Chapter 9

Winter 1998, London

"Do you think it's someone's sole job to come up with the Daily Specials?" Draco asked as they walked through the American Embassy.

"I can't imagine they pay someone just to make up the Daily Specials," Hermione answered.

"Maybe an intern, then?" Draco posited.

"Imagine what that looks like on their C.V."

As they laughed, Hermione led Draco through the foyer of the American Embassy and through the bustling lobby towards the lifts. Or at least what Draco thought were the lifts. There was a small group of wizards waiting in front of four giant clear tubes that spanned from one wall to another, with sleek stainless-steel metal fashions around them. Draco didn't see any buttons and, looking around the rest of the American art-deco décor, the sleek tubes seemed out of place. It seemed like someone had placed a 1960s space technology poster up in a 1920s bank.

The American hodge-podge, Draco thought haughtily. Hermione seemed unfazed by it all.

"You've been here before," Draco observed quietly beside her.

Hermione slipped her hand out of Draco's. "About a year ago," she responded.

"After?"

"Yes, after. I had to leave, just find some peace."

"And you did that in America? The land of drugs, sex, and rock n' roll?"

Before Hermione could respond, a tall older wizard approached them and said, "Drugs—yes. Rock n' roll—yes. Sex—not as much as you crazy Brits."

Draco immediately didn't like him. He had gray hair and an easy posture that indicated to Draco a certain laziness in his demeanor and ethics. "You should brush up on your history there, friend," the wizard said. "America was founded by prudes who were so disgusted by you Brits that they had to cross an ocean just to live their judgmental, Puritan lives." The wizard said this with an easy smile that Draco was suddenly interested in wiping off his face with a quick punch.

Hermione said, "Hello, Ryan."

"Hermione, to what do we owe the pleasure of you gracing our embassy with your presence?"

Draco could tell Hermione was disarmed by this man, but Draco wasn't going to be fooled. There was something sinister in his easy manner, Draco was sure of it. Hidden intentions towards Hermione, or both of them, or Brits in general. It was hard to decipher in the moment, when Draco was trying to seem calm without missing anything that passed between them.

"We are on official Hogwarts business," Hermione said. "Ryan Smith—meet Draco Malfoy."

Ryan extended a hand to Draco with a smile on his face. "Pleased to meet you, Draco."

"Likewise," Draco said a bit coolly, but not so much that he thought Hermione would notice.

As the men shook hands, Hermione explained, "Ryan runs the wand permit office. We met when I was here about a year ago to visit America. Mr. Weasley helped me sort it."

And as if this moment couldn't get worse, the mention of the Weasleys put Draco on high alert for nonsense.

"Where are you headed now?" Ryan asked Hermione, dropping Draco's hand quickly.

"Your office, actually," Hermione said.

"Well then, it's my lucky day," Ryan said, smiling down at Hermione.

One of the tubes dinged in front of them and the waiting group surged forward. Stainless steel doors opened to reveal a charmed glass interior in an oval shape that moved sideways in the tube. It looked oddly sterile and out of place. Everyone grabbed a handle hanging from the domed ceiling of the lift pod.

Ryan's tall stature made the mass of people part easily for him, and he made sure not to leave Hermione in his wake. Draco noticed Ryan extend his hand to her lower back while helping her onto the platform in the tube. Draco managed to squeeze in behind them, probably leaving his dignity in the lobby. Everyone was facing forward in the lift, which forced Draco to face forward too, leaving Ryan and Hermione behind him.

The doors dinged closed and suddenly Draco realized he had nothing to hold onto as the pod jolted violently to the left through the tube. Draco heard Hermione let out a startled "oof," and Draco instinctually worried about her.

Then he heard her whisper, "Oh, thank you, Ryan."

"My pleasure," Ryan whispered back. Draco imagined his hands steadying Hermione gently, coaxing her to trust him. Draco bristled. "It's nice to see you again, Hermione."

Draco's eyes narrowed at the charmed glass of the pod, which was showing them zooming down the California coast—blue Pacific Ocean set against tall cliffs. Draco imagined it was supposed to be nostalgic for the Americans who were on deployment in a foreign country, but he merely found it a condescending show of what he was sure the Americans thought was a better place.

"It's nice to see you too, Ryan."

"I had wondered if you were okay when I didn't hear from you after Ocracoke."

Wait, what is Ocracoke?

"I know, and I'm sorry about that," Hermione whispered. "Things came up when I got back from America."

Draco smiled at this—she had turned him down. And she was doing it again.

"Well," Ryan said diplomatically, "once things calm down, my invitation still stands."

Draco imagined Hermione smiling softly then with her kind eyes, unsure of how to take the compliment of someone wanting to be with her, but also gently let someone down. Draco hoped Ryan was crushed. Draco knew he would be if Hermione were turning him down.

