"You look lovely." Hermione's mother stood in the doorway of her daughter's room and smiled at her. Hermione had fussed about this dress, changing clothes three times, and Jean Granger thought back to her own adolescence with a nostalgic smile. How simple everything had seemed then, worrying about levels and whether a boy liked her. Not that Hermione seemed to care about that. She and that blond boy had been practically joined at the hip since they met, and if Hermione ever thought once about dating anyone else, she never mentioned it. Jean had tried suggesting that getting serious too soon wasn't always that wise, but she might as well have been yelling at the wind. Hermione was dead set on Draco Malfoy.

Jean spared a thought for Draco's unfortunate father and his all-too-poorly-hidden distaste at shaking her hand the first time they met. She wondered if he'd gotten any help and whether it would be too rude to send him the name of a good therapist she knew. Probably. Almost certainly.

She refocused on her daughter. Hermione had picked out a floral dress that was a little more old-fashioned than Jean would have expected, but she had to admit the yellow print looked very sweet, and even the ruffles at the hem looked charming.

"Thank you," Hermione said. She smoothed her hands down over the fabric, examined herself in the mirror one last time, then picked up her usual school bag.

Jean frowned. The bag was practical and sturdy and bursting with notes and quills and books. It didn't exactly go with the light, pretty dress. "Let me loan you one of mine," she said. "Instead of that."

Hermione's eyes lit up, and when Jean returned with a small Hermes clutch she'd found years ago at a thrift sale and never found a use for, they got even brighter. "Mum," Hermione breathed out. "Are you sure?"

"It looks better with your frock," Jean said. "And it's just been sitting there in my drawer." She hesitated. "I heard from your school that the headmaster died."

Hermione nodded, but she was too busy admiring the bag to really pay attention. "He was really old," she said when Jean cleared her throat.

"Is there a service we should plan on attending?" Jean asked. If Hermione had been at a normal school – even a fancy, public one – she would have known the right thing to do if one of her teachers died. With Hogwarts, she wasn't sure.

Hermione shook her head. "I think they had some quiet thing," she said. "Just the staff. No one made a big deal about it."

"Then I won't worry," Jean said.

Hermione dropped her compact and a handkerchief into the bag, then – puzzlingly – a small test tube as well. The wizarding version of a headache tablet, Jean supposed, because why do anything the simple way when you could use quills and owls and potions from some ancient apothecary instead of pain tablets and the mail like a sensible person? The magical world made her laugh. "Be sure to thank Mrs. Malfoy," she said because even in the land of the ridiculous manners surely mattered.

"I will," Hermione promised. When she left via the fireplace, Jean rolled her eyes at the green flames before picking up her crossword. Travel via fireplace seemed to her the silliest way to do anything, but that was magic for you. At least Hermione seemed happy, and that was all that mattered.

#

Theodore Nott stood unsmiling as his father adjusted his robes one last time. Had to look perfect. Had to be perfect. Muggles were bad. The old ways were good. He couldn't wait to finish Hogwarts and get the hell out of this house. He'd get a job brewing potions or keeping shop and never have to listen to one of his father's lectures again.

Maybe he could convince Hermione to go in on a bookstore. He couldn't be the only person who liked her Muggle stories, which meant there was probably a big, untapped market for importing them into the wizarding world. The thought cheered him enough to not react when his father gave him one last warning.

"The Malfoys have fallen from grace, Theo, and don't you forget it. Narcissa took that Potter boy under her wing, and it's made them look untrustworthy. And I don't care how many times Lucius says in his oily way that it's better to control the boy than let Dumbledore have him. If he were really loyal, he'd have slit the boy's throat years ago and been done with it."

"Yes, father."

"And the old man is dead, so it's not as if Potter can fall into his clutches now!"

"Yes, father."

"You spend your time with Goyle's boy if he's there, or one of the Carrow girls if you're in the mood for that sort of thing. Not Potter, and not Draco Malfoy either. Dating a Mudblood. I can't imagine what Lucius is thinking allowing that."

Theo managed not to flinch at the slur. It had been a common enough word in his childhood, but now it felt unclean and he wished his father wouldn't use it. Not that he was stupid enough to say that. "I suppose he wants Draco to be happy."

"You don't let a child jump off a cliff even if he swears it will make him happy," Thoros Nott said with a snort. Then he leveled a sudden, serious look at Theo. "You aren't hiding any sort of squalid sex thing with Mudblood trash, are you?"

Theo shook his head, but his father kept watching him with that narrow-eyed glare, so more was clearly needed. "I guess I'm dating Luna."

"Luna?"

"Lovegood."

Theo wasn't sure whether he was relieved that surname passed muster or angry that it mattered. Either way, his father grunted and gripped his arm a little too tightly before apparating to the Malfoy's for Easter.

#

"I don't want to go." Harry's arms were crossed and he was scowling and Remus tried to swallow his irritation at the way teenagers could be really bloody annoying. The boy was traumatized, and allowances had to be made, so he counted to ten very slowly before replying.

