Chapter 12:

Together, the Slytherin trio stepped into the floo in the lobby of St. Mungo's. Draco's nerves were on high alert, an unease settling into him that he couldn't shake. It was preposterous— these two men had been his best friends since childhood, for Merlin's sake. And yet, he'd thought one a murderer for months and the other had ignored him for nearly two years.

The two entered Blaise's study first, with Blaise stripping of his robe and tossing it over a nearby chair. A house elf appeared and made to hang the garment. "Would Master like two firewhiskys? Oh...three?" The tiny elf's voice rose as Draco stepped out of the floo.

"Make it three glasses of the mermaids' mead—as a matter of fact, bring the whole bottle. And we'll take it on the veranda, Bimby."

Absently, Draco notated the raggetty tea-towel dress the elf wore, imagining Granger's fierce lecture if she had seen such a sight. A small smile spread over his face and Blaise wrinkled his brow at the sight. He began walking from the study, down the brightly lit corridor that led to the back gardens of Zabini Manor. Where Malfoy and Nott Manors were extravagant in build and in design, a showcasing of the wealth of the families, Zabini Manor was far more modest. It boasted only four usable bedrooms, each sparsely decorated.

In typical Blaise fashion, he tried to make an off-handed joke about his quarters. "Nothing like Malfoy Manor is...well, was...but we've made some improvements to the gardens."

He opened the French doors leading to the covered veranda and Draco gasped in surprise. Rows of lavender plants spread out as far as the eye could see, waving gently in the breeze. The scent was pleasant, carried in small bursts of wind, and making his head swirl. "Careful inhaling too much. Just beyond the common variety here is a Somniferum strain."

Somniferum? A common strain of poppies, but Draco had never heard of it being associated with lavender. His eyes scanned and there was a discernible separation, a line of demarcation where the deep purples faded to a lighter hue, one tinged with red undertones. "You've crossbred lavender and poppies?" he asked curiously as watched Blaise prop his feet on the patio table, an underlying arrogance in the set of his body.

"The first of their kind in wizarding Britain," Blaise nodded with a smug smirk. "A single plant sells for three galleons. Incredibly useful for calming and sleeping draughts." He withdrew a velvet sleeve from within his breast pocket and withdrew a cigar for each of them. He offered one to Theo, who wasted no time in clipping and lighting it with the end of his wand. "Malfoy?" he held it out for Draco to take, though the gesture was icy and formal.

Draco waved his hand in dismissal as he sank into his chair, the lavender's magical properties mixed with memories of a lavender-draped archway making him heady. Blaise went about readying and igniting his own cigar. He slowly blew a mesmerizing cloud around his head as he surveyed Draco. "So. Granger, huh?"

His dark eyes were watching every one of Draco's moves, calculating and scrutinizing. He always was the sharply astute Slytherin in the bunch, which had worked to Draco's advantage more times than he could count, but now made him apprehensive. He nodded slowly, the beat of his heart increasing in intervals as he thought of her beautiful face, of holding her close, of bringing her one single memory of them. "Turns out, muggle-borns aren't evil incarnate. Our parents were wrong."

Blaise rolled his eyes as Bimby appeared, three tumblers of mead and a crystal decanter on her tray. She served Blaise and Theo, and when she came around to Draco, her eyes grew wide and she bowed deeply. She looked at Draco's face full on when she stood upright, handing the glass to him directly. "Master Draco. Bimby is glad to see you here in Zabini Manor."

He couldn't quite understand the elf's countenance, but it seemed almost reluctant. He was certain the elf was trying to convey something without outright saying it. She was a young elf, so perhaps she'd only just heard of the elves living in Burgundy, assisting on his family's vineyard and was too shy to ask him about it in front of her master. Draco gave her a kind smile and nodded. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Bimby."

Blaise scoffed and lifted his glass to his lips as he raised one brow. "Gone soft, have you?"

