Emergency Medicine

by ellenripley23

Dramione character-driven, slow-burn romance w/ plot. DM & HG reunite after 10 years since Hogwarts. Draco is ambitious and successful with big plans for the Ministry. He also owns the London hospital where Dr. Granger, abstaining from magic, just started her new career as a doctor for muggle-medicine. Time period: 2021, age 28. **ART: @UptheHillArt via Insta.** Plz leave a review!

7. Chapter 7

The Malfoy Manor was a large rural estate situated on hundreds of acres in Wiltshire, England. Mostly surrounded by farms, their land had open, flat pastures with ribbons of thick forest that bordered the many brooks and rivers that snaked through the terrain. The elaborate gardens, fountains, and guest houses that surrounded the castle made an impressive fortress, but the stables had always been Draco's favorite part.

However, the expansive, custom buildings able to house dozens of animals were rarely actually used. The Malfoys opted to board their thestrals, winged horses, and dragons elsewhere, given as they frequently traveled. Draco did the same for his thestral at a stable in rural Japan - visiting when he had pockets of time on the weekends. Fortunately, he managed to get there often, as the greatest benefit to being magical, for him at least, was the instantaneous nature of transportation. However, that being said, these methods of travel, such as the Floo, apparition, portkeys, and so on, were, by nature, extremely uncomfortable. They immediately gave headaches and caused nausea that weren't cured easily by healing spells. And being privileged with a bottomless pocketbook, he preferred to take private jets and drive elite sports cars, which he usually found a worthwhile trade to the time expenditure required.

Whenever he could, he liked to take his time. During flights, he enjoyed bringing friends or spending time alone, usually reading or catching up on movies and television. It was the forced, comfortable wait time he loved - and a necessary chore for his image as he played the part of a prominent muggle businessman and celebrity.

He had driven to his parents' in his Superleggera, enjoying the ability to drive as fast as he wanted in the country instead of the crowded London streets. The trip also gave him some time to mentally prepare to face another Greengrass woman … and to compartmentalize some feelings he was having toward Hermione.

He parked in the garage, characteristically empty, then took a leisurely stroll through the manicured grounds of his childhood to the stables. The Manor was near the River Avon, a wide channel that wouldn't have been much more than a quiet stream had they not expanded it with Aguamenti. He waited on the beach, staring at the water's ripples, catching the bright sunlight and sparkle. He began to get annoyed by the mosquitoes, but he resisted resorting to magic to banish them. Not only did he want to retain all of his energy, but the prevalent culture to use magic to solve every single problem felt tedious and burdensome to him. He craved a more zen approach to experiencing the world.

Then, he suddenly found himself shrouded in darkness; the early-afternoon sunlight was obscured unexpectedly, a momentary eclipse.

The dragonlike shadow from the flying thestral passing directly in front of the sun glided eerily across the pasture, it's skeletal wings batlike and allowing some sunlight to shine through. The shadow's familiar curvature was a welcome sight to Draco as he had missed being around the melancholic animals in recent weeks. Craning his neck to look up, he watched the massive thestral slow itself with laborious flaps of its wings as it gracefully lowered itself onto the beach. Despite his brain's preoccupations with Hermione Granger, he was eager to reunite with the legendary Daphne "Green-ass".

"Hey!" she called down to him, her sunglasses obscuring most of her face as the thestral's hooves finally made contact with the ground. She rubbed its neck affectionately. "Sorry, bud, that was farther than I expected."

She hopped off effortlessly, smoothing down her windswept, chin-length pink hair. Placing her sunglasses on top of her head, she regarded Draco with an impressed smirk. He was taking her in as well, his stomach rolling over a little as he was reminded how similarly her face was to Astoria's … the same doll-like round eyes, wide mouth, and pointed chin.

"Nice ride." Draco surmised her as he approached, his back to the water. He extended a hand toward the thestral gently, who sniffed at it curiously.

The pink-haired witch gave him a winning smile, wordlessly casting a spell to fix her disheveled appearance. Her arms were covered in tattoos that subtly shifted constantly - koi fish moved their fins slightly; devil's snare reached and receded at a steady interval. Blaise was right - she was undeniably cool. But, there was something about her edgy appearance being so obviously anti-convention, that Draco assumed she was vain, shallow, and perhaps a little too overly fixated on her appearance. At least, he fully accepted that HIS tattoos were done out of vanity, so he assumed that that was everyone else's driving motivation as well. It wasn't anything beyond a deliberately crafted external image.

Draco was also impressed with how easily she had handled the thestral. Astoria had never really shared his interest in them, which he understood as they were invisible to her. Fortunately, she had never seen someone die.

He tried to ignore his curiosity of whether Granger shared an affinity for the animals, but as soon as his mind posed the question, he couldn't help himself but think about it. She always had a fondness for all magical creatures, creating that ridiculous, yet admittedly endearing S.P.E.W. club. And, being at the Battle of Hogwarts, he knew she could see them. And, she had experience riding a fucking dragon out of Gringotts, so thestrals had to be a piece of cake for her.

But Astoria or Granger aside, it intrigued Draco that Daph had chosen this antiquated method of transportation for a family event in which marriage was on the table. Their parents were convening in a shared interest in seeing their offspring copulate. And, not only that, but Draco had already married into their family once.

Just normal stuff, you know.

Daph took a couple slow hits off of a vape pen, and offered it to him. "It's Muggle weed," she said, and he shook his head.

"Maybe until after the part where we awkwardly manage our parents' expectations of us," he offered.

"That's fair," she said, exhaling a cloud of white smoke. He noticed that she was tall - almost six feet, and while her body was lean and muscular, she was far from petite. She was underdressed, but was pretty enough that it didn't really matter - tight, black jeans that were ripped and shredded down her entire leg; black scaled riding boots; and a silvery mesh tank underneath a lightweight, black linen hoodie.

Draco took a couple of slow steps toward the thestral, easing his hand out to him as he gazed into the skeletal creature's pale eyes, who took a step backward in distrust. It always bothered him when animals didn't like him. "He's massive. What's his name?" he asked, looking to Daphne, then feeling the cautious, leathery snout sniff his hand. Draco conjured some raw beef and offered it to him.

"Simon," she said, spacing out a little to fixate on the steak that he summoned. "You know what's funny?"

Draco watched Simon decide he was to be trusted and gingerly took the meat from his hand to swallow it whole.

"I can't see them. I've never seen someone die," she admitted. "It's weird to have a bond with something you can't see. I have no idea what Simon looks like, outside of sketches and stuff. I wish I did, but it's a weird thing to wish for when everyone who can see them has like, gone through some shit, you know? Makes me wanna go prowling around an ICU though sometimes, right?" She chuckled slightly.

Draco didn't laugh at her attempt at a joke. "Well, I hope you don't encounter the unique privilege," he said stiffly. He pushed away the memories of seeing a variety of people die, notably Astoria.

"Ugh, I forget how all of you get so sensitive, so entitled to your grief or trauma."

Draco shrugged, warding off taking her words personally. He focused on his curiosity of her jaded reaction to the issue. "I'm sorry you can't see them. It must be strange to feel so much grief and loss but still not feel like you're part of a community." His brain, always the potioneer, started formulating draughts that could enable her to see them, at least for a little while.

Simon demanded more meat by prodding his hand with his snout. Draco conjured more, then filled up the nearby trough of water.

"Quite the facility you have here," Daph remarked, looking around the barn. The Manor's stables were extensive, luxurious, and ornate - Lucius had always loved thestrals, instilling the same fondness in his son, and tended to show his love through extravagance. Narcissa preferred winged horses that weren't as ghastly, so, naturally, Lucius had a stable devoted to them as well.

Her familiar, round and glassy eyes floated upward to the stable's ceiling, admiring the structure and taking in the marble serpentine pillars with stone scales, leading up to support another carved beam that was two giant, intricately carved twisted snakes. Eyebrows raised, she concluded, "Impressive, but a bit extravagant."

Draco reflected that she had always been more expressive than other people - more animated and energetic. "I think 'a bit extravagant' pretty much sums up my family." He looked around the empty building, thinking nostalgically of when it was full of animals.

"Man, how long's it been? You've really … grown." She gestured to his body vaguely, and he assumed she meant in muscle mass.

"Well, I stopped running marathons, started strength training," he explained simply. Through his peripheral vision, he checked her out in reciprocation to pay her a compliment. "Nice tattoos. I don't remember them. And I think the last time I saw you was the funeral."

"Oh, that's right." Her face softened. Then she looked down at her arms and smiled at his compliment. "Thanks. Just a couple years old, got them in Knockturn. You have any?" She removed her bag from Simon's neck, patting him on the shoulder just above the fold of the wing. He studied her interact with her invisible companion.