—xxx—

The lift pod dinged a melodic, old timey jingle, indicating a stop. Since the pod didn't go up or down, but side to side, there was no way to know just how expansive the American Embassy was. There were no buttons on the lift to show how many stops it made.

"Sector Four," a robotic voice said. Several people departed. The remaining group shifted around. Draco came to Hermione's side instantly, standing too close. Hermione saw Ryan notice Draco's shift.

"So, Ryan, how do wand permits work in America?" Draco asked.

"You are to carry it with you at all times. There are even some protected zones in cities that do not allow you to use your wand without sensing a valid permit. However, we've had issues with forged permits recently."

"Americans—always chasing ingenuity," Draco said in a somewhat condescending tone that Hermione was sure she was the only one to catch.

"It's quite the nuisance and very unsafe," Ryan replied diplomatically.

"We'll follow the rules, Ryan," Hermione said, placing a hand on his forearm, and then instantly regretting it. Ryan smiled widely down at her, his gaze changing from professional to something else. She didn't want to lead Ryan on; she wasn't interested in him that way. Draco grunted softly next to her as the pod dinged again.

"This is us," Ryan said, motioning for Draco and Hermione to exit first. Ryan gently placed his hand on Hermione's lower back as she exited the pod before him. She knew he meant it as a kind gesture, but it was unnecessary. She could properly exit a lift herself. Hermione didn't want to be touched by Ryan.

A year ago, things had been different; she had been interested in Ryan's advances and also not interested. Interested that someone finally seemed interested in her, instead of just taking her for granted. Interested to know that someone could see her as more than just a mate. But still not interested because, at the time, her heart had pined for Ron.

But now, Ron had charred any feelings she'd ever had for him and somehow Draco Malfoy had weaseled his way in. Into her bed, into her hands, into her head. But still she didn't want Ryan. Weren't girls supposed to love getting attention from me? Isn't that what Hermione had ascertained her entire life from gossip in the girls bathroom? So why didn't she want Ryan's attention? Hermione knew that Ryan wasn't a bad guy. He was very attractive and had a stable job. Plus, he had the added benefit of holding some of that mysterious air of being a foreigner and the premature gray hair which gave him a stately sensibility. Should be any witch's dreamboat.

But when he touched her, Hermione's skin sort of crawled. If Ron was out of the equation, that only left Draco. Was the only person she wanted touching her Draco now? How had that happened? What was it in his touch that intoxicated her so? And how had she never felt that with anyone else? Would she ever feel that with anyone besides Draco?

Hermione gulped as she thought, Have I passed the point of no return?

—xxx—

The first time Hermione had come to the American Embassy, she had been a little overwhelmed by how different it was to the other government building she now knew inside and out: the Ministry of Magic. But that was easily quelled when everyone inside was just so bloody nice. The stereotype that Americans were friendly to strangers was certainly true; she had never had so many people smile at her.

She had taken the lift pod to the Permits Office to find a very frazzled Ryan shuffling through a handful of what looked like Muggle library cards. The Permits Office was a simple office suite decorated with vintage mid-century furnishings. There was an entire wall of wooden card-catalog drawers that opened and closed on their own as certain permits were needed or being processed and put away.

"Erm, hello?" Hermione had said. Ryan looked up from his handful with a somewhat annoyed look on his face, which dissolved as he took Hermione in. He was a very handsome wizard with salt and peppered thick hair; Hermione was certain he couldn't have been more than twenty-seven years old. He was wearing trousers and a button-up collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The rolled sleeves made him look so American.

"Hello!" he said rather cheerfully as he walked towards her. "What can I do for you, Ms.—?"

"Hermione Granger."

"Ms. Granger, a pleasure," the man said through his wide smile. "Hm, Granger, where have I heard that name before?"

Hermione was at a loss of how to respond. She knew where he'd heard her name before, splashed all over the news in the aftermath of Voldemort. Nearly every story in the Daily Prophet in the months following Voldemort's death had mentioned Harry, Ron, and Hermione. A couple stories had been just about Hermione. Thank Godric none of them had been written by Rita Skeeter.

"I'm not sure," Hermione said gently, doing her best not to raise suspicions. Ryan's smile did not falter at the awkwardness Hermione was sure radiated from her.

"Anyhow, I'm Ryan Smith. How can I help you?"

"I'm here for a wand permit, as I plan to travel to America this afternoon."

"Well you're in the right place!" Ryan had said in a friendly tone. "Apologies for the mess, my assistant called out this morning and Mondays are always our busiest processing days."

"Oh, well, no worries," Hermione said, unsure of what she could really say.

"Why don't you take a seat, and we can walk through the process," Ryan said. He motioned to a set of amber-colored leather and wooden chairs in the corner of the suite. "What takes you to America, Ms. Granger?"

"Just some time away."

"Well if it's just a vacation, we can do a short-term permit."

"Actually, I plan to stay for a while, Mr. Smith."

"Oh, please call me Ryan," he said with a smile. "How long exactly, if you don't mind me asking?"

