Chapter 14

Winter 1998, New York City

The room rang with a gentle jingle. Draco opened his eyes to find them just as they'd fallen asleep—arms wrapped around each other. It was Hermione's wand; she'd set an alarm for them before falling asleep. The alarm was a rather intricate light illumination of a cuckoo clock in the shape of the Hogwarts castle. Hermione had told him she'd made it while the trio had been traveling during their proper seventh year. The castle was charmed to have a moon set and a sun rise slowly over it. With every chime of the hour, a phoenix came in and out of the tallest turret—probably the Astronomy Tower. She'd made tiny stain glass windows down the sides of the castle, some of which opened and out poked illuminations of various other animals. Down at the bottom, a giant squid swam around gently, one of his arms waving out of the animated water.

"Silencio," Draco said lazily, but the clock continued. This wand probation was really getting annoying. Draco determined that he should practice wandless magic when he returned to Hogwarts. He murmured again, this time more sternly and the clock yipped loudly as if it was a dog slapped with a rolled-up newspaper. Draco knew he was not the master of the clock, but damned if he couldn't work a simple silencing charm without his wand.

He stared at Hermione whose eyes were still shut, her supple lips parted by her slackened mouth.

Silencio, Draco thought sharply, and the clock chirped finally chastised and fell silent.

Draco took a moment to stare at Hermione grateful that the incessant clock had not woken her up. A part of Draco wished that he and Hermione were able to stay at The Strange forever together. Last night had made Draco rather fond of New York City. It was incredible how freeing it was to be out of sight from the prying eyes of Hogwarts or Diagon Alley. Draco felt as if the last three years were the distant past, and he had finally found space to focus on his present and future. He was worried that when they returned to London that he would be once again suffocated by his past.

When he was younger, his future had always resembled something similar to his father's life. Making high-level connections through money and wielding influence for change in his favor. But while his father had been imprisoned, Draco had realized that his father had built nothing. His father's father father father had built the Manor, his father's father father had built their fortune. His father's father had built the extensive network. But Draco's father had built nothing. He spent money, he gained favors, he made faulty alliances—but they had all seen it topple too easily and too quickly. There was no stability to how his father had decided to live his life, and Draco wanted to be nothing like his father. Draco wanted to build something, to own something, to have agency in his life separate from the influences of the Malfoy money he would inherit.

Maybe, New York could be the place I build something in, Draco mused.

Hermione stirred in her sleep, and Draco was not surprised to find the feelings from the previous night stir somewhere deep in his stomach. He loved Hermione Granger. But could she love him? Would she?

In the moments Draco had been lost in thought, Hermione had woken and was staring at him intently. "Good morning," she said quietly. "How did you sleep?"

"Amazing," Draco said. "You?"

"Deeply," she responded. "What time is it?" She grabbed for her wand, which immediately responded to her wordless time charm, illuminating the time above their heads.

"You know I could just look at my wristwatch," Draco said.

"But magic," Hermione said pulling a rather innocent look.

She had him there, it was infuriating that he couldn't do magic here. Usually, he didn't look down at his wristwatch, opting for a spell his mother had taught him before his first year at Hogwarts: Tijd. It caused a string of light to burst from the top of his wand, writing the time in the air above him in Draco's mother's handwriting. It was something she'd developed for Draco before he'd left for school, when he had confided in her that he was nervous about starting school and being away from the Manor.

Draco didn't even know why he kept wearing the watch; it was something Bellatrix and Rudolphus had given him while his father had been locked up in Azkaban when he'd come of age. His mother had told him later that he would have to wear it, even though he'd preferred to have spat in both of their horrible faces. Sometimes, Draco liked to think it was another scar of his poor judgement and cowardice.

Hermione laughed, dragging Draco out of his thoughts. He watched her sit up. "We should get going," she said.

Draco watched Hermione collect her discarded dress from the floor, carefully fold it, and then place it in her charmed bag and do the same with his suit from Alexander. She was wearing only her undergarments, and it seemed a rather intimate thing for Draco to be watching her get ready. It seemed different then the times she had awoken early in his Slytherin rooms, performing a light Scurgify charm and scurrying off.

Many things seemed different from their time at Hogwarts. Draco knew it had only been a day since leaving, but it felt like a lifetime. Somehow, they were different now. Somehow, he was different now.

It wasn't that Draco was trying to fool himself he wasn't the same person, the same wizard who had made mistakes and misjudged the world. He just felt lighter here, lighter with Hermione. Things were lighter too, the darkness Draco had become so accustomed to seemed to bleed its opacity giving way to a lighter world. A better world. Had this been how the first English wizards and witches had felt fleeing their home country for the New World?

