A/N: so…not Wednesday! Sorry friends—it's been a weird week on my end.

As always thank you for your kind words and love for this story.

[ jonabelle it won't let me reply to you but I just caught up on shadow market/chain of gold/TWP]

Unrelated but I so badly want to write a Hermione time-travel fix it but I don't know that I could do it justice [and also I worry it will just turn into a DoT knock off] but maybe when this fic ends that will happen (?)

Which—weird, bc now we only have two and a half(ish) books left so the end is kind of in sight? (I mean these will probably be more chapters/book for these but still…)

(I just can't believe this has become what it has? I'm so grateful to y'all for reading and believing in this story and just hope to do you proud. much love.)

It's Andy who puts it together, two days later when Harry is less frantic and the Weasleys are at St. Mungo's visiting their father.

Her lip curls with disgust, and for a moment Harry worries she's disgusted with him, but then she says, "it's one of them."

Hermione's the first to catch on, gasping before gripping Harry's wrist tightly; when he looks to her questioningly, she says, "a horcrux, Harry. The snake is a horcrux. That's why you saw through its eyes while seeing as Voldemort. God, the kind of dark magic to make a living creature a vessel…"

Remus taps one finger on the table thoughtfully, expression grim. "As much as I'm glad to have identified another, this confirms he made more than just the diary and the locket. If there's at least three, we have no idea how many more are out there."

"There has to be a limit," Harry wonders aloud, eyes wide. "I mean, you can only split your soul so many times, right?"

"I'm sure there is, pup, but no one would know what it is. As far as I know, no one's ever made more than one or two and lived to tell the tale before. The way it fractures one's being, one's sanity…"

Harry nods. "Yeah, starting to understand why the dude thought a one year old was his mortal enemy."

Hermione bites her lip, eyes storming with worry. "While of course I'm glad the Order was able to save Arthur in time…this seems dangerous, if Voldemort can make you see what he's seeing."

Andy nods in agreement. "Even more than that—a mental link means he could make you see things even when he's not actually seeing them; he could plant anything he imagines in your head."

"He needs to learn Occlumency," Sirius says with a grim set to his face.

"Occlumency?" Hermione asks, brow furrowed with the intense worry she displays any time she's ignorant about something potentially crucial.

Sirius rubs at his jaw. "Merlin, I can't believe I didn't think to teach the two of you ages ago…I am so sorry. What an oversight on my part."

"We all forgot—don't beat yourself up about it," Andy chides gently. "It's a lapse, but perhaps one that was meant to be, for Arthur's sake."

"Occlumency is—mental shielding, so to speak," Sirius explains, expression stoic. "It protects your thoughts and memories from legilimency, which is the opposite—invading another person's mind, accessing their thoughts and feelings. Think—mental battles, so to speak."

Harry drags his palms down his face. "Mind reading is real, too? Christ. I quit."

"How is this not something we've been made aware of—with the Order, or at Hogwarts, or anything?" Hermione demands, eyes wide.

Sirius winces, but it's Remus who speaks up, giving his husband a look like he'll hex him if he doesn't stop feeling guilty. "It's not in the general curriculum because legilimency is incredibly difficult, and thus exceedingly real. Only the most skilled, inherently powerful, and practiced witches and wizards are able to use it, so the average person generally has no need to become adept at Occlumency."

"One good thing Walburga ever taught me, I suppose," Sirius mutters, "although more of a Black stipulation than her own foresight. We can start over the break, but you'll need much more practice when you get back to Hogwarts…perhaps Dumbledore would be willing to teach you."

"No," Hermione bites out, arms crossed. "I don't trust him to dig through Harry's mind—he'd be intentionally invasive, use it to his means."

Harry grimaces, then tilts his head thoughtfully. "I agree. I'd rather Dumbledore not…and I don't want to risk him knowing about our friendship with Draco, because god knows what he'd do with the information."

Andy snaps, lips curving upward. "That's it, Draco can teach you. He's been an excellent Occlumens since he was a child—Cissa didn't tell him about being in contact with me until she ensure it, to keep from risking exposure. Lucius is a legilimens—not a strong one, mind, he can mostly only detect feelings."