"You can't date Hermione Granger without becoming somewhat civilized towards the help," Theo commented, giving Draco a wink as he swallowed down his libations in a single gulp.

"What else has she got you doing?" Blaise questioned, refilling both his and Theo's drinks. "Galavanting about and saving the orphans? I saw the write-up in the paper about all of your post-War good deeds."

"Believe it or not, Zabini," Draco gave his friend a stony glare and lifted his own drink to his lips, "I can actually think for myself. And when I do, it turns out that some of my values are in line with what Granger thinks and feels is right."

Blaise studied him for a long moment before a grin spread across his face. "You're almost as you were when we were children, before school and your father got to you. Kind. Pleasant-mannered. Independent."

"Mate, you have no idea," Theo chimed in. "He's even on speaking terms with Potter and Weasley now."

Blaise sat back in his chair once more, absorbing all of the new information. "Well," another long billow of smoke eased from between his parted lips, "I s'pose you'd need allies after what happened to your witch. My condolences, of course."

"She's not dead. Merely...lacking any memory of me," Draco sighed as Theo let out a strangled noise. He clapped his hand on his friend's back and shook him gently. "It'll be okay, mate. We will get to the bottom of this. Whoever is responsible will be burned at the stake."

"Does the Ministry have any leads?"

Draco rubbed his temples as he mulled over every aspect of the case he knew from Potter's confessions. The photographs of the girls, of Pansy's lifeless remains, swirled in his head as he tried to shuffle each case into some semblance of order. "They're nearly at a loss. They'd been following Gaspard Minuet's disappearance as a possible break in the case. But it's been weeks and nothing has come of it."

"Minuet? The photographer?" Blaise sounded surprised.

Theo called for Bimby before asking, "You know him?"

"Of course, my mother has been in France with daddy number nine. Renault Durand—he's the owner of the French National Quidditch Team." Growing up, his mother's issues had weighed heavily on Blaise, a cause for many nights of sleeplessness and many days of embarrassment. Each man his mother married was once wealthy in his own right, but became nearly destitute as she bled him dry before divorcing. The other members of British pureblood society knew of her sordid affairs and seedy gambling addictions, so she often went to other communities to seek her next victim. "Minuet was always around, photographing the team members," he finished, momentarily taken with the swirling of the liquid in his glass.

Theo and Draco exchanged a glance, both trying to piece together a puzzle that lacked in sensical order. Minuet was due to photograph Quidditch teams in Britain the day he'd taken the engagement photos and he was likely there in Quality Quidditch Supplies, photographing the Bulgarian team the day of the attack. Blaise cleared his throat. "Of course, Minuet is dead. So the Ministry's theories are all wrong."

"Dead?" Theo and Draco asked simultaneously as the glass slipped from Draco's hand and shattered between his feet.

Startled, Blaise cleaned the glass away from the patio floor and nodded. "It was in the Prophet this morning. Merlin—don't either of you read the paper anymore?"

"I was preoccupied," Theo shrugged, though he was now staring at the ground with a harsh concentration.

"Granger came to the house," was Draco's only response as he studied Blaise's features absently.

They were silent for a moment before Theo groaned and ran his hands over his face. "Merlin, fuck. I can't think about this anymore tonight. Pour me another."

Blaise obliged and Draco attempted to change the subject, though his mind was racing. Why hadn't Potter been around to tell them as soon as he found out? "So what have you been doing, Zabini?"

"Working with my step-father in France, mostly. He's grooming me to take over his position so he and my mother can go travelling."

"Owner of a Quidditch team and barely out of school. You must be the youngest wizard in history to do such," Draco commented, a small measure of genuine awe detectable in the back of his brain, though he focused very little on the words Blaise spoke.

Blaise smiled widely, clearly proud to be noticed as such. "I've worked hard to drag myself out of the shadows of darkness our House, affiliations, and families left on us all. To make a fresh name for myself. Renault has taught me everything he knows, and I'm leading the talks with the Bulgarian team to buy them out. If I can close that deal, I will be one of Britain's 'Wealthiest Under Thirty.' Witches will fall on their knees before me."

