A/N: The pancakes referred to in the chapter title are English pancakes, which are thin, like French crepes, not fluffy like American pancakes. Just so you have the proper visual. :)

Huge thanks to my alphabet canttouchthis and Astrangefan, who save you all from having to read through way too much detail on everything from coronavirus science to the inner workings of Hermione's mind. They keep my analytical brain in check so the story keeps flowing. Happy New Year everyone!

Morning light peeked through the curtains as Hermione's eyes blinked open. She and Draco had shifted apart at some point during the night. Books always described lovers waking up in each other's arms, a tangled mess of bodies and limbs, invariably involving 'hard members' nudging an arse, or breasts possessively gripped by strong hands, or both. She didn't know about other couples, but she and Ron had never spooned all night without someone overheating or waking up with a limb completely numb.

It seemed sharing a bed with Draco was the same. They were each cozily ensconced in their own spots under his sumptuous bed linens, body temperatures happily regulated, and blood coursing freely and painlessly through all limbs. Together, but apart. Or, maybe, apart but together was more apt phrasing.

Turning on her side, she smiled as she studied his sleeping form. His short hair was a bit mussed, and his blonde stubble glinted lightly in the golden glow filtering through the curtains. She scooted over, her bare skin sliding smoothly over the sheets, and lay her head on his shoulder. His chest rose and fell with each breath, and she pressed a gentle kiss against his neck, his skin warm under her lips. He stirred and wrapped his arm around her hip, pulling her in closer, and she nuzzled further into him.

His breathing stayed slow, and he fell quickly back into a light doze. Relaxed and peaceful, she closed her eyes again. Her brain wanted to question what she'd gotten herself into by staying the night, what he would expect from her, what kind of conversation they probably needed to have. Her relaxed body, though, and her contentment at being pressed into his side, overrode her mind's urge to analyze her situation. They lay there, dozing in and out, until Draco finally shifted, and they both woke more fully.

"Good morning," she whispered into his neck.

"It most certainly is," he breathed, "waking with you in my bed." He pressed a kiss into her curls and turned onto his side, so they faced each other, only inches apart. She could see every eyelash, each barely-there line at the corners of his eyes. He traced his fingers along her face, their gentle tickle sending small shivers through her. "How did you sleep?"

She smiled. "Quite well. And you?"

His lips curled into a smile, too. "Better than I have in a long awhile." He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers for a gentle good morning kiss, before pulling back and running his hand down her side, barely grazing the outer curve of her breast.

Hermione sucked in a light gasp and cast a quick breath freshening charm on them both. Shifting closer and pressing her bare chest to his, she picked their kiss back up and deepened it into something more passionate and fulfilling. She felt him stirring against her hips, and his "hard member" made its inevitable appearance. As far as Hermione was concerned, romance novels and their need for spooning could go to hell.

In a matter of seconds, she was beneath him, his fingers and lips trailing reverent paths along her skin. Her body thrummed against his touch, and she gripped his back, his bum, his hair, anywhere she could reach, while he played with her body and brought her slowly and steadily to the edge of the cliff, then pushed her over into oblivion.

The heady scent of arousal was thick in the air as she returned to her senses, and her skin flushed with her need for all of him. Their hips joined together in a tangle of soft moans and twisted bed sheets, and she relished the feel of him around her, in her, while he brought her to the edge of the cliff again. Tipping over the edge, she gasped, writhing in ecstasy beneath him.

When she opened her eyes and gazed into his hooded gray ones staring fervently back at her, she briefly felt like she'd finally found home. She pulled him into an ardent kiss while he slid against her, reaching his own euphoria in her arms. They collapsed into each other, breathing heavily, and trailing tender touches along bare skin.

When their heart rates finally slowed, Draco cast a contraceptive spell and asked, "Do you want to go out for brunch, or cook in?" He kissed her hair. "You will stay for breakfast?"

She tilted her head, kissing his lips, and whispered, "Of course. Let's stay in. I don't feel like getting dressed. Is that okay?"

"As in, not getting dressed at all? That's more than okay!" He leered at her. "Although the sight of you naked in my dining room might make me forget about breakfast and take you on the table instead."

She giggled and thumped a throw pillow onto his head.

"Ow!" He held his arms up to shield himself, too late. "Yes, we can stay in, and I promise not to take you on the dining table, dressed or not." His mischievous grin aroused her all over again.