"Well, there's the Dark Mark, of course," he said, showing her his forearm. At first, it was just his pale skin, but slowly, the ever-present concealment charm faded away, revealing the signature skull and snake tattoo. Normal Muggle tattooing had mostly covered up the skull and snake with narcissus flowers, barely recognizable.

"Wow, that's sick," Daphne said genuinely, stepping closer to him to take a closer look. "I remember when you got this. I love the idea of, like, reclaiming something that happened to you." She didn't touch his skin, but looked closely at the tattoo's artistry.

He lowered his arm, recasting the concealing charm. "I also have a large thestral across my entire back and my arms," Draco said. "That one, I don't cover up."

"Let me see it," she said, moving around to his back, expecting him to take off his grey blazer and lift up his shirt.

"Perhaps another time," he said without smiling, partially taken aback by her forwardness.

She laughed at him. "Modest? You? I'm surprised." she said, shrugging. She gave Simon another pat. "My parents here yet? They took the Floo."

"Not sure. I just got here as well."

They began the walk through the woods to the manor, the black peaks of the dramatically pitched roof just visible through the tops of the trees. Though gothic and imposing, Draco always loved his childhood home - aside from when it was used for Voldemort's bidding. It was a castle with vast grounds with pristine gardens; Draco heard the familiar water rushing as they approached a large, ornate fountain. Magically, the water flying through the air was in the form of snakes, a testament to the Slytherin house that his last name had become so tied to. The stable was at a low point in elevation near a lake and a pasture, and the house - notably Draco's bedroom - had the best view on the property.

Daph was surprisingly quiet for a few minutes as they walked, perhaps taking all of it in. Typically, Draco liked to let other people speak first, unless it'd be beneficial for him to steer the conversation as he needed. But in situations where he didn't need to control the outcome, he let the other person feel a little uncomfortable with the silence. It didn't bother him.

Maybe this made him a sociopath, he considered, but he figured probably not as he did get socially anxious and slip up, as he obviously had been doing with Granger.

"So, while we walk and we're alone," she predictably piped up after a while. "I have to know. Do you actually want to get remarried soon? Or ever?"

Although he immediately knew the answer, he gave some thought into how to answer it. "I'm open to it. The timeline depends on who, naturally."

"Because of kids, right?" she guessed. He realized now from meeting her eyes a few times that she had an appearance charm on them so they constantly shifted colors. Hmm, the body modifications seemed deeper than first pass.

"Ideally." These early, intention-setting conversations like these were common among pureblood first dates. Ultimately it was coming down to compatibility on paper - kids, religion, politics - the financials had already been sorted out. The main ideas needed to be agreed upon before they wanted to bother to fill in any details. After all, it was during the discovery of the details where genuine chemistry tended to reveal itself.

"Well, that's great. You deserve to have that." She threw a smile over at him, which Draco caught only because he cas checking out her facial expression for any clues to what she meant. He wasn't sure if he was catching sadness in her voice, but her words were too vague to derive anything definitive from. Thankfully, the painstakingly manicured gardens deserved to be looked at, as they both avoided looking at each other.

He did have a slight inclination that she didn't want any of that - kids, marriage, anything traditional - but she didn't want to call it off just yet, like she hadn't gotten what she came for.

---

They joined their parents in the kitchen - nearly the only room on the first floor not dominated by dark magical artefacts, books, or paintings. They had already gotten a couple of tours during previous visits - already endured Lucius' brag about his various possessions of interest. So at this juncture, they usually got drunk and flirted with one another and bragged in one way or another.

Gathered casually around the large kitchen island, Draco's eyes darted to the numerous bottles of wine strewn about. And impressively, there were six different charcuterie boards circled around them, Narcissa one for catering to literally any palette you preferred.

The attractive, complementary Malfoys were both holding glasses of red wine and entranced by a riveting story from the matriarch of the Greengrass family, Regina. Now, the culture of the wizarding world was … more open than muggles'. Draco had thought that this polyamorous lifestyle was normal - but the more he was exposed to muggle couples through their movies and even through his corporate life, he realized how puritanical muggle relationships were by contrast, fringe communities being an exception.

He wondered if Granger would be shocked by the promiscuous activities of older pureblood couples, especially popular among empty-nesters. Relationships between those who grew up in the magical world were more honest and less restrictive, with true infidelity a rare occurrence. Open marriages and polyamory was not uncommon, especially with the prevalence of arranged marriages. In general, there were fewer conventions, and while Draco didn't enjoy thinking about his parents getting along very well with the Greengrasses, he acknowledged it probably had already happened.

Hearing his father's raucous, uninhibited laughter, he knew Lucius was already fairly drunk, but still had longevity for the day ahead. Day drinking was always good for Lucius; it put the white-haired, distinguished ex-Death Eater in a different light: boisterous and witty instead of pretentious and stiff. He still had his long white-blond hair, but the bottom half was shaved with the top half pulled back. Narcissa perched on a kitchen bar stool next to him, also laughing, but she covered her smile with her hand, her long, black nails catching the reflections of the various candles and lanterns that illuminated the room in a fiery glow. Her dark hair still featured her iconic white locks that framed her delicate face. Draco was happy to see her large, black eyes, crinkling at the corners in a genuine smile. She was relaxed in a way that he hadn't seen for quite some time. Like most magical older people, neither Lucius nor Narcissa looked a day past 45 years - appearance enhancing charms subtly kept them looking young, but not too young that it was off-putting.

The Greengrasses - Regina and Hyperion - mirrored the Malfoys' body language. Narcissa leaned close to Regina on a neighboring bar stool and Hyperion was standing closely next to Lucius, probably was in the middle of a hunting story before they got wrapped into the other conversation. All four of them had obscenely expensive, but classic and simple fashion sense; Hyperion sported a greyish black chimera jacket that was tailored to fit tightly against his slim figure. He had a full beard that took over any other thoughts one had about his appearance.

As Draco and Daph approached them, the two couples looked in their direction at once. "Draco!" Lucius stumbled his way over to envelop him into a hug, pulling his son to an embrace that was uncomfortable - both because Lucius never hugged Draco when he was sober, and also because of the spikes on his father's ebony dragonskin jacket. Narcissa was close behind, waiting for her turn with patient, warm eyes.

It had been several weeks since Draco had seen his parents, and he realized that he had genuinely missed them. While not always good people, the Malfoys had always been good parents. Plus, Draco knew they no longer ascribed to the pureblood bigotry that they passionately upheld for a few years, which then was only motivated by fear of Voldemort rather than agreeing to his views. Lucius was retired and spent his days writing many bestselling books on his experience being now-reformed, but previous Death Eater. He also enjoyed tending to his vineyard, with magic Herbology of course, instead of labor-intensive muggle gardening.

Narcissa continued to maintain her own fashion line, recently branching out to the Muggle markets, trying to attract muggle sensibilities (and money), especially now that she didn't detest them so much.

Draco was beyond thankful that his parents had recovered from their psychotic, wicked ways and could now function as relatively normal people. They just got their wands back eight months ago, after years of mandated therapy, medication, and even a six-month span where they were forced to live in a muggle community, stripped of all magic. Perhaps working a little too well, this forced indoctrination made them view muggles as human beings that had the misfortune of lacking magic, but didn't deserve to be completely excluded from magic altogether. The current laws shunned them from even taking part in the wizarding world, and therefore, the Malfoys could never really be authentic with their muggle neighbors they grew fond of.

By this logic, purebloods were being discriminated against because they had no legal "in" with the muggle world, other than marrying one, or committing a common, yet serious crime of telling muggles about magic.

But in this case, the Ministry would swoop down on the encounter, and cast complicated and temperamental memory erasure charms such as Obliviate or confusion hexes on muggles, therefore affecting their literal brain function.

Like his parents, Draco didn't understand how the Ministry was granted such power without question. For one, they didn't enforce certain individuals using magic in any sense. And, they put their blinders on and looked past any incident involving a witch or wizard using a memory-altering charm on a muggle. But, they'd throw a wizard in jail for telling a muggle about the magical world easily and without hesitation. This was despicable, and a major overstep in their jurisdiction. Not to mention, he couldn't understand how anyone in good conscience could support this policy if they knew the residual effect that memory charms had.

Well, fine, he was aware that those who favored the secrecy laws based their support on how much worse it could be for muggles. If everyone just stayed separate and quiet, we could live in peace. And, he admitted, they were right to be worried. All kinds of dark witches and wizards could come to take advantage of instability. controlling muggles, causing disruption, inciting violence. There were necromancers, blood mages, seductresses, evil sorcerers - their activities were currently dormant, but Draco sensed their anxious anticipation to come out of the woodwork when the moment to strike was right. After all, magic wasn't a stagnant thing - it was something that could be developed and innovated upon, and different spells were taught among various cultures and groups.

