The air had a chill, everything shadowed in the darkness of a dense forest.
Leaves crunched beneath sturdy boots as Hermione followed a path she'd traversed many times. The west side of the wood had the best Monkshood, perfect for the potions she'd taken to creating at home. The less public interaction she had to endure, the better.
She reached the patch of Monkshood and crouched, one knee pressing into the soft dirt. Pluck by pluck, leaves and stems went into her wicker basket, just enough for what she needed without stripping the plants entirely. As she moved to stand, a flash of something bright caught her eye.
A few yards away stood a large, white fox, it's brilliant coat standing out against the brush. Hermione turned to face it, surprised when her movement didn't startle it. It just stood there staring at her; gaze so penetrating it felt almost human with its knowing, silver eyes. The fox was the first to break eye contact, disappearing into the undergrowth and leaving her standing there with an odd sensation in her chest.
Saturday morning was Hermione's favourite part of the week. She kept a strict schedule; she needed the comfort of knowing exactly what she needed to be doing at any given time. Saturdays were for chores, all the laundry and dirty dishes that piled up during the week when she was too exhausted from work to bother with them.
On Saturdays, she turned on the wireless, threw open the shutters, and cleansed both her house and soul.
As she set her fruit bowl on a towel to dry, movement just beyond her back garden caught her eye.
Her fox friend was back. It paced down the two open sides of her yard, back and forth as if it was protecting the vulnerable parts of her property. She wondered if he sensed danger; animals had far better instincts than their human counterparts.
Grabbing a dish, she snagged the bunch of wild grapes she'd picked earlier that morning and headed out the back door. When the fox walked up the west side of her yard, she set the dish down in the grass and went back in the house, resuming cleaning the dishes. Though the window above the sink, she saw the fox warily stride up to the dish, sniffing at the grapes before eating them in a few bites, tongue flicking out to catch any stray drops of juice. Her gaze met the fox's, and she had the overwhelming feeling that she knew him.
Brows knitting together, she watched as the fox bounded away, distantly registering the Weird Sisters song filling her kitchen.
The usually calm river that ran beside her house was swollen from heavy rain, rising higher than the banks. Hermione was in need of some mint, so she followed the water upstream until she reached the bushes of wild mint, overgrown and sprawling. The sky was quickly darkening, twilight falling early.
The velvety leaves of the plant brushed her skin as she picked a few sprigs, glancing up at the sky to see more dark clouds rolling in. She worked quickly to gather what she needed and then set off for home. The sky opened up when she was halfway there, rain falling to the ground in large splats. Hurrying her pace, Hermione cast a charm to block the water so she could see around the fat drops of it dripping from her hair and running down her face.
The laces of her boots had loosened during the journey, and when she was just minutes from home, they got caught in a bramble, jerking her to a stop.
A crack of thunder rumbled through the air as she tugged frantically at her shoe, trying to yank it out and free herself.
The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and in the space of a moment, she saw a sudden flash of blinding light as something solid collided with her torso, knocking her out of the way as the ground shook and thunder clapped so loud it made her ears ring.
Blinking through damp eyelashes, Hermione looked around. The rain was still coming down, and she spotted her wand abandoned on the ground a few feet away.
Those things were to be expected, though. What surprised her was the warm, heavy weight on her legs. The fox she'd seen the other day was curled protectively around her, fur damp and eyes shining.
Scorched grass showed the path of the lightning as it hit the ground. A bit of steam rose in the air as the heat from the strike dissipated.
The odds of being struck by lightning in one's lifetime were one in 15,300; if it weren't for her furry white knight, then she might not be splayed out on the ground as she was, safe and mostly unscathed.
With a quiet incantation, Hermione summoned her wand. When the wood connected with her palm, relief flooded her system.
Moving to sit upright, she froze when the fox released a pained yelp and pulled its leg away.
When it pushed her out of the way, it had gotten caught in the brambles. One front paw was snagged, blood staining its pure white coat.
"Oh dear. I'm sorry, fella. Let me help, all right? We'll go slow." Carefully pointing her wand on the fox's leg, she whispered, "Ferula." Beige bandages wrapped themselves around the injured leg, and the fox stayed calm; he wasn't scared or startled by the show of magic.
