I'm fairly blown away with the response to last chapter. Thank you all very much for your outpouring of reviews and very kind words. If I'd known how much you like cliffies, I would have given you more of them :P

Thanks to my team LightofEvolution, In Dreams, and Mcal

Now, let's check in on Hermione...

Someone once told Hermione Granger that seeing is believing. Or maybe she heard it on a programme or read it in a book. Regardless of the source, she has long understood that her own eyes are rarely deceptive.

Here she stands, staring at the place where her lover was only moments ago, but instead she is looking at her familiar. Benedick's glossy coat is unmistakable, as is the particular shape to the orange patch beneath his chin, the clever expression always present in his eyes. She has no doubt she is looking at the pine marten that has lived with her for months, yet she absolutely cannot believe what she is seeing.

It's only a moment when Benedick's body begins to shift, stretching and turning pale, like the rubber of a balloon as it inflates. Draco is there, as suddenly as he'd vanished, looking at her with haunted eyes.

"Granger, I'm so, so sorry."

Behind him, Harry and Theo have stopped talking as well, eyeing her with concern. Hermione glances their direction.

"I didn't know how to tell you." Her eyes shift back to Draco. When he moves to step forward, one hand extended as if he would comfort her with touch, she takes a step back. The devastation on his face is evident.

"Hermione..." Harry this time, looking contrite and worried. "He's been trying to tell you. I know it might not help, but the whole thing was a bit of an accident." She only stares, disbelieving, as silence falls once again.

Theo tries his luck, though his tone has much less of the roguish flippancy of before. "Apologies for my ruse as well. Malfoy was floundering, and I thought it might help. We've been trying to find a way to soften the blow."

Draco speaks again, nearly interrupting Theo in his eagerness to explain. "Hermione, I can't tell you how sorry I am. I never meant for this. Hadn't even meant for you to find me. Then suddenly we were here, and when I tried to leave, it made you so upset. I thought maybe if I just stayed for a bit, I could find a way to leave without hurting you. That maybe, I'd be struck with some brilliance and be able to make you happy. And then, I fell in love with you and it only got worse-"

"You all knew." She has finally found her voice, and she addresses the room, not looking at any of them. "You've known and let me go along thinking I had a... a pet...that doesn't even exist." Hermione feels her brows tighten, her breathing become shaky. She turns her eyes on each of them in turn, spending a longer time on Harry and then landing ultimately on Draco. "Do you have any idea how foolish you've made me feel?"

"I never meant-"

"Can you even fathom how much this hurts? And all that time we spent... Fuck, Draco, you were sleeping with me when I hardly knew you. I told you things you had no right to hear. I don't even know... " She shakes her head, at a loss and weary. One last look sweeping the room, she makes for the stairs, her delightful wine buzz all but faded and her heart pounding painfully.

"Hermione, please…"

"I think you should go," she tells him without looking back, lifting her feet to climb the steps, each one heavier than the last.

She reaches her bedroom and closes the door by leaning against it. Taking stock, she finds the carrier she made for Benedick out of yarn. There, the leash she uses when they visit the park.

And it was Draco. It's so fucking ridiculous, she could almost laugh. Or scream. All those nights she held him close and whispered her secrets. The days at the beginning of summer when she would sob, her nose buried in his fur. How does this even happen? An accident, Harry said? It's the stupidest thing she's ever heard. What started as shock and sorrow is moving quickly to anger.

With a small scream, Hermione hauls off and kicks the post of her bed. It's largely ineffectual, both physically and mentally. She feels no better, and the bed mocks her with it's sturdy lack of movement.

Ultimately, it doesn't take her long to decide she can't stay here. It's not just Draco, but Harry as well. She had wanted her friend to get along with her boyfriend but not bloody conspire against her.

Building herself up into a bit of rage, she finally grabs a set of keys, nearly forgotten, from the inside drawer of her nightstand and rips the door open. Hermione barrels down the steps and tears across the house to the front door. Passing through the parlour, Draco is still there, slumped in Benedick's favourite chair, head in his hands and looking haggard. Theo is standing over him, a comforting hand on his shoulder while Harry looks on, worrying his jaw as he thinks.

Draco looks up at her, eyes rimmed red, but it's Harry who speaks. "Hermione, maybe we can just talk-"

"No." She doesn't entirely stop moving, just slows enough to answer. "I can't stay here. I can't… I can't even look at you." As she picks up her pace once again, she throws over her shoulder once again, "Any of you."

She hears the protests, feels Harry start to come after her, but she bolts out the front door and slams it in his face. A quick turn to duck between buildings, and she spins in place Apparating somewhere she hasn't been in some time.