But that was why allies and connections were so important, and because of his business empire and wealth, he recognized his unique position to foster those connections better than anyone. Well, maybe except for Potter. And, Granger had joked about dementors, but it was absolutely a group that he needed to at least try to influence. If he didn't, someone else would. Though not really an errand he was looking forward to.

But ultimately, he thought as a leader, ruler, dictator - whatever he aspired to be - he could make things better. After all, pureblood wizarding families were dying out, their ancient culture along with it. It was clear that muggles were becoming more entwined with more magical people's lives. The secrecy laws, however historic, were simply outdated and needed to be changed.

His father was assisting him in this endeavor, especially now that they were anti-Ministry, which was a growing sentiment across the magical world.

After Lucius and Narcissa hugged their son, he greeted the Greengrass parents warmly, shaking Hyperion's hand and kissing Regina on both cheeks.

Daphne stood back awkwardly, not offering any physical contact other than a polite wave and big smile. Draco saw his mother regard them as a couple with a slight look of approval. "How was your trip in, Daphne?" she asked, her voice sounded clean and designed, wearing a posh British accent.

"Good - and wow, looks like I need to catch up." Daphne instantaneously conjured a full glass of wine and took a large swig. Though she just cast displacement charms on the nearby glass and Cabernet, it was still an impressive trick to do so quickly.

"I checked with your assistant and we're meeting for lunch Monday in Tokyo," Lucius said to his son, matter-of-factly. "Wear your goddamn best suit, it's a huge meeting."

Drake's stomach turned with intrigue, and he considered asking more in front of the Greengrasses, but stopped himself.

"It's Shacklebolt," Lucius supplied. He must have been talking about this with Hyperion and Regina already, or else he was a lot drunker than he seemed.

Draco's head spun for a moment. "Kingsley Shacklebolt? Why would he want to meet with me?" Shacklebolt was currently working as an Auror, but had been the Minister of Magic for seven years following the war.

Leisurely, Lucius took a long draw of wine and popped a piece of prosciutto in his mouth. "My guess is either something regarding the way the Ministry is being run, or it's an issue with the secrecy laws.

Draco nodded, arms crossed over his broad chest, barely larger than his father, if not in slightly better shape. "Why's he care? Why now?"

"Well, I saved the best piece of news last. He's running for Minister again next election cycle. He needs a prominent businessman and investor to back and endorse him. You've gained enough traction, we're hoping that can be you."

It felt like fireworks going off in Draco's brain. He felt literally drunk at the opportunity that just laid out before him.

Hyperion spoke up. "Well, that's excellent. Of course, dismantling the secrecy laws will require you to make choices about what laws go up in its place. I hope you're planning on making this a wizard's world," Hyperion mused, then drunkenly shoved cheese and crackers in his mouth as he talked. He washed it back with a giant gulp of wine. Like Lucius, he was serious, cunning, and tactical, but he also softened up a bit when he was drunk. Draco was familiar with this kind of behavior. He replied quickly before his father opened his mouth.

"Of course, but let's address this later in the evening, preferably when I'm a little looser lipped, right?" Draco, knowing his way around his parents' liquor cabinet, had cast a spell to mix two cocktails in the kitchen, which arrived to him just now. He offered one to Daph as well, hoping she was also in the mood for something with more bite than just wine.

"No, let's talk about it now, given the fact that you were my son-in-law, and might be one again," Hyperion countered, shooting him a look that held more obvious sobriety than he expected.

Fuck, what am I dealing with here, Draco thought.

"Fine, let's." Draco said stiffly, crossing his arms. Perhaps it was that he was not feeling particularly patient today, or maybe it was that he was sick of magic supremacists like the Greengrass family bartering with him, as if the Malfoys needed the favor. He stared him down challengingly, and the Greengrass patriarch straightened his shoulders, suddenly uncomfortable.

He looked to his wife, who was slouched, face frowning and disappointed. Narcissa looked to Lucius sternly, demanding an explanation for the males in the room not playing well together.

"They're pro-mudblood," Hyperion said to his wife. "It's as clear as day now. Malfoys would protect mudbloods just as much as the fuckin' Ministry, wouldn't you?" Hyperion spat, less inhibited due to the alcohol, but with the same sober vitriol. Draco turned away from him, looking at his father, unsure.

Daphne chimed in, "Let's just take the match off the table and try to have a fun night, okay?"

Regina shook her head. "Darling!" she called to her husband who was still rambling angrily about "mudbloods" and the revolutionists who wanted to change laws in favor of not making muggles second-class citizens. "Let's drop it - you're ruining a nice evening! Daph was having a good time with Draco."

"Regina, the Malfoys are going to make our lives a lot harder in the next couple of years, just you wait." Hyperion was calm now, but still resolute in his beliefs and his anger, so he was still a bit menacing.

Daph scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Listen, drama queen, let's just put this in perspective. You got a bit overexcited at the prospect of me marrying a billionaire. And that's totally fair."

Narcissa laughed a bit at her forwardness, and Daphne felt relieved she was being received well. She continued, "But if you continue with your weird muggle bigotry stuff, you're going to ruin it for us. Think of the vacations we'd get to go on with these people! We gotta keep this under wraps until after the wedding, got it?"

Draco let her continue the ruse silently but Lucius laughed loudly, smacking Hyperion on the shoulder as a gesture of friendship. "For the record, Hype, it should be you having to plead with me to accept this. You're pureblood status doesn't mean as much to us anymore. It's really about whether our families get along well, you see?"

Narcissa murmured in agreement with her husband.

This made the Greengrass couple more irritated than the Malfoys had anticipated. Regina stood up quickly, moving to grab her jacket and bag. Hyperion followed suit.

"Leaving? Was it something I said?" Lucius said, sounding amused.

"You guys have changed," Regina threw over her shoulder as she made her way to the fireplace, getting out a vial of Floo powder. "Being pureblood is more about the actual muggle lineage in your family. It's about culture. Our ways are being eradicated. And the more you want to encourage intermingling of magical people and mudbloods - the more you threaten our livelihood. Let's go, Hype," she urged, a passion in her voice that was admirable.

"Mum, they mean you no harm," Daph said, faux-dramatically but it seemed to resonate with her mother. She softened slightly, looking to Narcissa for an apology or consolation.

"Actually, I'm sorry, Daphne, but I'm going to ask your parents to leave." Lucius wore a pleasant, polite voice as his eyes flashed threateningly over to Hyperion's. "Feel free to stay with Draco, though, but the missus and I will be calling it a night."

With a huff, Regina tossed a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace and walked into it, disappearing with a snap of smoke. Her husband soon followed suit.

Draco sighed, looking to Daphne to read her. She was looking amused between his parents, unsure if she should say what was on her mind.

"Show me your room," she said to Draco, leaving her wine and was walking toward him. He turned and led her under a large stone archway and down a wide, windowed hallway to the south wing, where all of his rooms were located.

---

They sat on the bed in Draco's childhood room. Daphne was down to her ankle socks and without her jacket, and Draco observed that she looked surprisingly soft and comfortable. Locks of pink hair fell from behind her ears and obscured most of her face as she looked down, fiddling with the vial of pink powder.

It was weird seeing her (anyone, really) in his room. Maybe it was growing up as an only child in a mansion, but he had always felt a little uncomfortable with others in his bedroom. At Hogwarts, the dorm room's crowdedness required some adjusting to, and he'd missed the solitude. It was rare that a friend visited him at home and they spent any time together other than riding broomsticks or roaming the grounds. His father always wanted them to go hunting, but Draco had tried to evade the activity as best he could.

For some reason, the nostalgia of being in his childhood bedroom made him miss Hermione. He could not get her off of his brain.

"Okay, about this amount," she said, showing him the amount of pink powder on her fingertip. "And just let it dissolve on your tongue."

Draco followed her direction, feeling a little odd to be sitting criss-crossed with her on his bed. There was a noticeable lack of sexual tension, but it was comfortable. The pressure of their families to be together was off, and it felt more freeing.

He reflected that it was kind of unusual for him to be this casual, comfortable with a woman without sex being on the table, with the exception of Pansy, whom he'd had a lot of sex with - both on and off literal tables. He wondered if his own astonishment at this fact was a signal he didn't have healthy relationships. He had really never had any completely platonic and close friendships with females, and definitely not anything close to resembling a friendship to a woman he found attractive.

"Whoa." Daph closed her eyes as the effects of the magical drug hit her. Then, she suddenly opened them wide and looked at him, the color shifting in her irises extra noticeable..

