Hello friends! Here's a new chapter! Please let me know your thoughts!

Until Sunday!

Kiwi

Looking up to the baby blue skies, so uncharacteristic from the grey winter afternoons, Hermione basked in the sun as she sat under an old maple tree after enjoying Sunday brunch at the Weasleys. The wind blew its autumn fragrance around her curls as Hermione filled her lungs with the crisp cold air. A carpet full of golds and redsy crinkled under her foot as she tilted her head back in thanks. Hermione had been looking forward to coming to the Burrow—alongside Harry—, for weeks now. Ginny had insisted that her parents had explicitly wanted Hermione to join and would not take no for an answer, especially when she was home long enough to enjoy Sunday brunch. They wanted a full house before Ginny had to go back to training camp.

Hermione had long called the Weasleys her family. For all their faults, Molly and Arthur had welcomed her and Harry into their lives when they entered the wizarding world. Being back here with them had Hermione overrun with feelings of nostalgia as they sat and chatted. It brought back sweet memories of loud dinners, game nights, and fond evenings curled up in front of a hearth that would heat the entire house. She smiled to herself as the memories she shared with the humble family played through her mind like a film.

After sharing a hearty meal together, Harry, Hermione and Ginny cuddled onto the bench under the tree in the Burrows backyard, talking and laughing about everything and nothing at all. However, Hermione was more listening to her friends talk about their work and magical experiences than providing any updates on her own relatively plain life.

Even with her two closest friends by her side, she was lost in thought once again. A month had passed since she sent her letter to Azkaban without hearing from a certain blond wizard. She had hesitated long moments as she penned her latest response but ultimately decided to offer a listening ear should he need one, tired of the back and forth they had been sharing. Now, however, she was worried she had been too forward in offering even that to a wizard with their history.

Initially, she felt content and confident, but doubt slowly crept back in and now she was at a loss.

"Hermione?" Ginny's soft voice brought her back to the current conversation. Ginny's brown worried gaze searching her own, "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, where's Harry?" Looking over her shoulder to try and spot where the bespeckled wizard had gone off to, her eyes found Ginny's again when he was nowhere to be found.

"He just popped in to grab us some more butterbeer. He asked before leaving and you nodded. But when you didn't stop nodding, I thought there might be something wrong. Are you alright?" Ginny had always had more perceptive than Harry and Hermione had to quickly think of something to tell Ginny. Discussing her nonexistent problem with her friend was not an option.

Ginny's stifled giggle halted Hermione's thoughts, "What's so funny?"

"You're still nodding." And this time, Ginny couldn't hold her laughter in.

"Oh! Sorry Gin, it's just work. Don't worry," she responded as casually as she could.

"Come off it! Is it a boy?" Ginny wiggled her brows.

"What?! No!" Hermione's voice went up an octave, breaking eye contact. "What would make you think that?"

"Well, first, your voice, second, the blush on your cheeks that can rival my own hair—" nudging her elbow, she persisted "—well, who is it?"

"Honestly, Ginny, it's just work. I have a mountain of paperwork waiting for me at home, and these new suggestions that I've been working on for the reform proposal…I just don't want to mess it up this time," she finished truthfully.

"Harry told me about the rejection last month, I'm sorry, Hermione. It took me a while to understand why you're trying to help convicted scum sitting in Azkaban. I couldn't quite process why you were attempting to make them more comfortable, but then I was reminded of that old sod Mundungus. He's locked up in Azkaban as a petty criminal. I wouldn't say he's dangerous, more a coward and a waste of space, but I suppose he could benefit from learning a few things while there before his release."

"Exactly my point." Hermione pointed her finger at Ginny, not all of them are dangerous, she thought in her head.

"I'm off then Ginny, I have some last-minute work to do before tomorrow's big day." She stood to give Ginny a hug before leaving.

Just then, Harry approached the table with three bottles of butterbeer clinking in his hand. "All right around here?" He asked in a quiet voice, his brows furrowed. He placed the three bottles on the oaken table and turned around to face the two witches.

"Yes, Ginny and I were talking about work and I was thinking about the Ministry papers I worked on Friday night. I forgot I needed to add a few more things to it for tomorrow's hearing." She shifted her weight from foot to foot, eager to get back to her room.

In all actuality, she did have a lot of work to do for the Ministry and she tried her best to focus her mind on precisely that. She needed these reforms to be implemented for the wizarding world to see the difference she knew they would make. Reforming Azkaban was only the first part of her much larger project to open a less horrific detention centre.