Hermione caught him staring at her while she brought out a change of casual Muggle clothes for both of them. She smiled at him gently, which Draco returned easily. Hermione leaned over the bed and handed him his fresh clothes. It took everything in him not to grasp her hand and pull her into him. A tightening in his chest made him stop. She lingered a little, as if expecting him to pull her into him, and then with a wrinkled brow stood up and began dressing with her back to him.

Draco was grateful for Hermione's turned back, because tears sprang up in his eyes unexpectedly. His chest constricted painfully, and his breathing quickened for a second. The tears welled in his eyes as he continued to watch Hermione pull up her jeans and raise her arms to let her shirt fall down her back. Then as quickly as it came, the feeling vanished—leaving Draco whiplashed.

Hermione turned back around, buttoning her jeans, looking at him. "Draco, come on—I don't want to be late."

Feeling a little discombobulated, Draco jumped up and hastily began pulling up his pants. "Care to help me?" he said, in an attempt to distract himself.

Hermione smirked at him, "You're incorrigible, you know that?"

Drack smirked back at her, while she closed the space between them, letting her fingertips brush his forearm. There was that feeling again—the pain. Draco didn't understand it. Was this part of love? Or was this part of his anxiety about her perhaps not reciprocating? Or was it that he didn't deserve love? Why wasn't he pulling her into him, pressing his lips to hers? It was as if Draco wanted more than that from her in that moment, but he didn't know what or how to get it.

Hermione gazed questioningly at him for a moment, but then brought her hand to his cheek. Her touch was comforting. Draco turned his face in her cupped hand and kissed her palm. Draco looked at her intimately, opened his mouth; Hermione's eyes widened and her brow rose.

"Hermione, I—"

There was a sharp knock on the door, and Hermione's hand dropped from Draco's cheek.

"My darlings!" Alexander chirped from the hallway.

Hermione flounced over to the door, while Draco pulled on his shirt quickly working his way up the buttons. Alexander entered their suite with greetings.

"I just wanted to say farewell to my favorites from across the pond!" Alexander said flamboyantly.

Draco heard Hermione said, "Oh Alexander, it's been such a pleasure making your acquaintance."

"How formal, my dear. Here in America, we are already considered old friends after last night!"

They chuckled and were still laughing when Draco entered the room.

"Draco, my darling!" Alexander swept over to him, his dressing gown billowing out behind him. Quickly, Alexander kissed both of Draco's cheeks. "I am forlorn for us to be departing from each other's such sweet company so soon."

"Now who's being formal?" Hermione teased. "We'll have to visit again."

"Oh, please promise to come visit again. I would just simply adore that!"

Alexander looked from Hermione to Draco, as they shared a look and both nodded.

"Of course, we'll visit," Draco said.

"Well, then, that's settled," Alexander said, breezing back over to Hermione and clutched her hand. "I suppose you are leaving me now."

Draco and Hermione chuckled. Hermione said, "Yes, we have to leave now if we're going to make it before the store opens."

"I'll want to hear all about it," Alexander said. "Promise to write me?"

Hermione nodded her head vigorously. They spent a couple of minutes collecting the last of their items, stowing them in the charmed bag Hermione had looped around her wrist. Then they all took the lift down to the lobby.

Alexander bade them goodbye from the lobby of The Strange. Draco had a feeling he'd be seeing the flamboyant man again. Draco was drawn to him, as he was drawn to this city—it could all be a fresh start.

—xxx—

Hermione felt a sense of loss as they walked down the sidewalk away from The Strange and Alexander. She worried that her sense of freedom in this space, in this city, could never be replicated. The moment they went back to London, Hermione knew that things would never be the same. Hermione and Draco could never be like this in England.

Her thoughts slipped around each other in her mind as they walked the streets of Chelsea. Hermione had thought that it would have been too early for things to be so crowded but was surprised to find the streets positively bustling.

Draco's hand grasped hers as they crossed the avenue, and a certain warmth spread throughout Hermione's body. There was that feeling again—the freedom of believing anything could happen. Even though, Hermione knew that there were just some things in this world that were possible but not probable.

Her mind danced back to the moment her and Draco had shared before Alexander had knocked on the door to their suite. Draco had looked to serious and contemplative in that moment, it had shocked her slightly.

"Draco?" Hermione said.

"Hermione," he said, squeezing her hand.

"What were you going to say earlier before Alexander interrupted us this morning?"

Draco didn't respond right away, since they had to quickly separate to make room for someone pushing a cart of crates down the sidewalk. When they came together again, Draco said, "I was going to ask why people's teeth are so white here."