"I can't believe he never told me legilimency was a thing," Hermione scowls, and Harry winces on Draco's behalf at the glare in her eyes. "What a traitor."

"That sounds good, though," Harry says. "I trust Draco, and then there's no risk of anyone learning any secrets."

"I'll write and ask him if he doesn't mind now," Hermione promises. "That is, if I don't decide to murder him for never teaching us before."

/

Hermione feels antsy as they make their way into St. Mungo's to visit Arthur; they don't have to stop and ask for directions, since Remus has been helping Molly get the kids back and forth and just all around take care of them so she can be here with her husband while he heals.

(Which, they'd tried to talk Remus out of coming given that the night before was a full moon and he's clearly physical and mentally drained, but he'd refused, saying he had received an urgent note from a friend and had business to take care of in the hospital.)

(Nosy as they are they tried to get more than that out of him, of course, but when Remus wants to keep a secret to himself…the man is an unbreachable fortress.)

Molly and the twins are in Arthur's room when they arrive; and while the Weasley patriarch still looks pale and exhausted his face is alight with a bright smile. The twins are cracking a raunchy joke Hermione only catches the end of, and a mortified Molly pretends to chastise them, but Hermione can see the way she secretly sighs with relieve when the quip makes Arthur laugh.

(And when the laugh doesn't make him cry out with pain.)

Remus greets the couple before stepping outside, off to deal with whatever his emergency is, and Hermione squeezes Harry's hand encouragingly, her brother then stepping up to the bed.

"Harry, Hermione! I'm so glad you could make it." Arthur beams at them, making to sit up before wincing and returning to his reclining position.

Harry frowns, guilt seeping off of him. "Mr. Weasley, I'm so sorry, I—"

"Harry Potter," Arthur says, his face growing more serious than Hermione can recall it being since the World Cup. "Don't you dare apologize. You are not responsible for my injury—you saved my life. You are the reason I won't miss out on all of my children's graduations and weddings, and—"

(he cuts off, unable to voice his gratitude that his wife won't be left to raise the children alone, with no income and as a war is brewing—it just, terrifies him to consider.)

He clears his throat. "That is to say, the only one at fault is Voldemort itself. You, Harry, I am—forever grateful to."

Harry's cheeks are red, eyes a bit watery, and Hermione can sense the things he'll never say—that it's nothing, when the Weasleys were the first adults to show him love, the first to show him what a home could be, the ones who showed up to save him over summers and sent Christmas presents and chocolate Easter eggs before Sirius and Remus were able.

(the first adults in the entirety of his memory to tell him he was worth something—that he deserved any kind of love.)

Sensing his desire for the emotional conversation to be over, Hermione steps forward, leaning against the wall near the head of the bed. "So, Mr. Weasley, what treatment regimen have they started? I'd love to hear more about magical medicine—I could tell you some of the ways it differs from muggle practice?"

And of course that keeps the conversation going for over an hour, Harry and Molly both mostly quiet and content to listen, just thrilled he's feeling himself enough to get excited about sutures and stitches and cauterization; meanwhile, the twins chime in a surprising amount and offer much more magical anatomical and physiological knowledge than Hermione would've expected, which makes the discussion lively.

(The more she thinks about it, though, the more it makes sense; in creating their joke products they'd had to figure out how far to okay without truly harming the intaker, how to halt or restore the damage after the objects had achieved their purpose.)

(which she knew to some extent, because she'd helped them with some of the research involved, but she'd never realized just how thoroughly they had prepared themselves even beyond what she'd seen.)

Eventually, Remus sends a patronus saying they need to head home and asking Harry and Hermione to meet him in the lobby, which strikes them as odd but they acquiesce, hugging all the Weasleys and making their way down.

When they find Remus, though, he has a sleeping child in his arms—primary school age, her hands incredibly pale and barely visible where they peek out of her oversized ratty sweater's long sleeves.

"What—" Harry begins to ask, but Remus ushers them out the exit before explaining.

"This is Sofia," he says softly. "She needs a place to stay for a while, so she'll be coming home with us."