Hermione lands in the back garden. There's a bird feeder in the tree above her head, but the glass is cracked and the seeds long since gone. The house before her is dark. Eerie and quiet. With a wave of her wand, she unlocks the door and steps inside, immediately illuminating the fixtures to light a welcoming and bright kitchen. The decor is warm, bathed in a palette of Tuscan oranges and gold.

Remembering back, Jean Granger had just redecorated this space the year before she and her husband were sent away. Hermione wonders what color their kitchen is now. Did the woman arrive in Australia and set about finding the same decoration that is shown here? Or did losing her memory of their family life change who she was at her core?

Questions Hermione had wondered before but always swiftly tried to forget bombard her as she looks around, eyes growing wet.

She stumbles through the house, a time capsule of the family she lost, until she ends up at the door to the master bedroom. The entire house has been under magical stasis, keeping it clean and fresh. The sheets still smell like the laundry detergent her mother favoured, her father's ridiculous weather radio still sitting, dust-free, near his side of the bed.

Hermione lays there for some time. Hours? It doesn't matter, she would suppose. Confronting the mourning she's never truly done for her parents is breaking her heart, but the alternative is thinking of Harry. Of Draco. Of a familiar she had loved dearly, only to find he was an apparition.

Rather than face the problems of today, she confronts the trauma of her past and cries until she sleeps, feeling as abandoned as she had months before.

Draco hears the door slammed closed and his eyes follow suit, unable to stand the look of pity on Theo's face.

It's not long before Potter is back, foot steps coming to a stop nearby, and Draco looks up at him in question.

"She's gone. Apparated. Fuck, what a mess."

"I thought my plan was a perfectly good one," Theo mentions. Draco doesn't want to dignify that nonsense with a response and is grateful that Potter steps in.

"It was completely short sighted. We talked about this. She would have wanted to spend time with it, expecting you to bring it over here for visits. I know her a might better than you do."

"Well, at least I had a plan," Theo tosses out, slightly heated. You've had his head in a vice-" he says, pointing over to Draco, "-Demanding he fess up, when you didn't have any better idea than he did."

Draco appreciates that his friend is defending him, but his head is starting to pound, and he wishes they would stop.

"Oh, yes, blame me. You know, I'm not the one that decided to piggyback under some girl's shirt so I didn't have to face my home life. I'm only in this mess because of your friend." Potter glares at Theo a bit, meeting irritation with agitation. Draco can only see it escalating, and, honestly, he can't fucking handle it right now.

"Merlin, will you stop?" He looks up at both of them, and something in his face must give them pause. "Just... stop."

Draco rises and starts to the door. Theo calls after him, but it's Potter who lays a hand on his shoulder. "Where are you going?"

He shrugs in response. "Not sure. The Manor? I'd look for Granger, but honestly, I doubt she wants to see me."

"Of course she does," Theo argues, standing and approaching. "All birds want to be pursued a bit. Not that I have much experience," he offers with a signature Nott grin.

Draco stares at him, not sure his friend understands the gravity of what just happens, but Draco does. "I completely betrayed her," he stresses, voice raspy with choked emotion. "She's not interested in a game of 'chase-me', you git. She likely hates me. Possibly all of us," he throws out, looking at the pair.

"So, you're what? Giving up?" Potter scoffs at him. "You're a complete coward, Malfoy. Which, I suppose, we all knew, didn't we?" he adds with a sneer. It doesn't look right on his face.

Theo nudges him, looking uncomfortable. "Harry..."

"No, he's right," Draco asserts, feeling a little rise of his own anger. It feels good, honestly. Better than being wrecked. "I am a coward. Yet, somehow, I'm the one that tried to be honest with her while you two pricks lied to her face. I know just how high your opinion is of me, Potter, so why bother?" He steps up, right in the other man's face. "Why lie to your best friend for me, huh? So this knob will keep sticking it to you while no one's looking?"

He feels himself shoved back, but it's Theo who has laid hands this time. "Out of line, Malfoy." Potter doesn't move, but Draco wishes he would. Honestly, he was hoping he would punch him in the face just to give him an excuse to hit back.

Of course, none of that solves anything because the wizard he wants to fucking strangle is himself.

Draco lifts his hands, a weak sort of apology, a concession. When none of them seem to know what to say, he turns on his heel and closes the distance to the door.

"You could... I mean you could wait. I'm sure she'll come back by morning."

Hand on the knob of the door, Draco closes his eyes against the monstrous kindness in Potter's voice. He doesn't deserve it, and Draco finds more and more he wants to feel like he earns things. Without turning, he mutters, "Then, she'll be thankful that I'm gone."