Nowadays, every time she read the word Azkaban or looked at a paper with a stamp belonging to the well-known magical prison, her mind betrayed her however, and she couldn't help but think of Malfoy. Now, every day that passed without a response from the git felt like an eternity.

Most of the time she scolded herself for focusing on him. She wasn't obsessed per se, but she had expected a response by now, and since she had yet to receive one, she was driving herself mad, probably as mad as he had felt with her delayed response the first time around. In his last letter, he apologised for his past behaviour and she had forgiven him and wished him a good life, that should have been the end of it.

Yet her mind felt restless as if she needed something else from this man.

"Do you want us to accompany you?" Harry's voice pulled her out of her thoughts and away from Malfoy once again.

Hermione was used to these reactions. She wasn't quite so flamboyant as she had once been before the war. But just like each of her friends had shifted because of their trauma, Hermione was now more reclusive, her thoughts more often than not kept to herself. Therefore, it wasn't uncommon for her friends to watch her closely through furrowed brows, as if trying to understand a book in ancient runes rather than a friend of over a decade.

Shaking her head and squeezing Harry's shoulder, she said, "No, don't worry, really. I'm fine." Picking up her red coat and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, she smiled genuinely at Ginny, "I'll be at home when you guys get back. I'll just go and say my goodbyes to Arthur and Molly."

"You know you can tell us anything, right?" Hermione could tell Harry was trying not to sound so worried. Hermione's heart swelled at his concern, a tender smile warming her cheeks in silent thanks.

"I do, thank you." In a rare moment of affection, Hermione couldn't help but approach Harry, placing a sisterly kiss on his cheek and then doing the same to Ginny. "I love you guys. I'll see you when you get home."

After saying goodbye to the rest of the Weasleys, Hermione walked to the apparition point and reappeared in an alley tucked away from the busy streets of London. Hermione joined the crowds, opting to go for a small detour around the block to meditate in hopes of clearing her mind.

Although Hermione knew she had to focus on the work she had brought home from the Ministry, she was unable to let go of the puzzle that was Draco Malfoy. So much of who Hermione was, was logic and research-driven. She liked to know how things worked and why they were the way they were. So far, Malfoy had given pieces of himself through his letters that had the logical side of her needing more.

She could also admit she was lonely, and perhaps his letters—coming at a time where her work didn't allow much external interactions with others—had reminded her what it was like to have discourse with an equal, regardless of how heated it had been. He had said his second letter was a release for him, well perhaps her response had been just as much of a release as well, allowing her to extend the hand of tentative friendship the way she had in her last letter.

But how ridiculous that she was still contemplating this man. Maybe she needed to go out more and relax? Maybe meet someone new?

She smiled to herself as she climbed the steps to Grimmauld Place, dating was the last thing on her mind.

Draco groaned into his thin pillow, willing himself to calm down and ignore the need to relieve himself from the permanent images he now had floating in his head of Granger. The image of the brunette in her towel, with wet, perfect ringlets sticking to her skin and sweet smile had been haunting him for weeks now.

His pulse raced as his mind's eye traced over those toned, tanned legs once again and how nicely she now filled out the crimson jersey.

He tried to distract himself in different ways. He meditated, worked on his breathing exercises, tried to respond to letters from his mother, who had written him a couple of times during the past month, tried to exercise—taking advantage of the small space in his cell—and tried to read the same books over and over. All in an attempt to occupy his mind on everything except what lay underneath that towel and that hideous Quidditch top.

All in vain.

He never expected to observe or be remotely attracted to Granger. Yet, here he was wishing she had been as lanky as she was in Hogwarts, easily swallowed by her uniform, rather than the woman who had curves in all the right places, towel almost too small to keep her hidden from his view.

With the scent of peaches and vanilla pouring out of the bathroom with her, Draco wasn't sure if he was exaggerating the rosy cheeks, full, pouty lips, and older face of Hermione Granger. He didn't much care, to be honest. She was beautiful, even if she still donned bags under her eyes and seemed fit to blow over by a strong gust of wind.

"I can't do this anymore, I'll explode," Draco groaned, shoving his face further into his pillow. All Draco needed to do to relieve himself was good wank. He should have realised that seeing a half-naked woman for the first time in years would do this to him and shouldn't fight his natural response, but he couldn't help it. Sighing heavily at the disrespectful thought of the witch, he couldn't bring himself to do it. He could never see her willingly flouncing around before him like that if she had known just who the owl was.