"Your preferred stance," Draco scoffed, refilling his mended tumbler with more mead.

o-o-o

Hermione left Luna's side only when the bells chimed that visiting hours were over. Luna's memory was in, perhaps, an even more precarious state than hers. She remembered random bits and pieces, but couldn't put them into any discernible pattern. Though she spoke, it was in fragments, odd recollections from childhood mixing with memories of her recent relationship with Theo.

The Burrow was quiet when she arrived back. The home was rarely so still in their youth, but she found the place to be oppressively calm in the wake of the war. Ginny stayed more often than not with Harry at Grimmauld Place, Ron was living in his own flat, George came and went, the specter of his twin following him like a dark shadow. Most days, it was only the Weasley parents in the house.

She crept up the stairs, noting with a frown the glow coming from the crack under Ginny's door. After the day she'd had, she had no desire to entertain the redhead. Taking a warm bath and delving into the memories sounded far more appealing. Pausing at the door, she rested her forehead against the worn wood and a smile crept across her face at what she felt.

His magic. Strong, pulsating vibrations that mingled and played lovingly with the magic in her own veins, old lovers reunited once more. She opened the door to find him sitting at the desk, reading one of her books on memory charms, his brow furrowed. "Hey."

"Minuet is dead."

Hermione was taken aback by this revelation, startled by his lack of a real greeting. His tone was laden with worry and his eyes filled with consternation. "How—"

"It was in today's Prophet. Some Muggles found him in the foothills of the Pyrenees, buried under the snow, his throat slashed."

He extended a copy of the paper to her, which she read in record speed. While she couldn't remember much about the man, she knew he was Harry's only real lead. Harry. "Have you heard from Harry or Ron?"

"Not yet. I suspect they are doing some damage control with the Muggles and with the press. They have no other suspects right now, and I'm sure there is a public uproar right now. Mass pandemonium is likely to break out if they can't calm the crowds. Everyone is rightfully scared that there's a madman on the loose."

Hermione collapsed on the bed, her legs suddenly too heavy to hold her upright. She flopped back into the bedding, pressing the heels of her palms tightly against her eyes, hoping to quell the headache beginning to form. "We need to get copies of the case files. There has to be some piece of information that is being overlooked."

Malfoy sat on the bed next to her, leaning back on one palm and looking down at her as though she were completely barmy. "Have you gone mad, witch? You getting involved is against the law. Your friends could lose their positions within the Aurors Department. Not to mention, the more involved you get, the more information you are able to glean, the larger the target on your back becomes."

Hermione hated to admit that he was right on all accounts. But more so, she hated the fact that her mind was already devising a way to get a copy of the files. She wasn't one to back down so readily. Surely, he would know that. Exhaling a long, drawn out breath, she dropped her hands from her eyes and attempted to focus on Malfoy's face through the spots in her vision left by the pressure of her palms. He raised a pale brow, his normally full lips pursed into a tight line. "Whatever plan your brain is concocting, don't even think about it. At least not for tonight—it's been a long enough day." With a defeated sigh, he straightened himself out and stood, stretching his neck from side to side with a crack. "I'd better be going."

A peculiar sort of panic wracked Hermione's entire body at the idea of him leaving her alone that evening. She didn't know if it was the sudden realization that there really was an unnamed murderer stalking the night. Or perhaps the thought of losing his soothing magical reverberations, of having their magical cores untangle and drift apart was simply too much to bear for her weary soul. "Please don't."

Malfoy's eyes darted to hers and the rosy tip of his tongue glided along his bottom lip as he not-so-subtly eyed the bed beneath her and then looked away with a blush playing at his cheeks. Hermione let out a gentle huff of a laugh and grabbed a pillow, swatting him in the shoulder. "Don't get any ideas, Malfoy."