He gave her another short kiss before rising from the bed. Hermione wet her lips while she watched his delectable arse as he moved toward his closet. She realized she rarely complimented him on his appearance, assuming he was constantly aware of his Adonis-like image. "Malfoy, you have the most stunning arse. I'm getting turned on again just staring at it."

He turned back with a cocky grin. "Granger, if that's all it takes to turn you on, I may start walking around without pants any time you come over."

She shook her head and rolled her eyes at him. "You're hopeless!"

"I know you find it endearing, love." Her stomach dropped, as it did every time he called her 'love.' He continued, "Do you want Mickey to make us brunch, or do you prefer we make it ourselves? Whatever your preference is, I aim to please." He sent her another cocky grin over his shoulder.

Hermione remained on the bed and pulled her knees to her chest, sheets pooling around her feet. "About Mickey…" Now was as good a time as any, she thought. "You said he would be affronted if you offered to pay him. Do you know that because you've talked to him about it? Or is that just an assumption?"

He stopped in the closet door and shook his head with a light laugh. "Granger, your persistence and your bleeding heart are both lovely qualities." He grabbed a heathered blue long sleeve shirt from a drawer, and Hermione's mouth watered as his muscles rippled while he pulled it over his head and down his torso.

"I appreciate your concern for Mickey, but he wouldn't want to be paid. And no, I have not talked to him about it, because he would be offended if I did." He shimmied into a pair of black briefs, unfortunately covering his divine arse. "But if you want to speak to Mickey, by all means, go ahead. I can't promise that he'll talk to you or serve you after you do, though."

Hermione scrunched her nose; bits of dust gleamed white in a ray of sunlight before her while she considered her response. "I suppose if you think he might not speak to me if I offend him, then he feels safe enough in your household to express himself…"

Draco nodded. "I treat him well. He has days off, and he wants for nothing."

She sighed. "It's not my place to insert myself in your relationship with your house elf. But, I'd prefer we make breakfast ourselves."

"That can be done."

Draco pulled on a pair of navy joggers, and came over to her, reaching out a hand. "Come on, let's find you some clothes." He raised an eyebrow. "Unless you really did plan on eating breakfast in the buff."

She snickered and grabbed his hand, letting him pull her from the bed. Her toes curled into the soft lambskin rug as her feet hit the ground. Draco cupped her face with both hands and gave her a soft, sweet kiss, before leading her to the closet and pointing out his shirts and joggers. "Choose whatever you fancy, and you can resize the clothes to fit if you like." He left Hermione to dress while he used the loo.

She summoned her bra, because Merlin knew she wasn't going to walk around braless; nursing two children had seen to that. Hermione shuffled through his shirts, and was intrigued by a flash of Slytherin green in the back of the rack. She grabbed it and discovered it was his old Hogwarts Quidditch jersey. Laughing at the thought of how much their teenage selves hated each other, she slipped it over her head, tossing her curls out on top of it. She found a pair of his joggers and tugged them on, resizing them so they stayed on her waist, and padded across the room toward the loo.

Draco opened the bathroom door, smiling. "So what sounds good for…" his words died on his lips, and he pulled up short when he caught sight of her; his eyes widened in an unreadable expression.

Hermione halted her steps. "Are… you okay?"

He jerked his head, as if shaking away unwanted thoughts. "Yes, yes… I'm fine. What… what do you want for breakfast?" His cocky assurance from before was gone, and his voice was flat.

"Draco, what's wrong?" She furrowed her brows and approached him slowly, as if he were a skittish animal that might bolt if she moved too fast.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I haven't seen that jersey in a long time. Astoria used to wear it around the house; it basically became hers."

Hermione's face fell; she felt awful. "I'm so sorry, Draco." She fidgeted with the hem of the shirt and began pulling it off.

"No, no. You don't have to take it off," he protested. "It's fine; it just surprised me." He tried for a chuckle. "My 15-year-old self probably wouldn't believe it if he knew that one day Hermione Granger would be standing in his bedroom in his house Quidditch jersey."

Hermione had put the shirt on with a similar thought in her head, but she didn't feel comfortable joking about it now. She hurried back to his closet, pulling the jersey off as she went. "Draco, I'll change into something else, hang on…" She grabbed the first shirt she found, a plain gray tee, and she shoved it on while her mind raced through what to say to him.

She jumped when he stepped up behind her and pulled her close. He spoke quietly, his chin resting on her head. "I'm sorry this is awkward."

