresses from the scandal sheets she read before joining his household, and even when he pushed the boundaries of impropriety, he did not shatter them.  

In fact, he seemed rather fixated on propriety, for a man who liked to barge in on Hermione while she was in a state of undress.

Her cheeks turned pink again as she remembered seeing his dark form on the other side of the screen during her fitting.  It was madness, and she would have railed at him once she was dressed, had she not peeked around the screen as he left only to discover that the door was still open a crack.

He had kept it open to preserve her reputation, and it immediately drained her of her anger, leaving behind a lingering sense of curiosity about him and his motives.

But she forced herself to push it aside.  She had enough mysteries to be going on with.  Lyra had been feeling sickly earlier that day until Hermione wheeled her into the rose garden, which seemed to revive her.  There was obviously a connection between the odd blood magic Hermione was performing and Lyra Malfoy’s condition.  Hermione still did not know why her blood could magically heal the roses, but after seeing Lyra rally it gave Hermione an idea.

She disillusioned herself and crept out into the night, following her usual path to the rose garden.  But this time, rather than bleed there, she stopped just before it and whispered, “Diffindo.”

Immediately her palm split, and Hermione winced.  As usual, the blood was disillusioned too, so it was hard to see what she was doing — but she didn’t need to be accurate for this, she just needed to cover enough ground to see if it worked when she came back in the morning to investigate.

She began to bleed on the hedge around the gate.  Then she walked down the gravel path that led to it and poured blood on each dead plant as she went.  By the time she reached the main gardens again, she was lightheaded, and feeling oddly cold and detached.

She whispered a healing spell against her palm and uncorked and drank the small vial of blood-replenishing potion she had brought with her for this.  The dizziness receded, but the cold did not, and Hermione shivered as she sank down onto a nearby bench.

Very good.  You are close and ready to come to me now…

It was just like that night she nearly died, though this time she was more aware of the creeping cold, at least at the beginning.  It was spreading through her body and calling to her.

Just a little rest.  Take a little rest right here…

It would be so easy.  All she had to do was lie down and close her eyes.  It was December now, and the nights were turning frigid, but that was alright.  Surely if she settled in on this garden bench she would become warm again.

She sighed, and her eyes fluttered closed as she swayed.

“You little fool.  Finite.”

The voice did not surprise her, even as her disillusionment charm disappeared.  He always found her, didn’t he?  He was always lurking about, intervening the moment Hermione made any progress.

This time he wouldn’t stop her, though.  Something told her that if she just laid down, everything would be alright.  

You can fix it.  Just lie down and come to me…

Hermione ignored the crunching gravel and the shuffle of expensive robes as she spread her palms on the garden bench.

Bleed for me… give me more…

Hermione smiled as she pulled her wand out of her sleeve and aimed it at her neck this time.

“Diff–”

“No!”

Hermione gasped, and she jolted in shock as her wand was plucked from her fingers, and her open palm was gripped by something firm and strong.

She tilted her chin to find that the stars and moon overhead had disappeared.  In their place was a dark form, though the glint of his hair was still apparent.

“What have you done?” he demanded.  

Hermione blinked bemusedly and clenched her hand, only now realizing that the duke was holding it.  

“Tell me… what have you done?”

It was odd.  She tried to answer him, but something was locking her tongue.  And then the cold was growing stronger again, and it occurred to her that perhaps he would join her if only she could convince him to stay.

She tugged weakly on his hand, and he stepped closer.

Good.  That’s good.  Keep going and bring him with you…

“Sir…” she said in a soft voice.  “Draco…”

******

Draco

This was not right.

Nothing about this was right.

He didn’t know what Miss Granger had done, but he had followed her as always, once he realized she never went to bed.  It was a good thing too, because after her ripple left the garden path the Manor’s magic began to grow cold again, eager again.

This time…  this time she will be mine…

Why was this different?  What had changed tonight?

Draco didn’t know, but once he cancelled her disillusionment charm and approached her, he could see she was under some type of enchantment.  She didn’t seem to know where she was, and she had nearly cut open her own neck.  Her eyes were glassy, and her lips parted as she looked up toward the sky.

He caught a glimpse of a ghostly figure in the distance, and he started as he recognized Myrtle Warren watching them from behind a hedge.  When she saw Draco’s gaze on her, she simply raised her eyebrows and then floated away.

Draco’s heart was suddenly pounding.

Had Miss Warren summoned him tonight as she had implied the first time Miss Granger was being targeted by the Manor?  Or was it another coincidence?

Draco couldn’t be sure, but he was pulled out of his thoughts as soon as Miss Granger uttered his name.

“Draco…”

He was shocked by it.

No grown woman had ever called him by his given name since his mother’s death, not a single one.  Even his rare moments of intimacy had always been overlaid with excessive use of ‘Your Grace.’  Only his sister and occasionally Astoria and Daphne still called him by his first name, but Draco viewed them all as children, even though Daphne was married now.  Coming from Miss Granger’s mouth it was breathy and desperate, and for a split second Draco allowed himself to feel the magic in it.

He gripped her hand harder, and he realized she was pulling him toward her.  It was as though she wanted him to touch her, to feel her, to…

Bloody hell, no.

He wrenched his hand from hers, and she cried out with disappointment, but Draco made himself ignore it.  He gripped her face and held her still so that he could observe her more closely, and the moment he touched her she sighed contentedly.

It was an enchantment.  It had to be.  Draco may have thought about this in the darkness of his room during his weaker moments, but it was obvious to him that she never once had.  She viewed him as a rival at best and a foil to her scheming at worst, and he could not imagine this kind of softness from her unless it was being magically compelled.

Sure enough, as his palm drifted to her forehead he felt that familiar cold.  She was freezing, in fact, just like she had been that night she nearly died.

“Miss Granger,” he said sharply.  “Can you understand me?”

She groaned, and Draco clenched his teeth to hear it.

“Miss Granger.  Answer me.”

Her eyes fluttered closed, and he swore again as he leaned in further and physically lifted her from the bench.

The moment she was in his arms, she gasped and flailed.

She cuffed him across the head, and in his surprise he dropped her in a heap on the ground.

“Ooomph!”

“Miss Granger!” he cried, now worried that he had inadvertently harmed her.  He crouched and helped her sit up, and when she blinked up at him, her eyes were clear.

“What on earth was that?” she demanded.

Draco exhaled with relief.  

“Come with me.  We have much to discuss.”

“But Sir…”

“Miss Granger, I said come with me.”

He reached out a hand, and she hesitated for a moment before taking it.  But once she did he could tell that she already felt warmer, and Draco gave her hand a small squeeze that made her breath hitch.

He made himself ignore it as he helped her to her feet.  When she rose she dusted off her dress and then looked around her in confusion.

“My wand… I thought I had it…”

Draco held it out for her, and her eyes widened as she took it from him hesitantly.

“Sir?”

“As I said, we have much to discuss.  Come this way.”

He extended his arm for her to take, and she looked at it incredulously for a long moment.

“For Merlin’s sake, Miss Granger, I won’t bite.”

Unless you want me to…

He shoved the errant thought out of his head as her mouth thinned and she took his arm.  They picked their way through the gardens in the dark until they reached the back facade of the Manor.  Draco approached a door that typically remained locked, and he pulled out his wand to mutter an obscure spell in order to open it.

“What are we—” she started to say, but Draco shushed her and just pulled her forward.  There was a landing and a narrow staircase just on the other side of the door.  He gestured that she should go first.

She climbed slowly and Draco followed behind, ignoring the light jasmine scent that wafted back toward him.  When they reached the top, he led her to a door down a short corridor, and he opened it.

“In here.  We can speak freely.”

Miss Granger approached cautiously, looking around with interest.

“Where are we?”

“My private parlor.  Nobody will disturb us.”

She glanced back at him warily as he shut and locked the door.

“Sir…”

“Miss Granger, if you say a single word about impropriety, I will not be responsible for my actions.  Frankly, I do not care.  This is too serious.”

She fell silent, as if conceding the point.  He gestured toward a small table, which she approached and then lowered herself stiffly.

“Dobby!”

The elf appeared with a CRACK!

“Yes, Master?”

“Tea, please.  And as always, keep your silence about anything you see in this wing.”

Dobby bowed low and disappeared, before reappearing a moment later with tea service and biscuits, which he quickly arranged before vanishing.  Draco poured both of them a cup of tea and then looked up to find Miss Granger glaring at him.

“What is it now?” he asked wearily.

“House elves.”

“What of them?”

“They are enslaved, Sir.  And like so many wizards of a certain class, you do not think twice about barking orders at them as though they aren’t sentient beings!”

“Miss Granger, please give me more credit than that.  I bark orders at them precisely because they are sentient beings.  I also bark orders at you and all of the Weasleys and even my sister on occasion.  I can assure you, the elves are in excellent company.”

Her mouth thinned.  “They deserve to be paid.”

“For what purpose?”

“So that they may purchase things!”

“And what would they purchase?  Clothes?  My own staff does not purchase their own clothing… not even when I give them an allowance for it.”

He gestured toward her, and to his delight she rolled her eyes.

“Impertinent,” he added with a small smile, “rolling your eyes at a duke.”

“Oh I can assure you, I would like to do much more than that.”

Draco bit back his retort, and once again he allowed himself to feel it.  Instead of saying what he wanted to say, he just looked at her knowingly.  Suddenly her eyes widened and a delightful blush bloomed on her cheeks as her own words caught up to her.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said with a smirk.  

She huffed and began to look anywhere but him.

“Please, Sir… let’s get on with it, shall we?”

Draco let her stew a few seconds longer before nodding once and turning serious.

“Very well.  I require answers, Miss Granger.  How did you bring the roses back to life in Mother’s garden?”

Miss Granger froze with her teacup halfway to her mouth.

“Pardon?”

“Don’t pretend to be ignorant.  You’re far too intelligent for that, and cloaking yourself in false stupidity is both unconvincing and distasteful.  I know it was you.  I know you continue to go to the garden in the middle of the night, though I have been unable to see what you are doing while you are there.  So tell me… how are you achieving it?”

She was silent, and Draco let her sit there and weigh her answer.  He was determined to get one from her though because whatever she had done tonight had been different.  It was dangerous.  Draco could still feel that the Manor’s magic was more unsettled than usual.

At long last she slumped.

“I bled on the roses.”

Draco jolted and sloshed a measure of tea out of his cup.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me, Sir.  It’s just blood.  A few weeks ago Lady Lyra took me there for the first time, and I pricked my finger on a thorn entirely by happenstance.  A drop of blood landed on a rose, and it brought it back to life.  I have no idea why.  But I added blood to the rest of the flowers because it made Lady Lyra happy, and I’ve continued to do it once a week or so because without it the flowers fade again.  The garden seems to be bringing Lady Lyra’s energy back, and it is a small thing to improve her health.  She walked several full circuits around the rose garden yesterday without her wheelchair.”

Draco listened with mounting horror as he considered the implications of this.

She had been feeding it, then.  She had been giving the Manor grounds a voluntary blood offering, and every time the blooms went dull she offered more.

“That is why you wanted books on spell-less blood magic.”

She dipped her head in acknowledgment.

“And have you found anything of worth?”

“No,” she admitted.  “It’s curious, Sir.  I am casting no spells, nor performing any other kind of magic when I do it.  All it takes is blood.  The source magic must have been cast by another person or else tied into the Manor itself, but I have not been able to work out what it could be.”

Draco fell silent as his mind was pulled back to his own research.  He had grown a bit lax with it over the last several weeks, as his sister continued to improve under Miss Granger’s care.  When he wasn’t studying, he didn’t have to think too closely about the fact that the lovely young woman in front of him might have to die in order to right the magic and heal his sister. 

As he got to know Miss Granger and peeled back the fascinating layers of her person, it became harder and harder for him to imagine a Malfoy Manor without her bright eyes and sharp tongue.  At this point he would much rather marry and then quickly produce an heir to test his original theories instead of letting the Manor take her.  Merlin, he continued to save her.  He worried for her health.  How could he possibly let her die?

But her blood brought Mother’s garden back to life.

It made him grow cold and agitated as he considered it.  And not only that, she had done it willingly.  The things Draco had learned about the Manor’s magic during the course of his studies made him suspect that the Manor liked to coax its victims into compliance.  It didn’t just cause accidents, it made them seek death.

Speaking of which…

“And tonight?  Why was it different?  I could feel it in the magic, and when I found you it appeared you were under a kind of enchantment.”

Her eyes widened.

“An enchantment?”

“Yes,” he said curtly.  “Don’t you remember saying my name?  You called me ‘Draco.’”

There was a heavy silence, and Miss Granger turned crimson.

“Sir… I apologize, I… well now that you mention it I do remember it a little bit… but the whole thing is hazy, as if I was in a dream.”

“You misunderstand my concern.  I don’t object to being on a first-name basis with you.”

She shot him a severe look.

“That is impossible, Sir, and you know it.”

Draco ignored her comment.

“My concern,” he pressed, “is the enchantment.  You were cold.  It felt like that night you nearly died.  You did not snap out of it until I removed you from the bench.”

She fell silent, frowning and staring off into space as her mind processed this.  Draco watched in slight fascination as her brain sorted problems and possible solutions.  Her brow was furrowed, her eyes flashed, and her lips parted as she considered it.

“I did do something different tonight,” she confessed.

Draco straightened up and looked at her intently.

“What was it?”

She shrugged.  “I bled outside of the garden’s perimeter.  I wanted to see if the magic crossed the hedge.”

Draco narrowed his eyes.

“And did it?”

“Well I couldn’t say, Sir.  It was dark.”

Draco’s mouth thinned, but he knew what he needed to do as soon as the sun rose.

“Very well, Miss Granger.  I appreciate this information.  Now please, allow me to escort you to your room.”

She straightened up and looked distressed.