At her playful tone, Malfoy turned back to face her with a smirk. "Did you want to try scrying again?"

With that, he fumbled in the pocket of his robes and withdrew a mirror, set in elegantly carved mahogany. Grateful for the distraction from thoughts of Luna and Minuet and Pansy's lifeless body, Hermione sat with her back to the headboard, crossing her legs. Malfoy slipped off his robes and shoes, leaving a pair of black trousers and a black turtleneck jumper, which he pulled the sleeves back on. He settled himself across from her, delicately placing the mirror between them and looking up at her expectantly. "Okay. Give it a try."

With a skeptical glance down at the mirror, she looked back at him with a slight shrug of her shoulder. "How?"

"You figured this out on your own once before," he teased, and Hermione leaned over and peered at her reflection in the obsidian face. He took her hand and placed it, palm up in his own.

An emerald flame ignited in her palm and sent a strange sensation into her hand, warming her entire body in turn. It was almost as though the flame itself held all of the wisdom and knowledge. "Now," Malfoy was speaking in a whisper, "place one finger on the mirror and ask it to show you something. Silently."

"Like what?"

"Well...previously, you could only See instances that pertained to matters of the heart."

Hermione looked at the mirror once more, absurdly intimidated by the hunk of rock and wood. "You can do this with me?" she asked, and Malfoy laced his fingers with hers, causing a fresh wave of butterflies to cascade from her esophagus to her belly.

He placed both of their fingertips against the cold, smooth surface and gave her an expectant look, a gleam of excitement in his eye. Worrying her lip between her teeth, Hermione scrambled to find a question to ask of the mirror, an absurd notion to begin with. Finally, she settled on, "Show me when he first knew love."

The surface of the mirror hazed over and a scene appeared before her eyes, drawing her in. In the mere blink of an eye, they were standing on the stairs in the stands of a massive Quidditch pitch.

A booming voice came over the loudspeaker. "It appears our very own Hermione Granger, one of the three saviors of the wizarding world, is in attendance today. And who is that she's with? It couldn't possibly be Draco Malfoy!"

Hermione whirled around to see, with some degree of mortification, that their faces were plastered over a large screen opposite them. "Draco? Where are we?"

"We're watching the Cannons get absolutely annihilated by my Falcons. But," he turned to her with a wide, coy smile, "that wasn't even my favorite part of the whole date. Just watch." The commentary continued about why she would be seen in public with the Malfoy heir, and she felt herself growing indignant for her past self. How dare the announcer publicly question Malfoy's motives and humiliate him in front of a packed stadium? "Does he want to use her status for his gain? Is it young love?"

The Malfoy that stood next to her was still beaming, even as he looked on at the younger version of himself on the screen. "This is one of my favorite memories to watch."

Vision-Malfoy grimaced and looked down at his hands dejectedly, while the one next to her spoke the lines she tried to lip read. "I told you this was a bad idea, Granger. But you never want to listen to me!"

"I don't care what they're saying," he mimicked her higher pitched voice and she swatted him again, in awe of the energy buzzing around them.

He proceeded to speak the lines, but this time, he even gave himself a false voice, one that sounded over-the-top melancholy and dreadful. "Why? This is what it will always be like, Granger. I told you this since day one. Why would you even want to come here?"

Hermione watched as the Visions on the screen interacted. Vision-Malfoy had a wilted set to his shoulders and she wore a mask of righteous determination. Brazen as she had apparently become in the days following the war, she laughed as the larger-than-life version of herself winked at the camera man. Malfoy's voice beside her quieted as he spoke the next few lines. Instead of watching the screen, she watched the man next to her, listened to the catch in his throat as he recited long-memorized lines. It broke her heart to see the glassiness in his eyes.

"I love you, Draco."

