A/N: I continue to be overwhelmed with the kind response over this story. Thank you all so much. Alpha gratitude to LadyKenz347 and niffizzle. Beta love and adoration to CourtingInsanity. Seriously, if you haven't read their writings, you really should... NOW!

All remaining errors are my own.

I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise.

CHAPTER SIX

"Ah ha!"

"What, Draco?" Her words are clipped. She doesn't turn. She doesn't pause. She keeps walking.

He knows she's frustrated, but not at him.

Perhaps is a bit more akin to embarrassment... It makes him grin for an absurd reason.

"The universe now knows what it missed out on for not giving you red hair." His strides lengthen and he's able to catch her in three-and-a-half seconds. The muscles in her cheek twitch but she still doesn't acknowledge him there. He grins all the more, floating a finger out… "Merlin, it really looks—"

"Do not touch my hair." Hermione's hand snatches his wrist faster than he anticipates. Her eyes are set in thin slits, but he can still see the flashes of gold. "This isn't even red; it's some horrible hybrid of rose red and tiger orange, with a splash of sunflower yellow because it's not already unique enough as it is!"

He gives into an easy chuckle and nudges her shoulder before walking onward. It's been comfortable since the weekend. She's still been too busy to make it to most lunches and dinners, but sometimes she comes to breakfast. Yesterday he had lunch with her in her office.

Until the second year Dobson twins from Hufflepuff rushed in. One had fallen from her broom while practicing for the Hufflepuff Quidditch trials and the other's arm had strangely been in a great deal of pain, though she'd apparently not suffered any injuries.

Hermione had commented after the two girls had been patched up and sent on their way that it was refreshing to fix something for a change.

She sniffs and he catches her shaking her head from the corner of his eye. "Why aren't you more upset about your hair colour? I'd have thought you'd have Flitwick threatening every last student with detention until the end of the school year because of your green hair."

"Au contraire, Hermione. This is not 'green'." He runs a hand through his neat and otherwise pristine hair. "This is chartreuse."

A lone brow lifts at him, suggesting she fails to grasp the difference and he nudges her again, winking.

Just because.

"Chartreuse lies between yellow and green on the broad spectrum of colours, and to have cast this specific colour shows creativity, cleverness and a commanding grasp of the charm used."

She appears to fight a smile, attempting to bury it under pursed lips. "So your conclusion is that the hair colouring is a spell, then?"

"Yes." He slips his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "The fact that the staff are now being affected by this was the giveaway. Peeves has been cornered and he denies involvement in any way. We saw it was only the students plagued with bouts of invisibility, and the fact that the attempted antidotes sometimes worked, though not for very long, means we're dealing with potions with that. There could possibly even several variations of a single recipe. But this hair colouring is school-wide and I'm actually feeling a bit impressed with it."

Hermione shakes her head, but doesn't disagree with anything. Satisfaction bubbles and froths in his chest, and he may just be feeling quite chuffed all over again.

"D'you have any ideas of who's behind all this?"

"Ravenclaws. It all started at their table. I've kept my sixth and seventh years behind after classes twice now to give them a stern talking to, but so far no one has broken or betrayed anyone."

She makes a sound between a hum and a snort.

"What?" He's trying not frown.

"Nothing," she says, but her cheeks are twitching again.

The frown is inevitable. "What?"

"It's nothing, Draco."

"Tell. Me."

"Alright." Her eyes drag down and up the length of him and he's glad for all his layers of clothing so she can't see the chills rolling over his skin. "Did you use that deep, intimidating voice you would save for when you were really furious with Harry?"

His jaw drops. He sputters. "I did not… There was no… My voice would not change when angry with Potter!"

She laughs and it's sweet and musical and sends the bubbles inside him to a boiling frenzy. "Whatever you say then." She nudges him just as they come to the doors of the Great Hall.