“Sir, please let me help!”

Draco opened his mouth to tell her ‘no,’ but she begged again.

“Please.  I’m the best research partner you could hope to find, and it’s my blood that is affecting it.  I have a right to learn why!”

Draco stilled.  He suspected he already knew the reason why.  The Manor had chosen her, and it would continue to lure her.  She was reckless enough to place herself in situations that made her easy pickings.  She might even go looking for it to test the limits of the Manor’s powers once she worked this out for herself.

On the other hand, she was right that she would be an excellent study partner.  He had observed her enough to be certain of her brilliance, and perhaps it was time to admit that he needed help with it.  Besides, as long as Lyra continued to improve, Draco could use the time to find a solution that did not involve losing either his sister or her governess to the distorted magic.

And if I’m exceptionally lucky I won’t have to sacrifice myself in an unwanted marriage either.

It occurred to him that perhaps he should send her away while they worked on it.  Maybe he could install her in his London home and simply have her floo in and out each day for lessons under careful supervision so that she would never be left to her own devices here.

But something reckless – something dangerous – stopped him before he suggested it.  If he let her help, she would still be under his eye even more than she was now.  His wards would alert him whenever she left her room.  He would never let her go anywhere at night alone.

He wanted her here with him, and he didn’t allow himself to think too closely about why.

Her hazel eyes were pleading, and she was looking at him with such earnest longing he couldn’t tell her no.

“Fine,” he said, “but it will need to wait until after the Yule Ball on Saturday.  I won’t have time to work on it myself until that’s over.”

Her eyes lit with excitement, and he immediately regretted it.

“And we will do this my way,” he hastened to add.  “That means no more sneaking around at night.  I will accompany you the next time you feel that the roses need blood, and I will be the one to slice open my hand.”

“That may not work,” she said, frowning.

Draco shrugged.  “We won’t know unless we try it, and I would not be a gentleman if I allowed a lady to bleed all over my garden without at least offering up my own flesh first.”

Her eyes narrowed, as though waiting for him to say more.

“What is it?” he pressed.

“You’re curious,” she commented. 

“How so?”

“Well you have these odd moments of gallantry… and then you usually ruin them by pretending to be a scoundrel.  I suppose I was waiting for it, that’s all.”

Draco scowled, but he caught the ghost of a smile on her face.

“Do we have a deal?” he asked, ignoring her critique.  “We work together to figure out why my gardens enjoy your blood so much, and you cease sneaking around?”

“Will we get to work in the library?” she asked eagerly.

She’ll be the death of me.

Of course Draco was facing the only woman of his acquaintance who would rather have books than gowns.  The library was dangerous for her, he was sure of it.  But perhaps if he let her study in the reading room while escorted she would finally stop her midnight wanderings around the rest of the Manor.  Merlin knew he was probably on borrowed time before she tried to get into the library on her own once more.

“We can work there as long as I accompany you,” he said.  “And if at any point I feel the magic is becoming unstable, then we will both leave.  I won’t compromise on that because it’s for your safety, Miss Granger, and I am attuned to the Manor’s magic in ways that you are not.”  

She tilted her head as she considered this, but finally nodded slowly.

“Very well,” she conceded.  “That does seem fair.  I’ll admit that enchantment was… disconcerting.”

Draco nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on hers.  

“You do not seem as frightened of it as you ought to be.”

This was another curious thing about her.  It struck him that she was awfully blasé about her first accident, and even now that it had happened a second time she wasn’t quaking in fear.

She frowned as she considered his question.

“The magic seems… soothing.”

Draco raised one, unimpressed eyebrow.

“The magic seems intent upon harming you.”

She was already shaking her head.  “I don’t know if that’s true, Sir.  That first accident was merely that.  The magical rot had crept into my room, to be sure, but it wasn’t me.  It was just poor luck that I was assigned there and then stubbornness that I said nothing about it.”

“And tonight?”

She shrugged.  “I don’t remember very much, but I certainly wasn’t frightened.”

Draco studied her face intently.

“And now that you know what you almost did?”

She hesitated once more.

“I think… I am wary of it now.  I’ll admit I was reckless to experiment with the magic in that way, at least without another person there to witness it.  But in my defense, bleeding on the roses has produced something very positive.  I could not have anticipated what happened tonight, but now that I am aware that the magic may go rouge I will be far more careful in the future.  In any event, you know of it now, Sir.  Any future experiments can be performed together to ensure safety.  You did pull me out of it eventually.”

Draco was struck by her ability to reason her way out of fear.  He certainly didn’t wish for her to be frightened, he had only been pleading caution.  Still, he was perturbed by what she had just told him about the magic soothing her.  

In Draco’s view this was nothing more than a seduction of her mind.  She wasn’t afraid because the magic had affected her judgment, and perhaps it was still manipulating her emotions about the entire experience even now.  

It was lulling her into a false sense of security.  

Draco had a split second to make a decision about how he should react to this.

Should I keep her here and risk it happening again?  Or should I send her away so that she would be safe from it?

It took almost no time for Draco to reaffirm his earlier decision to keep her at the Manor.  He wanted her here with him, and it wasn’t simply because he needed her for Astoria’s N.E.W.T.s.  He wished for her company and also her sharp mind to help him solve this problem once and for all.  And now that she had experienced two very close calls in his home, she finally seemed willing to exercise the caution he had wanted from her all along.   

It will be enough.  I will stay by her side at every step along the way so that it doesn’t happen again.

“You are right, Miss Granger.  I did pull you out of the enchantment, and that is why I will expect us to work together at all times, going forward.  It is too dangerous to handle this alone.  Do you agree?”

Miss Granger nodded once.

“Then we have a deal,” he said with some relief.  “And now it’s growing late, and we should both go to bed.”

Miss Granger rose, so he did too, and he held out his arm for her once more.

She looked at him askance, and he just smirked.  “Consider it good practice for the Yule Ball.”

To his delight she rolled her eyes again, but she gripped his arm and allowed him to lead her out of his parlor, down a hall, and to the stairs that connected his wing with hers.

He paused at the locked door to her wing and said, “I leave you here, Miss Granger.  But rest assured I will know if you take any detours on your way to your chambers.”

Her eyes were dark in the dim light, and she raised one eyebrow, but said nothing as she fished the key from her skirts and slipped it into the lock.  She turned it, and Draco watched as she opened the door before turning back to him.

“Goodnight, Sir.  I look forward to our project.”

“Goodnight, Miss Granger.  The feeling is mutual, I can assure you.”

She gave a small smile and was about to disappear through the door when Draco said, “No curtsy for me tonight?”

She raised one eyebrow imperiously.

“I will no longer curtsy to you when it’s just us.”

Draco’s couldn’t say why this pleased him so much.  A slow smile spread across his face, and he bowed his head in acknowledgment as she shut the door without another word.

Chapter Text

Hermione

Hermione cast a tempus charm to check the time and swore under her breath.  She was late, but this was more important.

“Come along, girl.  We’ll use my beaded bag again.  Thank you for returning it.”

Hermione had sent Harry a note the previous day with one of the estate owls, requesting that he send Hedwig to her for this important task.  Perhaps she was a touch paranoid, but Hedwig had never failed in a delivery, and this was very precious cargo.

Hedwig was perched in her room, after Hermione let her through the small window that looked out over one of the side lawns.  She watched serenely as Hermione packed the crates filled with books into her beaded bag so that Hedwig could carry the entire load in a single trip.

The note the duke had sent her along with the books fluttered to the ground, and Hermione rolled her eyes as she read it once more.

To Miss Granger, the woman who prefers books to gowns:

Here is your bookstore, as per your request.  I confess I do not understand why you needed five copies of each title, but perhaps you are performing another experiment in the dead of night that I will need to untangle.

You have caught my interest, and I’ll be watching.

Yours, most truly,

Draco

P.S. If you slip away from the ballroom tonight to read one of your new books, you should expect me to follow you.

Her mouth tightened at his cheek.  She could scarcely believe he signed it with his given name, but perhaps she should have expected something like this.  He was just as sarcastic and biting as she was, but he kept it shrouded in a veil of excruciating politeness whenever in the presence of his sister or others who could comment.  

When it was just them, however, he continued to let the barriers that should be held between them collapse.  It made Hermione feel uncomfortable but also… something else.  She scarcely allowed herself to examine it because to do so would no doubt lead to nothing more than bitter disappointment and resentment.

She crumpled his note and lit it on fire.

“Right,” she muttered as she filled the bag with the last of her books.  “Hedwig, please take these to Harry.  I enclosed a note for him as well.  He can store these in my room at the cottage or else take them to Gringotts to keep them safe.”

Hedwig hooted reassuringly as Hermione attached the bag to her leg and gave her an affectionate stroke.

“Safe flight, girl.  I hope to see you soon.”

Hedwig turned and launched herself out of the window.  Hermione leaned out and watched her bank a hard right toward the duke’s side of the Manor, and then she was disappearing into the slowly sinking sun.  From this perilous angle she could see a glimpse of the rose garden, along with the hedge and path where she had bled three days ago.

To Hermione’s surprise, the hedge and all of the plants along the path were still dead.  Her experiment had not worked, which had been discouraging.  The duke, however, had seemed almost thrilled by it.

He had shown up the morning after Hermione’s experiment and suggested that Hermione and Lyra take their daily lessons in the rose garden since the weather charms were working.  Lyra had been eager for the change of scenery, and Hermione had been curious to see the outcome of her experiment, so she agreed.  The duke followed too, no doubt interested to see whether the odd magic crossed the hedges or not.  When they walked the gravel path, Hermione could see small flecks of her blood here and there, but nothing else had changed.  

The look on the duke’s face was one of sheer relief.

“At least we won’t have to bleed on the whole blasted garden since the rest of it is beyond help!”

Hermione wasn’t sure she believed him — she sensed he knew more about the magic than he was willing to share just yet — but still, his point was well-taken.

The duke had been in a spectacular mood for the rest of that morning.  Hermione was a little disappointed at first, but it melted away as Lyra stood from her chair to do a small twirl in the middle of the garden the moment they arrived. 

Hermione had exchanged a look with the duke at that moment, and she could read his face perfectly.

Please keep bringing her here.

They may not know what the magic was just yet, but it was obviously helping Lyra more than anything else the duke had tried thus far.  Hermione nodded her agreement, and they had taken lessons in the garden the next two mornings as well.

Hermione cast another tempus and swore once more.  She was officially late.

She hurried from her room and approached Astoria’s, knocking as she opened the door.

“My apologies for my tardiness,” she said, as she took in the sight.  Astoria was down to her petticoat and stays, ensconced at a dressing table, while Fleur stood behind her and placed the final touches on an elegant and very complicated knot at the top of her head.  Several golden strands were fashioned into braids and woven through the knot artfully, and Fleur finished the design with a diamond hair comb that glittered.  It was beautiful.

“Hermione next!” declared Fleur.

“Oh, please, it is really not necessary to–”

Hermione cut herself off at the fierce and slightly terrifying glare from the other witch.  

“You will sit, and I will make you perfect,” she declared.  “His Grace has ordered it.”

Hermione’s mouth tightened, and she silently cursed the interfering man as she approached the tufted seat that Astoria had just vacated.

“Take off your dress,” advised Fleur.  “The ball gowns have necklines wide enough to be levitated over the head, but this dress has a closed neck and will muss your hair if we try.”

Hermione stifled a groan but did as Fleur advised.  Before she knew it she was also in her stays and petticoat, though hers were not nearly as fine as Astoria’s.  Fleur gave them a grim look, but said nothing more as she began to work.

Hermione had largely avoided Fleur Weasley during her time at Malfoy Manor, fearing that Fleur would sense Hermione’s gray gowns were not actually gray.  But now that she was here at the Frenchwoman’s mercy, she found herself rather intrigued by Fleur’s proficiency for hair.

Hermione’s curls, which had always been slightly wild, were tamed into tight barrels that held their shape.  She too received a knot at the top of her head, but unlike Astoria’s hair, which was perfectly straight and held back with small braiding, Fleur kept several of Hermione’s curls free to bounce along the side of her face and nape of her neck.

It took nearly a half an hour before Fleur cocked her head and studied Hermione in the mirror.

“Lovely,” she said.  “And based on your gown, I think we should go with…”

She opened a small jewelry case on Astoria’s dressing table and fished around, before pulling out a rather large gold comb that she tucked into the top of the knot.  It created an arc around the whole creation and contrasted brilliantly with Hermione’s dark hair.

“I shouldn’t wear that,” insisted Hermione.  “It is Lady Astoria’s.”

“You should!” declared Astoria.  “It is perfect for you!  Fleur, give her the earrings too.”

Fleur nodded in agreement and selected matching gold earrings that dangled when Fleur secured them into her ears.

Behind them, Lyra clapped in delight.

“Oh you are beautiful!  You and Astoria look like princesses!”

Hermione exchanged a knowing smile with Astoria in the mirror, and something about the little girl’s enthusiasm finally made her relax.  If it was entertaining Lyra, then this ridiculous spectacle was worth it.

“Some rouge for your cheeks and some stain for your lips,” added Fleur.  “Lady Astoria is going without tonight, but you are old enough.”

“Yes, I’ve been on the shelf for a very long time,” agreed Hermione with a small smile, but she did not object to Fleur’s cosmetics.  The overall effect was quite subtle.

“And now for the gowns!” she declared, clapping her hands.  “Hermione, you’ll need to change your undergarments too.”

Fleur called for an elf, who brought in a large pile of white fabric for Hermione first, and she looked at it askance as she realized she was supposed to wear this under her dress.

“No rigid corsets, which I found curious,” commented Fleur.  “But I am sure Madame Malkin knows what she is about.  Here, you will want to change everything.”