Hermione turned around to face him, his fingers laced around her waist. "It's okay, love," she said. His eyes flashed at her use of his endearment. "You have nothing to apologize for. It's going to happen sometimes. I know you still miss her. The grief never really goes away does it?"

He shook his head and swallowed. "No, I've just gotten more accustomed to living with it."

She bit her lip. "It's okay for us to talk about her. She'll always be with you, be a part of you. That shirt should belong to her, or her memory. No one can replace her."

Draco's eyes glistened, and he pulled her into a rough hug. His chest heaved under her cheek while he took deep breaths to compose himself. Eventually, he whispered in her ear, "Thank you."

Pulling apart, he cleared his throat and threw an arm around her shoulders, drawing strength from their touch. "Let's go down and make some breakfast; I'm hungry!"

-o~0~o-

"These are delicious!" Hermione exclaimed. Sitting next to Draco at the breakfast bar, she relished the sweetness of the pancake and syrup contrasting with the tart sliced pears and tangy goat cheese on her tongue.

Draco eyed her. "You sound surprised."

She waved her fork at him. "You made it sound like Mickey makes all your meals and you never lift a finger in the kitchen! And then you produce this?!"

He shrugged his shoulders and drawled, "What can I say, Granger? I'm a man of many talents." He picked up a sausage. "Your sausages are quite tasty as well."

Hermione snorted. "All I did was fry them up. Doesn't take much skill. Anyway, I want your recipe for these pancakes and toppings."

"Sorry, I won't share it with you." He smirked. "If you want it, you'll have to come here for breakfast. It's part of my evil plan to get you to spend more time with me."

Sweet baby Jesus and all the disciples, why had she been pushing this man away for the past month? Because you're kind of an emotional mess right now, Hermione.

She swiveled to him in her bar seat and leaned closer to him, her face softening. "Draco, I would love to spend more time with you. I'm happy when we're together." His smirk turned into a soft grin. "But, I've been thinking about my own issues, and I think I should be honest with you before you decide if you really want to spend more time together."

His grin faded, replaced by a mixture of confusion and trepidation. "Honest about what?"

"I enjoy being with you so much." She smiled softly. "But I don't have much emotional energy right now—the divorce is still so fresh—and the thought of putting anyone else's needs, besides Rose and Hugo, before my own sounds exhausting.

"I know I won't be that way forever, but I worry it may cause problems in the short term if we start seeing each other more seriously—that I won't be able to be an equal partner to you." She gazed at him earnestly.

His gaze flicked back and forth between her eyes, as he considered his response. "Are you saying you want to stop dating? Or just letting me know what you're worried about?"

"I don't want to stop dating you," Hermione replied. "I'd like to see you more than we have been." He smiled slightly at this, while she continued, "I'm just worried my issues are going to cause problems: that I'll hold back, and that you'll want more than I can give. It's not the greatest place to start a relationship.

"And I don't want this to be a rebound relationship either—which, statistically, it could very well be. If you want to call things off, or wait until I'm in a better place and try something then, if the timing's right… I'd understand."

He shook his head. "I don't want to end this just because of the fear that some things might be hard. I hear what you're saying; I agree it might be difficult for us sometimes. But I'd rather try and fail than not try because it might fail." He took a deep breath. "I'd like to give this a go, if you're serious about what you're saying." He studied her, apprehensive as he waited for her response.

She nodded, heart racing at the import of the words she was about to utter. "I am. I'll do my best to talk about this if we need to." She looked up at him. "Will you do the same? If we're going to really give 'us' a go, we probably need to try to communicate more than most new couples do." She couldn't quite believe she was going to make room for him in her life; and she had called them a 'couple'!

He nodded, relief and joy both flooding his features, though he tried to cover them up and play it cool.

She smiled at him, smitten with his combination of confidence and openness. "I'd like more of this," she motioned at their breakfast plates and lounge clothes. "More of last night, more of this morning. More of you. Just… be patient with me when I need time to myself. And if you feel me pulling away, know that it's me, and not you?"

He nodded his understanding. Then, suppressing a smirk, he said, "So… are you saying my evil pancake plan worked?"

She huffed and rolled her eyes, batting at him for his insouciant remark. He caught her hands and held them tight. "Yes," she smiled at him as she leaned forward. "Your evil pancake plan worked; I'll spend the night any time I want this delectable breakfast again." She hovered inches from his face. "You know what else is delectable?" She looked down at his mouth and back up to his eyes. "Your lips."