"That is unfortunate because I told Narcissa you would be there."

"So untell her," Harry suggested.

"Or," Remus said, "you could do as I have asked and go to the Malfoy's for Easter."

"Or I could not," Harry said. "I could study for my O.W.L.s."

Remus' patience was already wearing thin. "I'm not sure you understand," he began.

"Oh, I understand," Harry said. "I understand she threw Sirius at Voldemort and didn't care that he died. I understand –"

"You do not," Remus said. Another deep breath. "Look, I don't like Lucius Malfoy and never have. But Narcissa was Sirius' cousin, and that means something."

"Nope," Harry said.

"Until Christmas, she was your mum."

"No," Harry said. "Lily Potter was my mum, and Voldemort killed her, and I don't give a shit –"

"Get your arse to the Malfoy's," Remus snapped. He was grieving too, and he didn't need this shite. Not right now. "Or, so help me, I will apparate up to Hogwarts and drag you there by the ear myself."

"Why?" The anger was there, and the combativeness, but underneath both Remus could hear the gaping maw of pain that Sirius was gone. That he wasn't coming back. That Narcissa had pointed him at death. It made him soften his tone.

"When you were born," he began, "the Malfoys were as unrepentant a pair of buggering blood purists as you could hope to find."

"Not sure why that's a reason to go to their party," Harry muttered, but it was soft enough Remus could ignore it.

"And Death Eaters on top of it," he went on. "And I know Lucius claimed he was under the Imperious but if that was true, I'll eat my own shoes."

A tiny smile crept onto Harry's face.

"And something changed her. And partly it was you because when your parents were killed, she swooped in to help Sirius who didn't know one blasted thing about babies. And neither did I. But he was her cousin, and he was raising a baby, and that made you her cousin, and it didn't matter that you were a half-Blood, or that you had something to do with Voldemort's death, she was there every inch of the way, and she never begrudged a moment of her time."

"She's a saint," Harry said. "I get it, but I still don't –"

"And then Draco was Sorted to Gryffindor," Remus went on relentlessly. "And I know you can't quite understand this, but it was a tremendous loss of face for them. Malfoys and Blacks have always been in Slytherin, and –"

"Not Sirius."

"No," Remus admitted. "Not Sirius."

"So, they didn't burn Draco off the tapestry. Big fucking deal."

"It was to them," Remus said, though he agreed with Harry that meeting the baseline standard for not being an utter arsehole wasn't that great of a recommendation. But it was all he had for Lucius Malfoy—or Snape—so he was working with it. He sighed. "She's put her life on the line for you, Harry, especially now that Voldemort's back. She's connived and smiled and fought to make sure he stayed gone, and, yeah, she messed up the snake. But Voldemort would kill her for no other reason than she took you in, and she's known it from the first, and she did it anyway."

"I don't care."

"Well, I do," he said. "And Sirius did. Which is why you will go to her party, and why you will tell her you are sorry and that you were upset, and why you will ask her to forgive you for speaking out of turn."

"I'm not sorry, though."

"I don't give a fuck," Remus said. "Do it anyway."

Harry scowled, but it was the scowl of a teenager who was going to do what he was asked. "Can I at least bring Blaise with me?"

Remus' face softened. "Yeah," he said. "That would be fine."

#

"Don't embarrass me," Daphne said. Astoria was dressed like a normal person in a pretty spring skirt and matching jumper but she was holding a hat. An outrageous hat. A gigantic hat. The enormous pink straw brim would have been bad enough, but she'd added a bow that was even larger and tucked a dozen flowers into the ribbon. Live butterflies fluttered around, never quite settling but never fully leaving the hat either. And Daphne was sure she'd seen at least one bowtruckle who'd come along for the ride.

"Astoria, can you leave the hat at home, please," their mother said.

"But I was telling Mrs. Malfoy about the hats I make at the Christmas party," Astoria said with wide, hurt eyes that Daphne didn't believe for a moment. "She specifically asked me to wear one to Easter."

"I thought you spent that whole party with Harry Potter," Daphne said. "When did you even talk to her?"

"I did greet the hostess," Astoria said. If she was any other girl, Daphne would have called the tone of her voice 'wounded.' Since it was Astoria, 'conniving' was probably a better description. "I'm not some heathen with no manners, Daph."

"It's ugly," Daphne said.

Fat tears welled from the corners of Astoria's eyes. "Mom," she said and sniffled.

Daphne couldn't help but notice Astoria had thought ahead enough to wear waterproof eye makeup. "Well, it is," she snapped.

"You're just jealous you aren't artistic," Astoria said. "And you're mean." Another tear rolled down her cheek, disturbing her foundation not at all.

"Be nice to your sister," their mother said automatically.