She smiled dreamily, a little out of it. "This stuff is crazy. It just makes things so nice. Can I be blunt?" Her eyes fell closed again. "Is there a chance that you'd ever marry me even though I'm your sister-in-law?"

As her words' meaning sunk in, he was hit with a wave of truth-serum-euphoria and stomach-turning nausea. His vision infiltrated with pink clouds and the room's colors seemed to pulsate. Then, the nausea immediately transformed to a soothing, tingly sensation that made everything feel optimistic, pleasant, easy, completely stress-free.

Fuck, Daph was right. It was nice.

Draco knew he was inclined to addiction and had avoided magical drugs because he would've spiraled. He was too much in the spotlight, his image too prominent to risk losing it. He'd come too far - the only way he'd ever commit to self-discipline was abstinence and strict routines and commitment.

But, then, why was he doing this now?

Granger was complicating things. Rather, his feelings were. What was so appealing about her to him? He knew it was more than their physical chemistry, though that was proving to be quite an effective tool in getting Granger to reciprocate his advances.

It could have just been her Legilimency skills and Draco would have done whatever it took to at least get close to her, that was for certain. He'd never felt so predatorially interested in someone before, willing to do anything to be noticed, even it meant being so stupidly vulnerable. Surprising himself, he'd even already expressed his intention to date her, an uncharacteristically bold move. A decisive one, at that. It was too impulsive; he had panicked that he felt her slipping away from him.

His infatuation for the irresistibly fuckable girl was getting in the way. More thought-out, strategic goals consisted of extending his outreach in politics and businesses significantly, using his stake and influence to gain a level of loyalty. He was going to need enough allegiance from any allies to support a massive shift in the way their government was run … which was no easy task.

Not to mention, he was also maintaining an appearance in the public eye, navigating press and constant prying into his personal life. To others and to himself, he'd avoided the question of getting remarried - especially through another arranged marriage to a Greengrass. He wanted to stay focused; he was only 28 and figured he'd marry young, anyway.

He realized his eyes were closed and he was lying flat on his back, staring at the lofted bedroom ceiling. Sitting up, he looked at Daphne, who was typing into her phone. She looked at him and Draco saw her round eyes as too large for her skull, looking like anime girl eyes. He knew he was hallucinating, but everything felt so pleasant it wasn't alarming. He tried to formulate a response, but his brain went on a different path.

Vividly, he imagined marrying Daphne - a wedding in two years, at the sensible age of 30 or 31, a marriage that made sense on paper. Daph's hair would be icy blond, wearing a black dress. It would be a luxurious, extravagant wedding, full of food and booze and drugs and general merriment, taking place in a famous castle in Germany, lit by thousands of floating candles. Pureblood families knew how to throw a fucking wedding - they were ruthless on the guest list, blood relatives included. If you weren't well-liked by the couple, you weren't invited and that was that. Yes, it started drama, but it was how it worked. Both the Greengrass, Black, and Malfoy family members who were invited were curated down to the ones they enjoyed, which made it an easy evening.

Daphne would wear a genuine smile the entire night, clad in an expensive black silk, simple dress that showed off her muscular, athletic body. Of course, she rebelled the wedding in ways that were cool - a strict no-gift policy, instead rewarding guests with extravagant gift baskets; a vegan menu; a gothic and medieval theme; a selective media presence, hand-picked to follow instructions on crafting the story they wanted. As Draco repeated his vows, he realized that his bride's face was obscured completely by her veil; all he could see was her mauve lips stretched into a wide, familiar smile, too big for her face. It was both Astoria and Daphne, and neither, and he wouldn't be able to rule one out if he just didn't look. In this hallucination, they were both simultaneously.

He lost himself in the thought, the wedding swirling away and a scene at a stiff business dinner became his reality. At a posh restaurant, the social game required careful navigation. However, having his wife present made it easy. She was aware of the same circles, knowing what to expect, but was anti-conventional enough to make them more interesting. Speaking to the business moguls who he was trying to influence, she made easy conversation by poking fun at muggle culture, making them laugh.

Their lives would be full of magic - she probably used it for everything and watched wizard- or witch-made only media. This habit made easy conversation with everyone in the magical community. A business associate nailed the punchline of a joke, and Daphne's laugh was loud and generous. He felt the familiar, lightweight, bony touch of her hand on his thigh, creeping up concerningly close to his crotch. When she turned to meet his eyes, to his horror he saw the decaying remnants of Astoria's face with sallow yellow-grey skin, sunken lifeless eyes. It reminded him of her final stages in the hospital.

Regaining consciousness and awareness to the real world, he was overwhelmed with nausea. He gasped for breath while trying not to vomit and, now sitting upright, legitimately questioned if he was going to be okay or not.

Luckily, his brain reacted logically and several anti-nausea spells were cast instinctively to quell the threatening stomach acid.

Daphne had bolted upright from lying down, staring at him with concern. "You good?"

He was scared to look at her for a moment, worried he'd see that horrifying version of Astoria again.

But, not one to be a coward, he forced himself to look at her face. Thankfully, Daphne's distinctive, lovely face was in front of him. Her eyes shimmered to be bright pink, lingering on the color.

Finally responding, he stretched his back from the sitting position. "Yeah, sorry. Just one of those dreams where you feel like you're falling."

Her face's frown smoothed in understanding. "Hate those."

With the nausea subsiding, the drug's effects were still pleasant despite his hallucination turning dark. The pink cloud, rosy filter around him was a welcome release of anxiety and control. They sat like close friends on his bed. Her face was close enough to touch, and when he looked at her, her features morphed to Astoria's and back. Riding the peak high of the drug, with a cautious, timid hand, he reached out and lightly touched the bottom half of her face, his calloused thumb gently grazing her bottom lip, like he did with his former wife's so often.

Draco kissed her in the midst of the pink fog, the drug's euphoric effects taking hold of him. Intensely, fiercely wishing that he could kiss Astoria one last time, he had to see if kissing Daphne felt at all the same. As he softly, deliberately drew her mouth to his, a perhaps taboo or simply strange thought appeared. Considering so much of their faces were identical, his curious nature posed the question of what other aspects of them were so similar … the parts that he really missed. The lowered inhibition with the drug made it nearly impossible not to act on these impulses, especially when it felt like whatever happened would be taken well.

He kissed her unexpectedly harder and rougher. Daph pulled away instantly. "You miss my sister," she said with a sigh. She closed her eyes, relishing in the warmth of his hand still on her cheek.

He nodded, coming to his senses and pulling his hand away. The drug's effects receded a bit, and he had a moment of terrible clarity. "Fuck, I'm sorry. This is a mindfuck. I feel like my grief is objectifying you in ways that you don't deserve." He backed away from her on the bed, putting his back against his headboard.

"Well, I don't mind," her voice almost a whisper, looking at him intensely, eyes moving down to his mouth. "I just want to give you what you want, Draco."

The pink haze made him question his motives, feeling like himself now - the widow who managed several businesses and properties - but also like a person before Astoria, a sense of self he'd forgotten. Maybe he felt a little bit like he did when he was sixteen, with her for the first time; inexperienced and more nervous and curious than genuinely turned on.

He looked at Daphne, who was staring at him with such overt seduction that it was sobering. "What the fuck," he said out loud, hallucinating the sound of his voice transform into white butterflies that dissolved against her face. She scooted closer to him so that she could easily lean over and straddle him if she wanted, but she remained sitting.

Somehow, and maybe it was the effects of the shared drug, she seemed to be able to see the glowing butterflies and she looked at them in amazement. "I know, right," she replied, her voice appearing as sparklers that sizzled between them.

"So, why do you think we should get married?" Draco asked her. The warm, pleasant feeling of the drug began to resume, like the effects ebbed and flowed in his mind.

"Fuck, I don't know. It's part spontaneous, but like bullshit? Like I want to commit to someone I trust. Someone who knows who they are and what they want. Seems appropriate for an arranged marriage, right? Plus, we'd make sense as a match, don't you think? We'd have fun together." She looked at him for his reaction, failing to accurately read him. She clutched one of his throw pillows to her torso.

Something didn't feel right to Draco, and he wasn't sure if it was the effect of the drug that made him feel slightly telepathic or if it was just him easily reading her. "I'm a rebound, aren't I?"

Immediately, Daphne laughed. "Ding ding! Wow, I'm impressed." She tucked a pink strand of hair behind her ear, looking down at her hands. She sniffed, wiping tears. "I just want to be with someone who doesn't end up acting like someone I don't even know. You know?"

Her heart shaped face morphed into a frown, and Draco's stomach lurched as he had hated seeing Astoria make the same face - genuine, honest sorrow that was difficult to adequately console with words.

"What happened?"