Hermione laughed. "Why should that be something I know?"

"Well, your parents are Muggle tooth healers, right?"

Hermione giggled again. "Dentists. They are called dentists."

"Dentists," Draco said, practicing the word.

"Wait a moment, how do you know what my parents are?"

"I may have overheard something when Potter and Weasel were fretting about you when you landed yourself in the hospital wing from…"

Hermione knew Draco meant the kerfuffle they had had outside of the Potions dungeon when he'd hexed her. She wanted to tell him that she forgave him, that all the transgressions between them could be forgotten, that all that mattered was them in the here and now. But she wasn't so sure if it did.

"Let's check the shop first," he said hastily.

Hermione wanted to assure him it was all right. In fact, that incident had been more than all right since she'd been able to get her teeth shrunk magically by Madame Pomfrey beyond her original size, which had always been something she'd hated about her smile. Once her baby teeth had fallen out, Hermione had never quite grown in to her adult ones. They had always overtaken her smile. For her tenth birthday, Hermione had practically begged her parents to allow her godfather, a cosmetic dentist friend of her parents from school, to file her two front teeth down for her. Her mother had been beside herself at Hermione's pros and cons list she'd made for the argument. Hermione's father, while impressed with Hermione's comprehensive and well-researched pitch, ultimately said no.

They walked a couple more blocks, dodging men with handcarts full of boxes and women holding buckets of tall flowers. They wove in and out of pockets of scents from the plethora of flowers being restocked and bundled and fluffed.

Finally, Draco and Hermione arrived at Claire O'Fyll's Floral Shop. Hermione was grateful to see that the lights were on and the door was swung open wide, despite the cold. They stepped through the door and into the cramped store, which was chockful of all the kinds of flowers Draco and Hermione had just dodged on the street.

A bell tinkled somewhere in the back of the store, and a few moments later a rather lanky black woman with cropped hair appeared behind the counter.

"Good morning!" the woman bellowed in a warm voice. "We haven't had time to get our morning's stock settled just yet, but feel free to poke around or let me know what you're looking for."

Hermione approached the counter, dropping Draco's hand. "Good morning!"

"Ah, a Brit, eh?"

Hermione smiled, "Yes, madam."

"Oh dear me, 'madam'? Honestly, child, insult to injury. Just how old do you think I am?"

Hermione faltered, unsure of if the woman was serious in her injury as her eyes narrowed at the pair of them.

"It's the British accent, it just assumes things that we know not to be true. Please excuse it," Draco said smoothly.

The woman barked out a laugh, her eyes widening with her smile.

"Well, well, aren't you a charmer? Barking up the wrong tree, though," the woman said easily. "I'm Claire; how can I help you?"

The three of them smiled at each other, and Draco stepped forward to take over the negotiations. "We're looking for the elusive purple peace lily."

Claire's eyes widened again and darted towards the front door as if to check that no one else was in the store. "Sprout sent you young things?"

She waved her hand lazily, and the front door swung closed in a rather crisp manner. Then Claire motioned for them to follow her behind the counter. Draco let Hermione go in front of him.

Once Hermione was behind the counter, it was if they had walked into a completely different shop. No longer was there a back wall to the store, but a grand wrought iron mouth of a greenhouse covered with ornate clear stain glass doors. It was a simple disillusionment charm, but an impressive one. There also seemed to be a golden hue to the lighting on this side, rather than the dingy dusty light from the Muggle shop side.

"I wonder why Sprout didn't make the journey herself," Claire said to herself slightly under her breath. "I know she gets a holiday break. Bet she's still holding that grudge?"

Hermione almost asked, "What grudge?" but Draco's hand on her waist made her stop.

Claire walked through the grand doors to the greenhouse and warmth emanated around them. She led them through the greenhouse which was several stories high, where little balconies of wrought iron flooring dotted the walls housing the most unusual plants Hermione had ever seen in the wizarding world (or the Muggle world for that matter).

Claire, having noticed Hermione's curious gaze, said simply, "I experiment."

"They are simply stunning," Hermione said gazing at a particularly tiny yet effervescent plant with fronds that shimmered as it bobbed its leaves to follow the dappled sunlight streaming between the other larger plants.

"Stunning, but shifty little fuckers," Claire said harshly yet with an air of affection. It was clear this greenhouse was where Claire's passions grew. They continued to weave through the plants on the first floor of the greenhouse, until they arrived at the back of the greenhouse where there was a large counter. Scattered pots, piles of dirt, and curious instruments Hermione had never seen in Professor Sprout's greenhouse littered it. Claire gave another lazy wave of her hand and a small space on the counter appeared amidst the debris.