He closed the last few inches, and they sealed their discussion with a kiss over their plates of golden pancakes and syrup, and pears and cheese.

Breaking apart, Draco asked, "Is it too much too soon to ask if you want to spend the rest of the day together before I meet with Mother later this afternoon?"

The thought of spending her day with him, now that everything was out in the open between them, sounded nice. "I'd love to, Draco."

After a leisurely shower under his double shower heads and a quick trip home to gather fresh clothes, they strolled through town and had a late lunch on Richmond Green. Hermione felt lighter after sharing her concerns with Draco and knowing he still wanted to see her despite her reservations about her own emotional energy. He kissed her goodbye at her door with a sparkle in his eyes, saying he might floo call her tonight if he wasn't too tired after returning from dinner at the Manor.

Draco apparated to the front gate of the Manor, preferring to walk up the front lawn through his mother's spring garden, rather than arrive via floo. Creeping thyme, purple phlox, yellow and rose yarrow, pale pink dahlias, fuschia bleeding hearts, and giant peonies of all colors surrounded the sloping front walk. The only difference between his mother's magical garden and a Muggle one was the lack of ants scrambling all over the peony blooms. He magically cut several flowers and some green foliage and conjured a vase, creating a small floral arrangement for his mother.

They were meeting this afternoon to discuss their dinner at Andromeda's and prepare for their meeting with Gareth two days hence. They would spend the afternoon together, and he would dine with his parents tonight, as he often did on Sundays.

He was still reeling slightly from the past 24 hours with Hermione. Waking up next to her had been everything he imagined. The sound of her soft moans, the taste of her passionate kisses… the feel of her breath against his neck and their joined hips first thing in the morning… it was an experience he wanted to repeat every day if possible.

He understood she had reservations about how much energy she had for a relationship, but he was ecstatic that she wanted something more serious with him. Her concerns were valid, and he knew they could cause problems until she recovered her sense of self and her energy post-divorce. But he was willing to work through it with her, and he knew she was more resilient than she realized. Despite her claims of being unable to put others' needs ahead of her own, she had no problem with him talking about Astoria, for one, and she had been nothing but compassionate after his abrupt reaction to seeing her in his Quidditch jersey this morning. And she got on a broom with him last night, for Merlin's sake!

No, nothing could rein in his exhilaration over being half of a 'couple' with her. They had parted only ten minutes ago at her door, and he could still taste her on his lips and smell her scent on his skin. With a lingering smile over his thoughts of their time together, he let himself in the front door. He made his way to his mother's preferred sitting room, robes fluttering behind him as he strode quickly through the house. Narcissa rose as he entered the room.

"Ah, Draco, good to see you, darling." She accepted his vase of flowers, inhaling the spicy scent of the peonies, and set it on the table. "Thank you, dear. The garden is beautiful in the spring isn't it?"

He smiled and exchanged cheek kisses with her. "It is. You've outdone yourself this year, Mother."

Narcissa gestured to an armchair by the window, which he took, and she sat in the adjoining one. She clapped and called "Holmes!" and an elderly house elf appeared with a tea service, setting it on the table between them. He bowed, croaking, "Master Draco, Mistress Malfoy," then disappeared again.

"We have much to discuss this afternoon, my Dragon. Where shall we begin?" Narcissa asked as they prepared their tea and selected sandwiches and scones from the tiered stand.

Draco took a deep breath. "I've considered whether I should volunteer to infiltrate Goyle's group instead of asking Gareth. Helena already lost Astoria. The thought of her worrying over Gareth's safety now, of the possibility of losing her husband—no matter how remote that possibility is... it doesn't sit well with me." He gazed at Narcissa, his pain over losing Astoria fully apparent with her in a way he let no one else see.

His mother's pale blue eyes stared back at him while she considered his suggestion. "I don't think you would be successful in Gareth's stead; this group of neo-Death Eaters would be suspicious of you."

Draco knew she was right, but he needed to talk through all angles with her, to be sure, to relieve his doubts. "I could convince them I do business with Muggles solely for profit and still retain my previous Pure-blood views…"

Narcissa smiled in sympathy. "I agree that's possible, but I think it would be incredibly difficult. Gareth has already been approached by Flint to support his anti-Muggle legislation, and I think it will be easy for him to ingratiate himself with the group. The plan has more chance of success with your father-in-law than you, my dear."

Her thoughts were similar to Hermione's, and Draco nodded while spreading clotted cream on a bite of blueberry scone. "What did Gareth say when you talked with him yesterday?"