Harry's eyebrows pull together, but he nods nonetheless. "O…kay."

"Is she alright?" Hermione asks.

Remus half frowns. "As much as she can be. They gave her a sleeping draught before they discharged her, and of course we'll keep an eye on her, but I think being home will help."

Hermione and Harry are both quiet, but wide eyed, very clearly waiting for him to explain, and Remus sighs. "She was bitten last night." His eyes are so gentle, so sorrowful as he looks at her—as Harry and Hermione suck in a breath of understanding while he relives his own childhood as a werewolf. "She's muggle born, and before that she was living in a muggle children's shelter, who aren't equipped to care for her now. There's a wizarding orphanage not far from Hogsmeade, but they're not willing to take in someone with her-our-condition."

Harry's jaw drops, horrified, and Hermione feels her own heart ache for the little girl—just a child, and her entire world has been flipped upside down overnight. Pain is to become her constant companion, suffering and loss her every day.

(a familiar sentiment.)

They floo into the manor's fireplace, where Sirius looks up from the book in his lap with the beginnings of a smile, only to raise his eyebrows at the sight of the girl in Remus's arms.

"Kidnapping now, Moony?"

Remus gives him an unamused look, adjusting Sofia's position in his arms. "You caught me."

(It's a testament to the stability and quality of their relationship, Hermione thinks, that Remus clearly didn't have time to let Sirius know about Sofia, and yet he looks entirely unworried about his husband's reaction—knows implicitly that they are a team and will stand by each other's actions and decisions without faltering.)

(Know's he married such a quality man, he would never refuse to offer everything he has to a child who needs it.)

"We're fostering her for a bit," Remus says.

Sirius crosses his arms, one eyebrow cocked. "Just fostering, huh? You expect me to believe you're not already attached and thinking up ways to talk me into adopting her?"

Remus makes a face, because of course he was doing exactly that, but before he can respond Sofia jerks awake and begins to flail in his arms, starting to whimper and cry as she looks around, terror in her eyes.

He wants to soothe her, but he's still weak from the previous night's moon, and her movement makes him stagger as he pales—

And then Sirius is there, scooping her into his arms as if he's done it a million times before, pulling her to his chest and gently rubbing circles on her back. "You're okay, little love. I know it's scary being somewhere unfamiliar—I was a stray once, too." He whispers the last sentence, so softly only she can hear. "You're okay. You're safe here, cub."

Sofia meets his eyes carefully—her own guarded and judging, in a familiar way that breaks Hermione's heart.

(she knows the kind of pain that makes one's eyes look that way.)

Whatever she finds in Sirius's face, the girl seems to trust, because she stops flailing; sniffles, burrowing into Sirius's t-shirt and breathing more slowly as he continues to speak softly to her.

Remus sighs from where he sits on the couch with a cup of tea he'd summoned from the kitchen. "He was the same way with you," he tells Harry wistfully, lost in memory. "Even when you were screaming with those lungs your mother gave you, he'd just—hold you, talk to you in that way of his that could wrap the devil himself around his finger, and you'd be calm in a moment. Drove James spare, how easy it was for Sirius to soothe you; he'd taken so much time to figure out exact routines, and songs, and even shifting into his animagus form—it was an art, and he was proud to figure it out, and then Sirius just walked in and did it without batting an eye."

"Not—not my mum? It didn't annoy her, I mean?" Harry asks, curious.

"Oh, not at all," Remus smiles. "Everyone always assumed James was the troublemaker, and Lily the stick in the mud, which of course she could be, but…Lily was passionate, and fun, and didn't sweat the small stuff. Made bets with Sirius about when you'd take your first steps and took an indecent number of his galleons when she won—James was aghast."

"He sounds so much like you," Hermione smiles, elbowing him gently and feeling her heart swell at the way he sweetly flushes with pride.

/

The rest of the break feels like it flies by—she and Harry have been trying to spend time with Sofia, who is understandably traumatized and skittish but so clearly full of life.

She warms up to them all slowly—Remus first, because she's terrified by her newly enhanced senses and he's the only one that understands, not to mention she can smell that he's like her, so she instinctively feels safe with him.