Hermione turned red, but she stayed silent as her petticoats, stays, and even her chemise and drawers were all replaced with something much finer.  Fleur laced Hermione into her stays a bit tighter than was strictly necessary, but it was still more freeing than a true corset.

“Much better,” commented Fleur as she eyed Hermione critically.  “And now for the gowns.”

She snapped her fingers again, and Hermione smiled as a gown in pale green was brought in for Astoria.

“Oh it’s lovely,” sighed Lyra wistfully.  Astoria was beaming as Fleur retrieved her wand and levitated it over Astoria’s head, where it settled on top of her petticoats perfectly.  Fleur stepped forward to secure the buttons along the back, and Hermione eyed the silhouette.

“I thought large sleeves were all the rage,” she said.  “These don’t have any.”

It was true.  The gown still reached the tips of Astoria’s shoulders, but instead of long sleeves, it had nothing but white trim and lace encircling her neckline.  Hermione thought it was stunning, but it was entirely unconventional.

“I asked about that too,” admitted Fleur.  “His Grace has demanded a new style be created for you both.  According to the seamstress who delivered this, His Grace despises the large sleeves that are fashionable and wishes for something simpler that would enable movement.”

Hermione was silent as she considered this, but she decided that it was an excellent change.  She had never worn the bell sleeves that were so popular these days, but she had never liked them.

With Astoria’s dress secured, Fleur presented matching dancing slippers in the same pale green, along with white gloves.  

“You are a diamond, Lady Astoria, truly,” commented Hermione.

Astoria beamed and then stepped aside for Hermione’s dress next.

When the elf brought it in, Hermione’s jaw dropped in horror.

“I cannot wear that!”

It was red – a bold, eye-catching, entirely improper shade of red – trimmed in gold lace that shimmered in the dim lighting of Astoria’s bedchamber.

Fleur raised an eyebrow, and to Hermione’s consternation she was smiling.

“Yes, it is a rather unfashionable color, but I suspect His Grace was right to insist upon it.  The pale green compliments Miss Astoria’s complexion perfectly, but you…”

She trailed off, and Hermione turned to look at herself in the mirror.

It was true she had rather olive skin and an unfortunate tendency to sprout freckles across the bridge of her nose whenever she forgot her sun blocking charms.  She could wear the whites and pastels that were so prevalent among the fashionable set, but could she also wear something like this?

“I’m going to look like an opera singer,” she declared.

Fleur snorted.  “No opera singer has ever worn a gown this fine.  The fabric is acromantula silk.  According to the seamstress, Madam Malkin dyed it herself because there was no fabric like it anywhere in London.”    

Hermione nearly choked, and she looked at it in dismay.

It was the most beautiful gown she had ever laid eyes upon, and it was impossible for her to appear in public dressed like this.

“I just… I can’t,” she said weakly.

“You can, and you will,” declared Fleur.  

Astoria was nodding her agreement.  “Yes, Miss Granger, it will be stunning on you.  I could not wear red, but on you it will be perfect!”

Hermione bit her lip nervously, but she was no match for Fleur’s or Astoria’s determination.  Her stomach clenched as she gave a short nod and Fleur sighed with relief.

“Good.  No more complaints, it is perfect for you.”

She levitated the gown over Hermione’s head, and it settled over her petticoats with a whisper.  Now that it was on her she could see that the red had depth to it.  It seemed to shimmer just a little and moved between crimson and scarlet and a deeper shade of ruby as the light hit.  The gold lace was exceptionally delicate, and just like Astoria’s gown it was off the shoulder and sleeveless.  In Hermione’s case, however, the lace was the only thing on her shoulders, and her bare skin peeked through it.  The olive tones of her skin complimented the gold perfectly, and the neckline was cut to reveal just a hint of bust.

“Oh it is the prettiest thing I have ever seen!” declared Lyra, who was in raptures to see her governess dressed like this.  “I shall want one just like it when I debut!”

Once again, the child’s enthusiasm made Hermione relax.  Yes, she wished to go unnoticed, but she could make it through a single evening dressed like this. It was surely the duke’s idea of a joke, and when the Season rolled around Hermione would be in the same pastels and whites that all the other young ladies wore.

She would also insist upon no more acromantula silk, not unless the duke allowed her to keep the gowns for herself once the Season was over.

The duke must have spent two or three times her annual allowance on the frock she was wearing, and Hermione was sure she could ask at least twenty-five galleons for it herself upon resale, even though it would be pre-worn and in an unfashionable color.  The fabric alone was worth that.

“Your shoes,” declared Fleur, who produced gold dancing slippers that were precisely the same shade as the lace.

“And your gloves,” she added, now giving Hermione a pair of gloves that were slightly off-white to compliment the gold.

“It’s wonderful,” declared Astoria.  “Even Aunt Bella will have to be nice to you when you’re dressed like that.  She’s Lady Morley, you know, but I just call her Aunt Bella… the miserable old bat.”

Hermione lifted an eyebrow.  She had been both curious and intimidated to meet Bellatrix Lestrange, who was married to the Earl of Morley.  She knew the woman was Sirius’s cousin and the late duchess’s sister.  Sirius had always insisted she was a stickler for tradition and terrible company.  

“Does she know the truth?”

Astoria grinned.  “That you’re my governess posing as a distant family friend?  Yes.  I spent the morning inventing a whole biography for you.  Your name is Henrietta Gardner.  Your father was a very wealthy merchant from the north who died two years ago, but he was business partners with Uncle Lucius before his death.  You just emerged from mourning, and now you’re having your own Season, even though you are a bit older than me.”

“I’m more than a bit older than you,” pointed out Hermione.

Astoria just waved her off.  “We will say you are nineteen or twenty.  It is believable enough.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but sighed.  This whole plan was madness, but as long as it didn’t ruin Astoria she supposed there was no true harm in it.

“My uncle always wanted me to have a Season,” Hermione commented.  “He died before he could provide one for me, though.”

She thought back to James and Lily who had intended for Hermione to go through the Season once she completed her N.E.W.T.s.  The Potters weren’t noble, but they had enough money to appear in Society before James nearly bankrupted them trying to change legislation in the Wizengamot.  Their social circles were certainly not as exclusive as the Duke of Wiltshire’s, but they had raised Harry and Hermione with all of the skills necessary to enter the lower echelons of Society one day, and they would have leaned on Sirius’s contacts had they gone through with it.  But with the Potters’ deaths and then Sirius’s soon after, Hermione did not take Harry up on his offer to fund a Season for her.  She encouraged him to use the money to buy himself a commission with the aurors instead, and Hermione was determined to be independent.

Still, she couldn’t help but think that Lily Potter would have been proud to see Hermione in a gown like this, preparing to attend her very first ball as an actual participant.  She also knew that James Potter and Sirius Black would have found the deception highly amusing, and it occurred to her that perhaps the Black-Malfoy feud would have become less hostile if Sirius had lived long enough to meet the current Duke of Wiltshire.  

Hermione thought they shared the same perverse sense of humor.

Astoria’s face softened, and Hermione just smiled reassuringly.

“It was a long time ago, but I do remember my lessons.  As long as Lady Morley is capable of being cordial, then we won’t give away the game tonight.”

Astoria smiled now, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

“It shall be great fun!”

Hermione inclined her head and then retrieved a fan from Fleur, who was holding one out for each of them to take.

“And finally, His Grace sent your dance cards.”

Hermione took hers hesitantly, and she flushed with embarrassment when she looked down at it.

“There are eight sets tonight!” squealed Astoria.  “Look!  Draco has claimed my first dance and Blaise has claimed my second.  And Theo has already claimed my final set!”

Hermione looked at Astoria’s dance card and saw that sure enough, hers was nearly half-filled.

      March:  The Duke of Wiltshire

      Quadrille: The Earl of Pembroke

      Mazourka: _________________

      Gallopade: _________________

      Polka:  _________________

      Scottish Reel:  _________________

      Lancers:  _________________

      Waltz: The Earl of Westmorland

“That is wonderful,” said Hermione kindly.  “Dancing with the duke first will draw the entire room’s notice, and it is fitting since you are his ward.”

“Yes, especially since he’s looking to marry,” commented Astoria.  “Not that he would ever marry me.  That would be too strange.”

Hermione froze, and her stomach involuntarily sank, though she wondered why this surprised her so much.  Of course the duke had to marry.  Hadn’t Mrs. Weasley mentioned her hope that he would be filling the nursery very soon on Hermione’s first day there?  

But something about it made her fist clench.  She surreptitiously glanced down at her own dance card and bit her lip.

      March:  _________________

      Quadrille: __________________

      Mazourka: _________________

      Gallopade: _________________

      Polka:  _________________

      Scottish Reel:  _________________

      Lancers:  _________________

      Waltz:  Draco Malfoy, Book Purveyor

Once again, he was teasing her.  And of course he had claimed her final dance so that she would have to stay through the entire blasted thing.  She had no desire to dance with anybody else, but he would surely be dancing with six other witches between Astoria and herself if he was really looking to marry.

She sighed and tried to move past the odd feeling of disappointment as she slipped her dance card on her wrist and forced a smile at Astoria.

“Well then, let’s not leave the duke waiting.  You have a dance card to fill.”

Astoria let out a little squeal, and Hermione smiled despite herself.  Her charge was so excited, and for the first time since the duke had insisted upon this ridiculous arrangement Hermione was pleased to be in attendance.  It was gratifying to see Astoria’s joy first hand.

Fleur and Lyra ushered them out of Astoria’s room, and Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise as Astoria linked arms with her.

“We are to be the best of friends!” she said with a laugh.  Hermione could see that Astoria found the deception just as amusing as the duke did, and Hermione just gave herself over to it.

Her training from years earlier came back to her in an instant as they exited the wing, descended the stairs together, and then made their way to the ballroom, which Hermione had barely visited.  The room was large and opulent with dozens of people already milling about in their finery.  It was festooned with garlands and ribbons in silver and gold, and they passed a large table filled with champagne and lemonade.

“Oh!” cried Astoria, who reached for champagne, but Hermione snatched it from her hands and quickly vanished it.  

“Lemonade for you,” she scolded.

Astoria pouted for a moment, but then shrugged good-naturedly as she selected a lemonade instead before being waylaid by none other than Ronald Weasley.

“Canapés?” he asked, shoving a tray into their faces that was filled with something small and bite-sized.  His eyes were huge as they took in Hermione’s gown.  

Hermione just gave him a tight smile as they both declined, and then she tugged on Astoria’s arm to pull her deeper into the room.  

The situation with Ronald and Neville was still very awkward, and Hermione had been avoiding both young men over the past week.  

“Over there!  I see Aunt Bella!”

Astoria dragged Hermione to a tall, severe-looking woman with dark hair and haughty features.  She raised a pair of spectacles as the younger witches approached and looked down her rather sharp nose at them both.

“Astoria.  Acceptable,” she announced.  

Then she turned to Hermione, who grimaced as she waited for judgment.

“Well my nephew certainly has an odd sense of humor,” she sniffed.  “But I suppose we will make do provided you keep your mouth shut.  Not a word about your true family, do you understand me?  Astoria is destined for a great match with a gentleman of pure blood.”

Hermione just gave an insincere smile, and inclined her head.

“Of course, Lady Morley.”

She looked back out at the crowd and noticed quite a few people eyeing her and her shocking red dress.  Hermione flushed again, but when she noticed a pair of gray eyes and a mocking smile on the other side of the ballroom, she just raised one eyebrow imperiously.

She would not let him see just how foolish she felt playing dress-up.  To her consternation, he bowed to her from the other side of the ballroom and then turned to speak to another gentleman, though his eyes continued to drift toward her rather often.

Hermione turned her back on him and refocused on the small crowd of gentlemen who were clamoring for an introduction to Astoria, and soon she had two more dances filled, while Hermione sipped some lemonade quietly.

It was only as the first dance was ready to begin that a tall gentleman with curly blonde hair approached, his eyes roving over Hermione with a sort of hunger that made her step back.

“Good evening, Lady Morley” he said, “May I request an introduction?”

Bellatrix sniffed with perceived offense that Hermione would attract any attention at all – but whoever the gentleman was, he must not be high enough for Astoria because she inclined her head.

“Yes, of course.  This is Miss Henrietta Gardner.  Miss Gardner, may I present the Honorable Cormac McLaggen?”

******

Draco

“Are you ready, Sir?” asked Bill, as he placed the cufflinks on Draco’s wrists.

“Of course.  This sort of thing is always dull.”

“But perhaps a bit more interesting this year…” said Bill with a smile.  “You’ve caused quite a stir among the staff by allowing Hermione to attend.”

Draco shrugged.  He didn’t care what the staff thought about it.

“I need her to keep an eye on Astoria, that’s all.”

“And you need to dress her in silk for it?” asked Bill wryly.

Draco shrugged negligently.  “Why not?”

Why not indeed?  Why hadn’t he simply turned her into a lady’s companion for an evening as he had originally intended?  Why did he insist upon dancing with her too?  Why had he teased her when he sent her those books and then claimed her waltz with his given name before she ever laid eyes on her own dance card?

Because I can’t help myself.

Draco knew that she was trouble, but he couldn’t seem to do anything about it.  And despite his words to Bill, Draco had never been more excited for a Yule Ball in his life.

Once Bill declared Draco to be suitably dressed, Draco went down to the ballroom to greet his guests.   Within five minutes of his arrival he was surrounded by middle-aged women desperate to introduce him to their daughters, and he caught Theo laughing at him from a nearby corner.  Blaise was standing with Theo and rolling his eyes.

Draco scowled as he realized what Theo had done: Theo had fed his best friend to the Society mamas by spreading the rumor that Draco was looking for a wife.

Draco idly wondered if he could feed Theo to the Manor in return.

Draco accepted the introductions as quickly as he could, his eyes fixed on the door where he was sure Astoria and Miss Granger would enter.  It was only once he was able to extricate himself from the herd that he saw them, and he stopped in his tracks as he stared.