"No more than six months," Hermione said curtly.

"That aligns nicely with our six-month permit," Ryan said with a chuckle. Hermione didn't quite understand the humor of the situation, but thought perhaps Ryan was just being a friendly American. He reached for some paperwork and asked Hermione to fill it out. She huddled over it, clutching an American fountain pen that felt too heavy in her fingers compared to her normal airy quills, as he asked her about her holiday plans.

"I'm just hoping to relax on a beach."

"And eat a bunch of fresh seafood!" Ryan said. "Thing I miss most living here, y'all's fish and chips is one of the saddest excuses for seafood I've ever seen." Ryan chuckled. When Hermione was unable to find a professional way to answer, he continued, "Do you know what beach yet?"

"A small island off the coast of North Carolina," Hermione had said rather flatly, tired of the inquisition but aware that it was probably necessary for the American's paperwork.

"I'm from North Carolina," Ryan said eagerly. How his mouth hadn't gotten tired of smiling already, Hermione wasn't sure. "It's a wonderful place, humid as all get out, but very pristine beaches. Which island?"

"Bald Head Island."

"Truly a remarkable place. I'm from a barrier island myself," Ryan said, "Ocracoke. Only accessible by ferry. Just like Bald Head."

"Sounds lovely," Hermione said genuinely. After everything she had suffered and survived, she was very much looking forward to being removed from everyone. It was then that Hermione realized she had been a little surly with Ryan. "Is Ocracoke nice?"

Ryan looked up from the handful of permits he had resumed shuffling. "Oh yes, very lovely. I mean, it's my hometown, so there is some strife for me there, but it's a lovely place to miss and visit occasionally."

"When was the last time you were back?"

"About three years ago. But I'm visiting in about a month for vacation. My goal is to eat my weight in seafood while I'm there."

How American, Hermione had thought. She tried her hardest not to have a condescending look on her face in response.

Instead she swallowed her judgement and said, "Probably will be nice to get out of the British winter and into some Southern beach weather."

Ryan laughed then, a hearty laugh that Hermione realized she found very attractive. She also noticed his shoulders straining underneath his shirt and how defined his exposed forearms were below his rolled sleeves. Suddenly, Hermione had gotten very hot.

"Mid-February is not necessarily great beach weather on the mid-Atlantic coast. But with the wonders of magic, it's easy to take an empty beach and make it beach weather." Ryan winked at her and glanced down at her paperwork. "Oh, I'll need you to fill this section out too, since you're traveling to North Carolina." He leaned over to tap the paper, and Hermione suddenly could smell him. It was a clean smell, like he had just gotten out of the shower, with a touch of forest. She imagined Ryan with an axe in the middle of the woods, wearing a red plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the buttons undone, beckoning her. He looked so ruggedly American.

Fuck, she had thought as her pulse quickened. Instinctually, she brought her knees together and tensed in her chair.

Seeming unaware of the effect he was having on her, Ryan continued, "The states all have slightly different permit regulations, so sometimes altered paperwork is necessary, Ms. Granger."

"Please call me Hermione."

Ryan looked over at her with his warm eyes and said in a soft tone, "Hermione."

Hermione blushed and suddenly became very focused on the paperwork in front of her so she didn't have to look at him anymore. They finished the paperwork and Ryan processed her permit with a flourish by stamping the card she was to carry with her the entire time she was in the States.

"Thank—" Hermione started.

"Say—" Ryan said at the same time.

They chuckled at each other, and Hermione indicated for Ryan to go first.

"I was just going to say that if you wanted to come to Ocracoke when I'm there, I could show you how the natives live."

Hemione blushed at the invitation and the implication within it. Intrigued, yet a little confused by his genuine nature towards her when she was essentially a stranger, she fumbled for a response.

"You don't have to answer now. Perhaps I can message you when I get there, and we can see if something works out."

All Hermione could do was nod as she backed out the door.

True to his word, Ryan had send her a letter several weeks into her trip to Bald Head Island.

Hermione—

I'd like to have dinner with you.

—Ryan

Included with the osprey was a slip of paper with the name of a seafood restaurant in Ocracoke Island, North Carolina. Hermione was slightly miffed that Ryan's letter was not a question, but rather a summons. At the same time, she was delighted that a man was so blatantly interested in her. After years of not knowing what went on in that ginger head of his, Hermione was tired of feeling upset with Ron.

After a night of going back and forth with herself, and a very sultry dream about Ryan (featuring his defined forearms), Hermione reasoned that it was just dinner with a new acquaintance. It didn't have to be anything but an innocent, platonic dinner. Hermione knew she was bound to Ron, waiting for them both to heal from the mess they had survived. She had the feeling that once she came back from America, Ron would be ready for her and they could start their lives together.

So what harm could one dinner do? Hermione had thought while writing a quick note back to Ryan, setting a time in the next fortnight when she could meet him in Ocracoke. He told her to Apparate to a specific and discrete street corner where he would meet her.