(Knows the alpha protects the pack.)

And of course she'd taken an immediate liking to Sirius, one broken thing to another; he's taken to spending lots of time in his animagus form, which she adores and seems to calm her down whenever she starts getting anxious.

She and Harry both try to reach out without pressuring her, and Sofia takes to it, seemingly enjoying sitting near them whenever they're quietly reading or watching a movie, though she bolts any time they try to pull her into conversation.

(But Hermione's seen the way the little girl nervously smiles when her two newfound older siblings fondly call her Sof and offer blankets and candy they ask Winky to sneak in knowing Remus would chide them for it.)

The girl spends most of her time in corners; they'd all worried the Weasley's relentless energy might overwhelm her, but from what Hermione can see she seems content to bask in the lively noise, despite never partaking.

(Hermione thinks the chaos must remind her of the orphanage she used to call home—one familiar thing in her life that's turned upside down.)

As chaotic as things are, it's still the holiday, and everyone in the Manor takes the celebrations to the highest possible degree.

Hermione has—a lot of feelings on the matter.

She's never been one for holidays—mostly they've been upsetting, her family pretending to care about her even as they stood by while she was dying inside. Holidays for her have always been frustration, and pain.

But this time she's not there—she's with Harry and Sirius and Remus and Tonks and Ginny, and the occasion makes her squirm but they're all so happy and the laughter is contagious.

(And Harry and Sirius have been there too—spent their lives hating the holidays until they'd gotten to Hogwarts—so when she pulls away, or reads instead of watching a Christmas movie, they get it; don't pester her, just love on her and wait for her to come back to them.)

It's almost New Year's, then, and something feels—different.

(Hopeful.)

(It's naïve to feel so optimistic with the state of the world being what it currently is, but she can't help but hope the coming year will be better, somehow.)

(Isn't it already?)

Hermione plops onto the couch, staring at the ceiling while Harry sits opposite her with a bowl of popcorn watching some supernatural American show she's never heard of.

"Are you ever just baffled by non-traumatized people's ability to just…not process the circumstances around them?" she asks, lips pursed thoughtfully. "I don't mean it in a bad way. Like, I'm happy for them that they've never been through the kinds of prolonged trauma that make us good at picking up on body language and microscopic changes in mood and the way things we say and do impact people around us. But like…how?"

Harry raises an eyebrow. "Ron?"

"Naturally." She rotates, legging-clad legs over the back of the couch so she's upside down. "I know he doesn't mean any harm, he's just genuinely ignorant of the feelings of the people around him, but like—that's what amazes me about it. That he literally can't see what we can."

"It's like a superpower," he grins. "Just with a fucked up childhood instead of a spider bite or a vat of toxic waste."

Tonks walks in, a confused expression on her face. "Do I even want to know?"

Behind her, Ginny says, "No. With that lot less is always better." She snickers at the offense on Hermione and Harry's faces. "You know I'm right. When you're together being all mopey and weird anything that comes out of your mouths is guaranteed to be disturbing."

"The superpower strikes again," Harry razzes, holding out a hand for Hermione to high five while they both crack up.

/

There's only one Order meeting during all of the break; Remus stays home with Sof, but the rest of them make their way to Grimmauld Place, Hermione nervous for reasons Harry doesn't know.

(The most recent intel Draco's relayed, of Voldemort's Christmas activities.)

(Professor McGonagall had assured her they'd discuss it at the meeting, that they would all protect Harry.)

(But she can't help but worry it won't be enough

"Harry, Hermione!"

She looks up to see Cedric rising from his seat as they enter the kitchen, grinning as he moves to throw his arms around each of them. "It's so good to see you both."

"Cedric!" Harry beams, looking more happy than she's seen him in weeks and weeks. "What are you doing here?"

"I've joined the Order, of course! Mind you, I've been trying to since I graduated, but it's difficult to offer your services to a clandestine organization when you don't know who to approach, and then the process of being vetted takes a bit."

"But 'e is 'ere now," Fleur says, squeezing Hermione's hand in greeting. The blonde had been over with Bill frequently, so she and Hermione have been spending many hours together. "We nearly 'ave—what is it ze Americans say, 'ze band back together'?"