She was a vision, there was no other word to describe her.  Draco had dressed her in red to make her stand out, but he had not banked on the color being so perfect for her skin and hair.  He decided then and there that she should always wear jewel tones.  She was made for those colors and could wear them in a way that few other women could.  Pastels would be wasted on her.

She didn’t notice him immediately, and a smile crossed his face as he watched her dismiss Ronald Weasley with barely a glance.  For events like this Draco recruited most of his male staff members to play the role of footmen.  It was with no small degree of pleasure that he watched Ronald’s face turn forlorn as he realized Miss Granger was well and truly beyond his reach.  On the other side of the ballroom, Neville was dressed similarly and staring at her in precisely the same way.

That’s right, he thought.  She will never have either one of you.

Bill had informed him that she was actively breaking hearts among his male staff, and Draco was very pleased to reinforce the message tonight.

His eyes swept over her, and he noticed other men in the room taking note as well.  Of course they were: she was mysterious and stunning and bold.  The dress fit her perfectly, and the gold lace looked like a delicate kiss against her skin.  It was alluring while still being innocent, and Draco’s fingers twitched as he imagined tracing it.  Compared to the others in the room, both she and Astoria stood out, and the gentlemen were already lining up for introductions.

“Who is that?” asked Theo, who had sidled up to him.

Draco glanced at his friend and scowled.

“I’m too cross to speak to you right now.”

Theo laughed and nudged Draco.  “I’m just speeding up your own search for a wife.  But tell me… who is that creature in red?  If there was ever a woman who could attract the attention of a man like me, it would be her.”

Draco’s scowl deepened.  He knew, of course, that Theo had no interest in women, though his friend was always happy to dance with available females at routes like this.  He was also loyal and fundamentally honorable, which was why Draco had chosen him for Astoria’s waltz.  She was perfectly safe from him, and it would give her some practice for the upcoming Season without any risk of compromise.  Still, Theo’s comments about Miss Granger left Draco unsettled.

Perhaps I should have kept her as a companion after all.

“She’s Astoria’s governess,” he said quietly.  “But that stays between us.  Astoria has invented some ridiculous tale about a wealthy merchant father from the north to explain away her gown.”

Theo’s eyes widened, and he began to fire questions at Draco under his breath.  Draco answered them all, of course – cross or not, Theo was his best friend and knew most of Draco’s secrets – but Draco did not take his eyes off of her while he spoke.

Eventually she looked up, and her eyes met his across the ballroom.  She raised one eyebrow in a challenging way, and Draco found himself ignoring everything Theo was muttering into his ear to incline his head toward her.

She stiffened and turned back toward the line of men, stepping aside for Astoria of course, as she sipped on some lemonade and nodded every so often toward whichever man was being introduced to them both.

Draco was pulled back to Theo.

“...no wonder you’re smitten…”

He glared.  “I am not smitten.”

Liar, said his brain.

“Liar,” echoed Theo, as though he could read Draco’s mind.  “You can’t take your eyes off of her.”

Draco fell silent because he knew it was true.  He was being a very poor host as guests continued to arrive because his attention was fixated on Miss Granger.

He couldn’t help but smile a little as he watched her try – and fail – to disappear.  Her posture was perfect.  Her mannerisms were perfect.  She appeared for all the world as though she was a young lady from a noble household.  Even his Aunt Bella – who was one of the sternest, least personable women he had ever had the misfortune to encounter – did not seem to find fault with her, other than disdain for her true station.  

It struck him that Miss Granger had been raised for this.  And while Draco knew that governesses often found themselves in their position due to unfortunate financial luck, he couldn’t help but wonder precisely how she had come to be employed in his household.  What had happened to her that she had been sent to a schoolroom instead of a ballroom?  It was obvious that her education was superior.  Her breeding was superior.  She shone brighter than any young lady in attendance, and Draco did not think it was his obvious weakness for her that made him believe this.

She was causing a stir – everything from the color of her dress to the shape of it without those ridiculous sleeves to her mannerisms were being observed and commented upon.

He had not dug into her family background in any meaningful way, and he wasn’t sure why.  She had arrived in half-mourning for some distant uncle whom she almost never mentioned.  She had dropped tidbits about her early life, including the fact that she had no male relations who could coerce her into marriage and she had been raised on an estate not quite as fine as Malfoy Manor.  Draco had taken all of this at face value, but seeing her now he wondered if she had been truthful with him.

Who was she?  Did he even want to know?

If he was being honest with himself, some part of him did not want to know.  While she was tucked away at Malfoy Manor as his sister’s governess, she existed in a bubble that was all his.  It didn’t matter who she really was or where she had come from or why she was so much more refined and educated than any governess he had previously employed.  

It doesn’t matter.

He pulled himself back to the present as the first dance was called, and he extricated himself from Theo to join Astoria on the dance floor.  She was practically brimming with excitement.

“Draco!  I’m having so much fun!”

Draco smiled at her despite himself, as the dance began.  She could be difficult and exasperating, but he was still very fond of his younger cousin.  He knew that claiming her first dance would fill her card for the rest of the night and would give her whatever lingering polish that was required to launch her during the Season.  There would be speculation about them, of course – she was his ward, but technically distantly related enough for them to marry – but Draco had no interest.  He would dance with her once tonight and maybe again at her first ball when she officially debuted, and that should be enough.

They separated for a promenade, and Draco’s eyes were pulled to Miss Granger once more, who was still lingering near his aunt.  He frowned as he watched a young man who was conversing with her eagerly.  Miss Granger was giving him a perfectly polite smile, though Draco knew her well enough to see that it was a bit stiff.  And then the man reached for the dance card on her wrist, and Miss Granger sprang into action.  She batted her eyes to distract him, as she kept the card hidden from his view.  Then she pulled out her own wand to place his name there herself.

Draco’s jaw clenched, but there was nothing he could do about it.  He had known this might happen.  She seemed so disinterested in balls that he hoped she would decline all other partners, but evidently she was too polite to turn the man down.

Thirty minutes later the dance finally ended, and Draco handed Astoria off to Blaise for the next set.  He watched as the tall man who had just been conversing with Miss Granger led her to the dance floor too, and they began to dance a quadrille.

Miss Granger’s motions were fluid but precise, and again Draco was struck by the fact that she had obviously spent years preparing for something like this.  She knew the steps and could converse while she did it.  She appeared entirely at ease on the dance floor, though Draco sensed she was not thrilled by her partner.

“Who is he?” asked Draco, as he sidled up to Theo again.  It struck Draco that he should start paying better attention to the guest lists.  Usually Percy and the elves handled this for him, and it meant that he did not know every person in the room.

Theo didn’t even ask for clarification.

“Cormac McClaggen.  Some sort of Scottish baron.  He recently inherited from his uncle.”

Draco hummed, his eyes fixed on the swirling red dress in the middle of the ballroom.

“Aren’t you going to ask any other young ladies to dance?” inquired Theo.  “You’re a single gentleman, and there are several keen mamas making eyes at you over in the corner.”

“You’re a single gentleman,” pointed out Draco.

“But not the marrying type,” countered Theo.  

Draco snorted, but just shook his head.  “The Season hasn’t started yet.”

Theo smirked.  “You’re dreading finding a wife, aren’t you?”

“More than I could ever convey,” admitted Draco.

“Well then perhaps you should listen to Blaise and me and just marry the governess since you obviously want her.  Nobody has to know who she really is or that you met her before tonight.  She looks every bit the duchess out there.”

Theo moved off, leaving Draco to turn his words over.

Could he really marry her?

He certainly couldn’t bed her without the bonds of marriage between them.  He may wish for it during his weaker moments, but he was not so dishonorable as to try.  She would never agree to be his mistress, of that he was certain, and Draco didn’t think he had it in himself to ask her for it in any event.

But a wife?

He had not allowed himself to think of it a single time because she was a governess and he was a duke.  But as he watched her spin around the dance floor he realized that Theo had a point.  Regardless of where she had truly come from, she was more lovely, more regal, more elegant than any other woman in the ballroom tonight.  She did look like a duchess, even more so than the young ladies who had been angling for a match with a man like him for their entire lives.

Perhaps they could say it was simply a love match.  They could do it quickly, quietly, and nobody would have cause to dig into her background to learn that she had been a member of his staff first.  His current staff could be managed too – they were loyal to him and would keep his secrets – and Astoria and Lyra were both so fond of her that they would no doubt find it terribly romantic.  The riskiest thing there was that it might reinforce some of Astoria’s more ridiculous notions about her own love life.

But what will the Manor think of it?

Would his home accept her as a bride or would it try to kill her more swiftly than ever?  Would he be putting her into further danger if he pursued her in that way instead of keeping their relationship limited to innocent flirtation?

Draco didn’t know, but his mind was full of questions as he watched her through the night.  To his consternation she danced with two more gentlemen before it was finally time for the waltz.

Once it was his turn he banished his glass and marched to the floor, drawing quite a few eyes as he did it.

“I believe the final dance is mine.”

Miss Granger nodded cordially to her last partner and turned toward him, pink cheeked and bright eyed.  It was the first time she had done more than glance at him all evening, though his eyes had been fixed on her for most of the night.

In his periphery he could see Theo stepping forward to claim Astoria, and he breathed more easily that they had made it through most of the ball without scandal.

As the first strains of the waltz began, he stepped forward and took her in his arms, pulling her a bit closer to him than was strictly proper.  It was a very close dance already, which was the reason Draco had claimed it for himself. 

“Your Grace…” she chastised him under her breath.

“I’m Draco Malfoy, purveyor of books,” he reminded her.

She blushed, but he caught a small smile on her face as they rotated through the room.  Her figure was slight, her body warm, and from this angle the hint of her shoulders and chest made him ache.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered.

“And you’re impertinent.”

“Always,” she confessed.  “I’m really not as good at concealing my opinions as I ought to be.” 

This comment struck Draco as exceptionally distasteful.  Of course he knew that she was expected to behave in a certain way due to her station, but he didn’t like it.  He didn’t like it at all.

If she was your duchess then her opinions would be the only ones that mattered.  She would never have to censor herself around you or others.

The thought buried itself into his brain as he looked down at her and frowned.

“Do not ever hide your true opinions from me.  I may tease you about them, but I value every single one.”

Her eyes widened.  Draco knew he must have shocked her, but he meant it.  Even if there were things she couldn’t tell the world, he wanted her to tell him. 

“That will prove challenging,” she confessed.

“Then let’s practice,” he said, in an attempt to lighten her mood.  “What do you think of the ballroom?”

The question had the desired effect, as a smile crossed her lips again.

“Stuffy, opulent, and terribly oppressive on the sidelines.”

Draco grinned.  “And your other dance partners?”

“Lord McLaggen was a cad.  Mr. Finnegan was already drunk.  And Mr. Goldstein is digging for gold – no pun intended, of course.  He danced with Lady Astoria too, so you will want to keep an eye on him.”

“I certainly will.  And McLaggen was a cad, you say?  Why?”

Perhaps she sensed his dislike, because her face turned cautious again.

“Tell me,” he pressed.  “What did he say to you?”

She sighed and shrugged.  “Nothing that hasn’t been said before.  He’s looking to marry higher than a merchant’s daughter, but he is in need of a mistress.  According to Lord McLaggen, mistresses are all the rage, and I would suit him very well.”

If Draco had any lingering doubts about whether he would ever ask Miss Granger to be his mistress, they vanished in an instant.

“That bastard,” breathed Draco.

Miss Granger just rolled her eyes.  “Please, Your Grace, you cannot call him out for suggesting such a thing.  It was not the first time, nor will it be the last.”

No man would dare suggest it if she was my wife.

It was yet another point in favor of Theo’s suggestion.  Draco certainly had much to consider.

“Let us discuss something more interesting, then.  What did you think of my aunt?”

The look on her face was priceless, and Draco started to laugh before she ever responded.  Miss Granger glared at him, which made him laugh harder, despite the demands of the dance.

“She’s wretched, if we’re being perfectly honest.  I know we must all be concerned about the wizard Lady Astoria chooses, but you would think there was nothing that mattered beyond purity of blood based on the way she was describing the various suitors.”

Draco shrugged.  “Blood purity does matter to her, very much.”

“And to you?” she inquired. 

Draco frowned.  “It’s less important to me, but I’ve always assumed I would marry pure.  It’s expected.”

Her expression became closed.  “Of course it is.”

“What?” he pressed.  “Do you disagree?”

She huffed.  “Only that it seems rather narrow-minded.  Muggles have a Society very much like ours.  Plenty of eligible men and women are muggles or muggleborn or half-bloods.  You will be drastically limiting your own search if you care as much about pure blood as Lady Morley does.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed as he studied her.  Was this one of her secrets then?  She wasn’t just impoverished, but she was a half-blood too?  Draco supposed he could see it.  He knew she had been trained in magic from a very young age, so there was no reason to believe that she was muggleborn… but perhaps she had a muggleborn parent or even a muggle parent.

He wondered if it was really that different from her being a governess.  Both would draw comment if anybody knew.

Then again, doesn’t marriage fix everything?

“I could keep an open mind,” he said.  “I’m just not likely to encounter them in ballrooms like this… unless you know something I don’t?”

He looked at her intently, and she flushed, but quickly shook her head.

He narrowed his eyes, but let it pass as they continued to spin around the dance floor.

“Regardless of your views on it, Sir, you will need to dance with witches other than Lady Astoria and myself if you wish to wed.  I couldn’t help but notice that you left many young ladies wanting on the sidelines tonight.”

So she was watching him, just as he had been watching her.  Draco found himself delighted by this.

“Who says I wish to find a wife here?”

“Lady Astoria,” she replied.  “She said you would be taking one soon.”