But how would she know, he thought. Yes, but you'll know, he scolded himself.

It was one form to pass the time—indulging in his baser needs—but he would much rather fly over the raging sea than live with the fact that he had wanked off to Granger's towel-covered body. Besides, it was difficult to get in the mood in a place like this where one had to continuously look over his shoulder.

Draco turned again in his bed, the springs digging into his spine and decided to reread Granger's last letter to him. He had read it a hundred times by now to make sure he didn't misconstrue her words. His fingers followed the rough ridges of his mattress to the envelope just sticking out, pulling the letter out once again like an addict needing his fix. A waft of vanilla overwhelmed him, thankful the scent had not yet faded, as Draco bit down on his cheek to smother the little groan that threatened to escape him.

Malfoy,

I think it's commendable that you were able, especially after spending time in prison, send letters out to those you felt deserved an apology from you. As I stated in my initial letter, and others thereafter, you are forgiven. Not because of the discourse we have had back and forth, but because I have no further reason to hold onto any hate I felt towards you from my youth.

I can appreciate you needing a place to tell your story, even if it was only some of it, and I am glad that you perhaps felt I could be the person to receive it. It was rather interesting stepping into your shoes for once without the lenses of our history tainting it.

With that being said, I'm tired of hashing out old wounds. Can't we simply wipe the slate clean so to speak? A muggle phrase that simply means start over.

I wasn't being facetious when I wished you a good life; I do hope to see you doing well once you leave that place. I have worked hard to provide support and guidance to prisoners, such as yourself, so they don't feel so powerless when their sentences are up. I don't know much, but it seems that perhaps these changes in Azkaban have been well received by you.

Either way, I understand what it feels like to have so much to say and no one to say it to, even with the friends that I have. They have gone through as much as I have and I would hate to burden them with it all. So I am happy to offer you company whilst you're waiting for your release. I have been told I am a good listener and I know how it feels to be alone.

Sincerely,

Hermione Granger.

Laying the letter on his chest and staring at the ceiling, he thought deeply about the reasons for his silence. Hermione had offered company while being here. It was such a thoughtful act after their discourse, and his silence was perhaps sending all the wrong messages to her. His silence was also heavily influenced by the fact that something, in the last month, had shifted her from acquaintance in his mind to a potential friend.

On the other hand, it might have been shame that prevented him from writing to Granger again. Seeing her in the privacy of her own room in nothing but a towel didn't feel right. He felt like a voyeur. What if she had walked out naked? A shiver ran up his spine that wasn't from the bitter cold that surrounded his cell, a wicked smirk gracing his lips even as he shook his head to rid himself of the sinful thoughts.

Gnawing on his lips, there was another reason for his abrupt stop in responding back. How would her orange waste of space boyfriend feel about them speaking? Draco wouldn't lie and pretend he wasn't dreading the day he received a howler from the Weasel telling him off for writing to her. Each silent day that passed only increased his anxiety. When Granger stepped out of the bathroom for the second time wearing his jersey and looking happy, it snapped Draco back to reality. A reality he had to hold tight to even as she offered him friendship. The truth was, even if she desired friendship, there were people in her life that would prevent her from doing so, and Draco didn't enjoy being rejected.

However, if Draco was honest to himself, he had missed waiting for a letter from her. Even if it was just to put him in his place for being an arsehole.

He pulled himself to his feet, having spent most of the day laying down without doing anything but eating breakfast and lunch, and slowly approached his desk to check his reading options above it. He was met with the same three books he had been given to read for the last few months now. And although the books were excellent, he couldn't imagine rereading another word of them, even if he was bored out of his mind with everything.

Draco ached to be back at Malfoy Manor with the endless choices of books and tomes. As he stared vacantly at the over-read novels, an idea struck Draco, smirk stealing over his previously unamused features.

If this idea didn't give him the perfect opportunity to reach out to Granger, he couldn't call himself a Slytherin. But he had to take advantage of this moment and what better way to continue the conversation with Granger, not over feelings as she had indicated, but over books.

He sank in his chair resting his elbow on the table and grabbed a sheet of parchment, the smirk never leaving his face. He was eager to keep the conversation going now that someone of equal measure was responding back.