As the day of the dinner approached, Hermione felt herself getting nervous. She told herself it was just that she was leaving the safety of her warded Bald Head Island oasis, but she knew it was because Ryan fancied her and that scared her. Hermione spent most of the day thinking about the various ways Ron would react if he found out she'd had dinner with an eligible, handsome wizard in America. She had envisioned Ron waiting around for her listlessly, wallowing in his pain like the ghoul in the Burrow's attic. Hermione thought of how the patience of the other Weasleys must be wearing thin with Ron's moping. It was easy to become sick of Ron when he was in that kind of mood, because he was always so focused on being miserable, and he took his misery everywhere, wearing it on his sleeve, talking about it constantly. She hated to admit it, but it made Hermione feel good thinking about Ron wallowing over her absence in his life. Hermione wondered if there was any smidge of that during their long row third year. His sorrow had been apparent when he'd come groveling back during Horcrux hunting, but sometimes when Hermione thought too much about it, she'd crush her hopes with the thought that Ron had really just come back to help Harry crush evil. She always had a way of talking herself out of believing Ron had any feelings for her at all.

Having not put on real clothes for weeks, Hermione relished getting properly dressed and showering. She deliberately hadn't brought a lot of nice clothes with her, and only had one dress that could be appropriate for such an event. It was a simple, black, knee-length dress with a v-neckline and a deep-v cut out of the back.

She put on some makeup, looked in the mirror, felt like she was trying too hard, and ended up wiping most of it away. While trying to manually apply eyeliner, her hand began to shake, and Hermione realized that she was nervous. She eventually got fed up and charmed the eyeliner onto her lids with a huff.

She had stood in front of the mirror for ten minutes, checking over her appearance and going through various scenarios of Ron finding out about this date and turning bright red in the face in a fluttering mess before her. Then one scenario took a turn towards Ron being indifferent, which startled Hermione to think about. She looked at herself in the mirror again, gathering her gumption and confidence before deciding to Apparate to Ocracoke.

Hermione had arrived a couple of minutes before their agreed upon time and was surprised to see Ryan sitting on a nearby bench waiting for her. He jumped up eagerly to greet her.

"Hermione," he said, rather animatedly. "What a delight!" He moved to hug her, and Hermione didn't see a way to prevent it from happening.

"Hi Ryan," Hermione responded, the nervous pit in her stomach surging as Ryan wrapped his arms around her in a robust hug. She could feel his large palms splayed out on her lower back, pressing into the fabric of her thin dress, a couple of digits touching the exposed skin of her back. Hermione felt like Ryan lingered in their embrace but didn't worry too much about it because it gave her more time to feel the planes of his back through his stiff button-up shirt and inhale his clean, woodsman-like scent. Hermione tried very hard not to envision him as an American lumberjack this time. Ron didn't feel like Ryan, and he'd certainly never hugged her like that before.

Ryan pulled away, looking down at her with his nice smile and warm eyes. "I am very much looking forward to stuffing ourselves full of seafood."

Hermione smiled up at him. "As long as it's fish and chips, I'll be happy."

Ryan's smile dropped, not realizing she was joking for a moment, until his smile widened, and he chuckled heartily. "Beautiful and a sense of humor!"

She blushed, grateful for the fading fun hiding it, while Ryan steered her down the street.

The night was filled with constant conversation of two strangers engaged in getting to know each other. Occasionally, Ryan would initiate physical contact between them. Some of these were incidental, like a small brush against her hand as he reached for something on the table, or his knee against hers when he shifted in his seat. Then there were intentional touches, like when Ryan had walked with Hermione to their table and placed his hand on her lower back, or touched her forearm when ordering wine to assure her his choice was delicious and that they wouldn't card her.

There was something complex about touches like this. It was intoxicatingly delightful to have someone so attractive attracted to her, but then it was oddly laced with patriarchal undertones of the mismatch of feminine versus masculine. But maybe that was just Hermione overthinking things. She couldn't shake that there was also the fact that these intentional touches meant that perhaps her platonic dinner was not just that, and what did that mean for Hermione? And how did Ron factor into her feelings about this tonal shift between her and Ryan? And was Hermione merely all in her head, and Ryan was just being civil and kind? What Hermione had been most petrified of was Ron's potential apathy about her being on a date with Ryan. She wanted him to be riled up, she wanted to cause an emotional response in him. She wanted to stir something – anything—in Ron. She wanted Ron to love her.

After eating way too much, Ryan and Hermione decided to walk along the small harbor. The sailboats bobbed in the moonlight and the wind coming off the water was surprisingly chilly. Hermione wrapped her arms around herself as they stopped to admire a rather majestic yacht docked. All the lights were off.

"The things No-Majs spend their money on," Ryan had commented.

"Do they live on it, you think?"