Damn Theo and Astoria and everybody else who spreads rumors about my personal life.

“I’m considering it,” he said.  “That doesn’t mean I find the task enjoyable or terribly interesting.”

“Well you had best adjust your thinking before the Season begins,” she warned, “because neither Lady Astoria nor I will do.”

Draco fell silent and did not respond to this.  He would be showing his hand too soon if he said anything more about it.

He reminded himself that he had a few more months before the Season began in earnest, and he could take some time to think about Theo’s suggestion while he was waiting.  They would be research partners soon, after all, and Draco found himself looking forward to it.

“While I am waiting for the Season, I intend to spend my time thinking about the blood magic.  Will you have time to begin studying it with me during the upcoming week?”

At this, she brightened, and the smile she gave to him was so lovely, Draco pulled her ever closer, ignoring the murmurings from those who were watching them on the sidelines.

Their conversation continued in this vein for the rest of the dance, and when it was finally time to part ways, Draco released her reluctantly.

She began to sink into the customary curtsy at the end, when he reached out and stopped her.

“Don’t ever bow to me, Miss Granger,” he murmured under his breath.  “Not in private, and not here.  I’m the one who should bow to you.”

And he did, causing whispers to erupt once more, while the beautiful and mysterious woman in red stood in the middle of the ballroom, accepting the attention from a duke with elegance and dignity.

When Draco rose, her eyes were shining, and Draco smiled.

“I bid you goodnight, Miss Grang—Miss Gardner.”

He barely resisted rolling his eyes, and suppressed amusement lit her face.

“Goodnight, Your Grace,” she responded loud enough for those around them to hear.

“Goodnight Draco,” he mouthed to her as he stepped away and resumed his duties as host to wrap up the evening.

Her blush lit up the ballroom.

Chapter Text

Hermione

Hermione emerged from half-mourning the day after the ball and put her charmed dresses away with enthusiasm.  She hung them in the small wardrobe, next to the red silk dress that she would never wear again.

Harry had sent Hedwig to her a few days earlier with her beaded bag filled with the rest of her wardrobe from Godric’s Hollow that she did not charm gray, and Hermione greeted her blue and green gowns as though they were old friends.

The few that she wore during her false half-mourning she eyed with some consternation.  The charms had worn off of course, but other than the color they still looked the same.

“What should I do with you, hmmm?”

They weren’t too worn just yet, but she would need to have them reworked if she was going to avoid any awkward questions from the Weasleys.

Hermione had many talents, she knew, but sewing was not one of them.  She had learned her stitches of course and tried both needlepoint and knitting – but she simply did not have the patience for it, not even when assisted with spells. 

It was one thing to temporarily charm clothing a different color.  It was an entirely different matter to permanently remove lace or add it; lengthen hems or shorten them; widen a neckline or shrink it.

She pursed her lips, but she knew what she needed to do.

“I’ll send these back to Harry to have the village seamstress rework them for me,” she muttered to herself.  “It surely won’t be more than a few sickles for the lot.”

She didn’t wish to spend the funds for it, but she consoled herself that she would effectively be getting three new dresses out of it.  That would give her enough variety in her wardrobe to stretch it for another year.

Decision made, she folded the dresses and made a mental note to send them along to Harry the next time Hedwig visited.

She cast a tempus charm and grimaced.

She had gotten a late start that morning after the ball the previous night, and now she was behind.

She bustled out of her room and strode to Lyra’s.  Astoria would be getting a lie-in this morning, but Hermione was sure Lyra was already awake and ready to hear about the ball.

“Good morning!” called Hermione, as she knocked and then let herself in.

“Miss Granger!” said Lyra excitedly.  “Tell me everything!”

Hermione just chuckled and retrieved the wheelchair for the young girl.  Fleur had just finished dressing her, and she backed out of the room, eyeing Hermione’s new dress with some interest.

Lyra settled herself into her chair, and Hermione maneuvered her through the hall.  “Let’s go visit the gardens, shall we?  I’m sure I can tell you all about it there.”

Lyra nodded agreeably, and it wasn’t long before they were strolling through the gate of the garden, where Hermione came to a halt.

The duke was already there.

“Ah,” he said, rising to his feet and marking his place in a book he was reading.  “You’re finally here.”

Hermione looked at him a bit warily.  After their dance the night before she had stayed up even later than she intended, replaying the entire thing in her head.  She still could not believe that he had danced with only her and Astoria, ignoring every other young lady in the ballroom.  And out of the two of them, only Hermione received a bow.  Her cheeks had burned with a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure that he did it so publicly, and by the time the evening was wrapping up, Hermione was crushed by others who wished to meet her.

She had retreated to her room as quickly as she could and stayed up until nearly dawn turning over his behavior in her mind.  And now, by the light of day, she wasn’t entirely sure where she stood with him.

It was a small mercy that Lyra was there to deflect his attention.

“Draco!” she cried.  “Tell me about the ball!”

The duke chuckled and strode toward his sister, gently taking the chair from Hermione and wheeling her into place near the bench where he had just been sitting.

Hermione drifted over toward another bench, when the duke shot her a teasing look and just shook his head.

“Over here, Miss Granger.  There is plenty of room, and I’m sure Lyra will want to hear your side of things as well.”

Hermione hesitated, but then made her way over to his bench, lowering herself on the very edge of it.

“Now then Lyra love,” said the duke.  “I have it on good authority that the ballroom was ‘stuffy, opulent, and terribly oppressive…’”

Hermione flushed, though Lyra started to giggle, and the duke’s eyes twinkled mischievously.

“There was also far too much lemonade, far too little champagne, and I danced twice.  Miss Granger?”

He directed the last question to Hermione, and she cleared her throat.

“Errr… yes.  His Grace is correct, though I danced four times I believe.”

Lyra’s eyes widened.  “Who did you dance with?”

She directed this at Hermione, who just pursed her lips.  “Never you mind.  It was nobody notable.”

She internally winced as she sensed the duke’s eyes flashing next to her.

“Hmmm, I would say your last partner was very notable,” he challenged.

Some combination of the tension and confusion she was feeling about the night before caused her tongue to loosen.

“Was he?” she asked lightly.  “Because according to my dance card, he was nothing more than a book purveyor… a man who sells books,” she added, seeing Lyra’s confused look.

Her eyes met the duke’s, and his were turning stormy.  Hermione immediately regretted her words because truthfully she noticed him far more than she ought.  But she did not enjoy it.  Her life would be much simpler if he would simply stick to the blasted rules.  Instead, she was forced to endure his teasing and his commands and his utterly maddening attention.

It was too much.

“Perhaps your lowly book purveyor knows that is the only thing he could ever offer to a woman like you.”

Hermione’s heart unexpectedly shattered at his words, and it took her by such surprise, that she rose abruptly.  

The duke frowned at her sudden movement, but he rose too.

“Of course,” she said curtly.  “And I’m afraid I must return to my chambers.  I’m much wearier than I realized.  Lady Lyra, Your Grace… good day.”

She met his eyes as she dipped into an insincere curtsy, and he went pale.

“Miss Granger—” he started, but Hermione had already turned and was fleeing the gardens.

“Miss Granger!” he shouted.  

Hermione didn’t pause to turn back as she picked up her skirts and began to run, weaving through the path and ducking under a dead arbor to take a shortcut to a back staircase.  Within minutes she was letting herself into the young ladies’ wing and warding herself in her room, where she slumped against the door, trying to make sense of why his words had hurt her so much.

Books were the only thing he could offer her.  

Of course they were because she was a governess.  She was nobody.  She was a muggleborn, even if he didn’t realize it.  And for all of the attention he sent her way, there was still a very real barrier that was entirely insurmountable.  It wasn’t even his fault, but it meant he could never give her more than a few books and a dance.  It would cross too many lines.

She didn’t want him to cross those lines.  She didn’t.

But it still pained her heart, and Hermione put her hand on her chest as it physically ached.

His name on her dance card, which had felt rather intimate the night before, now felt a little cruel.  She was all muddled and out of sorts.

CRACK!

Hermione jumped as the elf Hermione thought was called Dobby appeared in front of her.

“Master is asking to speak with Miss Granger,” he said in his high voice.

Hermione stared at the small creature.

“I do not think that is a good idea.”

“But—”

“No, I’m afraid I cannot.  Please tell His Grace that I am too tired.”

The elf tugged on his ears, but then apparated away with another CRACK!

Hermione sighed and sank down onto her bed, her eyes closing as she wished for sleep so she would not have to think about it anymore.

The direction of her thoughts was too impossible to bear.

******

When Hermione opened her eyes, it was late afternoon and two owls were tapping on her window.  One she recognized as Hedwig.  The other she had never seen before but was a handsome eagle owl.

She furrowed her brow as she unlatched the window, and the owls angled for her attention.

“Hedwig,” she said.

The owl gave a satisfied hoot at being chosen first, and she hopped forward to extend her leg to Hermione.

Hermione untied the letter, noting Harry’s untidy scrawl.  She quickly unsealed it and read curiously.

Dear Hermione,

The Prophet was delivered this morning, along with a scandal sheet that was riveted by the lovely “Miss Gardner,” who wore red to the Duke of Wiltshire’s ball last night.  Based on the physical description of her I strongly suspect that was you.  Tell me: am I right?

I have to say, I wasn’t expecting it, but I’m not displeased.  I will always feel guilty for spending that gold on a commission with the aurors instead of giving you a Season, and I hope you enjoyed every moment.

If any gentlemen are knocking at your doorstep, do send me their names so that I may vet them.  I may not have any power to approve or deny your suitors, but you’re my best friend — practically my sister — and I would never forgive myself if I didn’t do a thorough background check into any man who sought your hand.

Speaking of the Season and suitors, I may be joining you in a few ballrooms in the near future.  I have continued to make inquiries about the inheritance Sirius intended to leave to us, and I have finally convinced a goblin to dig for me.  I do not know what Griphook will uncover, but rest assured that if the inheritance is ever restored then you can have your bookshop or your Season — or both if that is your wish.  Even if nothing comes of it, I have been saving my wages with the aurors and am now positioned to enter at least the lower echelons of Society as Mother and Father always hoped.  I do not know if I will meet my wife there or not, but it was always their wish for me so I must try.  

If we find ourselves in a ballroom together, then I will be claiming a dance with you and questioning you most thoroughly about your own romantic prospects.  I suppose we must do our dances properly now that we are adults, but I confess I prefer the steps we made up when we were young.

All my love,

Harry

Hermione smiled a little sadly.  She did not think Harry would make any inroads with Gringotts, not even if he had found a goblin who was willing to subvert their own rules just a little bit and investigate on Harry’s behalf.  It was obvious to Hermione that Sirius simply hadn’t arranged matters in time.  He had told them for years that they would be his heirs, but Hermione and Harry had never found a will that would allow Sirius’s property and gold to be given away to those who were not blood relatives.

Still, she allowed herself to imagine it for just a moment: Harry entering a ballroom that looked very much like Malfoy Manor’s and approaching Hermione for a dance just like when they were children.  Her dance partner was tall, handsome, and when Harry asked for a dance for old time’s sake, her partner’s grip tightened on Hermione’s hand so that she couldn’t leave his side.  His eyes flashed gray like thunderclouds and…

No.

The image imploded and was replaced instead with a bookshop.  In her mind’s eye Hermione knew precisely what it would look like — she had been imagining the teetering shelves and smell of parchment for years.  So why was it that this time she felt no excitement from her musings?  Why did she feel no eagerness?  Why was there a note of sourness that she couldn’t dispel?

She imagined herself behind a counter as she had done so many times.  She would help customers find their favorite books — perhaps she would even run a mail order service to locate books her customers requested that were not in stock — and she imagined interacting with them as she exchanged recommendations and suggestions.  She could see it so clearly.  There would be a bell that tinkled to let her know of a new customer’s arrival.  He would be aristocratic and knowledgeable and look around at her offerings and say, “I hope you like your books — I could never give you anything else.”

No.

Blast, even her imaginary bookshop was being invaded by the duke and his words.  Her fists clenched and she set Harry’s note aside, worried that she would crumple it in her frustration.

She turned next to the eagle owl and eyed it warily.  She did not know who owned it, and after Harry’s note about the scandal sheet she was slightly worried it was from one of the men she danced with the previous night.  The owl practically glared at her for hesitating, and she sighed, mentally chastising herself for her foolishness.

The owl extended his leg and stayed perfectly still, as though trying to prove to Hedwig that he was better at this than she was.

Hedwig glared, and Hermione stroked her for a moment to sooth her feathers that were ruffling in offense.

She plucked the letter from the eagle owl and turned it over to find it sealed in wax with a crest she couldn’t quite make out.  She unsealed it and opened it to find two bank drafts, one for fifteen galleons and the other for seventy-five galleons.  She gaped for a moment before turning to read.

Miss Granger,

I think my words to you in the garden earlier this morning may have hurt you.  If so, I apologize for it.  I confess I was reacting to what I perceived as a dismissal of the dance we shared together, which I held dear.  I enjoyed it and hoped that you did too, and my frustration and temper got the better of me when it appeared that you did not.

I realize now you were probably trying to satisfy Lyra’s curiosity as quickly as possible without sharing private matters with her.  I am sorry for lashing out, and you must know that I would give you far more than books if you would allow it.  When I said those words to you I meant only that books seem to be the singular thing that draws your interest.  Even your gown from last night was the result of an argument and then a negotiation, and it is not something you wanted from me.  To be candid, I find your stubbornness in these matters both infuriating and charming in equal measure, and I am constantly wrong-footed as I try to make sense of it.

Please do not take my words to mean anything more than that.  I know I can be harsh and domineering, but I am also a gentleman.  I would never seek to intentionally hurt the feelings of a woman whom I hold in such high esteem as yourself.  I hope you can forgive me.

