"Lumos. Nox." Hermione stood at the kitchen counter, absent-mindedly stirring a pot of pasta while practicing the few spells she knew. "Accio salt." After a week of living with the three boys, she had begun to pick up on their habits. Theo spent most of his time at home, though he had left the house once, and was eerily quiet for the rest of the day when he returned. Blaise went out often, usually with Pansy, but he had a few other friends from Hogwarts that he had met for drinks or "business." Draco's schedule was the most unpredictable. Most days, he was gone before she woke. Sometimes he returned before lunch, other times not until well after dinner. And only on the rarest occasions did they cook.
"He's a glorified intern for his father," Blaise told her when she asked again what it was that Draco did. "I think it's mostly simple data entry and fetching coffee for the higher-ups. He says it's boring, but it pays for this apartment and it has great networking opportunities." No matter how many times she asked, Blaise and Theo skirted around the question of what exactly his occupation was.
Hermione had since past realized that Draco, in general, was an off-limits topic of conversation, so she didn't push any further. Any sliver of information she could glean about the mechanics of the Wizarding World was a godsend.
She had flown through A History of Magic, having stayed up into the early hours of the morning to read it. It had been fascinating, but not particularly relevant, as it mostly discussed a time when the Ministry of Magic was run like a democracy. A volume about the current authoritarian regime would be more helpful, but unlikely to exist.
She'd moved on to a memoir by someone called Gilderoy Lockhart, although Theo had advised her that it was not an entirely truthful account. He then promised to look for a spellbook so she could teach herself at her own pace, but it would take some time. Under the Ordinance, spellbooks were banned and any magical instruction that took place outside of Hogwarts was forbidden. Hermione added that to her mental list of laws that Theo, Blaise, and Draco had broken for her sake.
"Theo!" someone called from the alcove near the front door. Hermione jumped at the sudden sound and relaxed only marginally when Draco entered the kitchen. "Theo, I think I have a lead!" The slap of his soles on the wooden floor echoed as he slipped out of his shoes. "Oh," he said when he laid eyes on Hermione.
She quirked one corner of her mouth in a half-hearted attempt at a smile and turned her attention back to the pasta. "How was your day?" she asked, hoping that perhaps today would be the day he decided to act with any semblance of civility. Then again, she had hoped that every day so far, and every day, she had been wrong.
He set a book down on the kitchen table and pulled at his tie. "Do you ever stop asking questions?"
She stopped stirring and blinked at him, eyebrows knitting together. "It's called having manners." She drained the pasta and wiped her hands on a dishrag, before turning to Draco. "And if everyone here weren't so secretive, I might not have so many."
He draped his blazer over the back of a chair and worked at the top button at his shirt. "You've been here long enough to know that if you want candor, you should talk to Theo. Have you seen him, by the way?"
She shook her head, watching in fascination as he combed his fingers through his hair. In less than thirty seconds, he had unwound himself right before her eyes.
He frowned and lifted his chin. "What are you doing?"
She tore her gaze away from him. "Look who's asking questions now," she muttered, pouring the pasta back into the pot and mixing in the sauce.
"I pay for the apartment; I pay for the right to know what goes on in it."
"I'm making dinner." Obviously. "You can't eat out seven days a week. It's not sustainable. Or healthy."
"At least you've found something to do that's more useful than sitting in the dark and turning the lights on and off," he said, taking a seat and propping his legs on the chair next to him. He laid a hand flat on his stomach as he reclined. Couldn't he at least take his shoes off before putting his feet on the furniture?
Heat rose in Hermione's cheeks. Ignore him. Go back to making dinner. He opened up his home to you, he doesn't owe you anything else. Even so, she felt the tips of her fingers spark to life as she pressed her nails into the palm of her hands until they left crescent-shaped marks on her flesh. When the heat left her fingertips and singed her palms, she released them and darted for her wand, desperate to channel the power through a filter. In that brief moment when her hands were free, she felt the magic surge through her and toward Draco.
When the spell hit him, Draco let out a small laugh, and quickly ended the spell without even taking out his wand. Hermione stilled, the wand just beyond her fingertips. Something flickered behind his eyes, but his usual, arrogant facade returned before she could process it. She righted herself, pleased that, even if she couldn't control her abilities, there was less risk of destruction under this roof. "That was good," Draco said with a smirk, placing his feet back on the floor with painful deliberation. "If the Death Eaters militarize a nursery, you can take out the infants with that impeccable Tickling Charm. Theo's doing a great job with you."
She didn't even know the incantation for a Tickling Charm, but of course, Draco didn't need to know that. "If you're not satisfied with my progress, could always help." She moved to begin working on the salad. If she ignored him persistently enough, he'd have to leave her alone eventually.
"As I recall, the two of you weren't happy with my approach, so I'm taking a step back."