After he had finished drafting her letter and penned down her name on the envelope, his heart jumped at the thought of seeing her again. He remembered the name she had picked for him, snorting at the way she had chosen a poisonous plant as inspiration. Aconite.

With a giddiness he had no right feeling, Draco waited until the last light went off and prepared himself to head back into London.

Immersed in Bing Crosby's I'll Be Home For Christmas, Hermione nodded along to the lyrics, unashamedly enjoying holiday music in mid-November. As she swayed to and fro, fingers drumming against her Christmas apron, she didn't fight the genuine smile that lit up her face.

Hermione was in an excellent mood. Some could even describe it as ecstatic, accomplished, or brilliant.

Not only had her workday been exemplary, but the cold front from the north had transformed the bustling city of London into a beautiful white canvas as she walked home, enjoying the snowfall. Inspired to keep her good mood firmly in place, she had decided a freshly baked pie was in order, excited to warm up the house with scents of her mother's apple pie.

With Bing on, her favourite apron hugging her curves, and the cooling pie wafting peace around her, Hermione couldn't help but be at ease, her soul warmed as she relaxed against the table.

Letting the soft Christmas tunes embrace her as tightly as the spicy cinnamon fragrance of her pie, Hermione bit her lip to hold back another wide smile from overtaking her face. However, being alone in the large townhome meant she didn't have to hold back her light squeal at how well her proposals had done before the Wizengamot that afternoon. Bouncing lightly in place she ran through the 'ayes' again. Hermione had implemented new statistics in the updated proposals proving how much more burdensome ill ex-prisoners were on their society than healthy wizards and witches who left Azkaban better prepared both mentally but now also physically to contribute to society positively.

She could breathe a little easier knowing that the prisoners would now have access to regular showers, hair maintenance, and prompt access to medical attention if they exhibited any symptoms during a guards daily check-ins.

She knew what they whispered about her behind her back, knew her proposals were accepted just as much for her evidence as for her name, but she couldn't be bothered to care when her 'Azkaban Project' was progressing precisely as she intended. The nay-sayers just couldn't understand that it wasn't those convicted that motivated her project but the injustice of the system. She knew there was a major push in the Muggle world to overturn unjust convictions and harsher than necessary sentencing, but Hermione couldn't do that here, not yet. Many members of the newly formed Wizengamot were still too angry, their biases still too fresh after the blood war.

If she was honest with herself, regardless of what she felt for Draco Malfoy two months previous, it had been his sentencing that had set her on this path. The callous way in which the Wizengamot had sent a mere boy of seventeen to such a horrid place had bile rising up her throat. If she couldn't fight the example they wanted to make out of him and any other minor offenders, then she had to at least make their stay humane.

Another smile cut through her thoughts at how Malfoy may react to the additions to his tedious days. Would he appreciate it? Would it disturb a carefully curated routine? This was the first time she had 'access' to someone who was directly benefiting from what she was implementing, and by Rowena she hoped it was well received.

Shaking herself from the potential reactions of others, Hermione got busy making dinner. She had set up the perfect environment as she waited for the chilli to simmer and was unable to stay still. Using her wooden spoon in place of a partner, she twirled and swayed, humming softly to the music and almost missed the familiar snowy owl staring intently back at her from the window. Hermione froze at being caught so unguarded, even if it was a correspondence owl, and simply stared back at it.

Shaking herself from the birds hypnotising stare and willing her racing heart to slow, Hermione licked her lips and smiled, wandlessly flicking her wrist to allow the owl into the warmth of the kitchen.

"Aconite! Hello," an embarrassed whisper escaped her lips as she gently placed her dancing partner on the counter to approach him.

Hermione sucked her lower lip into her mouth, holding her smile as the owl shook, previously unnoticeable snow falling around him and melting against the warmed surface of her worktop. He opened his beak slightly as if intending to return the greeting, and she felt an inexplicable rush of butterflies at the odd action.

Ignoring the envelope he placed before himself—the Azkaban seal on the back confirming who the sender must be—Hermione turned to cut a small slice of the freshly cooled apple pie to offer her new friend. She laughed as it began to nibble on the crust, not even hesitating as she had seen other owls do.

"Mmm, must be a long trip. And I did promise a better treat the next time you came, just glad I could deliver such a fresh one." She gently smoothed down his drying feathers as he feasted, her eyes finally landing on the yellowed correspondence Aconite had nudged towards her.

Slowly, the curiosity at Malfoy's letter soured to resentment.