"Well, I was with Millicent Bulstrode for a couple years."

At Draco's surprised expression, she threw her hands up defensively.

"She got hot, okay? I promise." A smile broke through. "But anyway - I thought we were the real deal. Thought we'd adopt kids or use a donor or something someday. We were together for just a couple years, but I thought this was like it, you know? But, she'd been cheating on me with Gregory Goyle of all people. She just couldn't figure out a way to tell me she didn't love me. So that's how she did."

Draco's mind was reeling. Not only was it almost impossible for him to imagine anyone finding Goyle, his former acolyte, attractive, he couldn't imagine Millicent Bulstrode ever being considered hot. The image of his cousin easily appeared in his mind's eye - burly with a sour expression - the exact opposite of Daphne in every way he could imagine.

He'd never been fond of her; growing up, they'd shared some family events, but they never spent much time around one another. Since Draco could be found wherever there were animals - particularly dogs or thestrals - they didn't interact much. Millicent rarely left the outdoors and hated all animals except for her cat.

At Hogwarts, she was a bully and an anti-intellectual who was the equivalent of Crabbe or Goyle. She was loyal to Pansy, and she'd admitted to Draco early in their friendship that she kept Bulstrode close so that she could have control over her. He'd easily related as he kept Crabbe and Goyle on a tight leash, like aggressive dogs.

Goyle was another part to this as well, of course, one that he shouldn't ignore.

Yes, Draco had saved his life from the Fiendfyre that killed Crabbe. But slowly, he had stopped returning Draco's calls (which could have been more persistent) and fell out of contact. In recent years, Draco considered reaching out to Goyle to see if he'd be interested in being security for private events, but had thought the better of it as he remembered the genuine animosity he had held for muggleborns. He enjoyed torturing students seventh year when the Carrows were professors. It always made Draco anxious to think about Goyle not being under his control anymore - he never wanted to maintain the friendship on a personal level, but he slept better at night knowing his activities and , while Draco didn't miss his company - he was never much of a conversationalist - he missed having Goyle under his direction, eliminating the possibility he'd follow the orders of someone else with more sinister intentions. He got the impression from Pansy that Millicent Bulstrode was the same way.

"Honestly, Daph, from what I remember of them from Hogwarts, it seems like Bulstrode and Goyle are well-suited for one another. In fact, they make quite a nasty pair. Look a lot alike too."

Daph's face broke out into a wide smile, which made Draco's stomach flip as she was the splitting image of Astoria when she laughed. "Maybe you're right. But anyway, I know you don't want to marry me. Well, unless I totally can't read you, and you actually do. But I think you just miss my sister." She sniffed, avoiding his eyes and picked at her long, black fingernails. "And it's like so sad, because I'm such a mess right now that I hope that's enough. And I probably don't want to actually marry you, I just want to like, rub it in Millicent's face." She broke out into laughter, and Draco joined, relieved. She sighed, glad to get that off of her chest.

Now that some of the tensions and expectations had been defused, Draco did conclude his feelings about proceeding in a relationship with Daph. Even if they'd drown in the memory of his dead wife and her dead sister, in a way, being her made his history matter, and he wondered if she felt similarly. With Daphne, Astoria wasn't entirely gone. And that was a powerful feeling.

Draco had preserved some key memories of her in a pensieve when he started to feel anxiety that the original recording in his mind was fading away. While he was grateful for the ability to record his memories, he hated relying on it to recall the sound of her voice. Plus, not everything could be captured as well as true memory could - the way it felt to kiss her, taste her ... among other things. That being said, no matter how many spells and locked doors that guarded his Pensieve, there were some memories he didn't want to capture for the risk of others seeing. He had too many enemies. And, no matter how desperately he clung to those intimate moments, they naturally faded away from his memory.

Fuck, now he remembered why he had avoided doing drugs. It just made it harder to set his sights forward instead of backwards. Or maybe that was Daph's presence? And, he wasn't sure if it was the drug making his feelings sharper … or more obscured.

"I don't think it'd be fair to you to be with me," he said, voice a little ragged. "You stir up so much of what I miss about Astoria - you'd be constantly compared to her."

"I miss her too. I don't know, it feels like I should, you know?" Her voice trailed off a little, and he didn't know if he should press her for more information. He wished he could read her thoughts without her sensing the intrusion.

The thought of Legilimency immediately sent his obsessed brain back to Granger - particularly to the moment his stomach flipped as he saw her at St. George's, during her welcome happy hour with her department outside of his office. Feeling like his heart was suddenly in his throat, he attempted to push down the intense desire to see her, talk to her, touch her. Why did being so vulnerable with Daph, high on magical drugs and talking about getting married, feel like he was betraying her? There were no promises between them. As she put it, they were "platonic friends," after all.

He almost laughed out loud thinking about her saying this, the lie in her voice so obvious. But still, he hated that she'd said it. Bitterly, he recognized that they were in shared agreement of how poor their compatibility on paper was. If it were an arranged marriage, the match would be laughably bad. However, despite their differing backgrounds and opposing ideologies about the statute of secrecy, here was no question in his mind that he could love her….and fuck, there were so many things he wanted to talk to her about. He wanted to glean her perspective, to make her laugh, to hear what was on her mind.

Not to mention, there were plenty of activities he'd like to do with her and do to her.

Salazar. Fuuuuuuck.

Groaning, he closed his eyes and fell backwards onto his bed, looking up at his ceiling. Pink clouds started to fill his vision, and he started to hallucinate his thoughts visualizing on the ceiling. Surprisingly, the drug made him easily hold multiple ideas in his head. Unlike weed, where he felt like he became hyper-focused on one train of thought and was unable to hold much of anything else in his mind, he could sense the complex web of interlocking lines of thinking, able to keep track of them all simultaneously.

This skill was pretty useless, however, since nearly all of them were about Granger. Why was it easy for the witch to dominate his mind? It was torture. Well, torture that he didn't exactly mind that much, if he was being honest with himself.

Going over his pros and cons list of continuing to pursue her, he reviewed the most notable pro - the sexual chemistry. Certainly, he'd hedge his bets that there was enough for that to last a lifetime. He reviewed their encounters thus far - most notably her grinding on him in his Superleggera. He'd wished he could bottle that scent of sweat and lakewater and her. Fuck, he felt like brewing Amortentia just so he could smell her skin again.

Another highlight was the existence of her wearing that silk green dress. And, the kiss on the desk in their shared Legilimens room with his hands on her upper thighs, her breath hot on his neck, the shared lust literally palpable in their mental room they created. But, perhaps his favorite kiss they've shared was just this morning, when he finally raked his fingers in her thick, wild hair, pulling her into a selfish and indulgent kiss that seemed to hold the magic of a time turner - grabbing time and chokeholding it to a brief halt.

Amazingly, the effects of this drug made it so he could almost feel her again as he recalled these events. He could hear the sound of her surprised gasp whenever he did exactly what he wanted.

He sank into a vision of Hermione, warm feelings of contentment swirling around him as he sat next to her on a Japanese shinkansen, a bullet train from Tokyo and Kyoto. They each had a bento box in front of them with large cans of Kirin. A backpack was by his feet, like he was traveling.

"Thanks for doing this," she said, her intricate golden eyes sparkling at him.

"No thanks needed. But think about how much more fun this would be if we had wizard candy." His eyes darted to the snack cart that an attendant was pushing down the center aisle.

Hermione whispered to him, "You can't bridge the worlds just because of a sweet tooth, Drake." Then, she kissed him light and quickly - the kind that only comes after a couple years of marriage and comfort and stability. Despite its brevity, he got to relive his memory of her scent, a sweet, metallic smell that he couldn't get enough of.

Daph's voice snapped him out of the vision. "What are you thinking about?" Draco saw she was doing the same thing he was on the other side of the bed: staring at the ceiling while lying on her back.

"It's more of a who," Draco said. "But you tell me first."

"I'm thinking about Millie and Goyle," she sighed. "Like why him, out of all people?"

Draco propped himself up on his elbows to look at her, and she did the same. As he talked, a secondary train of thought began to brainstorm ways in which he could turn Hermione's mind around about the 'platonic' part of them being friends at the Midsommar festival next Saturday.

"That's a nightmare, honestly," he affirmed. "I knew Goyle. Can't say I'd give him a glowing review. And strangely, I feel responsible for how he turned out, like there was something I could have done to make sure he was just an idiot instead of an idiot and a sadist."

"Well, to be fair, Millie's no angel either. I like to think I brought the best out in her, but she said that I made her feel like a bad person."

"Maybe I could talk to him, make sure she's not under the Imperius curse." Draco wasn't sure if he was joking or not. He wouldn't mind checking in.