Hermione's head snapped back to the screen just in time to see his eyebrows lift high into his hairline and a smile play across his face. Her mouth parted as she watched herself run a finger over his flushed cheek, a look of pure love and adoration on her face. "I am here because I love you. I wanted to bring you to something that I knew you'd enjoy—which you have. Forget everyone else. Let them talk. I absolutely adore you. Spending time with you, your personality, the way you try to be the unworthy, broken man but fall into being the caring, loving and selfless one instead. I want to be with you every day for the rest of my life. Fuck them," she told him, gesturing to the reporters.

Hermione laughed at her own language as the scene began to melt away and Percy's room at the Burrow came into focus. With a groan, she jabbed her finger at the mirror. "No! I wanted to see it through! Did you say it back? What was everyone's reactions?"

Malfoy's smiled faltered slightly before he gave her a determined grin. "They didn't take too kindly to it. But, as you said, fuck them."

Hermione was gnawing at her bottom lip once again, staring at the empty surface. "How do I know you didn't influence it somehow? How can I be certain that really took place?"

A pained expression flitted across Malfoy's face as he averted his eyes and grimaced. Hermione placed her hand over his, feeling like a complete jackass. "I didn't mean that to come out that way. I just meant...we have this connection between our magical cores. How can we be certain that you don't also have some Seer's blood that influences visions?"

"I can assure you, Granger, I am no Seer. That was all you. Here, try by yourself," he told her, scooting the mirror closer to her knees and tucking his hands into his lap.

Hermione stared at the reflection of the emerald flame in the inky mirror, excitement causing her belly to roll and her mouth to become dry. "Show me when I first felt love."

She listened to the even tone of Malfoy's breathing as she focused on the flicker of the flame. The dark void remained and she huffed impatiently. "I told you I couldn't do this. That it was you all along."

"Focus, Granger. Try to clear your mind of all thoughts and emotions and focus only on the question you asked."

She glared in his direction but took a deep, calming breath as she rolled her shoulders and shook her arms to relax her body. Malfoy chuckled across from her, watching her relaxation methods with far too much amusement. She ignored him and opened her eyes to again focus on the jumping dance of the fire. Attempting to clear her mind, she thought only of the flame, of the feeling of untapped wisdom it held. Finally, after a few long moments, the obsidian frosted over with a murky haze before showing her a bright scene. She pressed her finger harder and closed her eyes for a second.

She was met with the warmth of a fire and the scent of cinnamon. A clicking noise and the creak of mattress springs made her open her eyes. She was in a room she didn't recognize but must have been her private suite at Hogwarts, as it was filled with her belongings. Her Vision self was wearing a set of ratty old pajamas, and she wrinkled her nose at the sight as her Vision sprung from the bed, a paranoid gleam in her eye and her wand at the ready. There was a garbled, strangling noise from just outside the door and Hermione followed herself, curiosity biting at her nerves.

She swung the door open to reveal a bruised and battered Draco Malfoy, blood and tears mixing in crimson and pink rivulets over his cheeks and nose. Hermione felt herself gasp, the same reaction her Vision had as well. "What happened?" she demanded, her voice falling on the Visions' deaf ears.

Malfoy was choking on sobs, his shoulders quaking with each heaving breath. Vision-Hermione rushed to him, asking in a shrill voice, "What happened to you?"

He shook his head as Hermione came to stand next to the pair, searching his face. "I can't keep doing this. I don't know why I ever wanted to come back here."

Vision-Hermione pushed him back toward the bed as he swayed on unsteady feet. "What happened?"

Hermione watched as he avoided contact with the Vision of herself. He was embarrassed, this she could tell. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she watched them interact. Malfoy had never mentioned to her before that he had been attacked so brutally in school. "I'm reaping what I've sown."

The light from her lamp bathed him in a warm glow, turning his features macabre. His nose was clearly broken, still spewing forth a steady stream of blood. Lacerations littered his porcelain features, swelling his lips and brow. From the hunch of his shoulders and the way he was hugging his middle, Hermione knew his ribs had to be broken or fractured.