"Sounds right to me," Cedric shrugs. "I'm so glad to see you all. I was kind of dreading it, since I can't tell Theo much, his family being on the side they are—it would put him in danger. But it's nice to see some familiar faces."

Hermione smiles, nodding in agreement, but her heart's not in it—she wishes she and Cedric could speak honestly, of the difficulties of being with someone who's supposed to be on the other side of the war that's brewing.

(He understands—and he doesn't know it.)

They settle into the meeting, different operatives reporting updates if they have them, Moody being grouchy and assigning a few new tasks. "Any word from your…informant, Minerva?"

Hermione has to keep herself from tensing at the mention of Draco.

"Yes—while still seeking the weapon we've previously discussed, it has become clear that Voldemort intends to continue to target Mister Potter. And he hopes to use the weapon to do so."

The rest of the room pales—cries of outrage, nervous whispers, all turning to Harry with looks of pity.

But the boy in question just sips at his butterbeer and shrugs. "What else is new?" He makes a face at Hermione until she stops frowning.

Dumbledore raises his eyebrows. "Harry, I don't think you're considering the severity of this—"

"No, I get it," Harry insists. "But no offense, you guys don't get it. I've spent the last—what, five years? With a mass murderer after me. You don't know what it's like to grow up with your life in jeopardy literally constantly. I spend all of my time with someone trying to kill me—at this point I'm just desensitized to it."

"Thanks for that lovely reminder, pup," Sirius says dryly, but Harry just sticks his tongue out in response.

Fred clears his throat. "Hey Harry, want to take bets on how long till the first attempt on your life?"

"Frederick—"

"Five sickles says before Valentine's day," Harry says, grinning at the outrage on everyone's faces while Hermione face palms beside him.

"Here we go again," Cedric mutters to Fleur.

/

/

"You never mentioned how your career advising meeting with McGonagall went," Draco comments a week later, curled up on their couch in the RoR; he says it casually, but Hermione can hear his wonder at what she wants to do behind the words.

"It was good. I'm doing well in all my courses, so I told her I intend to keep all of them for NEWTs except Care of Magical Creatures. I told her I wasn't sure what I wanted to do and wanted to keep my options open, which she said sounded fine."

Her boyfriend tilts his head giving her a look. "You must have a few ideas."

She purses her lips, but relents. "I do. I—at the time I wasn't sure if I really wanted to consider it yet, but after Christmas and just thinking about myself and what matters to me but also what will be good for me…I think I'd like to be a healer."

Draco raises his eyebrows. "Really?" He pauses, thinking about it for a moment before a soft smile creeps onto his face. "Yeah, that makes sense. What made you decide?"

"I know I want to do something that helps people. I thought about mind healing, or work in the ministry—and I still think I might do some stuff with legal matters, but—I can barely hold myself together, I don't have the emotional resources to do it for others. But…physically helping them, being there when they're having their worst moments, when they might not have anyone else…that I can do."

Draco presses a fond kiss to the top of her head. "I can see it already. They'll be lucky to have you, love. And I think it'll be good for you—being able to have that kind of impact. Not to mention how useful it'll be with Potter's tendency to be injured." They're both quiet for a moment, but then he groans when the realization hits him. "Oh, god—you and Pansy in medical school together. I'll never be rid of her, will I?"

"Nope," Hermione says, grinning devilishly. "Just think of all the days she'll come home with me for wine night after work."

"Merlin, help me."

/

"Please, 'Mione," Ron wheedles, an earnest smile on his face.

Hermione is unmoved; disillusioned beside her, Draco traces a finer along her spine, likely still grouchy that Ron had shown up early and cut into his and Hermione's time together before the meeting. "Nope. I'm reading—this is my only downtime all day, I need it to be useful."

As much as she loves ASA, it eats up at her time, and on top over her overloaded course schedule and tutoring and clandestine meetups with Draco that have lately included nothing but sleeping because she's so very pressed for time she can't keep her eyes open long enough to hear about his day—

(She's not sacrificing this one hour to get done what she needs to because Ron wants a chess partner.)