"So, you two have got that Mandrake essence for me to look at?"

"Only the finest from Professor Sprout."

"Easy boy," Claire said. "I know Sprout's reputation with Mandrake. I've already worked up a deal with her, and I'll be buying it. No need to lay it on too thick now."

For the first time ever, Hermione saw Draco blush. Or perhaps it was just the heat from the greenhouse; it was sweltering.

"Bring it out," Claire said. Hermione rummaged in her bag to find the bottles from Professor Sprout. She handed them over to Claire's outstretched hand.

Claire took the bottles and lined them up on the counter carefully surveying each one. Side by side, they all seemed to be a different hue. "Bottled by the 'drake, I see." Claire's eyes moved from one bottle to the next. "Sprout, always the careful potter," she muttered more to herself. She tipped one bottle on the counter and rolled it around watching how the liquid inside sloshed around.

"Never willing to take a risk," she whispered and quickly snatched the last bottle, unstopped it, dipped her pinky into the essence and promptly put it in her mouth.

Hermione gasped, and Draco stepped forward in alarm. Pure Mandrake essence was rather fatal when exposed to human skin!

"Got you two rather trained up," Claire said after a moment, amused arrogance dancing on her brows. "I've built up a tolerance."

"But why would you taste it?"

"Quality control," Claire said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Draco edged back to Hermione's side as Claire returned her gaze to the bottles. Hermione and Draco shared a confusing look. This woman was brash. Seemingly brilliant, but brash.

After a couple more minutes and several alarming tests later, Claire said, "Well, Sprout can certainly tame those 'drakes. Always has been her particular gift. I'll take it all."

Draco smiled at Claire and then over at Hermione. Hermione was relieved they had been successful after the disappointing encounter in Diagon Alley the previous day. Their trip had not been a waste and now her and Draco could return to Hogwarts with good news.

However, the thought of returning to Hogwarts did not fill Hermione with the usual delight. Instead, Hermione felt as if she had glimpsed this other world where she could be free which somehow meant that Hogwarts was the antithesis of that. Logically, Hermione knew that Hogwarts was not a jail. But after such a carefree night with Draco, going back seemed like it was going to suffocate something in her.

—xxx—

Draco and Hermione moved out of the mouth of the great glass greenhouse and back into the space behind the counter. Hermione slid from behind the counter first, making for the front door. Before Draco could do the same, Claire caught his elbow. Draco looked back at her, wondering for a split second if she was going to change her mind about taking the lot.

Instead, the funny woman thrust a small flower in his hand.

"It's a perpetual azalea. Very rare, very beautiful. Much like—" she nodded towards Hermione whose back was to them as she stepped carefully through the maze of flower buckets in the front room. "Unrequited love is not easy."

Draco tensed with uneasiness.

Claire continued, "Especially when you deem you aren't worthy of their love."

The hard exterior she'd been projecting during their entire exchange suddenly melted away, and Draco caught a glimpse of a woman who was hurting, who had suffered, who had loved and still loved.

Was that what Draco was going to look like? Was Hermione never going to love him?

"Be brave. Give it to her," Claire said in barely a whisper. "Just like your heart."

Hermione turned around then, surprised to see Draco still behind the counter, assuming he'd been following her path through the maze of flower buckets. He scurried away from Claire and quickly plotted his way to the front door, pocketing the flower so Hermione would not see it.

"Thank you, Claire," Hermione said in a chipper tone and a gentle wave from the open door.

Claire merely watched them exit her store, and Draco could have sworn the woman was on the verge of tears.

"So, we have a little while before we need to find a place to use the Portkey," Hermione said as they walked in an arbitrary direction through the tall brick buildings. She reached for his hand as they walked, and Draco felt the dread from Claire seep into him while he fingered the flower in his pocket.

Hermione continued, "I was thinking we could go to the library."

"You know where the branch is?" Draco asked.

"Not the magical one. I was thinking we could go to the Muggle library here." When Draco stayed quiet, she explained. "It's supposedly beautiful. There's this space called the Rose Reading Room that I'd quite like to see."

Draco remained silent as they walked hand in hand down the sidewalk. She looked at him inquisitively. "Sure, let's go there."

Satisfied, Hermione launched into a diatribe about how when she was growing up going to the Muggle libraries of her village and school, one of the friendly librarians would tell her stories of the other libraries she'd been to around the world. "I was so enthralled by her stories, that I decided once I graduated my A-levels, that's like Muggle N.E.W.T.s, I'd go on a tour of some of the world's most beautiful libraries and book stores."