"Probably not. Folks around here are pretty wealthy and usually have vacation homes on other beaches." Hermione knew Ryan was serious, but she just found it so opulently wasteful that she had to giggle a little at just how American everything seemed here.

"They probably only spend two weeks on it every year."

"Seems very American," Hermione commented with a curt shake of her head. Then she remembered she was with an American and stammered for a second before Ryan started laughing in a loud bellow. Hermione watched as his eyes lit up and he bent at the waist a little to brace himself with a hand on his knee.

Ryan put a hand on Hermione's shoulder and looked her dead in the eyes, his own watering slightly from the exertion of his laughter. "This is totally the American way."

Hermione burst out laughing and couldn't stop. Her laughter caused Ryan to go into a fit again and the cycle just continued in a feedback loop between them. Finally, their bellies aching, they petered out, and Hermione realized they were standing rather close. Hermione could smell him again, but now the woodsman also smelled of wine.

Turning her gaze towards the bay, Hermione didn't attempt to step away from Ryan. She felt the mood shift between them, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ryan step closer to her.

"Hermione," Ryan said softly. He said her name so unlike Ron—where Ron always rushed through the syllables or cut her name down to two, Ryan seemed to savor each one letting them loll on his tongue.

Hermione knew that this was the moment she had feared would happen—where she would have to take a gamble on someone new or continue to wait for Ron. She felt paralyzed, unable to figure out what she wanted in the present moment, and also what she might want in the future. She felt trapped in her waiting for Ron because of how much time they had both spent building their relationship. But Ron also signified something deeper woven with tragedy and suffering. Perhaps Hermione was allowed to have some frivolous fun after everything she had survived.

Looking at Ryan, she realized she didn't have a clear answer on how to proceed with him. He looked intently down at her, and Hermione recognized the want in him. She felt a smidgen of want in herself as well, but in that moment, Hermione didn't know if the desire she felt was for Ryan or for Ron, or just for anyone to feel desire for her.

Before she could think anything else, she leaned into Ryan and brought her hands up to pull him into a deep kiss. She could tell he was a little surprised at first, but then responded with vigor, wrapping his hands around her middle. Ryan held her close while they kissed rather passionately for being nearly strangers.

Somehow during their kiss, Hermione didn't have much room for thinking. But the moment their lips broke apart, Hermione got sucked into her own head. Quickly pulling away, she looked at Ryan. His eyes were searching her, but Hermione was overwhelmed with how little Ryan knew her, and in that moment she felt like she needed to be known. She needed a historical context to help her connect. Ryan felt like such a flat presence and it made Hermione want to curl up and cry. She felt responsible for letting him down, because she knew what she was going to say next was definitely going to disappoint him.

"I should be getting home," she said quietly.

Ryan nodded his head, his eyes showing excitement for the future possibilities spread out before them without realizing that Hermione was definitely not on board for them.

"I've had a really lovely evening," Hermione assured Ryan, the words also acting as an assurance for herself too. It had been a lovely evening, even though Hermione felt like she had spent most of it in her head. It was evident that she needed more time to heal alone without distractions like Ryan.

"It was more than lovely," Ryan said. "When you get back to England, owl me?"

Hermione nodded quickly, knowing she probably wouldn't be owling Ryan any time soon, if ever. She was suddenly overwhelmed with the lack of certainty in her future. She had fought so hard for so long, and now that the fight was over, it felt like the only thing she really knew how to do was fight. Ryan's eagerness to get to know her made her uneasy. She could tell he was someone who easily fell in lust and love and trusted the world to treat him well. Hermione had spent the last seven years in a world where that was not a guarantee—she had grown up in a world surrounded by love laced with suffering. Hermione wasn't sure if she even knew how to separate the two.

Ryan moved closer to kiss Hermione goodnight chastely on the cheek. She smiled and nodded her head slightly at him.

"Goodnight," she said quietly. Then she took a step back and Apparated back to the safety of her cottage on Bald Head Island.

—xxx—

"Good morning!" Ryan's assistant said as the three of them entered the Permit Office.

"Good morning, Dwight," Ryan said to the thin man sitting behind the desk in the front of the office suite. "Please meet Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy. Can you get them started on the paperwork for temporary wand permits?"

"Absolutely, Mr. Smith," Dwight said in a friendly tone.

Ryan turned to Hermione. "Dwight will take care of you, and I'll be back out in a moment." He smiled down at her, completely ignoring Draco, and walked through a door into his office.

Dwight got them started on the New York state temporary wand permit paperwork, and Draco and Hermione sat down in the chairs with heavy fountain pens in hand. Hermione sat on the edge of her chair so that her knee could rest against Draco's. He looked up at her with an expression she could not unpack.

Was Draco jealous of Ryan paying attention to her? Was everything she had wished to happen last year with Ron being jealous of Ryan now happening with Draco? The one person in the world she never thought could be jealous of anything to do with her? It had been painfully evident that Draco was capable of much jealousy in his youth; Hermione had seen it demonstrated as one of Draco's primary motivations in interacting with Harry growing up. But to have Draco be jealous in regards to her was hard to fathom.