"He understands the importance of the issue, and he's comfortable meeting with Mr. Potter this week to discuss it. He was reserved; I believe he'll wait to make a decision after he's heard all of the considerations and confers with Helena." Narcissa sipped from her teacup, pinky finger poised with perfect precision.

"I hope the next meeting at The Alchemy Room is soon; we need to quickly find out what they're planning." Draco's brows furrowed, and he explained his concerns regarding the effects of potential anti-Muggle business regulations on PotionLab's CoVID vaccine development in Britain, and the need to understand their plans and timing sooner than later.

"I agree, my Dragon," Narcissa responded. "It would be helpful to know if they're considering such regulations and, if so, how quickly the regulations might be enacted if Flint's legislation is successful. I wonder how much support they may have for the legislation from the Wizengamot." She gestured to the bottom tier of the tea service. "Have another blueberry scone, dear; Holmes made them just for you."

Draco gladly took one; they were his favorite. As he swallowed down a bite of scone, a female elf named Olive appeared before them. "Mistress Malfoy," she squeaked, performing a small curtsy in her pink gingham pinafore, "Master Malfoy be's having seizures. We is giving him the medicine under his tongue, but he is spitting it out. We is not able to keep his mouth closed for the medicine to work."

Narcissa rose from her chair immediately. Her eyes flashed at her son. "I'll be back shortly. Please have some more cakes and tea if you wish." She then apparated with Olive to Lucius' quarters.

Draco knew this routine, having lived with it until he moved out several months ago. His father would be fine once his mother assisted. Wizarding potions weren't as effective as Muggle seizure medication, which had been a large contributor to Narcissa's revised opinions on the Muggle world. But sometimes, the elves couldn't handle the seizures on their own, unable to keep his mouth closed long enough for the anti-convulsant to dissolve.

His father had, to some degree, brought this upon himself by following that crazy bastard in the first place and ending up in Azkaban. However, after interacting with Muggles over the past decade, Draco had come to understand that Muggle prisoners were treated — or were supposed to be treated — with some level of consideration for their physical and mental health.

Draco honestly felt his family should receive some sort of reparation from the Ministry for the level of damage to Lucius' health from his years in Azkaban. Muggles came to settlements over wrongful treatment like this all the time. Someday in the future, he might fight that battle, but for now, other priorities took precedence.

Regardless, upon being here during one of his father's seizure episodes for the first time in over two months, it felt surreal that, when he lived here and split his father's caretaking duties with his mother, these occurrences were simply a routine and unalarming part of his days. He felt a certain amount of guilt over moving out and leaving his mother to handle this on her own. However, she had assured him that, with the elves, she would be fine, and that she felt a change of domicile would do him good.

It certainly did do me good, he thought, vivid images from his time with Hermione flashing through his mind. Lost in a mental replay of their leisurely and sensual morning shower, he startled when his mother reappeared at the door.

"How is he?" Draco asked.

She waved a hand in the air, nonchalant. "He's fine. As you know, it's no problem for him to ingest the medication with my help. Now, where were we?" Draco briefly marveled over her ability to transition from lifesaving to her previous activities in a moment's time; but then, he had done the same during his time living here as well.

She settled back in her chair, asking, "Have you given thought to Mr. Potter's request to become a paid consultant to the DMLE during this investigation?"

Draco refrained from rolling his eyes, just barely; he didn't want to become one of the Ministry's paid lackeys. "Mother, you know the money is of no consequence." He gestured to the setting around them. Any paltry sum the Ministry would pay him as a consultant would be irrelevant compared to the size of the Malfoy family's holdings. "I also don't particularly want a string of paperwork linking us to the DMLE's investigation."

"Well, regardless of payment, the DMLE needs your help."

"I agree, Mother. And I'm more than willing to provide it. Perhaps the payments could go directly to St. Mungo's to support your new healing potions research wing."

Narcissa's eyes lit up. "The idea has merit, my dear."

Thinking about his neuropathy discussions with Hermione, a new idea took shape. "The consulting payments would be a trifling sum compared to the total funds needed for capital construction, though. What if, instead of going to the capital campaign, the payments assisted with a particular potions research endeavor? I've been thinking lately about renewing the search for a cure to cruciatus-related neuropathy.

"PotionLab could provide the Muggle half of the equation, as Muggles have medications designed to treat neuropathy, although they haven't developed a cure either. St. Mungo's could use that information and the funds from the DMLE's payments to start research into a magical treatment."