They had stopped on the corner of a street to wait for the crosswalk. They had found a pocket of sun streaming onto the street from between the buildings. Draco looked at Hermione who had paused her story about Muggle libraries, looking curiously at him. The sun shone through the loose curls framing her face, and she seemed to glow a little. Was she imagining a ten-year-old Hermione making plans for an eighteen-year-old Hermione like he was? Her Muggle pen to paper charting out her journey around the world, sitting in a pool of open books on the floor for reference, ink staining the tips of her fingers.

Draco had never imagined he'd truly see Hermione Granger. It was in that moment, that Draco realized just how lucky he was at being trusted enough to enter this intimate memory of hers—into all the memories and thoughts she had shared with him over the past couple of months. She smiled broadly at him, bouncing on the soles of her feet to keep warm while they waited for the crosswalk still.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing," Draco said, although that was a lie. Draco wanted to proclaim his feelings for her. But the flower in his pocket held him back. The fear of his feelings not being returned was frightening. The fear of Hermione looking at him differently, looking down on him, thinking he was a fool, thinking he was a liar. That was more suffocating than threat of death of him and his family he'd survived in the last three years of Voldemort's reign. More suffocating that nearly dying in Crabbe's Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement.

"You're lying," Hermione said astutely. "But it's all right if you're not ready to share." She gave him a gentle smile, before tugging on his hand for them to cross the street.

He trotted after her, relishing the way the warmth from her hand spread through his and how his heart skipped along with them. He really had fallen in love with Hermione Granger.

—xxx—

Hermione walked them through the streets of Manhattan north and east through the island from Chelsea to the New York Public Library. It was still early in the morning, but as they continued their trek, more and more people swarmed the streets. Most of them seemed to be commuters, heading sleepily into their offices. Some of them were tourists getting a jump start on the day; some of them jetlagged enough to have been up for hours. There were last minute shoppers attempting to fulfill their Christmas lists with the dregs left in the stores.

They passed a gigantic department store where the sidewalk was in a major snarl of unmoving foot traffic. Hermione careened her neck to see if there was an end in sight to the knot of people, only to realize they were all looking into the windows of the department store. Every window was an opulent display of holiday décor. But something was off about it. It wasn't all just gentle Santas and mistletoe, there was a kitchen stool made out of Comet cans and walls of the setting was made from Jiffy Pop containers with an animated mannequin in a scanty sparkling dress provocatively licking a spatula while she held a bowl of some holiday concoction.

"Odd," Draco said. "America is fucking odd."

Draco and Hermione wove through the stagnant crowd, until Hermione abruptly stopped when she saw a very life-like Margaret Thatcher in a leather corset with tall leather boots and fishnet stockings. The leather was decorated with the British flag and she held a long riding crop in her outstretched hand. Hermione drew in a sharp breath.

"Who is that?"

"Only one of the most prolific British women in Muggle history."

"Does she normally dress like that, then?"

Hermione could not contain her laughter. "I should hope not!"

"Fucking odd," Draco muttered again as they made their way past the department store and continued their walk to the library.

Finally, after about an hour of meandering through Manhattan and Hermione muttering to herself at cross streets while she guided them through the city, they saw a burst of space through the tall buildings. There was a smattering of leaf-less trees, whipped by the winter wind, and then on the far end of the barren block was a squat building which Hermione knew to be the library they sought.

They walked through the park, passing some homeless No-Majes who were bundled up and sleeping on benches. Hermione knew they must be cold, so she grasped her wand in the pocket of her jacket and cast some warming spells on those they passed.

Finally, they reached the stone steps of the library, flanked by great stone lions. The doors of the library were framed with great banners promoting a Muggle author Hermione felt like she had heard of sometime before attending Hogwarts.

"Are we just going to stand here?" Draco asked.

"Oh, you wanted to go in? Didn't I mention ten-year-old me had just wanted to see the facades of libraries?"

Draco rolled his eyes as he pulled her by her hand up the wide stone steps. They ended up racing each other to the top, Hermione laughing wildly when she barely beat him to the top. "Oh, we should race more often, I'm so good at putting you in your place!"

"My place?" Draco's rhetorical question was gruff.

Hermione smiled playfully, not giving in to Draco's losing seriousness. "Yes, your second place."

Draco grimaced while Hermione bellowed out delighted at her own wit. Through the slits in her joyful eyes, she saw Draco come closer and then gently wrap his arms around her.

"You are the brightest witch of our age," he seceded.

"And the fastest," she said brightly.

"Oh, all right, easy there Alexander," Draco playfully chided at her use of superlatives.