"He's a bouncer at Engorgio, the wizard's club in Knockturn. That's where Millie and I met - she's a bartender … occasionally dances there."

Draco was aware of the club, but it wasn't really his scene … a little too seedy with bad food and drinks. "I'll certainly stop by if you want me to. What else are brother-in-laws for?"

She shook her head, grimacing. "Emphasis on the in law, alright? Gross."

He shrugged, only saying it to gauge her reaction.

She cleared her throat, plopping down on her stomach, clutching one of his bed's throw pillows like a middle-schooler at a sleepover. "So, tell me who was on your mind."

Draco sighed falling on his back again. "Why do you want to know?" he groaned.

Well, I already know you're thinking about Granger. Pansy told me."

Draco groaned again, louder this time, and pulled a pillow over his face. "If it weren't for my, well, you know, ambitions to end the secrecy laws - and her commitment to pretend she's a muggle - "

Daphne didn't laugh like Pansy or Blaise did, but rather murmured a note of sympathy. "I mean, I totally see it. The whole pureblood-angst and muggleborn-genius thing is pretty hot, no lie. Not to mention, you both are total babes."

Draco laughed genuinely. "But her more so, though, right?"

"Oh, definitely." She grinned, eyes dancing with mischief and lightness. "Honestly I always tried to get her to come to my parties at Hogwarts. Thought she could be a little fun to tease, test her bi-curiosity..."

"And…?"

"She didn't bite. Barely looked up from her textbook. You know, she probably saw me out of the corner of her eye… my blond hair, Slytherin robes, and hoped it was you. Then she saw my tits and was disappointed."

"Oh, please. She only had eyes for Weasley."

"Don't forget about Viktor Krum. And maybe Potter, who knows."

Draco groaned after she said Krum's name, then corrected her quickly. "Not Potter, never him."

"Oh, that's right. Potter ended up with Ginny, right? Now she was always fun."

"How do you mean?"

She smiled wickedly. "I don't kiss and tell."

"Well, if we're being candid," Draco said, feeling pleasantly high and trusting. Daphne's eyes sparkled with interest. "Granger's a Legilimens. Maybe one of the best I've ever known … and I'm sure Astoria told you about me."

"Yeah, my sister was always so annoying with her constant insecurity that she wasn't a mind-reader like you. I reckon it just doesn't run in our family, if that's how it works."

" Well, I can't stop thinking about the connection we could have."

"Well, yeah, what's hotter than fucking with your minds too, right?"

He cocked his head with admission. "This morning she insisted we were platonic friends, so I'm not sure how well she'd take that."

"She's kidding herself. You guys can just, like, hook up in your heads whenever you want?"
"...In theory, yes. Also, she's apparently the fucking grandmaster Legilimens without even trying."

"Damn." She shook her head in disbelief. "And you two actually have chemistry? You're toast. We are toast. At least, make sure you fuck the mudblood and get it out of your system first."

The Manor felt small for a moment as they heard Narcissa and Lucius laugh, then 80s wizarding music play loudly.

Draco swallowed. "I don't appreciate the term," he said, feeling a little sober.

She smiled wider. "Struck a nerve, hmm? Well, get over your grade school crush, or else you're going to be stuck with a boring muggle wife with zero ambition who ends up holding you back. Just remember what you're capable of." She said this with meaning.

Her words cut through the pink haze, straight to his bones. Frankly, she did have a point.

If their situations were reversed - if she had been describing her connection to a wizard who refused to use magic, he would have given her a wake-up call too. "Don't get attached" he thought, his inner voice sounding like his father's. Unimportant muggleborn status aside, Granger didn't want to use magic and he wanted to rule the wizarding world. Not exactly compatible.

"Don't worry, Daph," he said back to her after a moment, "I won't let anything or anyone get in the way of what I want."

The air in the room shifted as the pink haze started fading away. Her face turned from intense to bright and excited. "Now that this is wearing off - let's go somewhere."

He was feeling notably more energetic as well - as he came off the drug, the cool-down effect to sobriety was a nice caffeinated, socially-confident energy.

"What do you suggest? I'll let you pick as your reputation precedes you."

She scoffed, still smiling. "Me? Reputation? No, you must be thinking of someone else. I'd never break the rules, ever."

"Well, to be fair, not sure if Hogwarts has an explicit policy not to commandeer a dozen house elves to give students a bunch of wine."

"They do now." She laughed, narrowing her eyes at him. "Not sure I ever saw you, like, have fun in school."

"I wanted to join. Don't doubt that."

Her face morphed into a frown, then hopped off his bed. She stretched her long torso into the air. "Man, I'm lucky my parents weren't Death Eaters. Would've made things so hard, I'm so sorry."

Astoria had a very similar acknowledgment of his bad time at school. Her guilt was warranted; her family benefitted from the pureblood ideology without having to pay the price for it with allegiance to Voldemort. But he mainly wanted to give her the satisfaction of recognizing this and feeling forgiven or excused. Nothing she said could really make him feel any emotion about it at this point.

"Thanks, Daph," he said, not feeling gratitude but wanting her to feel good about telling this to him.

"So, wanna go to this cool jazz bar by the Ministry? It's a diverse crowd." Draco questioned if she actually was a Legilimens. It was getting late and he could use a strong drink, something familiar after the wild ride of that pink powder.

Plus, the location could not be beat.

He rose to his feet as she grabbed her bag, her pink hair shifting so it was more voluminous and curly. Her clothes stayed the same, though Draco could sense she was casting appearance charms he wasn't aware of.

"Wait." She turned to face him with a hand on the doorknob.. "So … with all the weirdness, we're not writing this off, right?"

He was in the middle of casting spells to switch his blazer, add a watch, and change his shoes into something dressier.

"I mean, our parents don't approve anymore, so all the more reason to keep seeing each other, right?"

Daphne laughed, loud and genuinely. "Well, that's an angle."

---

The cocktail lounge, now somewhat familiar to Draco, was much more crowded than it was a few nights ago. Two Muggles sat at the bar in an ideal location in the corner, which would give him a view of the entire lounge. Using Legilimency, he easily made them find another spot appealing. Once they were out of the way, he gestured to Daphne to sit.

She looked at him with raised, impressed eyebrows. "Nice trick."

He smiled, relieved at her reaction. Granger would have protested annoyingly, and he felt a little vindicated to be out with a pureblood who didn't mind asserting some level of convenient, harmless manipulation over Muggles.

They ordered their drinks - both going for the house firewhisky.

"So, do you roll with security?" she asked.

"My assistant is around. I pay him to be discreet, like I forget he's there."

She nodded. "Good. The more you get into this ambitious plan of yours, the more you're going to draw attention from dark wizards who'll want you to subscribe to their agenda."

He looked at her in surprise. "Oh? I didn't know you were so well-versed in political games."

She shrugged, eyes scanning people around her. "Of course I am. I work in Knockturn - have a lot of connections, talk to a lot of people. Trust me, you just need to be prepared .. and earlier than you think. If you're meeting with Shacklebolt, you're not just fucking around anymore. Shit like that draws attention."

He straightened, wanting to know the details of what kind of "people" she had in mind. "Sounds a bit like a threat."

Her hand found his knee casually, and her touch immediately felt foreign and made him feel lonely in a way he felt in the pit of his stomach.

"Well," she smiled with confidence, "I'm sure you can handle yourself." Her eyes sparkling darkly, causing a mix of emotions in Draco that he didn't even want to bother to sort out. Their previous vulnerability with each other had disappeared as quickly as the drug's effects had lifted, now replaced with serious overtones. He realized, with a bit of anxiety, that the enigmatic woman next to him, his former sister-in-law and the person he lost his virginity to (if such a title mattered), had a demeanor that was carefully crafted, like her tattoos.

"I can tell you're trying to figure me out," she purred, sipping her drink. "I might look just like my sister, but we are nothing alike."

He assumed Daph was referring to Astoria's lack of ambition or cunningness. She was clever, funny, and bitingly witty - but there was a lack of darkness within her. Draco always assumed that was due to an abnormally healthy upbringing and childhood. She was a remarkably good person to her core: completely unrepressed and never manipulative or mean. She was good-natured and patient without even trying to be. And while he didn't think Hogwarts houses were all-encompassing of one's personality, after all, she was a Ravenclaw.

He needed a reprieve. Pulling his phone out, which didn't faze Daph in the slightest, he checked for messages from his roommates.

"Do you mind if Pansy and Blaise join us?"

She shook her head. "Hell no, I don't mind. It'll be a class reunion."

After he asked, Pansy replied immediately. We're drunk with Flint and Wood.

Draco said out loud. "Marcus Flint and Oliver Wood?"