"That's a unique proposal, dear." Narcissa's face softened. "Have you been experiencing pain lately?"

"No more than usual." Draco shrugged. "It happens occasionally. I have several friends who have worse issues with it that I do. There are just so many of us" —he inclined his head toward his mother, who had suffered her own fair share of cruciatus torture after Lucius's bungled battle in the Department of Mysteries their fifth year— "who suffer from it. It seems we should be able to develop a more effective treatment than what's currently available."

Narcissa raised a perfectly plucked brow and took a sip of tea. "I suppose since we're leading the campaign for the new research wing and donating a significant portion of the funds, we can also direct some of the research efforts as we see fit." She nodded, coming to agreement with Draco's proposal. "Yes, I think your proposal is worth exploring, Draco."

"Good. I'll arrange a meeting with Potter to talk through the consulting terms; would you like to join us?" Narcissa nodded her consent, and they placed their tea cups down, finished with the serious part of their afternoon. Draco pressed his hands into his thighs, rising from his chair, and held his hand out to Narcissa, assisting her up. "Come, show me the back gardens, Mother."

She summoned her outer cloak, and they walked to the sprawling patio that overlooked the back half of the estate. Thank Merlin they had gotten rid of the peacocks his father had so loved; Draco had banished them as soon as Lucius had been imprisoned.

Walking toward the closest garden, Narcissa turned to him, studying him as they strolled. Draco glanced at her, a question on his face, and she smiled. "You've seemed happier lately, dear. I'm pleased to see you more content."

Draco was speechless for a moment, unable to confide the source of his happiness to his mother until Hermione's divorce was public. Quickly, he softened his eyes and smiled back at his mother. "The move has done me good. I still worry about you alone in the Manor without me, but creating my own space has brought me more peace. Thank you for your support, Mother."

She clasped his hand in hers as they reached a bed of roses. "You're welcome, my Dragon. I would do anything for you."

He wanted to hug her, but she still clung to traditional Pure-blood ways, and such physical sentiments weren't proper. Instead, he squeezed her hand back and simply said, "Thank you."

Tuesday afternoon arrived and, full of nerves over asking his father-in-law to become—essentially—a spy, Draco stood from his desk and closed his leather folio, tucking it in his briefcase. Shrinking the attaché, he pocketed it in his trousers, his hand brushing against a small bear figurine in his pocket. Some of the tension in his shoulders eased as he ran his fingers along the miniature carving Hermione had given him.

Hermione had stayed over Sunday night with him, after his dinner at the Manor, and waking up with her in his bed two mornings in a row had felt like a dream he didn't want to wake up from. He'd eaten dinner at her house last night, and he'd been intrigued by the stylized carved wooden bear on her shelf. Her parents had purchased it on a trip to North America after Hermione had restored their memories, several years after the war.

Bears represented strength, courage, and leadership and were viewed as protectors of the animal kingdom by many Native American tribes. Her parents had given it to her as a symbol of their forgiveness for her obliviating them, and their understanding of the courage and leadership she had provided wizarding society during the war.

Her tale was touching, and when Hermione had seen how entranced he was with the figurine, she had offered it to him for strength in the coming weeks. With a last stroke of the bear's carved ears, Draco twisted around and apparated to the Greengrass Estate. He waited for his mother and Potter to arrive, and they announced themselves at the front door.

Helena and Gareth greeted them together. Gareth, unlike his daughters, had dark hair, with streaks of silver throughout. He stood several inches taller than Draco, his burgundy-lined gray robes hanging regally from his lofty frame. He was an imposing man, but incredibly generous with those he liked, and his trim beard and mustache crept up his cheeks as his lips curved into a broad smile at the sight of Narcissa and Draco.

Astoria and Daphne had inherited their blonde hair from their mother, Helena. Her tresses hung in long waves down the back of her ruby red robes, the sides of her waves clipped back with gold and pearl encrusted pins. Draco hadn't realized his mother-in-law would be meeting with them, too; he was glad she was present and would be able to directly hear and understand the risks involved with the DMLE's request of Gareth.

Narcissa introduced the Greengrasses to Potter, and Gareth then led them into an opulent study overlooking the front lawn of the estate. The group sat around a Baroque-style table, inlaid with holly, ebony, and kingwood in an intricate marquetry pattern. A house elf delivered tea, and after beverages were prepared, Harry began speaking.