"And the best. And I have the straightest teeth. And I'm the—"

"—most beautiful," Draco completed for her, his gray eyes gently boring into her.

A surprised little "oh" slipped from her lips, which Draco caught with his as he leaned into her. Right there on top of the stone steps of the New York Public Library, Draco Malfoy was kissing her and something was glowing in her. Something she'd never felt before. Something that made her feel invincible and vulnerable and amazing and terrified.

—xxx—

Draco had to stop himself from just kissing Hermione forever on those stone steps as they clung to each other while the wind tussled them. Seeking refuge from the cold, he pulled Hermione through the front doors and were wrapped in a blanket of quiet that Draco knew so well. The quiet in a library was unlike any other quiet he knew. It was a contemplative quiet, an exploratory quiet. It engulfed you and at the same time set you free this quiet. This was where Draco felt most himself. Well, that and in Hermione's embrace.

He smiled to himself as they walked through the spacious foyer littered with random people, most of them by themselves, a few whispering quietly in pairs. There was a rather tired woman working the circulation desk, her bun tight on the top of her head, glasses slightly askew on her face, their long golden chain looped around her neck multiple times like a necklace.

Draco smiled at her as they approached the desk.

"Good morning," he said, summoning his most handsome smile.

The woman straightened a little at the sound of his voice, a hesitant smile spreading across her lips.

"How can I help you?" she asked.

"We're looking for the Rose Reading Room." Draco squeezed Hermione's hand in his, and she returned the pressure.

"Third floor."

"Thank you so much," Hermione said cheerfully while Draco pulled her away and towards the stairs. They walked slowly up them. Draco relished the way Hermione's hand felt in his. It worried him that he felt like she could slip away from him any moment, even if he was holding on dearly.

They reached the third floor and followed the signs for the Rose Reading Room, passing quiet visitors, some whose arms were filled with a stack of books. Draco had not realized they had reached the room they sought until Hermione gasped beside him with amazement.

Her amazement was justified; the room was massive and wide open. The floor to ceiling windows allowed the natural light to stream through, but somehow the dingy New York winter sun transformed into a golden hue in the room. There were long wooden desks lining the sides of the room, people scattered in chairs silently pouring over their books. The chandeliers were like halos. The room was sacred.

Hermione's hand slipped from his as she stepped forward into the room, gazing up, her mouth agape. Draco followed her gaze to see the ceiling framed in gold and paintings of fluffy clouds. The clouds weren't moving, but the effect was still magical. Everything in here was.

Draco realized then that books were the magic of Muggles, and that he was not that different. Books had been a constant companion of his for as long as he could remember. Severus had continuously thrust a book into his hands telling him, "Knowledge is everything, knowledge is truth." He had bonded more to books in the last couple years of his life than anything else, feeling the quiet blanket of the library's silence wrapping around him securely every time he entered the Diagon Alley branch for his community service hours.

"Are you sure this isn't a wizarding library branch?" Draco asked in a hushed whisper to Hermione.

She giggled for a second and then threw her hand over her mouth as she caught a nasty look from the old man sitting closest to the entrance of the room where they stood.

Draco drew her close, so they wouldn't disturb the readers with their whispering.

"I don't think so," Hermione said. "I've never read anything about this being secretly wizardly." Her eyes lazily took in the room some more, and then she said, "It's beautiful."

"It really is," Draco said continuing to stare at her. Something about the golden hues of the light in the room were making Hermione's hair shine, her face was bright, and her eyes were curious. Books had this way of elevating Hermione to another plane. It was intoxicating to see how she soaked in the room. She did a little twirl, then stopped when she caught Draco watching her.

"We should leave, I don't want to be disruptive."

"Just one more second," Draco said, reaching for her waist.

"What?"

"Shh," Draco responded and brought his lips to hers. They kissed as silently as he could manage, even though his instinct was to moan when she nibbled his lip a little. They pulled away from each other and he placed his forehead on hers. He could feel her fingers playing with the collar of his jacket. Her breath tickled the skin of his neck exposed between his jacket and scarf. She was watching him, her brown eyes lightening to amber from the golden hues of the room. He realized that the same peace he got from being surrounded by the magic of books was the same feeling he had in her embrace, even when it was laced with his lustful desire for her. He wanted to bottle how she made him feel, her gentle intoxicating smell, the way her soft skin glided against his, how her eyes seemed to look straight through his bullshit.

Fuck, he thought, I'm goddamn head over heels.

—xxx—

Hermione and Draco took their time leaving the Rose Reading Room, but only after several more people scowled at them for loitering. They made their way out onto the street in front of the library, where a homeless No-Maj yelled at them that today the world was ending.