"Who did this to you?" Vision-Hermione questioned before muttering some healing spells. With a cringeworthy crack, she snapped his nose back into place and Hermione winced. Vision-Hermione disappeared into the bathroom and Malfoy watched her go before shaking his head and burying it in his hands. The sound of his weeping pulled at Hermione's heartstrings, causing a dull aching in her chest.

Vision-Hermione tenderly lifted his face with a delicate finger under his chin. "Come on, lift your face so I can clean it."

Hermione stepped in beside them and ran her fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes, and she remembered something Malfoy had told her about being a Beholder. Touching individuals in her visions could connect her to them more completely. His breathing was rapid, almost to a dangerous level and he trembled harshly. "Calm down. Don't cry," her Vision self implored in dulcet tones.

He buried his face into his arm and bent forward, a fresh round of morose tears staining the sleeve of his shirt. Vision-Hermione crowded around him protectively, as though she could block him from the world beyond her bedroom door. "Come on, hush that now. Tell me what's happened, Draco."

"What does it look like? I got my arse handed to me."

That was an understatement.

"Who did it?"

He shook his head. "I don't want you going after anyone. This is my issue."

Hermione knew she had championed for him on more than one occasion, though she felt a surge of guilt over the idea that, according to Malfoy, she had once given the now-deceased Pansy a set of heifer horns.

"Who?" she persisted. Hermione nodded at her Vision-self. Good, don't let him withdraw into himself.

The look on his face told Vision-Hermione everything that she needed to know: they were Slytherins. Recognition dawned on her Vision's face and she watched herself grind her teeth briefly. "Take this off and I'll repair what I can."

Hermione let out a small squeak of indignation and horror when he dragged his short over his head. Deep scars ran across his pectorals and a long, diagonal, raised scar—purple and violent—split his torso in two. He ran a palm over it, averting his eyes. "Potter's Sectumsempra…pretty impressive piece of Dark magic."

"And the others?"

"The Dark Lord…the other Death Eaters…" he shrugged once more.

"Fuck," Hermione whispered, watching as her Vision-self nodded knowingly. She wondered what exactly she knew. One thing was for certain: she needed to watch the memories from the War.

The scene faded and Malfoy's face came into view. His brow was furrowed with concern and he was leaning forward, watching her intently. "You're crying. What did you see?"

Hermione swiped at her cheeks and noticed for the first time that she was, in fact, silently crying. "What happened to you? The night you came to me and I mended you."

Malfoy leaned back, caught completely off guard by her question. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed. "You didn't see the end of the scene then."

She shook her head slowly, irritated that the mirror had cut the vision short for a second time. He blew an exhale of air and looked at the offending object. "It must be showing you only what you need. Maybe it wants you to view the memories instead."

"Why?"

"These were two emotional moments for us. Maybe the mirror wants you to feel the emotions through the memories to really connect with them." Malfoy shrugged a shoulder. "Tools of Divination are often fickle and confusing. What did you ask it to get those two specific scenes from our past?"

"I asked for the moment you knew you were loved. And then," Hermione could feel the blush creeping up her neck as her throat went dry once more, "I asked to see when I first felt love."

His eyes widened and he gave a grim half-smile. "Really? That night? Not any of the other times we flirted shamelessly or I romanced you. No. You fell in love the night I had my arse kicked. Lovely."

Hermione laughed at his playfully indignant tone and placed the mirror on her bedside table. "I've Seen enough for one night. My mind is a mess of haze and exhaustion."

Malfoy scrubbed a hand over his face and checked his watch. "It's getting late."

"You'll stay, won't you?" she asked, her heart racing both at the thought of him leaving and the thought of him staying.

He climbed up the bed and sat next to her against the headboard. "For a bit. I don't think Molly Weasley would take too kindly to us sharing a bed so soon."

o-o-o

A/N: A happiest of holidays to you and yours! Thank you for all of those love you've given this story!