When Dwight's back was turned, Hermione leaned towards Draco and whispered, "I don't know about you, but I'm ready to get back to your rooms at Hogwarts."

Draco looked over at her, pleasantly surprised, his eyebrows raised in amusement. "You are, are you?"

"Abso—" Hermione was cut off by Ryan exiting his office and approaching them, the heels of his oxfords loud on the hardwood floor.

"Hermione, could we talk in my office for a moment?" Hermione nodded her head slightly, unable to look back at Draco.

Hermione stood and walked towards Ryan's office. The entire way, she could feel Draco's eyes on her.

Ryan closed the door to his office and motioned for her to sit on the couch. She balanced gingerly on the edge of it.

"I'm so pleased to see you, Hermione," Ryan said.

"It's nice to see you too, Ryan," Hermione replied.

"I was worried when I didn't hear from you after Ocracoke."

"About that—I'm sorry, Ryan," Hermione started. "When I came back, I went right back to school and that's been my main focus."

"I heard that some students were repeating their final year at Hogwarts despite the waiver from the Ministry of Magic. I assumed you were one of them. Is Mr. Malfoy also repeating his last year?"

Hermione nodded, not trusting her voice in that moment. Ryan sat on the couch next to her, not too close, but close enough.

"I know how seriously you take school," Ryan continued. "I was wondering if, after you finish, you'd care to join me for dinner."

Hermione smiled at him. His interest was flattering, but it was impossible for Hermione to think about anything post-Hogwarts. She told herself that it was because she was unsure of what would happen for her after Hogwarts, but in reality it was because she was unsure of what would happen between her and Draco. And she didn't want to think about things ending between them, not when things had just started to catch fire between them—when they were both becoming less inhibited in their relations.

"I'm flattered, Ryan," Hermione began, "but I'm—"

"—Listen," Ryan interrupted, intuition telling him he wasn't going to like her response if he let her get it out now. "You don't need to answer now. I know it's probably not the right time. But can I owl you after graduation?"

Hermione couldn't find any reason to say no, so she merely nodded her head. Ryan beamed at her and put his hand on her knee for a moment. Hermione's stomach lurched, and Ryan removed it too quickly for Hermione to take stock of what had truly caused her reaction.

—xxx—

Draco's gaze followed Hermione all the way into Ryan's office and didn't leave the closed door the entire time she was inside. His mind reeled as he wondered what they were discussing and what their past was. Obviously, they had met before and had some sort of flirtation. It was evident Ryan wanted her. How could he not? The Hermione Draco had come to know over the past few months was impossible not to want—sultry and insightful, delicious and kind.

Feeling jealousy rise within him every second the door to Ryan's office stayed closed, Draco's grip on the heavy fountain pen tightened, as did the muscles in his shoulders. At first, Draco's mind was focused on the sheer physical jealousy he felt for Hermione. He didn't like another wizard spending time alone with her. He didn't like someone else looking at her with hunger and want. Draco realized that underneath his jealousy, there was something much weaker but just as potent rippling—a nervousness that Hermione wanted someone other than him, worry that he wasn't enough for her, that Hermione would find what she truly needed and wanted in another wizard.

Staring at the wood grain of Ryan's closed door, Draco understood that the sinking feeling plaguing him was worry that he wasn't good enough for Hermione. That her proximity to the mess that was the Malfoy name would tarnish her. Draco's stomach plummeted when he thought about the moment Hermione would pull away from him, realizing that she couldn't risk it anymore. Couldn't risk the Malfoy infection of bad choices, bad blood. He imagined the somber look in her eyes as she slipped away from him forever. His chest tightened uncomfortably then. Draco had no idea how to be good enough for Hermione.

Clawing his way out of his overwhelming thoughts of Hermione and Ryan, Draco cleared his throat, stood up, and approached Dwight at his desk. Even though the only thing Draco wanted in that moment was for Hermione to not be where she was, he wanted to take advantage of her absence to get something cleared up.

"Excuse me," Draco said politely.

"Got a question with Section D?" Dwight asked cordially, looking up from the pile of paperwork on his desk. "Happens all the time."

"Actually, no. I don't believe I am eligible for a wand permit in America," Draco said.

"Oh, and why would that be, Mr.—"

"Mr. Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

Dwight's polite smile faltered slightly at the mention of Draco's surname. "Mr. Malfoy. Why is that name so familiar?"

Because it was splashed all over the Daily Prophet for months during the Trials, Draco thought. Luckily, his mother had been able to convince the multitude of reporters to keep Draco's name out of it and focus only on Lucius' trespasses. But Draco knew as much as his mother that he would not be completely spared from the atrocity his father had brought upon their family.

"I'm not sure," Draco said slowly, with a tone he hoped would express his desire to keep the reasons unspoken. "I am under probation with the British Ministry of Magic."