I’ve enclosed your wages from last night and the first quarter for your work with Lyra.  Please allow me to say that whatever else may come between us in the future — whether it is simply a professional association or something more — I will always be grateful for the things you have done for my sister.  You are more than a mere governess to her and Astoria both, I hope you know that.  

I should also say that I do think Lyra would have been thrilled to learn that the book purveyor who claimed your only waltz was me.  She told me she saw your dress, so she knows just how lovely you were.  I did not tell her that I danced with you because I sensed you did not want her to know – but I did tell her that every eye was on you because it was the truth.  Nobody could look away, least of all me.  

Regardless of my own circumspection, I suspect Astoria has told Lyra the full story by now.  They are likely plotting a torrid romance that would put the most sensational novel to shame.  You should be on your guard because you know I have little ability to deny my sister anything. 

I will leave you here, and I will not attempt to interrupt your peace again.  However, I do plan to begin my research anew this evening, and my sincere hope is that my research partner is willing to look past my deplorable behavior and join me.  I’ll be in the library at nine o’clock this evening to begin.  

I am, your servant,

Draco

Hermione’s heart was racing by the time she reached the end of the letter.  She was both very warm from the sincerity and compliments that were scattered throughout and oddly ashamed that she had reacted so poorly to his words in the first place.  She realized that she had been very defensive and a bit cruel to him by dismissing their dance.  She simply did not know how to behave around him now that he had singled her out at a ball, and her position relative to his was so insecure that she naturally had her guard up.  Her first instinct was to think that the entire spectacle had been some sort of joke or demonstration of his own power over her… but perhaps she wasn’t being fair.  

Could it be possible that he dressed her for the ball and claimed her waltz for no other reason than he wanted to dance with her?  He could never dance with a companion because companions didn’t dance… but he could dance with a young lady who was out in Society, even if she wasn’t from a noble family herself.  Before this letter the notion that he harbored warm feelings for her seemed so absurd it had never even occurred to her.  But now she wasn’t so sure.  

She carefully closed the letter and set it on her small nightstand.  She would join him tonight and see what came next.

******

Draco

Draco lit a lamp in the library and pulled a book off one of the shelves at random as he settled down and tried to browbeat his brain into reading.

He was early, but like so many things when it came to the governess, he couldn’t stop himself.

Before that morning, his plans for the evening had not included researching the odd blood magic in the gardens.  He had arranged instead to go to his club with Theo and Blaise in London, and he had the notion that he might discuss Theo’s suggestion about Miss Granger while he was there.  Draco trusted both of them to be honest and discreet and help him sort his thoughts about it, especially the odd wrinkle with his home targeting her.  Theo and Blaise were both aware of the encroaching rot and Draco’s theories about it, though he had not shared how those theories had changed since Miss Granger arrived.

Everything had been set and ready to go, and then he had ruined it all in the gardens.

Her obvious unwillingness to discuss their dance had irked him, and then the words just spilled out.  

For a split second he didn’t realize anything was amiss.  But he caught a very surprising flash of hurt on her face as she rose and fled, and then it was Lyra who clued him into his misstep.

“It’s good that Miss Granger danced with the book seller because she doesn’t have to get married!  If he can’t offer a witch anything more than books, then you must keep him away from Astoria!”

It suddenly occurred to him how his words must have sounded to her, because he had said that he couldn’t offer her more.  She knew very well that he could, so she must have believed him to be referring to their relative stations.   She thought he was telling her that she was lower than him, less than him, and he would never give her more than a few books because that was her entire worth.  

It was galling and untrue, and while Draco did not yet know if he could offer marriage, he told himself it was because he simply had not thought about it long enough.  It would take more than a single evening of contemplation before he made that offer to any woman, and it had nothing to do with Miss Granger’s position relative to his own.

Her refusal to speak to him had made him so agitated that he wondered if meeting with Theo and Blaise would really be necessary.  Surely her feelings should not matter to him so much unless he truly cared for her?  And with that realization he cancelled his plans with Theo and Blaise and penned the letter in the hopes he could coax her into the library.

Because poor phrasing aside, it was true that he believed the only thing she wanted from him were his books and the generous wages he was offering.  Suggesting a night in the library was the only thing he could think to do to persuade her to speak to him again.

But now he was here, and he was restless as the time slowly ticked by.

“Dobby,” he said.

The elf appeared with a CRACK!

“Yes, Master?”

“Dobby, bring tea service, please.  And as always, keep whatever you see in the library to yourself.”

Dobby bowed low and disappeared before reappearing a moment later and setting out tea, much like he had the night Miss Granger had gone into her trance.

Draco poured himself a cup just to have something to do, and when he finished with it he cast a tempus charm and swore.

9:03  

She was late.  Did that mean she hadn’t read his letter?  Or worse – had she read it and decided she would not forgive him?  Draco’s knee was bouncing, and he was gripping his tea cup so hard that he was slightly surprised it didn’t shatter, when the door clicked open.

Draco practically flung his cup back onto the saucer and leapt to his feet.

“Miss Granger,” he breathed, and then he winced at the desperation in his voice.

“Sir,” she said quietly.  

She approached cautiously, searching his face for something.  Even in the low light he could see that she was in the same green dress she had worn that morning.  The color was like a breath of fresh air compared to the gray.

“Green suits you, but not as much as red.”

She paused and frowned, as Draco nearly winced again.

Why can’t you give her a simple compliment?  

“I’m afraid I only have a single gown in red,” she said.  “For now,” she added.

Draco extended a hand, and she hesitated but then took it, and Draco breathed again as she allowed herself to be pulled in closer.

“What do you mean, ‘for now?’” he asked, as he led her over to the table and helped her into her seat.

“I mean that the gown should be used again, Sir, either for one of the young ladies or others.  I’m not certain if you meant for me to keep it.”

“I did,” he insisted.

“I see,” she said, before falling silent and pouring herself some tea.

She took a sip and then placed the cup on her saucer and looked at him squarely.

“Given that I’m here, you know I received your letter.”

“Miss Granger–”

“No, please, Sir – I must say something first.”

Draco fell silent, unsure of what she would say next.  Would she accept his apology?  Would she spurn him?  His gut twisted.

“I owe you an apology too,” she said.  “I should not have dismissed the dance last night.  Truthfully… I enjoyed it far more than I thought I would, and I’m afraid I barely slept last night because of it.  I was unkind this morning, and I am sorry.”

Her eyes lowered to the table, and Draco broke all of his etiquette training to reach across and grasp her hand.  She met his gaze again, and the expression on her face was curious.  Draco wasn’t certain how to read it, but it was new, and something about it gave him a sudden lightness.

“Do not fret,” he said.  “I put you on the spot in front of my sister.  I believe we both misspoke.”

She seemed to relax then, and she graced him with such a sweet smile that Draco’s mouth went dry.

“Yes Sir, I think that is exactly right.  I was not lying when I claimed exhaustion, but I should have taken the time to speak to you before I returned to my bed.  I apologize for that too.”

“There is no need,” he insisted.  “Events like the Yule Ball place a great demand on the entire household, and it becomes even worse during the Season.  Truthfully, I have no great love for late nights, and I can turn into an utter arse myself when exhaustion hits.  I certainly cannot fault you for being a bit short with me when I pushed you to it.”

She gave him a small smile and pulled her hand back.  Draco released it reluctantly.

“Language, Sir.  You wouldn’t wish to slip around the young ladies.”

“But I thought we had an agreement, Miss Granger… you do not censor yourself around me, and I will not censor myself around you.”

This time the smile she bestowed upon him lit her entire face.

“You don’t mean that,” she said in a teasing voice that immediately lightened Draco’s mood.  “I might say something impertinent.”

“Your impertinence is one of your best features,” he quipped.  “I welcome it.”

Even in the dim light of the library he could see her cheeks turn a pretty pink, and Draco finally relaxed, sensing that they were on better footing.

“Now then, Miss Granger… care to explore the library with an escort?”

She cast him a look of utter longing, and for a moment Draco stopped breathing.  Despite the hurt he had caused her earlier that day, he could tell that this was what she wanted more than anything.  She wanted books upon books upon books and the freedom to browse and read at her leisure.

If she was your duchess, she would have all the time in the world for it.  Surely the library would respect her position and allow her to browse like other members of the family.

He wanted it to be true, more than anything.  Because what other woman of his acquaintance would appreciate this place that the Malfoy family had built over the course of centuries?  For all of its darkness, their library was endlessly fascinating and contained so many books it would be impossible to read them all in a lifetime, even if one never did anything else.

“Yes,” she breathed.  “Please.”

Draco rose and crossed to the other side of the table, holding out a hand for her once again.  This time she did not hesitate as she gripped it, and Draco made a point to lace their fingers tight. 

“You must stay with me,” he murmured.  “Do not stop touching me or it will not be safe for you.”

“Yes Sir.”

He glanced back and saw that her eyes were huge and filled with anticipation as he gestured around him.  

“Where should we start?”

“Blood magic,” she whispered.

Draco tightened his grip on her and led her toward that aisle.  “It is dark in there, Miss Granger.  You should light your wand, and I should be the one to retrieve the books.”

“I can’t touch them?”

He shook his head.  “No.  More than one person has vanished down this aisle during the Manor’s long history.  It allows members of the family to remove its works, but any strangers are just as likely to disappear as not.”

He glanced back at her and saw that her face was solemn.  However, she nodded without objection, and then retrieved her wand from a small pocket in her dress and lit it.

“This way,” he said quietly.

They approached the entry of the blood magic section, and as soon as they crossed the threshold of it Draco felt the air shift.

He came to a halt, so Miss Granger did too, as he looked around warily.  

The magic felt almost too welcoming.

“This is different,” he murmured.  “I suggest we start near the front for our own safety.”

She nodded quickly, and Draco drew her close as she cast her wandlight over the first several shelves.

“Ohhh….” she sighed, as she looked at the cracked spines and ancient bindings.  Most of the texts were written in runes, and Draco glanced at her curiously.

“I know you achieved an ‘O’ in your Runes N.E.W.T.,” he commented.  “I take it you can still read runes?”

“Fluently,” she said.  “I read several other languages as well.”

Draco raised an eyebrow.  It was rare that she offered personal information voluntarily.

“Which ones?

“French, Latin, and Greek,” she said promptly.  “I also have some working knowledge of German, though I would not claim to be fluent.”

Draco was impressed.  That was one more language than even he had mastered.

“Your tutor was diligent,” he commented.

“He was,” she agreed.  “And I…”

She trailed off, and Draco saw her blush once more.

“You what?” he prompted.

She shrugged.  “I’ve always had an advantage with my mind.  It’s not entirely fair, but I am who I am.”

She fell silent as she cast her light along the books, quickly reading the spines.

“What advantage?” he pressed.

She glanced up at him and sighed.  “My memory… it’s nearly perfect.  I can remember almost every single word I’ve ever read.”

Draco started in surprise.  “You’re not serious.”

Miss Granger shrugged, almost apologetically.  “As I said, I know it’s not fair.”

He looked down at her in fascination.

“Recite something for me.”

She gave him a wry smile and began to recite the first chapter from Meditations on the Merits of Sobriety while barely pausing for breath.

“You actually remember it?” he said in disbelief.

She chuckled.  “I think the more astonishing thing is that I actually read it.  You were correct though: it was so dull it put me right to sleep.  I didn’t even finish the first chapter before I drifted off.”

He found himself smiling a little before thinking back to the astonishing thing she had just told him.

“Everything you’ve ever read…” he murmured, as she continued her search.

She shook her head.  “Almost everything… I lost it for nearly a year at one point, but it eventually came back…. Ah!  Let’s try this.”

She pointed to a book on a shelf that was too high for her to reach.  Draco plucked it and glanced at the cover curiously.  

Blood Rites

“Not much to go on,” he commented.

Miss Granger shrugged.  “We have to start somewhere.  Come along…”

She tugged on his hand, and they left the blood magic section together.  As soon as they were back in the main reading room, Draco felt the magic stabilize again, and he breathed a small sigh of relief.

She finally released his hand and moved back to the table that Dobby must have cleared in their absence, and Draco stepped forward to help her into her seat once more.  She gave him a swift smile and began to open the book, but Draco was too curious to let their previous conversation rest.

“You said you lost it for a year… when?  Why?”

She glanced at him, and a guarded expression took over.  “I don’t like to talk about it, Sir.  Let’s just say that it’s the reason I can see thestrals.  I experienced a… great personal tragedy that took me by surprise.  It took time for my shock to wane and my mental faculties to be fully restored.”

She was looking back at her book determinedly, and this time Draco did not press her for more.  

It must not have been her uncle, he thought.  She spoke about it as though it was rather distantly in the past, and she had only emerged from half-mourning that very day.  Even if she took the full eighteen months for it, she said she had lost her memory skills for an entire year.  It was surely the kind of thing that built back slowly.

Her parents then?  Or another guardian who must have died for her to be sent to an uncle’s home in the first place?

He wasn’t certain, and he wouldn’t press.  But once again Draco found himself more curious than ever about the governess.

“My condolences,” he murmured.

She gave him a tight smile.  “Thank you, Sir.  It was a long time ago.”

Definitely not her uncle.

“I understand.  Now then… let’s put that perfect memory to good use and begin, shall we?”

Miss Granger’s expression eased as she cracked open the book.

“We shall,” she said, and then she began to read.

Chapter Text

Hermione

Hermione glanced up from the page furtively.

The fireplace was crackling merrily, and their lamps were casting plenty of light on their books.  The duke’s face was softened by it, and even as his brow furrowed he appeared to be nothing more than a regular man like this.

He didn’t look like a member of the peerage.  He didn’t even look like her employer.  He was in his shirtsleeves and periodically vanishing the ink that flecked on his hands and cuffs while he worked through his stack of books and took notes.