And he would argue his point more, if not for the now staring, whispering and pointing students. He's also confident Theo is sharpening his metaphorical claws for digging and prodding in a later-on discussion that is also inevitable.

"What on earth are you doing back there, Luna?"

"You'll see."

Hermione's friend offers no further explanation as to the pulling and tugging within her long loose curls, which Hermione considers reason enough to be concerned, but, she drops the subject for now. The colouring charm finally wore off and Hermione's hair is back to its bland shade of brown. It's also a Sunday and Flitwick granted her request for the afternoon away from the school grounds. Hermione suspects he'd been informed about a 'surprise party' he should let Hermione go for.

Which explains why Hermione is sitting in the backyard of Luna's childhood home, where they are 'reading' and 'just being' until time for the 'surprise party'.

What isn't easily explained is what Luna is trying to do with her hair… And Hermione is trying to be a compliant and gracious friend, so, deciding to focus on something else, she says, "You were writing in a Muggle notebook with a Muggle pen just a bit ago."

Some foreign object sinks into Hermione Hermione's curls and she fights the urge to flinch as Luna hums. "Are you asking me a question?"

"I suppose." Hermione chuckles, giving a slight lift to her shoulder. "It's just not the most common thing one sees Purebloods carrying around, but I shouldn't be surprised, all the years you've been with Harry."

"Well reasoned," her outdoor companion answers. There's a pause, and then she speaks again, lower, as if to herself: "Too large. Something smaller I think…"

Again, Hermione stops herself from protesting, even asking; part of that new chapter in life and all that. And Luna had just asked something incredibly thoughtful of her less than ten minutes ago; this really is the least she can do. "What enchantments do you place over your yard to keep everything so green still?"

"We don't use any. The garden gnomes are happy and it's only mid-September. You've been away long enough to remember it doesn't brown and grey until just before the snow comes."

Hermione bites down on the inside of her cheek to hold back a retort. Somehow she feels Luna didn't mean that as anything more than simple observation. "True," she finds herself murmuring. "Are you documenting anything specific for a new Herbology book?"

"I have been, but that's not what this journal is for. Today seemed like a good day for poetry."

Intriguing. "Oh?"

"Mhm… Oh! I like the look of that…" A feather-light weight settles in Hermione's hair while Luna continues. "You probably noticed my book was a collection of poems by William Blake, I'm sure you've read it."

Hermione actually hasn't, she finds poetry to be too random and metaphorical, and she wishes the authors would get to the bloody point.

None of this she tells Luna, though.

"Harry has been wanting to expand our library," Luna adds. "The bits and things he's started journaling over the past few years have inspired him to make more time for books."

"That explains why he's been asking me for book recommendations off-and-on the last couple of years." A smile tugs at the corners of Hermione's lips. "I had presumed that was largely due to your influence, though."

"It's a team effort," Luna states. "I don't think he would have been so open to including poetry in the library if I hadn't stumbled across a collection in Malfoy Manor earlier this year. It was a bit of an odd find, not something I expected when I read the title. But Narcissa let me borrow it and I've been insatiable in my quest for more poetry since."

Hermione chews her tongue as her friend trails off, seemingly focusing on her handiwork with Hermione's hair. It's true that Draco has proven himself changed and different from the worldview he was raised in, but that Mrs. Malfoy should have something Muggle in this highly praised library… And when had Luna cultivated such a relationship with Mrs. Malfoy that she not only openly visits the manor, but borrows books and is on a first name basis with the Malfoy matriarch?

"It's possible I may have an infestation of wrackspurts, Luna."

"I'm sure it is," the witch responds without hesitation, "but what makes you think so now?"

"I'm having a hard time making sense of everything you just said." There. Honesty without sounding a complete prejudiced arse.