"December 24th! End of the world!" the man cried out to passersby.

Hermione cursed slightly under her breath. How could she have forgotten the date?

Her hand tensed in Draco's, and he immediately asked, "What's wrong? Worried that he's right, and we won't have time for another shag before we all go through the veil?"

Hermione chuckled, "You wish." She knew she was right when he smirked back at her. "No, I need to call my mother."

"Call?"

"Speak with her, on the Muggle telephone."

"'Telephone,'" Draco said, testing the words on his lips. "This 'telephone,' can we find one for you before for the Portkey? Or do they not have those here in America?"

Hermione giggled, unable to control herself. "They are literally everywhere. On every block here." She pointed to the row of tall metal compartments on the sidewalk and began pulling Draco towards them.

"Oh, this is a telephone," Draco said with sudden understanding as they peered through the glass doors of the booth to see if it was empty. "They look different in England, right? I'm not imagining that, right?"

Hermione giggled again. "I didn't tell you?" she asked. "You're barmy, and I'm actually an alien."

"An alien?" Draco asked, tilting his head at the joke he clearly didn't know.

Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. "Sometimes, it's really hard to talk to you, when you know very little of my references. Even the ones that aren't Muggle ones."

He furrowed his brow.

"I was taking the piss, Draco."

He nodded, still a little solemn, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Hermione patted him on the arm before she pushed aside the booth's door and stepped inside. It smelled horrible, so she decided to not close the door, but let it air out instead.

Hermione decided to cast a Scurgify charm to clean it out. She pulled out her Muggle change purse and realized she didn't have enough for the international call. But her father had always told her to call collect. Draco peered into the booth to watch her, slight fascination on his brow now.

She grinned at him, shaking her head a little when his eyes widened as she brought the receiver up to her face.

The line rang once, then the operator said, "You have an international collect call from, Hermione Granger, will you accept the charges?" the operator said.

"Oh my! Yes, yes, yes, I accept the charges!" her mother's voice rang out brightly.

The click of the operator sounded, and Hermione said, "Happy Birthday, Mum!"

"Oh, oh, oh! My sweet Hermione!" her mother exclaimed on the other side of the telephone. "I am so happy you called." There was a shuffling on the other end of the line, and Hermione's mother yelled, "Robert, Hermy's on the phone!" There was a loud clang somewhere distant in the house, as if Hermione's father had been caught off guard. "You're calling internationally?"

"She is?" he called muffled from the distance. Hermione heard footsteps coming towards her mother's receiver.

"Hi 'Mione, my love," Hermione's father said lovingly into the phone.

"Hiya Dad."

"You all right in that school of yours? Staying focused and getting good grades?"

"Yes, sir," Hermione said in a mock serious tone.

"Wouldn't expect anything else, love," he replied. "All right, talk to your mother now—she's been dying to hear from you. Best present in the world you are."

They said a quick goodbye, and Hermione's mother came back on the phone.

"Mum, what was your question about from your letter? Are you still hoping I'll be a romance author?"

"Oh Hermy, no sweetheart, you know I only want you to be what you want to be. And it's all right if that changes throughout your lifetime. But you know those romance novel cover hunks always have very straight teeth."

She laughed, catching Draco's eye, who looked at her curiously. No doubt, he was wondering why he couldn't hear their conversation like during Floo calls.

"So why the curiosity? You know I will tell you as much as I can," Hermione said.

"Well I was feeling a little lonely without you while I was watching this new show Queer as Folk, which I think you'd really like it—it's got some gusto. Really saying some stuff no one has wanted to hear for years, but that we all need to hear. Anyways, I was just feeling a little lonely without you and our tradition for watching new shows."

"Oh Mum!" Hermione exclaimed.

"No, no, no, it's quite all right, I promise. I know you are working on finishing up your coursework. Your mother is a strong woman, I promise. But even strong women miss their daughters."

"Of course," Hermione said quietly.

"But I went into your room and found an interesting stack of books by Gilderoy Lockheart. You know I simply devoured that Anne Rice book, so I picked up that one Voyages with Vampires. And well it just reads like fiction, but also some of it reads extremely real. The vampires in there are not glamorous, but rather plain and somewhat boring. Nothing like Lestat. That Lockhart fellow is rather poignant though…"

Hermione shook her head at the thought of her mother reading Lockhart, what a crock. "Lockhart is a little bit of fiction mixed with fact."

At this, Draco looked at her perplexed. "Lockhart?" he mouthed at her. She swatted him on the arm, rolling her eyes. Hermione knew he'd bring that up later for sure.