Ron opens his mouth to continue pleading, but stops short, and Hermione looks up with wide eyes to see Draco having disillusioned himself.

"I'll play you."

"Draco, what are you—"

Ron's jaw had already dropped, his nostrils flaring when she addresses his alleged enemy familiarly.

"He might as well know. We'll have him in the Fidelius same as the rest—he's one of your best friends, baby, he's bound to find out eventually."

Hermione bites her lip nervously, watching Ron's left eye twitch when Draco uses the endearment.

"What in the bloody hell—"

"Ron," she says, voice gentle but firm. "Draco is—"

(my heart, my soul, the only thing that keeps me going some days, the love of my life, the best shag in the world—)

"My soul mate," she settles on, blushing when he slides his fingers through her own. "Everything you think you know about him is false—an act, because otherwise his father…"

"Would do every awful thing you've ever sarcastically thought him capable of," Draco finishes for her, a grim smile on his face."

Ron shakes his head, eyes narrowed with confusion. "You're—together? But you constantly bully her and treat her like shit! More than anyone else."

Hermione nods. "Yes, because I know it's a farce, so he can keep up the façade without doing any actual harm."

"But he's been awful to Harry too—those badges he made last year!" Ron gesticulates all around him face red with frustration. After a beat of both Hermione and Draco being quiet, Ron's flush grows even darker. "Harry's in on this too?"

"He is," Hermione admits, "though he hasn't always been. He—when everything happened with Sirius, and the time-turner, he found out."

"And for the record, he loved the badges," Draco inserts, looking pleased with himself. "Anything we did to deter people from rooting for him, really, but that especially. Kept owling me for more to get Fred and George to hand out. Speaking of which, they know as well, and Ginny, which is why I sometimes make comments about your family—like with Hermione, they're okay with it, so it's an easy way to maintain my reputation without…well. I've never meant any harm, but since you haven't been in on it I know it's been harmful regardless of my intentions, so—I'm sorry. I—I know it doesn't make up for all that it's seemed on your end, but for what it's worth, I consider all three of them friends—and Fleur, of course—and as such have great respect for your family."

Ron blinks, tugs at his hair, looking mind blown. "The fuck. Wow. Okay. Bloody hell. I…" he looks to Hermione, "How can you—how do you know he's not lying? How can you trust him?"

She shrugs her shoulders. "How could I not? He's—I've known him longer than any of you. He knows me better than anyone—save Harry, maybe."

"I resent that," Draco says, crossing his arms. "I'd beat him at Mia trivia any day." When she gives him a look, he grins devilishly. "Not to mention he doesn't know anything about how to get you off—"

"Draco!" Hermione hisses, red faced, shoving at his shoulder. "Just for that, you and your hand can enjoy each other for the next week."

Her boyfriend snorts. "Yeah, right. You can't last that long—especially not right after the break. You'll give in within a day."

Hermione flicks Draco off, but lets him pull her close to press a kiss behind her ear, one hand reaching to gently grasp her knee in a comfortable sort of way, resting there as he turns back to Ron.

Ron's eyes follow back and forth between them, his expression a mix of shock and slight disgust—though not what she'd expected, more taken aback by the thought of Hermione having a sex life, despite his witnessing countless love bites that have graced her neck over the last year or two.

Hermione clears her throat. "I—I really am sorry we've kept it from you, Ron. It's just—well, the fewer people who know the better. But I'm glad to not have to hide it from you anymore." She worries at the hem of her sweater, half-dreading his reaction. "How mad are you? On a scale from dirt on your nose to Crooks allegedly eating Scabbers?"

Ron doesn't even laugh at the joke, face largely blank as he reels at the massive influx of information. "I—honestly I have no feelings at the moment, I'm just re-evaluating everything I thought I knew about the world." He rubs at his eyes. "I suppose it almost makes sense—you're Blaise's best friend, and Ginny thinks well enough of the prat that he must have good judgement. Fleur, too. Blimey."