When Daphne didn't respond after a few moments, he looked to her to see what caught her attention. She was staring across the room at something by the stage, her interest absolutely peaked - eyes wide, mid-sip of her drink.

She gave him a cheshire-cat grin. "Guess who's here? By the stage?" she whispered excitedly, barely containing her glee.

"By your reaction, it better be someone good," he replied, already annoyed.

"Granger and Krum. And getting along quite well, it looks like."

Draco's stomach turned, but perhaps in response to the compartmentalization efforts, he didn't react without first thinking. Daphne could be lying, baiting for a reaction, and though they had been transparent whether or not he cared could influence her one way or another. Especially now that he was a little suspicious of what she was hiding underneath her carefully crafted image. Trying to sound a little bored, he shot back, "Oh yeah? Tell me what she's wearing."

Daphne smiled a little, liking the energy. "Black, super hot dress," she said, licking whisky off her lips. Her big eyes flashed back to Draco, who was watching her intensely.

"Think they'd mind if we turned this into a double date?" Her eyes narrowed, testing him.

"Octuple date," he corrected, feeling the presence of Zabini and Pansy enter the bar, followed by Marcus Flint and Oliver Wood, their arms wrapped around each other.

He watched as Pansy confidently strutted over to them, turning heads at her flashy dress and hair wrapped into glittery spacebuns on top of her head. She looked at them excitedly. "You guys did it, right?"

"She means the drug," Daphne corrected quickly.

"Does it have a name?" Draco asked.

Pansy threw an arm around Daphne's neck. "No, she fucking made it. Isn't that crazy? This chick's probably better at potions than you, Drake."

Daphne rolled her eyes at the compliment. "Might as well put some bad habits to good use."

Draco was stunned. She made a drug with an effect that powerful, with a pleasant comedown effect? She was talented. Concerningly talented. He didn't like to be bested at potions.

"Call me vain, but I've just been calling it daffy," the potioneer herself said. Then, recognizing who followed Pansy and Blaise into the lounge, she immediately threw herself off her stool and into the arms of a happy and drunk Marcus Flint, who caught her one handed as the other was draped around Oliver Wood's waist.

"Green-ass!" he said, a hand smacking her rear, an asset that Draco thought deserved the nickname. She laughed genuinely, pulling away from him far enough to look at his face.

"Good to see you, Flinty. How are you guys?"

Olived replied quickly, slurring his words. "I'd be better with some chicken wings and beer."

"Then you're in the wrong place," Zabini said, nodding to the bartender that he was ready to order. Draco observed his best friend looked anxious, sober, and impeccably dressed - wearing a bright blue linen suit that looked purple in the candlelight. He stood by Draco, who, although sitting in a stool, was almost eye-to-eye with him.

Pansy frowned at Blaise, indicating he was being a grump, then turned away from them.

"Fun night?" he said, soft enough that only Zabini could hear him.

Blaise's eyes scanned around the lounge as he responded. "Flint and I had a good time at the Quidditch game - box seats with some chatty Americans. They had a lot of money on the Cannons. But," he continued, his eyes darting over to Pansy, who was telling a story to Daph and the two former Quidditch captains, trying her hardest to make them laugh. "She's demanding a lot of attention today. I'm worn out."

Draco knew exactly what kind of attention Pansy demanded. She had a high sex drive, as well as being annoyingly high-maintentance. You could call it a double edged sword.

"How about you?"

Draco shook his head. "Fucking crazy day." He moved even closer to him to whisper in his ear, ensuring no one would hear them. "I have a meeting with Shacklebolt Monday. Running again for minister. Wants me to be part of it."

Blaise looked at him like he had been transfigured. "What in the fuck?"

"I know. And Daph seems cool but…" Draco tried to find the right word, but was cut off by Pansy's loud voice that intended to interrupt them. "So, how'd you guys get along?" Pansy plopped herself on a barstool on the other side of Daphne that a muggle had vacated, thanks again to Draco. Blaise remained standing next to Draco, arms crossed.

Wood and Flint were talking among themselves, standing a bit farther away.

Daph wore an amused smile as she looked to Draco to answer, curious. He shrugged. "There's still a lot to unpack."

Pansy's eyes widened, beaming, and Draco knew she was reading into his words too much. "Unpack? Is that what you wanna call it? Alright, so a repeat of sixth year is still on the table then?"

"Well, I for one am curious on what improvements have been made in twelve years." Daphne said playfully, looking at Draco with a mischievous smile. He couldn't help but smile back at her forwardness, at least. Despite her attractiveness, the idea wasn't appealing to him. But it didn't hurt to play along, especially if he could get to the bottom of her agenda she was concealing behind this carefully crafted, manic-pixie-dream-girl vibe.

"Hi, Malfoy," said a voice from behind Blaise, and he moved over to reveal the petite, brunette witch he'd been anxiously awaiting to speak to since the moment he knew she was here.

Daph was right - Hermione had chosen a super hot black dress. It had a neckline up to her throat with a keyhole panel by her neck and chest, sleeves covering her arms, and it was incredibly short. Draco thought the height of her heels was a bit much, but her legs looked long, deliciously long - her brown eyes were dark espresso and looked harsher to Draco than they had that morning, appearing large and haunting on her thin face, her skin a little pale and tired. Her hair was sleek, long, and its lack of volume almost made her look like a different person.

Draco's eyes fluttered over to Krum waiting for her at their table, looking impatient as he slammed back his drink and picked at the remainder of his food with a fork. Draco felt an odd satisfaction at seeing him so unhappy.

He noticed her use of his last name in front of others, unsure if she was being formal or using it as a nickname. "Granger," he drawled a bit, taking his time to regard her from head to toe. "You look like you're on a date. Who's the lucky guy?" He faux squinted over at their table. "Viktor Krum? Now, I'm shocked he doesn't want to say hello."

"I just came over to say hi," she said, voice tired. Draco immediately felt a little guilty that he gave her a hard time if she wasn't in the mood. She looked to Daph poignantly. "Nice to see you again. It's been a long time."

Daph raised her eyebrows coolly at her. "Likewise. You've had a real glow-up since seventh year."

"Thanks, I guess," she said, looking away from Daphne and locking eyes with Draco.

Blaise chimed in. "I think you've always been hot, but especially since you dropped Weasel-King."

Hermione looked at Zabini, surprised at his brashness. "Thank you. I definitely feel much hotter," she shot back, smiling at him.

This interaction, of course, annoyed Draco Malfoy very, very much.

Pansy was waving wildly to someone to come over, and Draco prayed that it wasn't Viktor Krum.

"Hi, Vik!" Pansy said informally, handing him her drink as he came over. "Here, take mine, looks like you could use one."

He smiled at her as he took it, then looked to Daph. "Daphne, I figured I'd run into you again." Krum's eyes lingered on hers for a moment too long, like they had unspoken history.

Draco narrowed his eyes between them, wishing that he could read their minds without their detection, but they were both too versed in dark magic that they'd sense his intrusion immediately. He needed to improve his skills.

"How's your evening?" Draco asked Hermione, even though it technically was a question for the both of them.

"Just ending, actually," Hermione said stiffly, turning toward Viktor. "Sorry, Vik, I need to get going."

"Just stay for one more drink? Please? It's my last night here."

Draco relished in observing the interaction between them. Hermione obviously didn't want to, but was too polite and good-natured to disappoint Krum outright.

"I'm sorry, I have surgery in the morning!" she replied, which Draco knew was an obvious lie. She really didn't want to, and she said this lie knowing Draco could call her bluff.

Hermione inched toward the door. "I'll be in touch," she said to Krum, then her eyes flashed to Draco's for just a moment.

"Let me drive you," Draco offered, knowing his assistant's car was nearby. Krum shot him a glare, and Draco met his eyes challenging. He caught something off about his skin as he did so - it unmistakably shimmered for a second, a sure sign of an appearance charm. What was he hiding?

"We can share a cab," Krum countered before she could reply to Draco.

"I think she's made it clear she's not interested," Draco snapped at Krum, excessively annoyed that he thought he was competing in the same league as him. He let his personal dislike toward him boil over a bit, and he immediately regretted showing it.

"Don't speak for me, Malfoy." Hermione glared. "And cool it, both of you. I have a ride."

"Who?" Krum asked, sounding frustrated.

"Look, it's not either of your business, but I'm seeing someone. You don't know him." She said this last sentence directly to Draco.

"Who?!" Krum repeated, just as frustrated but now a little confused.

Draco's eyes immediately narrowed, searching hers to confirm if she was being serious or just lying to get Krum off her scent. "Same question," Draco said, and Hermione sighed, annoyed.

"A muggle. I already told you it's no one you know."

Draco scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "A muggle? What, did he walk around the car to open your door for you, and now you're in love?"