"Right. Mr. Greengrass, Mrs. Greengrass," Potter nodded at them each in turn, "thank you for meeting with us today. I understand Mrs. Malfoy has explained to you the basics of our request?"

Gareth nodded yes, his long, wavy hair brushing his shoulders as he did so, and Helena spoke a prim and quiet "yes."

Potter pulled a small folder from his Auror robes and enlarged it, laying it on the table. He pulled various documents out, spreading them across the table for Helena and Gareth to view. The Auror proceeded to explain his findings from his investigations at the Ministry and how they related to the information the Greengrasses had heard. He also explained the DMLE's coordination of the investigation with the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and mentioned the Minister's trip to Romania this week to address a similar, but more rapidly emerging uprising in that country.

"As you know," Potter said, "Draco discovered that a group of Death Eater sympathizers are meeting at Greg Goyle's restaurant. We think infiltrating this group is our best opportunity to gather more comprehensive information regarding their anti-Muggle plans. Since Flint and other members of the Sacred 28 have already approached you both," he looked to Helena and Gareth, "we'd like to ask you to join Goyle's group and act as an informant for the DMLE."

"I'll do it," Gareth answered immediately. Potter glanced quickly at Draco, surprised at Gareth's agreement before asking any follow up questions. Draco was also unprepared for Gareth's immediate acquiescence. The Greengrasses seemed intent on taking on this task, and Draco realized they were unlikely to entertain his concerns over the risks to Gareth's safety.

"Thank you, Mr. Greengrass," Potter replied. "Do you have any questions before we talk through the logistics?"

Gareth and Helena looked at one another, and Helena spoke this time. "No. We can ask questions as we discuss the logistics. Gareth and I have talked about your request extensively since Narcissa contacted us on Saturday. We realize there are risks involved, but we feel the risks are worth it. If we have the opportunity to suppress a nascent Death Eater uprising, it's our responsibility to do so." She looked across the table at Draco. "Astoria would have wanted us to do this, and we can honor her memory by doing what is good and right, as she always strived to do."

Draco swallowed, a lump forming in his throat, and his mother clasped his hand, giving it a light squeeze. He nodded, and simply said, "Thank you," unsure his voice would hold steady if he spoke more. The Greengrasses seemed to understand, and they turned to Harry, asking about the execution of the plan.

Draco listened closely, stroking the wooden bear in his pocket. He drew on its strength, trying to stay calm over the danger he knew Gareth was walking into.

After a half hour of discussion, their plan was settled. Gareth would approach Flint this evening to learn more about the legislation, implying his support for it, and solicit an invitation to Goyle's meetings. Once he learned when the next meeting would be held, communications would go from Gareth to Helena, Helena to Narcissa, Narcissa to Draco, and Draco to Potter. The roundabout communication chain was inconvenient, but ensured the safety of all parties, particularly if any traces were placed on Gareth after his contact with the Death Eater group.

They left the Greengrasses' home, and while the knot in Draco's stomach was still present, it felt more tolerable knowing that his in-laws understood the risks they were facing and felt the opportunity to do good was worth the dangers involved.

That night, Draco took a final bite of roast chicken and scooted back in his dining chair, motioning for Hermione to come around the table. She set down her wine glass and joined him; he pulled her onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist and breathing in her light jasmine fragrance.

After a punishing evening run to work off the stress of meeting with Gareth and Helena, he had invited Hermione over for dinner. She had happily accepted, and he relayed the outcome of this afternoon's discussion over their meal. He assumed Gareth was currently meeting with Flint, and he wondered how the conversation was going.

Burying his nose in Hermione's side, he switched mental gears to the potions lists Potter had given him. "I still haven't figured out the commonalities among the potions stolen from St. Mungo's and the group homes. I need to get back to Potter soon." Pulling away from her fragrant blouse for a moment, he looked up at her. "Would you be willing to look through the potions lists with me tonight? You're almost as brilliant at potions as I am"—she batted him on the head, and he smirked. "It's true, love! I know you're thinking you couldn't possibly be close to my level, but don't sell yourself short."

She hopped off his lap, muttering, "You're insufferable, Malfoy!"

He laughed with a glint in his eye and grabbed her arm before she could escape, pulling her back onto his lap. She squirmed, which only succeeded in arousing him, and he debated vanishing her clothes and taking her on the table right now. However, a leisurely bout of lovemaking in his study after they perused the potions lists sounded even more appealing. Some quill play with vanishing ink… She continued to squirm and, between her movements and the thought of his quill tracing over her naked body, he became fully hard.