"Well, we would have found that out when my stamper got to your permit, but good to know now and save you the hassle of some paperwork." Dwight did his best to smile at Draco, but they both knew it was an attempt to diffuse the extreme discomfort Dwight felt.

"Yes, the hassle," Draco echoed. "Listen, could you do me a favor, mate, and keep this between us?" Draco did his best to smile congenially at the stranger.

Dwight canted his head slightly at Draco's sudden shift in tone, but then slowly nodded his head with understanding as both of their eyes jolted to the closed door where Hermione and Ryan were.

"Of course, Mr. Malfoy," Dwight replied.

"Cheers," Draco said, leaving the unfinished permit paperwork on Dwight's desk and returning to his seat.

He was lost in his thoughts until the door opened and Hermione walked out of Ryan's office. They made eye contact, and Hermione smiled at Draco, breathing deeply. She looked relieved, but Draco was unsure of why. She walked back over to him, and Ryan moved over to Dwight's desk, and they began speaking.

Hermione looked around for Draco's application as she sat down next to him, "You finished already?"

Draco nodded, his eyebrows knitted together in worry. "What did he want?"

"Nothing," Hermione said hastily. Her tone worried Draco; he didn't like seeing her obviously uncomfortable. "Let's just get out of here."

Draco nodded quickly and whispered a spell. The rest of Hermione's application began to fill itself in with her information. He smirked over at Hermione, pleased to find her surprised.

"All done," Draco proclaimed loudly, getting Ryan and Dwight's attention.

"Wonderful. Now we can get you those permits and you two can be on your way to conduct your Hogwarts business." Ryan smiled widely at them, his gaze lingering on Hermione, who was still sitting on the chair looking downcast.

Dwight took Hermione's application from her and rifled through some papers on his desk, procuring one slip of paper the size of a library card. He tapped it with his wand and an illustration of her face appeared on the front of the card underneath her name. Dwight handed the card back to Hermione with a pleasant smile.

What is it with Americans and smiling? Draco thought. Maybe they're all just trying to show off how white their teeth are…

Draco noticed Hermione bristle as she took the card, no doubt wondering if her hair was really that bushy.

"Ready to go?" Draco asked.

"Always a pleasure to see you, Hermione," Ryan said, stepping closer.

"Likewise," Hermione said with a slightly strained smile.

"Thank you for all your help," Draco said diplomatically, extending his hand to Dwight and then to Ryan. Draco stared at Ryan while they shook hands, his eyes slightly narrowed.

Draco and Hermione left the Permit Office, the door closing quietly behind them. Hermione quickly pushed the button to call the lift to take them to the Portkey Office. Draco came up behind her, feeling her nervous energy and wanting to quell it for her. He placed a hand on her shoulder and felt her tense at his touch. He grimaced with disappointment.

"Hermione?" he asked quietly.

Her shoulders slumped, then and her head bowed. She looked a little deflated, which was not an expression Draco was used to seeing on Hermione. He embraced her lightly, attempting to reassure her of whatever she needed. Hermione shifted, lingering in their embrace, which Draco relished. When she pulled away, Draco caught her lips in a chaste kiss. He didn't know it at the time, but it was exactly what she needed to quell her anxiety about them in that moment.

—xxx—

They took the lift pod to the Portkey Office, where a kind, older woman told them to take a number and wait until called. Draco and Hermione sat in hard plastic chairs among other wizards and witches for what seemed like hours, but the hands on the clock taunted them, saying it was only minutes.

In the end, nearly an hour passed between them in silence before their number was called and they were escorted to another room. They were asked if they wanted to exchange any of their currency—magic or Muggle. Draco took a handful of galleons and knuts out of his pocket to exchange, while Hermione sifted through her charmed bag for some paper notes to exchange just in case.

Next, a faceless bureaucrat assessed the Muggle pen Professor Dobrev had given them and, after filling out several forms, activated it with a tap of his wand. Draco and Hermione were directed to a room at the end of the corridor where they would use the Portkey, which would take them to a discrete location in Manhattan. They were told the timing of their Portkey activation would be anywhere from five to fifty minutes. They were told to stay in the room and not leave. Draco felt like they were horses being corralled into a jump-off.

While they walked down the corridor, Hermione reached for Draco's hand as she lectured about how witches and wizards used to travel across the Atlantic Ocean by ship until Apparating and Portkey advancements in the 1950s made it easier for transatlantic magical travel. Draco could tell Hermione was nervous. It had been a long day since leaving Hogwarts—from the anxiety-ridden trip to Diagon Alley, to the glorious freedom of walking through Muggle London hand in hand, to having to suffer Ryan (well, Draco felt like they had suffered; maybe there was something more between Hermione and Ryan…). Draco was feeling a little jumbled himself. Outside the great castle walls, Draco certainly didn't feel as solid. There was something about seeing evil be defeated at Hogwarts which made it feel impenetrable, like you would forever be safe there. Draco knew Hermione felt the same; the coddling safety the castle reassured them with was something they had talked in-depth about among the tangled sheets of his bed.