"Would you consider taking another step back? The sardonic remarks are counterproductive. Not to mention, you're an insufferable ass to me and to your frie-"
"Silencio." Hermione's eyes widened as her jaw snapped shut. Her cheeks flushed impossibly more as she clenched and unclenched her fists. She lifted her wand, only to slam it back down on the counter. Draco stood, the ugliest, smuggest smile plastered on his face, and took a threatening step forward. Her heart sped, and she wrapped her arms around herself. The protective gesture was useless, but Draco had been right: she wasn't good enough at magic to defend herself, even with the use of her voice. "But the sardonic remarks make things so much more fun for me." She sidestepped him as he moved closer, which only made his smile spread.
He cocked his head and plucked a strawberry she'd been cutting, popping it into his mouth. "You can do wordless and wandless magic." He moved one of the strawberries between them. "Show me. Lift the strawberry." Hermione's eyes darkened. The surge in her veins was gone. She'd depleted her power. At this point, without her wand, she was as useless as a Muggle. Why bother trying if Draco would only mock her for it later?
He relaxed against the kitchen counter and let his wand fall to his side, making it clear he wasn't going to harm her. While she waited for either Draco to remove the spell, or Blaise and Theo to return, she turned away from him, impatiently tapping her bare foot on the tile floor. Angry tears still pricked at the corner of her eyes, but her muscles had relaxed. She could blame the tears on the chopped onion in the pasta sauce. Not that Draco would care enough to ask.
"Nothing? Pity," Draco said after he finished swallowing the fruit. "Fortunately, your sardonic remarks amuse me as well. Finite."
Her jaw unlocked as he spoke, but Hermione kept her lips shut as she continued to toss the salad. If her comments were so amusing to him, she wasn't feeling particularly inclined to indulge him.
"What?" he growled, leaning close enough that she could feel his cool, minty breath on her ear. "You're not even going to tell me what a dick I am?"
"Sounds like you already know." She struggled to keep her voice even.
He shrugged and took a clement step back. "If you ask Blaise, he'd say my ego could stand to be knocked down a peg."
She crushed a strawberry beneath her palm. Is that what you want? she wanted to scream. Do you want me to fight you and call you names? Or do you want to hear about how scared I am? That every damn day I learn another terrible thing about your world, including the fact that at any moment, someone can walk through that door, brand me like a fucking cow, and take away my freedom. So yes, I'm angry that you had the nerve to take away the one thing that's still truly mine, and I'm terrified that the next time I walk out the front door, someone even more unpleasant than you will do something worse. Does hearing that make you feel better?
Instead, she jabbed her wand into his chest. "What kind of reaction are you hoping to get out of me, Malfoy?"
The mask of steely indifference never faltered, and his words were just as callous. "Whatever it takes to ensure that you'll fight back. Theo, Blaise, and I are putting our lives on the line to protect you. You better earn that protection every day."
"You're unbelievable. There are better ways-"
Draco waved a hand through the air, dismissing her rebuttal. "I don't care. This is my way."
She flexed her fingers, wishing the heat would return to her, if only so she could prove him wrong.
"You know, you're not the only one who's been through shit. I can promise you, it's only going to get worse." He took another step toward her, backing her against the counter. Hermione swallowed. He craned his neck to look down at her, but at least they had established that as uncomfortable as he made her, he wouldn't harm her. She clung to that truth like a lifeline; somehow an anchor and a buoy at the same time. "There are nine circles of hell, Granger. This is just the beginning."
A deafening pop sounded in the apartment. Draco sprang away from Hermione, while she wrapped her fingers around her wand, ready to defend herself with the most powerful Tickling Charm she could produce. If she could even recreate it.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Theo said before anyone could scold him. "I forgot you didn't know about Apparition, and by the time I remembered, it was already too late."
Hermione nodded, trying not to appear too surprised. "You can teleport." She clamped her mouth shut to keep the myriad questions from pouring out. How does that work? Do his atoms dissolve and reconstruct themselves, or does magic simply allow time and space to bend at one's own will? Magic may have defied all the laws of science as she understood them, but that didn't mean it didn't have its own set of rules.
"Where have you been?" Draco asked him, still taking steps to put as much distance between himself and Hermione as possible.
"St. Mungo's."
When Theo didn't elaborate, Draco stuck out his chin. "And?"
"No change. No need to worry. Are you cooking?" he asked Hermione, deftly avoiding whatever subject Draco seemed so keen to talk about.
"No, I can't cook for the life of me, but I can make pasta and salad." She held up the bowls. "Is Blaise going to be back soon or should we eat without him?"
"He's out for drinks with Crabbe and Goyle," Theo said. "We don't have to wait up." He took it upon himself to bring the food to the table, while Hermione distributed clean dishes and utensils. Draco didn't move from his seat at the table. If Theo sensed any tension between the two of them, he didn't say so. Hermione sat at the opposite end of the table as Draco, out of both frustration and embarrassment. She wasn't sure what game he was playing, but she was certain about one thing: she would not allow herself to be used as his pawn. He wanted her to fight back; she'd fight. But that was going to be the first and last time she ever let her guard down in front of him.