On the street, he pauses only a moment before making a decision. The Malfoy magic is singing in his blood, calling him back, and, this time, he finds himself without the strength to fight it. Apparating to the gates, he is greeted by Pipsy just inside the property line. "Master is home!" Pipsy bounces from one foot to the other, excited at the prospect of serving the Lord of the Manor.

"Pipsy, please turn down my bed and run a bath. I'll be staying this evening."

The bouncing stops, and Pipsy studies him. "Master is not happy to be home."

Draco forces a weak smile and answers a little sadly. "This hasn't been home for a long time, but I suppose it's time I start thinking differently."

The gravel crunches beneath his feet as he makes his way to the house, leaving Pipsy behind with concern clouding his bulbous eyes.

Draco spends Saturday haunting the Manor. Wraithlike, he stays to his rooms or ventures out at his parents' rigid meal times. Choosing instead to take meals in his rooms, he emerges only to visit the library and, once, late in the night, the owlery.

It's nearing midnight when he finally develops the courage, agonizing over his words. Ultimately, all he manages to write is a short but sincere apology. He expects no reply, and so is not disappointed when the owl returns the next morning with none. Truthfully, he's almost surprised she accepted his letter at all.

Sunday is much the same for the most part. He manages to avoid his mother, not wanting to face her penetrating, insightful gaze. She will know something is amiss, and he isn't even sure how to tell her what he's done.

It's late that Sunday, and Draco just coming back from the owlery once more. This time, he sent a simple declaration, letting his witch know that, should she wish to see him, he will answer any of her questions, and that he loves her.

Walking past his father's study, the door is closed as usual. It's a sight that hardly surprises Draco, and he continues down the corridor with hardly a thought for the man inside. On the cusp of turning the corner, however, he hears a firm but softly spoken, "Son."

Draco pauses, mid-step, and turns to find Lucius standing in the corridor, chin high with his cane under one palm.

"Father."

"Might I have a word?" It's a question but only just. He points toward his office with the tip of his cane before re-entering the room, obviously assuming that Draco will follow.

Only hesitating a moment, Draco's sorrow in regards to Granger and overall bitterness when it comes to his father is eclipsed by a sense of belonging and elation he would have killed for as a child. Not once in his years has he ever been invited to join his father in this room. He's knocked on the door, an errand to fetch his father for Narcissa. He's walked past, meeting the other wizard by happenstance as they pass without a word.

But not once has the invitation been extended. Feet heavy, weighed down by days worth of swirling emotion, he follows and barely enters the doorway, looking at Lucius who is already sitting behind the desk.

"Join me?" Lucius gestures to the chair across the desk and two tumblers on the surface between them.

One arched blond brow lifts, but Draco makes no comment before accepting. He sits with dignity and lifts the glass to his lips. Lucius follows suit and tips it toward his son.

"To the Malfoy family," he says.

"Long may we reign," Draco finishes sardonically. It's not the family motto, but he refuses to utter that bigoted sentiment.

"You seem troubled. Are things not well?" His father seems honestly surprised. Draco had thought perhaps his attitude and general demeanor is what had urged Lucius to call to him, but that seems not to be the case.

"Well enough," he answers vaguely. "What did you need?"

Lucius leans back in his chair, leaving the tumbler untouched. Draco wonders idly if it has been spiked with some sort of potion. Finding he doesn't much care, he takes another deep drink.

"Now that you have taken your family seat, I had thought perhaps you would be visiting the office. You mentioned some Muggle schemes to your mother."

He had, hadn't he? Draco has been a little distracted, what with his love life blossoming then falling apart. He neglects to say as much and only nods. "I did. I have some ideas for investments. Project development."

"The influence of your Miss Granger, no doubt."

"No doubt," he agrees, half-heartedly. Admittedly, being trapped with her the first few weeks of summer in Potter's home, he had been introduced to a plethora of Muggle inventions. At first, he had hardly taken note, but as their relationship progressed, he had opened himself more to the world from which she had come. When Narcissa had pressured him to take his role as head of the family, he had naively become excited at the prospect of making reparations for his past prejudice with grand gestures and bold plans, the first of which being to reform Malfoy Industries, introducing Muggle invention to the wizard world with his tarnished name at the helm.

Now, his excitement waned, he's not sure what the point of any of it would be. Without Hermione to stand beside him, to be proud of him, to smile that delicate and adoring smile his way, the company can burn for all he cares.

Lucius is eyeing him closely, suspicious and penetrating. "What's happened?"

Draco settles his jaw into place, feeling it click, then takes another drink. At the continued silence, heavy and oppressive, he levels his father with a look. "Nothing I wish to discuss."