Luna laughs. It's that very specific, very defining, very Luna-airy laugh that still manages to grate on Hermione's nerves . "You've been away for too long, Hermione. Mrs. Malfoy has long since apologised to Father and myself for the role her family and home played in my captivity during the war. I'm constantly on the search for rare and lesser known resources in all my research, and as I'm no longer a student, I can't just be seen about the library of Hogwarts all the time, can I?"

The logic is sound, but… Hermione frowns. "Apologies, but I'm still working on making sense of the fact you found a muggle poetry book in the Malfoy library."

"Well, of course it was Muggle poetry." It's a statement. A factual statement that should have been completely obvious. "Wizarding Britain doesn't have any published poets to boast of, which is quite a shame. I'll have to broaden my search to see if I can find some wizarding poetry from other countries, but the book Mrs. Malfoy loaned me was a gift from Andromeda, I was told."

Ah. "That makes sense, I suppose." Hermione nibbles on her lower lip as more near-weightless items sink into her mass of curls, even if full understanding has yet to sink in. Her eyes dart to the capped pen lying over the notebook in the grass. "What sort of poetry do you write, then?" Luna is not likely to say anything more clarifying on their previous topic.

"I'm not sure." There's a pause and Hermione turns around to find Luna's blue eyes sparkling over an honest smile. "They're not sonnets, and I don't particularly follow a structural pattern. I don't rhyme all that much, either. I don't feel I know enough about the genre itself to appropriately categorise them."

A brow quirks and Hermione can't help but tease a little. "Well then how can you know what words to use if you're not following a pattern?"

"Oh, quite simple, actually. The words skip about in my head while I play around with how certain ones sounds at a specific part, and then the right one just fits." The clear emphasis she gives to the last word makes Hermione feel she ought to understand…

Which she does not. "And, how do you decide 'it fits'?"

"The same way you do with your all your essays and research publications," Luna states, again, as if that's the only logical conclusion. "You have an idea of what you're trying to convey, you write it out, and then edit a bit later on. I do the same, though far less editing than you do, I'm sure. I've no ambitions for publishing anything that goes in my poetry notebook. It's more been for fun and a means of challenging myself."

A silence falls over the witches after that. Hermione feels there's another metaphor for life or herself in those words; a lump seems determined to lodge itself in her throat. Luna shifts in the grass and alternates between adding and removing things from Hermione's hair and reading a bit from her book.

Luna breaks the silence first. "If you don't mind my saying so, I'm a little surprised you agreed to be in the wedding."

"I think I was equally surprised it was you asking." Hermione doesn't flinch at her own words; it's apparently full speed ahead with honesty these days. "I mean, it's Harry's wedding, too, and I wouldn't have refused either of you anything, but you and I haven't kept up as much I have with Harry, Ginny or Molly."

Luna sits and blinks as an infuriatingly knowing smile dances up her cheeks. "It's been enough. Besides, Harry fills in any necessary information gaps, and I'd prefer to have you standing up there with me over Ronald's wife. I don't have much in common with her."

It's all she can do to keep a straight face, but Luna apparently isn't finished surprising her: "Besides, friends are forever, I think. And you're my friend."

Something in that strikes a chord in Hermione; a note that hums and thrums. As the echoes fade, Hermione can see for the first time just how hollow she's allowed herself to become. How empty all her accomplishments have been without people in her life. Without someone to share it all with.

Genuine tears make tracks down her cheeks. She lets them fall and doesn't attempt to swipe them away. Not yet. "What a lovely thing to hear. Thank you, Luna." She takes several minutes to breathe. The breaths are measured and deep before she's able to contribute to the conversation again. "Is there a specific significance with April, though? A winter wedding lends itself to some truly magical decorating options."

"My parents married in April," Luna answers, soft and a bit solemn. "They married in this very backyard surrounded by hundreds of daffodils. It's been a dream of mine since I was a little girl to one day have the same. And anyways, I'll still be helping Daddy finish and edit his book on obscure runes until February. It just makes more sense to wait."

"I see." Hermione slips on a pair of sunglasses on as the subject is dropped and Luna points her wand at Hermione's curls.