"Oh goodness, vampires exist?"

Hermione chuckled. "Don't worry Mum, vampires won't be coming into your practice for teeth filing anytime soon. There isn't really a large population in Great Britain, despite the overcast weather."

"Yes, yes," Hermione's mother absentmindedly murmured. "So, you're not in England?"

Hermione was hoping she'd forgotten that detail, but it was best to address it now instead of have her remember it later and get upset about not knowing the details about her travels.

"Did you accept that post from the Minister, then?"

"Oh no," Hermione said, having forgotten she'd told her mother about Kingsley's proposition. "The headmistress requested I travel to America to help the school with something."

"The school sent you all the way to America for an errand?" her mother said rather incredulous. "Wow, the things you can do with magic."

Hermione chuckled again.

"Well, they could not have found anyone more trustworthy," her mother said. "You're not alone, are you?"

Hermione paused, unsure if she wanted to tell her mother about Draco.

"No, another student is with me," she said quickly, then transitioned, "I love you, Mum. I'm sorry about Christmas."

"Hermy, you have not thought of yourself in quite some time. Be selfish now, focus on you." Her mother paused thoughtfully, and tears sprang to Hermione's eyes. She'd been so caught up in saving the wizarding world with Harry and Ron that she had forgotten what is was like to focus on herself, her studies, her future.

"I do hope you are finding time to have some fun too, Hermy. Some new adventures that aren't so life and death," her mother said. "Are there any cute boys at Hogwarts this year?"

Hermione blushed, "Mum!"

"What? It's a valid question."

"You've been reading too much Anne Rice."

"That is neither here nor there. You're a grown woman now, seen more than most see in their entire lives. I would hate to think that you aren't exploring another very exciting side of life."

"Oh my God, Mum!"

"I don't hear you denying it, Hermy." This was where Hermione got her observation skills from—her mother.

"Well…" Hermione started.

"Oh, sweetheart, did Ron finally come around?" Her mother said rather quickly in an excited tone.

Hermione's heart sank. Her mother had always had a soft spot for Ron. She loved his big family and it didn't hurt that his pet name for her was the same as her father's. Hermione glanced over her shoulder to see Draco watching her while he leaned coolly against the booth in his Muggle clothes, arms folded casually across his chest. He smirked at her, like he knew what they were talking about.

"No, most definitely not," Hermione said definitively.

"Oh," her mother said somewhat disappointed. "So, someone new?"

"Not exactly."

"Harry?"

"Oh my god, Mum. Harry is like my brother!"

This caught Draco's attention, and he peered at Hermione closely. It was hard to keep her concentration on the conversation with her mother while she was being bombarded by those steely eyes.

"Well then, for goodness sakes, spit it out, sweetheart! Your narrative is nowhere at titillating as Anne Rice's."

"Oh, all right," Hermione resigned. "It's someone I've known a while, but just getting to know now.".

"That sounds like a new adventure to me," her mother said, and Hermione knew she was smiling on the other side of the phone.

"It really is."

"Well I can't wait to hear more when you are ready to share," her mother said gently.

"All right, Mum," Hermione said. "I should go now. I'm scheduled to travel back to England in a couple of minutes."

"Are you flying?"

"Not exactly."

"Can't tell me?"

"Not over the phone," Hermione said, grimacing into the phone. She didn't like keeping things from her parents about her world, but it was important to keep details about her world close to her chest until they were all together alone.

"That's all right, my darling. Please travel safe, and have that boy give you a hug for me."

"I love you, Mum. Happy Birthday!"

"I love you too, Hermy."

Hermione heard her mother end the call with a small click of her receiver in England but kept the receiver up to her ear for a moment longer, lingering in the warmness of their connection. Finally, she replaced the phone back in the cradle and sighed.

"Let's find an alley," she said to Draco stepping out of the booth.

His eyebrows shot up and he wriggled them. "To do what?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and swatted his arm again. "To Portkey, you maniac."

"I know, I know," Draco said, while grabbing for her hand. They walked down the block and over the crosswalk, peering around to find an alley. Hermione's wand vibrated in her pocket, and she knew that it was their thirty-minute warning for the Portkey.

"Thirty minutes," she said to Draco as they squeezed past a big group of tourists walking in the opposite direction.

"All right, coffee first then?"

"Oh yes! And maybe a bagel too? New York City is famous for them."

"What's a bagel?"

"A kind of Muggle bread, apparently pretty decent."

"Really selling it, Hermione."

"It's round! It's hearty! It's flavorful!" she boasted quickly in a mocking tone.

"That's better," Draco said with a large smile which made Hermione's heart jump in her throat.