"Are you having issues with your young witch? You might imagine I would not be knowledgeable in such matters, but Narcissa and I were once young-"

"Save your fatherly advice," he interrupts, feeling defensive and heated. "I've managed without it for this long; I think I can make it through from here. Especially on a topic you so clearly do not approve. I shudder to think what your counsel would even be. Call her a Mudblood? Chain her in the dungeons?"

His father's eyes narrow. "I have been rather understanding in the face of your disregard for our traditions-"

"Traditions? Fuck, that's one way to describe it..."

"Yes, traditions. The Malfoy family has been a world leader for generations, promoting the welfare of wizarding blood and culture. Yet, I have set that aside in response to your wishes. If Miss Granger is, however, no longer a factor, perhaps we can begin looking at a beneficial match-"

"Sweet Salazar, are you serious?" Draco stands and glares down at his father. "The body isn't even cold, and you'd have me bedding another as fast as you could have one Floo'ed in. My relationship with Hermione is far more important to me than a political association or financial attachment. She's the most beautiful, brilliant witch in Britain, and it's a bloody miracle she would ever forgive me my past. Do you realize how fortunate I am that she would even speak to me? She should have hexed me on sight, and somehow she let me fall in love with her."

Draco is breathing a bit heavily, staring down at his father's smug face. A beat passes before the man says, "Then perhaps you need to find a way to fix whatever this is you've done instead of sleeping in the proverbial dog house. Though I take exception to any thoughts of the Manor in that way."

The strangest fucking thing happens and Lucius smiles. Like he didn't just make a bad joke in the face of Draco's existential crisis. Sitting back down, Draco swigs back the last of his whiskey and slides the tumbler back, silently asking his father to refill it. Without comment, his father lifts the decanter and adds a generous amount, more fingers than he could count on his hand.

"Why did you call me in here?" Draco asks, calming his irritation.

"I want you to visit the office. I've briefed Natalie, and she will be expecting you tomorrow at nine."

Furrowing his brow, surprised Lucius has spoken to their vice chairman at all, he asks, "To what end?"

"I'm stepping down. Officially. What is left of our company is kept afloat mostly with a few potion patents and silent partnership in a handful of companies too strapped for cash to cut ties with us. The teams we have in place mostly run the day to day operations. My directing role ended years ago-"

"Distracted by house guests, I suppose," Draco comments, unable to curb his sharp tongue.

His father looks back, slightly disapproving. "Distracted with the needs of my family," he counters. "Never think that what I did, I did not have the best of intentions to leave you with a world in which you could thrive. Unfortunately, some aspects were miscalculated."

Draco snorts, but drinks rather than saying more.

"As things stand," Lucius continues, "I can no longer perform duties for the company. Much as I have passed the mantle to you for the name Malfoy, it is time you took the company into your own direction, just as I did after my father. The potions patents were largely my focus in my younger years, and they have served us well. Whatever vision you have for rebuilding, it is your turn to make your mark."

Staring at him, feeling a bit dumbstruck, Draco questions, "And you approve? Of my interest in Muggle technologies? In sullying the pure nature of our business?"

"It is no longer mine to approve nor disapprove. I leave your future to you."

To say Draco doesn't trust the sentiment would be a gross understatement, yet his father shows no signs of insincerity. "Why the change of heart?" He asks with a sneer.

"I pride myself on pragmatism, even when the means are actions I find unsavory. I might hold out hope you will continue the purity of your heritage but not at the expense of my family or our position. You are Head of House now, Draco; the magic has confirmed and honored you."

"And Granger? You'll say nothing to deter my efforts with her?" He thinks for a moment then adds bitterly, "If it even matters. I'm not sure I'm the wizard she deserves. Or even the wizard I wish to be."

"Then change that," his father says, like it's easy. Draco sneers and starts to reply but Lucius continues. "You're a Malfoy, Draco. Whatever it is you feel you are lacking is within your grasp. Find it. And if that includes Miss Granger, I will respect your choice."

It's surreal, and Draco does little more than blink before emptying his second glass and heading toward the door.

"Draco."

Turning his head to look over his shoulder, he pauses and gives his father a nod to continue.

"Remember, they are expecting you tomorrow. The board is very interested to begin work on your ideas. They are craving the leadership I have not been able to give."

For just a moment, Draco considers walking out without a word, but it feels petulant, and truly, he is simply tired. "I will meet with Natalie in the morning. Evening, Father."

"Evening, Son."

As he lay awake, completely unprepared to take a step into his future, he wishes desperately for Hermione's calming presence. Sleep never comes.

Thanks for reading! Reviews make my heart pitter-patter :)

I also thought I'd throw out that over on AO3, there is a fun comp going on called Dramione Last Drabble Writer Standing 2020 in which I am participating. If you'd love some little morsels of our pair, give it a look. There are some fun pieces so far with more yet to come