"I've changed my mind; I think something else for the party."

Hermione doesn't allow a resigned sigh to pass her lips. This is part of friendship. Of being here and learning how to make room for people again.

She hears Luna fumble in her bag. "Don't move, and wait just… one… moment…"

Click!

Luna gives an approving hum and moves around to face Hermione again. "I think you should keep the photograph; it's not often we're given the chance to see how carefree we can be."

"Thank you." Hermione takes the picture without scrutinizing it. Yet.

Luna also holds out her book, still open. "Would you mind keeping my place a moment? There's still some time before they're ready for us and I want to take few pictures of those flowers to show Harry."

Hermione accepts the book, placing it behind the photograph, which she promptly rolls her eyes at. There's a haphazard scattering of small daisy-like flowers in her windblown curls and the sunglasses remind her of pictures of her parents in their hippy phase. To complete the effect, the camera itself is one those vintage Muggle types that printed the photograph immediately.

She sets the photo aside to make note of the page number Luna's book lay open to when her eyes take note of the title. The first line underneath seems just as compelling, and she finds herself reading the brief poem in its entirety in a matter of seconds, an ache burning in her chest all the while. She reads it again and again before taking her wand and making a copy of the page; folding it and slipping it into her pocket, along with the photo.

She reads the poem again before Luna comes back to announce it's time for them to leave:

"Joy and woe are woven fine,

A clothing for the soul divine,

Under every grief and pine,

Runs a joy with silken twine.

It is right it should be so,

We were made for joy and woe,

And when this we rightly know,

Through the world we safely go."

Draco is quite put out with himself, but there's nothing more he can do about it; he's already arrived.

He's made it to the library, and now there's nothing more that can be done except to walk in and have a look around.

If he happens to come across a certain witch while having a casual look about, he will simply state he wanted to look for a particular book on the theory behind a defense spell. And if she's not to be found…

He rakes a hand through his hair and scratches his neck, lips drawing inward as he blinks at the library door.

If Hermione isn't in the library, then he'll have gone an entire day without seeing her, and that shouldn't doom his day into despair. He's gone years without seeing her before this point, and less than twenty-four hours shouldn't cause such stirring in his chest.

It shouldn't.

Some part of him is mocking and laughing as he crosses the threshold, and that inner laugh vaguely reminds him of Theo. Draco gives a low groan; the twat is in his head.

The sardonic laugh continues as he doesn't, doesn't, doesn't see her…

His pace quickens, and he tries to appear suave and in control of himself as a few students give him questioning looks from their books and parchments.

He's made it to the far back corner now, and he thinks he remembers this is where she'd studied often a decade ago…

Victory! He's brilliant and there's nothing short of triumph coursing through his veins as he saunters up to Hermione's table, smirking at finding her hunched over a large book. "Bit of light reading for a Sunday evening?"

"Felt familiar," she answers, lifting her face to him slowly, her lips bending in a genuine smile, as if she's been waiting for him. "Also, I noticed Marcus and Carrigan sporting different hair colours when I got back; neither could tell me if they recall their hair returning to its original state before the change or not." She drags a hand through her curls and shrugs. "So that means we've no way of knowing if the charm has now been altered to change colours before fading, or if they're were simply hit again as the charm had worn off."

The urge to kiss her tramples over him like a dozen hippogriffs, reducing him to a suffocating pile of crushed lungs and bruised muscles. He's certain he'll break; he'll shatter entirely under the strain of self-restraint. His exhale sounds pained to his own ears as he forces it out, "Interesting observations." He has to swallow. "I'm afraid I hadn't considered that." It's not a lie, he's thought of little else except how to stumble upon her 'accidentally' since she didn't come to lunch.

"Would you like to sit down?" She's waving over an empty seat and he accepts the offer as her fingers drift down and begin to drum against the smooth surface near the table's edge. "How was the last day of your weekend?"