"It's a little pretentious of him to wait so long to finally get back to me. I mean, it's not as if he's incredibly busy," she huffed, moving to pick up the envelope.

"Ouch!" Shocked, Hermione took a step back from the aggressive bird. "Again with the nipping. Why did you do that? I just gave you pie." She narrowed her gaze on the bird, hands coming to her hips as she scowled down at him. But he ignored her and went back to finishing his treat and Hermione had to remind herself she was talking to a bird, not a person.

Aconite ate quickly, emptying the plate as if it hadn't eaten in weeks, and turned, flapping his wings in preparation to leave through the still open window.

"That's the last time I play nice with that owl. Hopefully, they send another," Hermione said, clicking her tongue as she flicked her wrist to close the window behind him. Shaking her head, Hermione turned off the burners, covered the dinner and settled against the counter to read just what Malfoy had sent her this time.

Granger,

I am sorry for the delay. I am deeply busy here. Some days my calendar is so full, I cannot squeeze in a lettered response to someone on the other side of the world.

Well, we're not that far away, but doesn't that sound more poetic? It was almost as if I took the words straight from one of the three books I have had possession of for the last three months. Merlin, I have read all three so many times I could recite them with my eyes closed.

In all seriousness, I am sorry for the delay in getting back to you. After so many words rushed onto the page before, I was at a loss for what to say and how to respond without seeming too out of character. Although, I am certain that is how I am reflected right now. But blank slate and all that, yeah?

Do you still read as voraciously as you did in Hogwarts? I hope you do, and it is less to save Potter's arse and more for enjoyment and professional development. I have been able to learn quite a bit from the three authors I have had for company, but I am ready for something new. So, if you still read as voraciously as you did before, do you have any books you can recommend? I know your mandate indicates Muggle literature so please assist me in complying...

Hermione fought a smile at his semi-insane ramblings, eager to stretch her literary skills and recommend the perfect books. Just as she moved to make a list of titles off the top of her head she froze, scratching a note instead to inquire why prisoners hadn't received a fresh set of books monthly, as per her first round of changes.

Running her pen over her lips, she dragged her attention back to the letter, brows furrowed, mind focused on any other throwaway comment Malfoy made that went against the laws she had worked tirelessly to pass.

You said I could count on you to at least listen. You must understand as a Malfoy, but more importantly, as a man who grew up alone but surrounded by people, this is no easy feat. Most of what I have to say I either disclose to my therapist—thanks for that Granger—or you were the unfortunate recipient of already.

I suppose if I had to speak on anything else, it is the almost solitary confinement that Azkaban puts us in. Sure we can interact, but we are so spread apart, so surrounded by darkness and dankness that words get carried away by the angry ocean air and muffled by others cries of despair.

I think, if I may be so bold, that you have some idea of what I mean. I cannot imagine you being isolated in any way—especially since you seem to live with at least one of the wonder duo—but more than once you reflected on knowing loneliness.

I'm unsure how much I can help considering my own crumbled tether to the outside world, but perhaps I am a safe bet to unload on as well. After all, if you're anything like me, who would I have to tell. The only two people I speak to regularly are my mother and Theo. I quite doubt they'd be enthralled with your innermost thoughts.

Alternatively, I would hate to get between you and Weaslebee, so I understand if you want to keep this surface level. Either way, recommend some books I may be able to bribe a guard for with my dashingly good looks.

Hope you're staying warm,

Sincerely,

D.M.

"Ron?" She tilted her head to the side, lips pursing.

After a moment of thought, she scrunched her nose up at the thought of Malfoy thinking she would allow anyone decide who she could or couldn't speak to. She let the letter hang loosely at her side as she tried to understand why he brought Ron into his letter. Did he think she was with Ron? She supposed keeping up with the society pages wasn't top of his list while in prison, but her breakup with Ron had been definite, even when so many others wanted them to work out. She sighed at how very wrong she and Ron were together, thankful he was pursuing his dreams on mainland Europe.

Pushing off the counter, Hermione stuffed the letter carefully into her back jean pocket before serving herself some chilli and apple pie. She hummed, breathing in the pie's decadent scent as she sliced it, licking her lips as its centre pooled on her plate. This had been the easiest letter she'd received from Malfoy thus far. It was easy, and the way he had mentioned a small observation etched amongst long-winded paragraphs had her cheeks flushing. She knew Harry and Ginny were aware of her accidental isolation. She knew they watched her closer than before and added weight to each of her words when she spoke, but she also knew that they had each other to lean on.