He pinned her against him to stop her wriggling, and growled, "Stop moving, Hermione."

She looked down at him and laughed, shifting her bum minutely under his firm grip, now fully aware of the effect she was having on him. "Problems, Malfoy? Getting a little too excited about potions research?"

He gritted out, "Indeed. Would you like to see?"

She looked at him in question.

He pushed his imagined scenes from his study to the forefront of his mind and winked at her. "Use legilimency, love. Take a look."

He felt her slip into his mind, and he concentrated on the image of her naked body on the rug by his desk. With his quill, he traced vanishing ink down her collarbone and over her breasts, circling closer to each nipple and then covering them in black ink as they swelled and hardened into peaks under the quill's touch. He blew on her nipples to dry the ink, then lightly teased them with the feather end, drawing small moans from her in his mind.

He drew curling patterns between her breasts, then moved the quill lower, making wavy lines across her ribs as he went. Re-inking the quill, he drew a large snake on her stomach, enchanting it to slither around her torso. In his mind, she could feel the snake's movement over her skin, squirming at its touch as slithered around her body. After a circuitous route around her back, its forked tongue crept toward her sex, following the path of his quill.

Draco heard her breath quicken and knew his mental imagery was affecting her. Concentrating on the scene, he dragged the quill still lower, circling black ink over her hip bones, making her writhe as it touched the sensitive skin there. He pulled the quill down further, drawing curlicues across her pubic bone, then trailed the feather end over her sex several times. She arched into its touch, while the enchanted snake continued to slither across her torso. Naked Hermione panted on the floor, while Hermione in his lap breathed shallow and quick.

In his mind, he traced the ink across the tops of her thighs, then pushed her legs open and drew his name on her inner thigh, the last flourish of the "y" ending at her labia. He was staking his claim, and he knew she could feel his possessiveness while she was in his mind. Naked Hermione's legs trembled, and back in the dining room, her breath hitched and she squeezed her fingers into his thighs.

She lingered in his head, clearly aroused and waiting to see what he would do next. He smirked; she would have to wait and see in person. He gently pushed her out of his mind, and they sat there, breathing heavily at the shared images of his fantasy. Her pupils were blown wide as he gazed into her toffee-colored eyes. "If I help you with the potions lists," she breathed, "that will be my reward?"

"Indeed," he drawled. "Did you enjoy that?"

She nodded, at a loss for words, which made him rather proud. Hermione Granger was rarely speechless. He was delighted that he'd turned her into a quivering puddle of sexual need on his lap.

"Let's get to work then," he murmured. She slowly inched off his lap, her breathing still shallow and eyes still dark with desire.

He led her to his study and levitated a second chair over to his desk so they could sit side by side as they looked through the lists. They both inhaled sharply when he pulled out the quills and parchment, and he couldn't resist dragging the feather along her jawline. She closed her eyes at the sensation, and he slowly trailed it to the top button at the vee of her blouse. She wet her lips with her tongue, drawing his attention, then she pushed the quill away, saying, "Right. Let's get this done then."

Laughing at her eagerness to get to the more playful part of their evening, he summoned Potter's lists of potions from the shelf and spread them on the desk in front of them. He took out his reading glasses and placed them on his nose, prompting a little intake of breath from Hermione. He turned and caught her staring at him. "You like these?" he asked, indicating his glasses.

"I do," she said, biting her lip. "You look… incredibly sexy in them." A grin spread across his face at her compliment. "Will you leave them on afterward, you know, when I'm down on the rug and you have the quill? You'll need them to see what you're writing on me, won't you?" Dear Merlin, he didn't know if he could wait until they finished looking through these blasted potions lists.

"Of course, love," he breathed, squeezing her thigh firmly. She scooted her chair a little closer to his, sending a waft of her jasmine scent his way, and they settled into the task at hand. Heads together, they pored over the lists of potions, putting them in different groups based on common ingredients, applications, and uses.

The two worked together for over an hour, talking, writing, taking notes, occasionally referencing potions books in his library. Suddenly, Hermione gasped and pointed at one of their lists.

"Draco, look at these base ingredients. Do you see any commonalities?" Draco scanned the list several times, and then his eyes widened.

"Bloody hell," he breathed. Hermione looked at him, eyes wide herself, as she seemed to have reached the same horrifying conclusion he'd come to. "We've got to get Potter over here, now."