"All right." He tries to sound nonchalant, but worries he's failing miserably. His eyes can't help but flicker all over her delicate and casually dressed form, a foreign warmth washing over him all the while. "Where did you go off to and come back from?"

It's stupid phrasing, but she answers as if it were perfectly normal: "My surprise birthday party at the Burrow."

"It's your birthday?!"

"Tuesday is," she answers, smile dropping somewhat. "Hence the surprise element of the party. And there's the fact that we're all now responsible adults with jobs that don't always fit within normal work hours..."

He cants his head. "You didn't enjoy it." It's somewhere between a question and a statement.

"It's not that." She shrugs, her lips twisting. "It was a lovely time, it really was. Luna asked me to meet her at her Father's house and we spent some time outside reading and such before everything was ready at the Weasley's house."

"But…?"

She doesn't answer right away, and goes through a cycle of opening-then-closing her mouth a few times. She's also squirming in her seat.

"You're uncomfortable," he says, keeping his words soft. "I'm sorry; I shouldn't pry."

"It's not that, it's just…" She gives a long exhale, the rhythm of her fingers quickening. "I don't particularly care for everyone making a fuss over my birthday, that's all. It's not as if it's an accomplishment to be celebrated; I was born, which is no different than everyone else who's ever existed for all of history."

"But—"

"I know." The drumming ceases as she lifts that hand. "I know I made a point to be back for all of Harry's birthdays. I know I'm the first one to celebrate someone else and gift them something that's thoughtful, sentimental and still practical."

His smile is crooked as he slides his right shoe to occupy the space near her right foot. "Anything to do with your parents, you think?"

"Perhaps. I haven't taken the time to dissect it all." He swears that a foot brushes against his before she draws her knee up, pulling her leg close and rests her chin atop said knee. "I've been lucky and the topic of birthdays hasn't come up too often with peers and coworkers, so I haven't paid much attention to it." Her chocolate gaze meets his waiting eyes and she lifts her chin. "I should have invited you to come with me."

He attempts a scoff, but it sounds more as a cough. "I think not." He tries to cover himself with a classic Malfoy arched eyebrow. "I'm sure it was plenty fun without having a former-Death Eater around to kill the mood."

Her leg lowers to the floor and he cannot understand the look she's giving him. It's not entirely a smile and it's not inquisitive. There's an openness to it, and when she says, "But that's not how anyone sees you anymore. That's certainly not how I see you, so you would have killed nothing," he genuinely believes her.

He believes her, but doesn't know how to respond. Because kissing her here and now would be insanity.

So, it's perfectly fine when she responds for the both of them. "I'll invite you to the next thing, whatever it is. I found myself looking for you in the crowd, which is silly, as I'm the reason you weren't there to begin with." She shrugs and closes her tome. "I think I'll check this out and finish it in my room."

Words and a working knowledge of how to speak return to his system, and he hears himself offering to walk her back to her quarters. He's quite chuffed when she accepts and he gets lost three times on the way back to his own room afterwards.

But that matters little as he replays one specific thing Hermione had confessed:

I found myself looking for you in the crowd.

The sun is shining bright and clear Tuesday morning.

She debates going down to the Great Hall as she takes morning inventory of the potion cabinet, making note of what she needs to request Nott to replenish soon. She's almost decided to go venture down and face Hagrid and Neville as she places the list on her office desk when something begins to materialise over her desk.

A crystal vase with three calla lilies, followed by a tray of tea, toast and all the condiments she prefers. She spies an envelope under the teapot and lunges for it.

The note inside is simple, but it makes her blush all the same:

You better come down for lunch, or I'll be spending the hour looking for you in the crowd. Happy Birthday, Hermione.

Draco

A/N: Poem credit to William Blake. Because it wouldn't be a mh story without a poem, lol. Hope you enjoyed. Would love to hear your thoughts!