They had been silent for nearly an hour, but it was companionable and comfortable.  Just like the previous two nights they did this, the duke had ordered tea and biscuits to be set out for them while they worked.  Hermione took very few notes herself because her memory did the job for her.  But the duke was diligent and purposeful, and Hermione eyed the elegant script from the other side of the table.

She glanced back down at her own book, but her eyes weren’t reading the words.  They were pulled back to his face moments later, and before she knew it she was staring.

He was certainly handsome, his features sharp and elegant.  The blonde hair and gray eyes he shared with his younger sister was a bit unusual to be sure, but there was no question it was striking.  He made faces as he read, and Hermione found herself slightly fascinated by it.

She could literally watch him think.

She tried to remember the last time she had ever had a study partner like this and couldn’t.  Harry was the closest, certainly, but he did not have the same studious nature that she did.  More than that, he attended Hogwarts while she was left behind with Remus, so she had little familiarity with the sort of student he had become once he was away from home.

In all of her previous posts she had been the person directing her charge’s studies.  Other members of the staff in various households where she worked were not interested in academic matters like Hermione was.  Her curious mind was something that had always made her stand apart from others.  

It was isolating.

She wondered if the duke had ever felt that way too, or if he had peers whose minds were as improved as his own.  It occurred to her that even if he did, the nature of his position relative to nearly every other witch and wizard in England was likely isolating in itself.

They made an odd pair, studying the Manor’s magic by lamplight.

Suddenly, his eyes lifted to meet her own, and Hermione froze.  

She felt a blush erupt on her cheeks, and she frantically tried to make it stop.

He said nothing to her, but he held her gaze for several long seconds before he carefully placed his quill on his parchment and then slowly unbuttoned the cuffs on his sleeves.

Hermione’s eyes widened and her mouth went dry as he rolled his sleeves to his elbows, still staring at her while he did it.

“Sir,” she breathed.

The duke lifted one eyebrow, and a faint smile crossed his face.

“The damned ink is getting everywhere.”

He fell silent, and Hermione nodded quickly, as he slowly picked up his quill and began to write again.  The ghost of a smile was still on his face, and Hermione gave a too-loud huff as she forced her eyes back down on her own book.

Scratch, scratch, scratch…

She glanced up again and found him watching her this time.  She flushed again before clearing her throat and turning her attention back to her book.

Scratch, scratch, scratch…

This was impossible.

“Have you found anything?” she asked, and she internally winced at the volume of her voice.

The duke glanced back up at her again, his expression intent.

“Perhaps.”

“What is it?” she asked, eager to have something to discuss that might distract her from her… distraction.

He paused, as though weighing his words.

“It’s about the unicorns,” he finally confessed.

This odd statement had the effect of pulling Hermione’s entire attention toward the duke.

As though it wasn’t there already.

“What unicorns?”

“The ones that used to live around the Manor.”

Hermione frowned.  “I thought they weren’t real.”

“They were,” he said.  “They disappeared the day Lyra was born.  Father and I were the last ones to see them.”

Hermione froze, as she thought about this.  Based on her conversations with Ginny, it sounded as though the Manor’s magic had been corrupted when the former duchess died in childbirth.  And now she was learning that the unicorns disappeared the same day as well.

“Can you tell me about it?”

“It is not a happy tale,” he cautioned.

Hermione straightened up.  “Whatever it was… it was many years ago, yes?”

He gave a great sigh and nodded.

“Yes.  It was something I discovered in my father’s journals soon after you arrived…”

“Your father left journals?”

He smiled a little at the interruption.

“Patience, Miss Granger.  Yes, he did.  And I’ll admit I have had… trouble… reading them.  But I made myself start to work through them slowly several months ago, taking them in small doses when I could manage it…”

Hermione’s breath caught.  His face was closed while he spoke, but his voice sounded devastated.  Whatever or whoever Lucius Malfoy had been, it was obvious to Hermione that the duke had cared about his father.

“I understand,” she said in a sympathetic voice.

He cleared his throat.  “Yes, well… my only memory of the unicorns is the day Lyra was born.  I saw a mother and her foal at the edge of a clearing.  But my father’s journals… well, his records from that day indicate that I actually saw them twice.  I reported the first sighting of course, and my father asked that I draw them out again.  I did so, and then he slaughtered them and obliviated me.”

Hermione’s eyes were huge.

“But why?”

“My mother and sister were both dying,” he said quietly.  “Father did not return in time to save my mother, but Lyra… he fed her the foal’s blood and pulled her back from the brink of death.  I have no memory of any of it of course, but the unicorns disappeared that day.  My father grew paranoid for Lyra’s health from the moment it happened.  I never understood why while he was still alive.”

He was watching her a bit warily, as though worried she would not take this news well, but Hermione scarcely noticed.  Her mind was swirling with the implications of such an act.  It was monstrous to slay a unicorn, to be sure, but then again…

It was for Lyra.

“You think the unicorns cursed her, don’t you?” asked Hermione, her attention finally narrowing on his face.

Whatever he saw in her expression made the tightness of his jaw ease ever so slightly.

“No,” he said.  “According to this book, a unicorn’s curse travels by ill intent.  I think if they cursed anybody it was my father and not my sister.  Lyra drank the blood, but she was a newborn.  She had no notion of what she was doing.  It was my father’s act that was heinous, not hers.  No, I think the problems with Lyra stem from something else.”

Hermione frowned in confusion.  “But then why research it?”

“Because I wanted it to be the unicorns,” he said.  “It would not have been easy to remove a curse from their kind, but it’s not impossible.  Lyra is an innocent in all respects, and I thought perhaps they would look favorably upon her for that reason.  I thought I should finish my research on that possibility before moving on to the next.”

Hermione inclined her head in acknowledgment of this.

“So the thing you found…” she prompted.

“Tells me how their curse attaches.  It’s not the unicorns, though I suppose their slaughter could have made the magical rot around the Manor worse.  It certainly started where they last stood.”

“Oh,” said Hermione, slumping a little.  “Well I suppose that’s research for you… the things that won’t work can be just as important as the things that will.”

He inclined his head.  

“I fear I will have no choice but to test my original theory about it,” he said.

Hermione cocked her head.  “And what is it?  You’ve been very circumspect.”

He was silent for a beat, as he studied her face.

“Marriage,” he finally said.  “I’ve thought for some time that it might require my marriage to correct the magic.  My mother corrupted it, but perhaps my marriage and an heir will fix it.”

Hermione made herself ignore the sudden pain in her chest at these words. 

“Oh?” she said tightly.  “And how did the late duchess corrupt it?”

“I’ve not found the spell she used,” confessed the duke.  “But it’s rather obvious that she did something.”

Hermione frowned.  “Why is it obvious?  The timing?”

The duke shook his head.  “No, it’s obvious because Lyra was alive when she was born.  None of the others were, nor were they expected to be.”

Hermione froze, staring at him with wide eyes as she tried to absorb this.  His comments about marriage were still surprisingly painful, but she pushed it aside to focus on what he was telling her now.

“Why weren’t they expected to be alive?” she said softly.

The duke’s face shuttered, and he looked away.

“There has only ever been one child in the direct Malfoy line, always male.  It’s based on a spell — you might even call it a curse — cast centuries ago that is tied to the Malfoy bloodline.  As I understand it, the spell is even entwined with the Manor itself.”

Hermione sat back, feeling stunned by this news.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” she confessed.

The duke shrugged a bit absently.  “It’s rare, I’ll admit, but not entirely unique.  A few families other than ours have used it too.  My close friend Theodore Nott — he’s the Earl of Westmoreland, you know – his family used it a few hundred years ago as well.  Both of us can only produce a single child, and we must be bound by marriage first to do it.  The spell doesn’t halt conception, but it means that any additional children we sire will not be viable at birth.  We could each have a hundred mistresses and never produce a live bastard.  It’s meant to keep our estates intact and in the hands of a legitimate heir, though in Theo’s case his estate was gambled away by his father.”

Hermione knew she was staring, but she couldn’t help it.  She was bursting with questions.

“And what if the direct heir dies?”

“Then the father can produce a second child, and he will also be male,” said the duke.  “But as a rule, there are no spares created while the heir is living.”

Hermione exhaled and shook her head in amazement.

“So your siblings…”

“Were all stillborn,” supplied the duke in a tight voice.  “Most of the duchesses in my family’s history were perfectly satisfied with a single child and never attempted to have more.  The Malfoys don’t speak publicly of this magic, but of course we share it with our wives when approaching marriage.  The few duchesses who tried to have second children all experienced stillbirths too.  There are records of it, so most of the duchesses simply used spells or potions to halt their ability to conceive after their first was born.  But my mother…”

He trailed off, with a haunted look on his face.

“She wanted more,” said Hermione softly.

The duke nodded a bit sadly.  “Yes, she did.  She mourned every one of them, but she never gave up.  And when Lyra was born…”

“It meant that the late duchess somehow corrupted the magic because Lady Lyra was born alive,” finished Hermione.

“I think so, yes,” said the duke.  “I have records of the original spell of course.  It’s meant to be permanent, and the instructions reference strengthening a line by blood.  I’ve always interpreted it to mean lineage.  Father, however…”

He trailed off and hesitated.

“He interpreted it literally?” asked Hermione delicately, as she thought of the unicorns.  She knew that Sirius believed Lucius to be a violent man… had the rumors been true?

The duke swallowed and nodded.

“Yes,” he said.  “We don’t know how Mother got around the spell.  And based on my reading from Father’s journals, he spent the years after her death trying to cast the spell again in the hopes of correcting the perversion.  The instructions to do it, however, are not terribly clear.  They are written in euphemisms, and even if he performed the ritual for it correctly, I do not know if the spell would work while there are two Malfoy lines alive at the same time.”

He met her gaze, and Hermione’s heart broke as she took his meaning.

“Oh Draco,” she sighed.

His eyes widened, and she winced.

“I mean…”

“No,” he said quickly.  “No, you can call me ‘Draco’ for this.  I’m nothing more than a man, and a wretched one at that.  My sister… she’s the most important person in my life.  I do not resent either of my parents for whatever they did to bring her into this world and keep her here.  But now it’s just me, and my title does me no favors when it comes to this sort of thing.  In fact, when you get down to it, my blasted title is the reason she’s ill in the first place.  Merlin forbid the fortune or estate ever be shared.”

He said these last words bitterly, and Hermione was struck by them.  She realized he may not have resented his parents, but he certainly resented his title.  Perhaps that was why he disliked being called ‘Your Grace’ and insisted she not use it when they were in private.  He was privileged, yes, but that privilege had been bought with his sister’s poor health.  Hermione suspected he would give it all up in a heartbeat if it meant she was well.

“It’s not just you,” she insisted.  “You have me to help you with this.  I know you care for Lady Lyra more than anything.  I care for her very much too.  I have a feeling this is all connected somehow, and I promise you we will figure it out.”

His eyes met hers again, and he was radiating gratitude.  

“I will do anything to save her,” he said.  “Well, almost anything,” he amended.

Before Hermione could ask him about this he added, “Even if that means I have to get married before I’m ready to do it.  My hope is that if my own line continues that will correct the magic.  And even if it doesn’t, the garden seems to be improving her health.  If I have to keep her there for the next ten years so that she survives until she can debut, I’ll do it.  I can scarcely stand the thought of her marrying and leaving me, but once she does she will no longer be a Malfoy.  If my own marriage doesn’t save her life, then hers might.”

Hermione softened once more.  The unexpected pain that she felt as she considered him getting married so soon was not gone, but it was dulled by his confession.  He was preparing to marry not only because of his duty to his title.  He was considering it as a last resort to save his sister.  He seemed to view it as a sacrifice, but one he would make willingly if there was any chance of it helping her.

Hermione could not fault him for it.

“We will study diligently until the Season begins,” she said.  “If we don’t find a different solution by then… well, you’ll soon be surrounded by eligible young ladies.  Surely one of them would prove suitable to test your theories on marriage.”

His eyes were boring into hers as she spoke, and she shifted a bit uncomfortably.

“And you, Miss Granger?” he asked quietly.  “Will you be on the hunt for a husband this Season as well?  You’ll continue to attend with Astoria, of course, and you did make quite a splash at the Yule Ball.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose.  “Of course not, Sir.”

His gaze sharpened, and he raised an eyebrow.  “You will not look for a husband?  Why not?  Is it because you fear one of them learning the truth about you?”

Hermione flushed as embarrassment and not a small amount of anger made her magic crackle.

“I am certainly not embarrassed of my background, Sir.  But I also do not find the wedded state to be a particularly desirable one for women, so I have no intention of engaging in it unless I stumble across the perfect man.  And I would have you know that perfect men are very thin on the ground.”

The duke crossed his arms and leaned back, and Hermione’s gaze was inadvertently pulled to his bare forearms.  

She pursed her lips and flushed once more.

“Describe the perfect man for me, then.  I confess, I find myself fascinated.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, and it made him smile a little.  

“My criteria are rather simple, and yet they seem impossible to find.”

“Go on,” he prompted.

“If I met a man with a ready mind who would support my freedom, then perhaps I could fall in love with him.  And love, sir, is the only thing that would convince me to marry.”

The duke cocked his head to study her.  “You wish to be in love first.”

Hermione felt as though they were straying rather far from the original topic, but he was challenging her, and she couldn’t help but respond.

“And why not?” she demanded.  “I do not have a title like you, Sir.  I have no duty to anybody.  If I ever marry, it will be for love and for no other reason.”

“And you can only love a man who gives you freedom… tell me: what does that mean?”