The boys slipped into a conversation full of inside jokes and references to their school days. Hermione tuned them out as she shoveled mouthfuls of salad into her mouth.
I am a witch.
I am a Muggle-born.
Voldemort hates me.
The Death Eaters want to kill me.
I will not let them.
I am a witch.
Each time she repeated the words in her mind, the truth became more cerebral, cementing itself into the corners of her aching mind.
She now realized, her first mistake was giving in to her emotions. Despite Draco's assessment, anger and fear would not serve her. This matter of life and death was little more than an equation. She had a fact, a variable, and an outcome.
All she had to do was solve for x and hope it was the correct one.
I am a witch.
After Draco finished off his pasta, Theo opened a bottle of Butterbeer and offered one to Draco. Hermione, after taking a sip of Theo's, declined her own bottle. She would have liked it when she was younger, but it was far too sugary for her developed tastebuds. Had her parents been there, Draco and Theo would have been subjected to a lengthy lecture about the importance of gum health and the detrimental effect of processed sugar on enamel and if you're going to be drinking that, you'd better floss extra well tonight.
But her parents weren't there. And Hermione wouldn't dwell on it.
I am a Muggle-born.
When the conversation turned back to her, Hermione snapped out of her reverie. "You didn't tell me she could do wordless and wandless spells," Draco said.
"What did you think I meant when I said she burned her house down? That she pulled out a twig and cast Incendio?"
"I meant just before you got home. Our girl can do a mean Tickling Charm without her wand."
Without warning, Hermione shot up from her chair and collected their dirty dishes. "I am not your girl," she said through clenched teeth. Unceremoniously, she dumped the dishes in the sink. If she were at home, she would have immediately started washing, but she'd seen the boys clean dishes with the snap of a finger. She'd leave the minuscule inconvenience to Draco. "And it was an accident, just like the first time."
"That doesn't mean it always has to be." Theo placed his metallic Butterbeer cap in front of her. "Try again. Without the words first."
Hermione let out a breath of doubt. She wanted to decline. The thought of failing at the simplest of spells under Draco's heedful eye made her want to fold herself into a paper plane and fly anywhere else. But Theo nodded at her with a hopeful glint. She lifted her wand. Wingardium Leviosa. Swish and flick.
The cap didn't so much as twitch.
"Were you thinking the words?" Draco asked. His eyes were wide, seemingly innocent, mocking her.
Hermione didn't respond. She raised her wand again. Swish and flick. The cap remained immobile on the table. "We'll work on it," Theo said. "It takes time."
Time. That was the variable. In order to solve the equation, x needed to be prolonged as much as possible.
"But how are we going to stop her from accidentally performing bothersome, if not lethal, magic in the meantime?"
"As long as the spells are directed at you, I don't see much of an issue," Theo said.
Hermione bit back a smile as Draco scowled. "You know, I'm very much-"
Another resounding pop rang in Hermione's ears. She hit her elbow on the corner of the counter as she jumped backward in surprise. Blaise appeared behind Draco, sweat beaded across his forehead. "Get out," he panted. Hermione's eyes widened and darted around the apartment, searching for an escape route, while her feet remained glued to the floor. "Draco, get her out of here. Now."
Draco pushed back from the table, reaching Hermione in two long strides. "Where?"
"I don't know, Apparate to Paris, for all I care. Just fucking go."
"What's going on?" Theo demanded, still seated.
Draco placed an arm around Hermione's shoulders. "This is going to suck," he warned her, sounding as though he enjoyed that fact. She clutched her wand to her chest, fighting the urge to throw his arm off of her.
A final, thunderous sound shook the ground beneath Hermione's feet as one more person landed in the kitchen. Draco took a step forward, pushing Hermione behind him. She caught only a glimpse of the pale, willowy girl with striking dark hair and darker eyes.
"Blaise, I cannot believe you would-"
"Fuck," Draco whispered.
"Oh, my God," the girl said, her voice raspy and low.
Hermione poked her head around Draco's arm.
"Pansy, why must you ruin everything?" Theo asked, dragging a hand down his face.
The girl—Pansy—stared at Hermione. Her blood-red lips parted as she drank in the scene in front of her. Hermione, wearing one of Blaise's old t-shirts with her hair in a loose, frizzy braid, was dwarfed by the other girl. Clad in all black, including knee-high, high-heeled boots, Pansy stood like the moon and the planets revolved around her, and she knew it. Hermione watched as Pansy's attention moved from Draco's stance to the wand in Hermione's hand and then back to Theo.
She took a step back, the crisp knock of her stilettos on the wood floor sounded to Hermione like the pounding of a hammer on the final nail in her coffin. "Oh, my God." She repeated, rubbing a hand on the base of her throat. "Please, for the love of Helga Hufflepuff, tell me this isn't what it looks like."