"Now we wait a minute, and it should stop hurting so bad." As she let the pain-relieving effect of the charm kick in, she lifted her hand to run her fingers through the soft fur on the fox's back, chuckling when it pushed its head into her hand for a scratch behind the ears.
The rain had let up, barely sprinkling now, and she carefully touched the bandaged limb to test for tenderness. When the fox didn't cry out this time, she smiled, hopeful that he'd be feeling a little better. "All right, can you try to stand? Careful, now."
With Hermione's help, the fox stood, timidly putting weight on his injured leg and looking pleased when it didn't hurt.
He was tall, head coming to her upper thigh.
She intended to take it back to her home, let it get warm by the fire, apply some of her homemade salve to seal the puncture wound from the thorns. But as she turned to head back, assuming the fox would follow, he stepped in front of her, butting his head against her legs until she stopped.
The fox looked up at her with that same penetrating stare she'd seen in the woods that first time, and she reached out to stroke its fur. It stared at her like it wanted to speak, and she felt like it was trying to say thank you.
"I did hardly anything. You're the one who saved the day. So, thank you." Satisfied by her response, it disappeared into the bushes, carefully stepping on its bum leg.
Hermione watched him go, a strange sense of sadness welling behind her breastbone.
Weeks passed with no sightings of her mysterious white fox. Cupping a steaming mug between her palms, Hermione sat on her back porch in the fading light of day; shades of red and purple painting the sky. It was getting colder, the sharp bite of autumn overcoming the warmth of summer.
She'd settled in the swing out back for a reread of Pride and Prejudice, a small jar of bluebell flames sitting beside her to illuminate the pages as the shadows grew deeper.
She glanced up to look at the sky when a blurry shape appeared from behind the lilac bush in the corner of the garden, hard to see until it finally stepped into the light. It was her fox; she sensed its presence right away. Setting her book and mug aside, she shuffled forward on the porch swing, hand out as she tried to radiate calm, hoping she might be able to once again stroke the soft fur of her woodland friend.
The fox nuzzled its snout into her palm. "Hello. What brings you here?" she said, fingers disappearing in the thick, white fur. "Did you come to say goodnight?"
Before her eyes, the fox beneath her hand transformed into a man, broad shoulders outlined by moonlight as he stood to his full height.
"Hello, Miss Granger."
Hermione should have been surprised at who was standing in her back garden, pale hair tinged blue from her jar of flames, but she wasn't. She'd felt her magic twine itself with the fox when he'd saved her from being struck by lightning. She'd seen something more behind those familiar silver eyes.
The Malfoy name had dropped in value after the war when Lucius had served a short sentence at Azkaban, many viewing the family as cowards because they'd not really stood for anything in the end, good or bad. Draco left his parents behind and tried to make a new name for himself, to get back to a place of higher standing and show the wizarding world that he was reformed.
Narcissa died shortly after Lucius was released from prison, and word had gone around that in his grief at losing both his wife and his son, he'd sold the family manor and moved up north.
Truly, Hermione would never have assumed that his new home would be anywhere near hers; she was out in the middle of nowhere, no opulence to be found for miles.
It was strange, the kinship she felt with him even though he was standing before her in a different form than she'd known him as.
"Mr. Malfoy." She rose from her seat, sliding her wand into her pocket. His eyes followed it, and she chuckled to herself because she suspected that he was surprised she wasn't wielding it at him.
"Lovely evening, isn't it?" He was standing casually, hands loosely tucked into the pockets of his trousers.
"Indeed. How's the hand?"
"Better, thanks to you."
"May I?"
He nodded, holding out his hand for her inspection. She turned it over and cradled it in her palm.
The scar was slightly pink but healing nicely.
"Thank you," she said quietly, still holding his hand and a little unnerved by how right it felt to touch his skin. "For the other day. I must owe you a life debt now."
Glancing up, she saw a slightly smug smile tip up the corners of his lips.
"I could be persuaded to accept a cup of tea in its stead." He inclined his head towards her still steaming mug where it sat on the little table next to the swing.
"In that case, would you like to come in?"
"I do believe I would, Miss Granger."