Hermione looked at him incredulously.  “Surely that is obvious… it means a willingness to give up any rights he would have to my gold or other property as my husband… he would not try to stop me from achieving my own dreams… he would treat me as an equal when it comes to making decisions regarding our children… in other words, he would do all the things that men are not required to do under our laws.  And unlike Lady Astoria and Lady Lyra, I do not have a dowry or social capital or even a male family member who can force the issue on my behalf as part of marriage negotiations.  So any man who agrees to it would have to do it out of the generosity of his own heart.  I’m sure you can see why the odds of me finding a man like that are virtually nonexistent, so I do not think I will ever fall in love.  That means I will never marry.”

She fell silent, her cheeks reddening as she realized she had just been ranting to him about something that was entirely inappropriate.  Then again, he had shared quite a bit with her tonight so perhaps it wasn’t odd that she had opened up too.

She didn’t try to take it back, and the duke’s stare became almost uncomfortable as he studied her face without blinking.  She sensed he wanted to ask her more about it, but he refrained.  Instead, a large and very surprising smile slowly spread across his face.

“Very well, Miss Granger.  It seems as though we both have our marching order as we approach the Season.”

Hermione wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by this, but she looked back down at the page in her book and didn’t ask.

When she stole a glance at him a few minutes later he was working again, his quill scratching away.  Then his eyes lifted, and Hermione quickly looked away.

Her distraction had started all over again.

******

Draco

There was nobody else quite like Miss Granger.

This was Draco’s prevailing thought as he observed her leading Lyra into the garden for her lessons two days later.  Even from a distance Draco could see that the garden was starting to wilt again, and it would require fresh blood soon.  Draco was preparing to escort Miss Granger there that night, after the rest of the household was asleep.

“You summoned me,” came the oily voice of Draco’s former potions professor.

He turned to find Severus lurking in the doorway, his scowl permanently affixed to his face.

“Yes, I wished to ask you to brew some blood replenishing potion for me.  I have some experiments to do.”

Severus’s gaze sharpened, but he gave a short bow.

“And I am wondering…” said Draco, as he glanced back at the forms of Miss Granger and Lyra, “have you seen any demonstrable improvement in Lyra recently?  She has been on the same cocktail of potions for several months now.”

Severus straightened importantly.  “I feel her potions regime is the thing keeping her alive, Your Grace.”

Draco hummed, but he was growing doubtful.  He couldn’t help but dwell on something Miss Granger had said to him the previous night.

“I administer her potions every day, and I can see no difference before I give them to her versus after.  Some of the ingredients would be toxic in high quantities, wouldn’t they?  I am certain everybody on the estate has the best intentions, but are we sure they are helping her?”

The question had taken Draco aback, because Severus was as brilliant a potions master as Draco had ever seen, at least until he observed Miss Granger brew.  But the question had been nagging at Draco ever since Miss Granger posed it, and now he wasn’t so sure he wasn’t inadvertently poisoning his sister very slowly.

Surely even trace amounts of aconite would build over the course of a year.

He would have to tread carefully because Severus was both the sensitive and vindictive type.

“I have noticed recent improvement,” said Draco carefully.  “In fact, I think we can begin to reduce her dosages with the goal of eliminating several of the potions altogether.”

Severus inhaled.  “Your Grace, surely you don’t mean–”

“Come here,” said Draco sharply.  “Look at her.”

He gestured toward the window of his study, and Severus crept forward to peer down, and he swore under his breath at what he saw.

Lyra was standing in the middle of the garden, smiling as Miss Granger tried to teach her how to dance.  Draco’s own mouth was curving into a smile as Miss Granger seemed to muddle it up as she tried to do the steps in reverse.  She was an accomplished dancer to be sure, but she had obviously never tried to lead before.  As he watched, both of them dissolved into laughter at her efforts, and eventually Miss Granger threw her arms in the air helplessly, but Draco could tell she was in good spirits about it.

“I see,” said Severus in a tight voice.

“You must excuse me.  My sister obviously needs a lead.  But if you could put some thought into her new dosing so that we can begin the weaning process, I would be grateful for it.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Draco nodded once and swept out of the room, leaving the brooding Severus behind.  Draco did not wish to offend him, but he couldn’t shake Miss Granger’s words, and now he wanted Lyra off of the potions as soon as possible.  He did not think it was safe to cut her off completely, but it was obvious they were not helping her as much as the garden was.

He strode out of the study, down the staircase, and soon he was entering the frigid garden.  He shivered as he realized he had forgotten a cloak, but it was no matter.  The weather charms had returned to his mother’s garden and had not faded.  He would be warm soon enough.

“Ladies,” he called, as he walked through the gate.

Miss Granger turned, her cheeks a pretty pink and her hair beginning to revolt in the most charming way.  Lyra’s small face lit with excitement, and she laughed.

“Draco!  Come dance!”

To Draco’s utter shock she actually ran to grab his hand, and Draco let himself be led into the center of the garden, while Miss Granger sank onto a nearby bench a bit breathlessly.

“Excellent,” she declared.  “You can have a turn then.  I’m afraid I cannot comprehend the steps in reverse!”

Draco shot her a knowing smile, and then turned to his sister whose eyes were gleaming.

“My lady,” he said, as he gave her a deep bow.

It struck Draco that he was handing out bows with reckless abandon these days, but he didn’t mind it.  After all, these were the two females whom he…

Draco shoved the thought away before he could complete it.

Lyra giggled and accepted his proffered hand, and soon Draco was leading her in a simple promenade through the garden.

He glanced at Miss Granger, whose expression was soft as she watched them dance.  He made a show of taking exaggerated steps that seemed to delight his sister.

When their dance came to an end, he gave another bow as Lyra clapped her hands.

“Again!” she demanded.

Draco smiled indulgently.

“A waltz, then, Lyra love,” he said, before leaning down and whispering in her ear, “stand on my feet.”

Lyra giggled again, but she did so, and Draco did his best to hold her in place as he took off around the gardens.  She shrieked with laughter, and he even heard Miss Granger chuckle as he spun her around faster and faster.  

Before long they were both dizzy, and he fell onto Miss Granger’s bench a bit inelegantly, his sister clutching him and breathless.  When he looked down at her, his heart swelled to see just how bright eyed and eager she was.  She wasn’t fully healed yet, but it was the first time Draco believed she might actually get there with enough time spent in this place.  

“A wonderful dance,” he declared.  “I can think of few that were better.”

Lyra smiled a bit too slyly as she glanced sideways toward Miss Granger.

“I’m sure you’ve had at least one,” she said in a teasing voice.

Draco tapped her on the nose.

“You’re growing just as brazen as your governess.”

Lyra grinned unapologetically, her eyes twinkling.  

“You’re the one who hired her for me.”

“Merlin,” muttered Draco, torn between amusement and exasperation.  If he wasn’t careful, Lyra would turn out to be just like the infuriating woman on his left.  He glanced at her and saw her chin set in that familiar way that told him she wasn’t sorry about it at all.  

“And on that note, I think it’s time you returned to your studies,” he said firmly.  “Astoria will need to be revising soon as well, but I’ll see you for supper tonight.”

Lyra leaned forward and kissed him on his cheek before hopping off of his lap, and Draco rose.  He offered a hand to Miss Granger, who accepted it and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

“Tonight,” he whispered, eyeing the nearest rose bush meaningfully.

Miss Granger dipped her head, and Draco forced himself to release her hand as he stepped back.

“I hope you both have a productive morning.  I’ll see you again in due course.”

He slipped out of the garden, feeling Miss Granger’s eyes boring into his back.  Draco smiled to feel it, but he didn’t allow himself to turn back and look at her.  

He would see her tonight.

******

“Is it time sir?”

Miss Granger’s soft voice whispered through the stairwell, where they had met at precisely eleven o’clock.  The rest of the household was asleep, and Draco found himself eager for this, even if the notion of slicing his palm open was not terribly appealing.

“Come along, Miss Granger.  I think I can hide you if you take my arm.”

He extended it, and she stepped forward to grip it, her small palm burning through his shirtsleeve.  Draco called on the Manor’s magic, and she made a breathy gasp as she felt the darkness shroud both of them.

Draco clenched his jaw to hear it and pulled her a bit closer to him.

“This way,” he said as he led her back through the Manor and into the night that was bitterly cold.

“It is frigid, Sir,” she said, and Draco was pleased when she pressed herself against him for warmth.

“Not long now,” he said as they quickly moved down the gravel path and toward the garden.  They both breathed a sigh of relief when they entered, and the warmth enveloped them.

She released his arm, and Draco allowed the darkness to recede so that he could see her in the moonlight.  Her curls glinted, and her eyes shone. 

Draco found himself aching for her touch again.

It was absurd, he knew, but he was helpless to stop it.  He found himself falling under the spell of the one woman of his acquaintance who would want more from him than his title.  

She wanted love.

Unlike many men of his station Draco did not reject the notion of love.  His parents had seemed to love each other or at least be very fond of one another.  Neither of his parents had ever taken paramours to his knowledge, and even after his mother died his father decided to remain a widower rather than seek another match.  But while Draco knew many young ladies wished for love, he also knew that most of them were practical enough to let romantic notions go for a match with a man like him.

Draco suspected that the beautiful and sharp witch standing next to him would not be willing to compromise on her standards.  And while Draco knew he was mad to consider it, he found himself wishing that she would fall in love with him so he could have her.

He was starting to believe that nobody else would do.

“Well?” she asked.  “Shall we?”

“We shall do nothing.  I shall be the one to cast the diffindo tonight.  I need only your wandlight to ensure it is working.”

Miss Granger pursed her lips, but mercifully she did not object.  She simply lit her wand and raised it to cast light across him and the nearest rose bush.

“Very well, Sir.  I find that a light coating usually does it.”

Draco gritted his teeth to think of her doing this all alone the last several times she had been here.  He pointed his wand to his palm and whispered, “Diffindo.”

Pain bloomed from the cut that emerged, and the blood began to pour.  Draco held his hand over the rosebush and watched eagerly to see if it would work.  He grimaced as it continued to pour, and yet nothing seemed to happen.

“How much?” he asked tersely.

But Miss Granger was frowning and shaking her head.

“I’m sorry Sir, but it’s as I suspected… yours is not working.”

“It must work,” he insisted.

“But it’s not,” she pointed out.  “Here.”

Draco was helpless to stop her as she gripped his hand and healed the cut, the light from her wand extinguishing as she did it.  She ran her thumb along the cut, and Draco shuddered.

“It must be me,” she said.  “I did read that blood rights often attach to the first person who performs them.  I suspect I sealed whatever magic is causing this.”

Draco’s heart sank, but he knew she must be correct.

“Miss Granger…” he started, but she gripped his hand.

“It’s alright, Sir.  I would still be doing it all alone if you had not found me that night.  Please, allow me…”

It was a moment when Draco questioned if he could ever be called a gentleman to allow a lady he was growing to care for to bleed all over his garden.

But it’s for Lyra.

That was the crux of it.  His sister was more important to him than anybody.  And yet, day by day, Miss Granger grew in importance as well.

Draco felt sick as he wondered if he would ever have to choose between them.

“I don’t like it,” he insisted.

She gave him a sad sort of smile. 

“I know, Sir.  But we must.  At least this time I will have company for it.”

She moved before he could stop her, and with a whispered, “Diffindo,” she flinched and then moved her hand over the rosebush.

Even without the benefit of wandlight, Draco could see that it was being absorbed, and the roses seemed to relax as they were replenished.

“It will not take me long,” she said in a tight voice.  “Please… let me do this, Sir.”

Only then did Draco realize he was holding her in place.  He released her, and she quickly moved from one plant to the next, and within several minutes she returned to his side.

“My turn,” he insisted, as he grabbed her hand and healed it.  This time it was his thumb that traced the cut, and she seemed to slump toward him.

“Over here,” he said, leading her toward one of the benches.  He fished in his robe for blood replenishing potion, and she uncorked it and drank, shuddering a little at the taste.

“Mine is better,” she commented.  “I make a point to improve the taste of potions whenever it is possible to do so.”

Draco quirked an eyebrow at her, both impressed and unsurprised.  At this point there was little she could tell him about her brewing skills that could shock him.

“I did not brew it.  My potions master did.”

She gave an elegant scoff.  “Perhaps it is a good thing Professor Dumbledore would not allow me to attend Hogwarts.  I do not think Professor Snape and I would have gotten along.”

Draco froze and stared down at her incredulously.

“You tried to go to Hogwarts?”

She shrugged.  “Tried, yes.  But while my tutor’s lycanthropy could be hidden while he was a student there, my femininity could not.  Even when my guardian suggested polyjuice, Professor Dumbledore felt it was too risky and would compromise my virtue to be there.”

Draco could scarcely believe what she was saying.

“You would have spent seven years polyjuiced as a wizard to attend?”

She shot him a look, and though it was dark he could see she was irritated with him.

Again, he thought a bit fondly.

“I would have done anything to attend,” she insisted.  “It is not right that witches are kept out.  The school was founded by wizards and witches, and they attended for many years until the wizarding world grew increasingly conservative and wizards took over.  Witches were pushed out, but we are just as magically powerful as wizards are.  It is grossly unfair.”

Draco studied her in the moonlight for a long moment.

“You’re a progressive then,” he commented.  “An idealist.”

This revelation wasn’t terribly surprising to him, but it did make his dreams of drawing her affections feel even more impossible than they had seemed only minutes earlier.  She would never compromise on the things she wanted in her life in order to get married, not even if her suitor was a man like him.  She would cling to her principles and would rather die alone and on the shelf than marry a man she didn’t love.

“Yes,” she admitted.  “Does that shock you, sir?”

“No... though I’ll admit it’s new for me.  Progress rarely touches a dukedom.”

They were silent for a long while, and then Miss Granger tilted her face up to look at the night sky.  He followed the path of her gaze and realized she must be looking at Draco.

“Then perhaps I’ll reform you, Sir.”

Draco couldn’t stop the small smile that crossed his face at that.

“I’m starting to expect that you will.”