"Which—Fleur doesn't know about us being soul mates, Ron," Hermione hurries to clarify. "No one does except Harry, Gin, Blaise, the twins, Pansy, and Luna. And Harry's family—Sirius and Remus and the Tonks lot." She scrunches her nose. "God, when I list them all out it seems like so many."

"Remember when it was just us, love?" Draco says, soft smile and molten eyes just for her. "Way back when?"

Hermione hums, her own smile forming. "Though we didn't know we were Romeo and Juliet then. I loved that, but…I love us now."

"I'll love it even more when I can shout it to the whole world, and hex any tosser that looks at you sideways," he says, the words a promise.

"Merlin, I—this has to stop," Ron begs, holding his hands up. "I can handle—being friends with the prat, and knowing the two of you are together, but if you keep flirting I'll vomit all over the training mats."

Draco smirks like he's considering kissing her to evoke precisely that response, but at Hermione's shoulder bump he sighs and relents. "Right, then. Chess?"

The door opens a twenty minutes later, but before they can panic Luna's airy voice calls, "just me!" and they relax as she and Pansy make their way into the room.

Neither looks very surprised at the sight of Ron and Draco engrossed in the chess game; they chatter to Hermione, begin stretching as they like to do before ASA meetings, until Draco barks out, "Motherfucker!"

The rest of the room raises their eyebrows, but Ron grins. "Good game, mate. Or should I say checkmate."

"How are you so good at this?" Draco demands.

A shrug from Ron. "Just strategy. I've always liked puzzles of how things fit together; 'Mione has her logic puzzles, and I have my tactics practice."

Draco looks impressed, reaches out a hand to shake.

(Somehow, Hermione thinks, this is going to be okay.)

(This is going to work.)

"This is why no one wants to play you, Ronald," Hermione teases before turning the page in her book. "You crush their egos."

"I'll play you," Pansy smirks, sliding into the spot Draco had vacated. "There's thirty more minutes till the meeting anyway, good way to pass the time. Haven't played a game in a while."

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione sees Draco's lips twitch, like there's something the witch isn't saying, but he makes no move to share so she shrugs it off.

She returns her attention to her book, Draco and Luna both working on essays on either side of her. The time passes, and eventually Draco re-disillusions himself as ASA members begin trailing inside the RoR, the many conversations gradually heightening the room's volume.

Harry moves to Luna's side when he comes in, turning pink when she kisses him soundly before returning her attention to the parchment before her, though keeping his hand in hers.

(The match goes on.)

As the group trickles in, they all crowd around where Ron and Pansy hold court, each giving as good as they get—half the time no moves being made, as they both mentally contemplate their next step before realizing exactly how the other person would counter it, just glaring and smirking at each other wordlessly.

Eventually, when it's two minutes past start time and most everyone is there, Hermione steps forward, reluctantly clearing her throat. "Sorry, you two, but we really have to get started."

"Oh!" Pansy blinks. "I didn't even realize how much time had passed. Sorry, Hermione." She moves a piece offhandedly, before smirking. "Checkmate. Good game, Weasley."

(The other Weasleys and Harry go silent.)

Ron gapes at Pansy as she gets to her feet, winking at him as she glides away to chatter with Ginny and Luna.

Harry is likewise stunned, while Hermione has to hold back a giggle.

"She—she beat me," Ron says, eyes still wide. "Hermione, she—she beat me."

(Ron has never lost at chess before—not once, barring the giant chess set first year, and even that had been a strategic move more than actually being beaten.)

"She did," Hermione agrees, watching Fred and George guffaw behind him.

Ron sighs, gaze trailing after the Slytherin in question as he rests his cheek against a propped up fist. "I think I'm in love."

A/N: chapter title from gasoline by halsey

to be clear Ron and Pansy will not be getting together, I have other plans for their soulmates

I really had no intent of making an OC bc I usually hate them, like I was just like "hm fostering bby werewolves seems like something wolfstar would do" and then I was writing and thought "there's no way these fuckers wouldn't get way way attached they are incapable of not being family to anyone who needs one" so there's that? Idk what more will happen there

New chapter within the week! (I promise, this time—I have the next three super explicitly mapped out so they'll be no time at all)

take care of yourselves out there.