They reached the last door at the end of the corridor, and Hermione reached for the handle. The word "room" was generous. It was more like a linen cupboard. A dark linen cupboard. In fact, Draco could have sworn he saw some cleaning supplies in the corner in the light from the open door before Hermione slipped it closed behind them.

"Guess the lights are broken."

"Lumos."

It was cramped there with the two of them, but once the door closed behind them and they were alone again, he felt Hermione soften.

"Draco," she whispered.

"Yes?" he asked her softly. "Wait, why are you whispering?"

She giggled. "I don't know, it seems like the appropriate thing to do here." They were quite for a moment. Then Hermione said, "Did you know Harry grew up in a cupboard?"

"Oh, so you can poke fun at Potter, but I can't?"

"I'm not poking fun!" Hermione said quickly indignant at the assumption. "His aunt and uncle who raised him didn't let him have his own room until Dumbledore threatened them. Until he was eleven, he lived in a cupboard under the stairs."

Draco had never heard something so depressing.

"What kinds of guardians would do that?"

"Oh, his aunt and uncle are truly heinous."

"I know all about heinous aunts," Draco said without thinking. He noticed Hermione bristle in the Lumos light at the mention of Bellatrix. Desperate to shift the mood away from painful memories and associations, Draco said, "It feels like we are hiding from our parents or something."

He suffered a long moment of silence before Hermione said something.

"Why would we be hiding from them?" Hermione asked, her voice dropping a little. Draco couldn't see her very well in the dim light from the tip of her wand, but he didn't mind. Her hand found his shoulder and gripped it, surprising him with the tightening of her fingers. She slipped her hand over his shoulder and up his neck, weaving her fingers into the short blonde hair at the base of his neck. "Would we be doing something they wouldn't approve of?"

"Maybe," Draco replied gruffly.

"Well, if that's the case, I don't think your parents would be shocked," Hermione said seriously, but then, feeling Draco tense under her touch with mock offense, she giggled.

"Whereas your parents would find it completely beyond the realm of possibility," Draco said, leaning into the darkness to find her.

"Exactly, because I'm so wholesome." His hands found her hips and pushed her into the wall behind her.

"Wholesome?" Draco snorted, sticking his nose into the dark where he envisioned her neck to be. "You're still trying to peddle that tired story?"

"What have I ever done that wasn't wholesome?" The curls framing her face tickled his nose in the dark as he hovered over her skin, working his way up her neck, tantalizing her. He felt her take a deep breath as he found her jaw.

"Let me list the ways," Draco breathed into her ear. He felt her hands travel from the back of his neck to his shoulders and then down to his chest, where she shoved him backwards to the opposite wall, pinning him there, holding his wrists tight. She was stronger than he realized, and her strength was intoxicating.

"Why don't you show me the ways," Hermione said as she brought her lips to his, her free hand groping him while her other hand kept him pinned.

Suddenly, a bright red light blinked above them and Draco let out a frustrated "Arg."

"Oh, that must mean it's almost time for us to use the Portkey," Hermione said, her voice void of the sexy gruffness she had been using just moments before. "Nox."

Back to business, Draco thought as her hands slipped away from his wrists so he could reach into his pocket for their Portkey. The red light blinked again, and Draco caught Hermione staring at him.

In the darkness, her voice came closer. "Don't think you're getting out of that list."

Draco smiled; the light blinked on again and then, shortly after that, again. The time between the blinks was getting shorter, indicating it was almost time.

"I wouldn't dream of being able to wriggle my way out of that."

"Good, because you can't." The red light began blinking much quicker now, and Draco caught glimpses of Hermione shifting in the space, looking at him. He cursed the blinking red light for indicating it was time for them to get going. If only they could have had seven minutes in this cramped space, he would have made them count. Draco could feel his need for her surge throughout his entire body.

But then something else surged in his gut when he saw her eyes through the haze of the red light. They were sad and happy and excited and nervous. She was so much more than he had ever thought. He felt cheated out of their first six years in school together—never having had the privilege to really know how amazing this person was. This person he was realizing he didn't want to be without, this person he wanted to imbibe in all the time, this person he wanted to know him completely.

"Hermione," Draco started, reaching for her hand through the now strobing red light. "I need—"

A blaring alarm sounded throughout the tiny compartment. It was an ungodly squawking and perhaps the worst and most perfect timing. What had he been thinking admitting something like that aloud?

"—you," he finished, mumbling it more to himself in self-flagellation.

Hermione didn't respond. She hadn't even heard him. The red light flashed on, illuminating them holding hands.

"We need to go," Hermione said loudly, touching her other hand to the Portkey Draco held between them. The Portkey activated, and they were whisked out of the cramped linen cupboard and the awkwardness Draco had stirred in Hermione.