Astoria clapped the hat on her head, tying yet another gigantic bow under her chin. Merlin, it was so unfair. The hat was ugly. And ridiculous. But on her, it somehow looked charming and fun and playful. It said the girl wearing it loved fashion but didn't take it too seriously. The pretty floral dress Daphne had spent hours picking out looked dumpy and boring in comparison, and Daphne couldn't wait to finish Hogwarts and move out. She'd go to Paris. Or maybe the States. Somewhere far, far away from her horrible sister.

"Fine," Daphne said. "Wear the stupid hat." She stomped into the Floo.

#

Molly Weasley checked the angle of her hat. An Easter party was a good reason to be seen talking to Narcissa Malfoy in case anyone was suspicious, and with He Who Must Not Be Named back, it was better to be as cautious as possible. She'd considered taking Ron or Ginny with her to have an even better excuse for attending, but Ron's marks in transfiguration were terrible and he needed to spend the Easter holiday catching up on his essays. Ginny just begged not to be made to go to a boring rich person thing, and Molly sympathized.

She hoped the company wouldn't be too terrible.

She wondered if she could sneak upstairs and check out some of the less public rooms. She'd love to find out that Narcissa Malfoy left brassieres hanging over the backs of chairs or empty teacups on her nightstand.

It was petty, but a woman could dream. Molly apparated away.

#

Neville checked his pockets to make sure he had everything. Diary. Wand. Flask of basilisk venom. Hostess gift for Narcissa Malfoy. Handkerchief. Extra quill just in case. For years his gran had told him he'd lose his head if it weren't attached, and now he was paranoid about leaving things behind. Not that she'd be at the Malfoy's Easter party – thank Merlin – but the way she sighed whenever he made a mistake was branded into his soul. She was so sure he'd never be as good as his father, and nothing he did made any difference. Thanks to his diary, he'd known he needed to get his own wand. And once he had, his ability to use magic had gotten so much better. He spent every summer practicing magic with the diary's encouragement, and he knew he was years ahead of everyone else.

Not that it mattered. His gran never noticed, and no one else cared. He'd never measure up to his father as far as his gran was concerned. He'd never be a war hero. And he'd never be popular.

At least he had the diary.

With that, he didn't need anything more.

He stepped into the Floo and left Hogwarts behind.

#

Pansy blew a kiss to all the losers in her House who hadn't been invited to the Malfoy's Easter party and stepped into the Floo.

#

Draco didn't exactly haunt the Floo. And he did welcome Pansy with a greeting not quite disappointed enough to be rude, but everyone knew who he was waiting for.

"Honestly," Pansy said. "It's been a whole day. I'm surprised you haven't died without her."

"Very funny, Pans." Draco flipped a quick V at her and pasted on a smile for Astoria and Daphne Greengrass. Their mother patted him on the shoulder and told him he was growing so quickly, he must be almost as tall as his father by now, then disappeared into the parlour where the adults were milling around and talking about the weather.

"Thank you for inviting me," Daphne said. She sounded stiff and uncomfortable, and Draco might have wondered what her problem was – probably her monthly – if his attention wasn't stolen by the gigantic hat her sister was wearing.

"Astoria?" he asked. It couldn't be anyone else, but her hat was over two feet wide and butterflies were darting in front of her face. Where on earth had she found that thing, and what had possessed her to put it on her head.

Maybe she was possessed. "Are you okay?" Draco asked.

"Blink twice if you're being held hostage by headwear," Pansy called from the long table covered with chocolate eggs and Every Flavor Beans. "Not that I'd do anything to help you, but it'd be good to know."

Draco stopped caring, however, because Hermione stepped through the Floo and smiled at him. She was a burst of sunshine, all yellows and happiness, and she twirled a little so he could admire her outfit, which he dutifully did. No son of Narcissa Malfoy was totally unaware that he was supposed to say Hermione looked nice. It was easy to say because she did. And she wasn't wearing a ridiculous hat, so he could lean in and kiss her.

She turned, and the wholly appropriate brush of lips against her cheek he intended turned into something a little more real. He set his hands on her shoulders, then slid one to the back of her neck as he pressed his mouth to hers, as her lips opened under his, as…

… as Pansy said with great annoyance, "Get a room, you two," and threw a chocolate egg at his head.

Hermione pulled away, laughing, and the moment was spoiled but Draco couldn't mind. She was here, and it was a holiday. He accioed the egg into his hand and hurled it back at Pansy. Daphne caught it with reflexes Draco hadn't known she had, and a quick game of hot potato began.

Professor McGonagall stepped into the room, frowned at them, but swept off to greet his mum.

"Weird guest list," Astoria said, and Draco didn't argue with her.

It got weirder when Remus appeared, Harry and Blaise at his side. Draco froze. He hadn't known they were coming. Wouldn't have wanted them here, not with the way Harry had been acting. Was surprised Harry was willing to even deign to enter the manor. Still, he was Narcissa Malfoy's son and manners had been drilled into him from before he could walk.

"Harry," he said tightly. "Nice to see you."

Harry stepped forward, and there was a long pause, then he pulled his arm back and swung at Draco's nose.

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N - Thank you lambda scorpii for beta reading!