And that was perhaps the feeling she felt most poignantly—the lack of her person, especially when she had so hoped it would be Ron all those years ago. Perhaps she'd do something crazy and confide in Malfoy. He was right, who would he tell? At this rate, she had just as much on him from his own letters should he attempt to use anything against her.

Mindlessly, Hermione took her apron off, tossing it on the flour-covered worktop, levitated her plates and drink before her, and made her way back upstairs, ready to eat and write. She wasn't quite sure what to say, but hoped a full stomach would assist in this reply.

When she entered her room, she sent her plates ahead of her to the desk, stopping before her private book collection to contemplate which book she would send his way. She was certain that any other sender would get their mail checked and items confiscated, but Hermione Granger's mail would make it to the intended recipient without issue. Taking stock of the titles in her personal library, her eyes settled on Henri Charriere's Papillon. He had definitely exhibited some sort of humour in his letter so perhaps he would enjoy her tongue in cheek reason for sending it. Giggling as she imagined Malfoy's face when he realised the similarities between the book and his own reality, Hermione knew this had to be his next read.

Her eyes kept drifting to the book as she ate, giggles stifled with each mouthful of chilli, and a warmth that couldn't solely be attributed to her dinner or dessert settled low in her gut. Before she allowed herself to consider whatever feelings he was inspiring in her, she wiped her hands down and set to create a short missive to attach to the book. He was sweet to suggest she speak to him, but she too was unsure just what to say, especially when she had such a great day and her spirits were still high.

Malfoy,

Ronald, or Ron for short, is just my friend; Merlin, I haven't heard weaselbee in years. I do not allow anyone in my circle to dictate my actions, decisions, or additional friendships, no matter how close we may be. Also, there you go again, already assuming things about me. If you wanted to know if I was single all you had to do was ask Malfoy.

Ron and I haven't been together for quite some time now and it is truly for the best. I know you must be shaken. It's crazy to me how much people push us together, especially when Harry and I are much closer and yet no one ever assumes he and I are intimately connected.

I did not love the long gap in your response, but I can absolutely understand how hard it is to make time to write a letter to little 'ole me. I'll be certain to take your busy timetable into account next time. Also, I gave the sweet little owl that has come a few times now a piece of apple pie before he flew off. I wanted to let you know in case you heard that he's not feeling well. I didn't think about it beforehand but I presume pie is not typical owl food. It was made out of Granny Smith apples, so perhaps it won't hurt him like a sweeter apple would; he enjoyed it, scarcely leaving a crumble on the plate so maybe this warning is for nothing.

Also, thanks for your offer, I will keep it in mind. Today has been a great day though, and hopefully the reason for my good mood will bear fruit next week.

I have attached one of my favourite books along with this letter. I hope you enjoy it as much as I have. I look forward to hearing your thoughts.

Hermione

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Granger,

Weekly showers make a world of difference. Not swimming in your own filth for months on end is a forgotten luxury, so thank you. I hope you treated yourself appropriately for such a great change. My hair also thanks you; I hadn't thought to wear the typical Malfoy length until later, as dictated by my station. Something about wearing it as long as my fathers before I reached 25 didn't sit right with me.

Also, how was I assuming when our class and then some knew you were drooling after that boy in school. I am more surprised he didn't fight to keep you with how much he followed you around once his farce with Brown ended. So no assumptions here, Granger. Simply cold hard Hogwarts gossip.

Thank you for the book. The summary has garnered my attention so far, and I shouldn't be surprised but it arrived still wrapped up and for my eyes only.

D.M.

P.S. I'm sure the owl enjoyed his treat. Green Apples are my favourite so I am a bit put out that the bird is getting fed better than me.

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Draco,

I am glad you are enjoying—and grateful—for your new privileges in Azkaban. Thank you for telling me as well. A lot of my research and analysis for future proposals has been pulled from newly released prisoners. It's a nice change to hear the perspective of someone still in the trenches, so to speak.

I did treat myself. It was a rather exciting leap for me and my long term goals. Little changes like this will ultimately get me closer to the larger picture. Hopefully, you won't still be commenting on your experiences and rather be out and free as I implement larger shifts in the future.

And also, I did not drool all over him.

Hermione

P.S. Are you still reading the book?

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You were, and yes, I still am.

Patience.

D.M.