"I don't have to answer to you," Hermione said, inching away from the group.

Draco wanted to cast Legilimens just for the hell of it, to make it clear to her that she wasn't in control here.

"Let her date a muggle, Drake," Daph said lazily and loudly. "Everyone knows muggle guys are better in bed anyway."

Draco nearly scowled out loud, then got up from the bar to move toward the exit.

"I need a cigarette," he called out to no one in particular. Whoever cared.

As he left, Hermione looked to Krum to see if he was still angry, but he had already gotten distracted and was wrapped up in a conversation about Quidditch with Flint and Wood. Awkwardly, she looked to the rest of the group, and saw Daph was staring at her, sizing her up.

"World's most powerful woman, right here" The older, cunning Greengrass sister said, mouth smiling but eyes cold. "Has the heart of Draco Malfoy in the palm of her hand, but she doesn't even want it."

Hermione made a doubtful noise. "I do not."

Daphne's eyebrows raised at her denial. Blaise, who observed the whole interaction, spoke up. "Just do yourself a favor and ... keep your muggle boyfriend's identity a secret, aight?"

Hearing this made her a little anxious, and Hermione followed Draco outside quickly, worried that her ride was here already.

He was drinking something out of a vending machine, wishing he was in Japan so he could get what he actually wanted. Though, he supposed he could conjure one, but it wasn't the same. An unlit cigarette was stuck between two fingers.

"Need a light?" she asked gently, the vending machine illuminating her brown skin and dark hair, casting blue light all over. He wished he could have a photo of her, the dramatic lighting making her look especially beautiful.

"Don't want one." He looked at the cigarette between his fingertips. "And what, you got a lighter on you?"

Hermione rummaged through her small bag slung across her body, pulling out a small, white lighter and held it out proudly.

"Wow, aren't you prepared." They both smiled at each other in silence.

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you," she said, looking at the sidewalk pavement. "It's really new and - "

" - Nothing to discuss, Granger. You're free to do as you like, and I'll continue to be jealous because I'm not the thing you're doing freely."

She laughed at his joke, sounding a little relieved. Then, her dark eyes looked up at him, looking like large, bottomless pools of water at night. "It's not that I'm not...interested, it's just…"

"Oh, believe me, I'm fully aware of how interested you are." Draco took a step closer to her, not used to having her be this tall with her heels. He missed her usual height, flat-footed.

It was so comforting to be so close to her.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said, backing away from him and getting into a black Charger that pulled up. His eyes darted to the driver, but the windows were heavily tinted.

---

The next day, Draco earnestly wanted to fulfill his promise to Hermione by helping her with the memory patients. When he arrived at the dim room, he was greeted by one of his least favorite people, Dr. Taylor.

Draco had ordered a continental breakfast for the staff of the entire hospital that morning, wanting to impress Hermione with his omnipresent generosity, and also wanted to ensure that people were nice to him today.

So, Taylor actually smiled at Draco when he saw him, an unusual expression to see his face perform.. Apparently food was the way to the man's heart. This was the type of knowledge Draoc hated to store in his brain, taking up valuable real estate.

"Thanks for breakfast, Dr. Malfoy," Taylor said amicably. "But why are you here?"

"I have a background in memory loss,' he explained easily. "Dr. Granger wanted to go over some things with me, get my opinion."

Hermione's patients were probably in their sixties and looked like they had been recently concussed. They kept asking questions in a loop, which instantly was annoying to Draco, a sign that maybe he shouldn't have become a doctor and stuck to potions.

Taylor nodded, looking away from Draco and to his computer. "Not typical amnesia or a concussion; no signs of progression."

Hermione entered the room, her hands in her pockets of her lab coat. She was wearing athleisure clothing and a lot of makeup for the early hour. Her dark, sleek hair fell over her shoulders, still stick-straight. While Draco still found her to be obscenely pretty, she didn't quite look like herself.

"Good morning," Draco said, trying to keep his voice light and pleasant. "Did you get to grab breakfast?"

She rolled her eyes. "No, I somehow missed the six breakfast tables on the way here. I'm sure everyone appreciates that, though, it's very nice."

"I'll ignore your patronizing tone and just say, 'you're welcome'." Draco already felt stifled by Taylor's presence, wondering what would be the most efficient method to get him to leave.

Maybe subtle physical intimidation would do the trick. Even slouching, Draco was noticeably tall, and he stooped over Taylor. He was also significantly broader than most people, and knowing this, he straightened his posture and crossed his arms, trying the opposite of his usual approach to not appear physically intimidating. Perhaps he avoided taking up a lot of space in a room because he still felt a measure of guilt that some people still distrusted his family.

But for Dr. Taylor, there was something about the muggle that he detested to his core. Like a spell being cast over him, he somehow felt smothered by his presence even when he wasn't doing or saying anything.

Maybe it was because he wanted to talk to Granger freely and openly, and Taylor's pure and simple muggle status was so incredibly inconvenient to him. His existence was irritating. While he certainly appreciated - was even fond of muggle culture - Draco didn't like to be around them with the current laws. They were just so naive. He wished he could just be himself, say whatever he wanted. It felt like talking about Christmas around a child who still believed in Santa Claus … except Christmas was essential to who you were as a person.

He needed a plausible reason to get him out of the room. Using his go-to approach, he started tapping into his mind with Legilimens, treating it as a warm-up for the actual patients. "Dr. Taylor, I recall that you're needed in the break room, something about…" he trailed off for a moment as he searched his mind. By this time in this interaction, he always collected some name of a connection or recent event, something easy that could be skimmed off the surface, like a pool net collecting leaves (not that Draco understood this analogy for he certainly had never done such a mundane activity). But the unbearably boring muggle doctor had nothing - a net moving through air when he expected water.

This was weird. Most people had a running dialogue at least. So, he tried the next layer of his mind, imagining a graceful dive into Taylor's slight subconscious, holding his breath as he plunged under the surface. After a couple beats, he encountered the details of a previous patient's accident. He finished, "The coffee table incident. Something about having glass in sensitive areas. Apparently, you're the resident expert here."

Taylor narrowed his eyes at Draco skeptically. "Of course, Dr. Malfoy," he said evenly after a moment, then shot Hermione a look of raised eyebrows as he passed her. Facing the other direction, Draco couldn't see her reaction, but saw her shoulders move as she shrugged in response. Ugh, she was playing into it, putting a face on for Taylor. Well, that was fucking annoying. His mood soured a little.

But then, she was in front of him, facing him and touching his arm slightly, her body close and small next to him. She spoke in hushed whispers up at him the moment Taylor was out of earshot. "Malfoy, seriously? You can't just use Legilimens on muggles without them knowing. It's like, rule number one of being a decent human being."

Draco shrugged like it wasn't a big deal, wished he'd anticipated her criticism about the issue. "Oh, please. I do it all the time."

Her mouth fell open, gawking at him. "While impressive, it's against the law," she said, as if he didn't know this information.

"Granger, out of the things I've done in my life, reading the surface level thoughts of muggles so I don't have to interact with them as the least of anyone's concern, especially the Ministry's."

She considered this. "Fine, I suppose that's true. But you can't just read people's minds without their knowledge, it's intrusive. You're too dependent on magically fixing everything that's slightly inconvenient or unpleasant to you." While she scolded, Draco was half listening, some of attention being diverted to their close proximity. Her breasts grazed his arm, her hips slightly bumping into this thigh.

"Listen, Granger," he said, using her last name much more warmly than he had done in the past, like it was more of a pet name for her at this point. "I'll cool it, I promise. But not on Taylor … anyone but Taylor."

She laughed at him, amused. "I love that you hate him so much. It's entertaining to watch you squirm."

He groaned. "Glad you're deriving joy out of this. Don't I suffer enough?"

"Okay, so, remember," Hermione said, turning to the patients. "I want you to find out who erased their memories, and if you feel comfortable, try to open some doors that have been blocked. Any memories about the magical world, you should be drawn to naturally. So, I guess just follow your instincts."

"Remember our deal, Granger," he said, all business. "I do this, you go with me to a Midsommar festival next weekend."

"Sure," she agreed, "Let's get it over with so we can think about next weekend, where I'll get brainwashed into your weird, pagan cult?" She touched his arm playfully as they moved closer to the patients.

"Ooh, I just can't wait to see you smothered in flowers as the women indoctrinate you," he said, faux-dramatically, and she laughed at the reference to the movie.

Fuck, he was addicted to trying to make her laugh, a mode that he loved to find himself in. Draco wanted to pause on what they were doing to kiss her against the back wall of the room. But, he didn't feel like that would be taken well.

"I'm a bit anxious about this Legilimens-memory-restoration," he lied. "Sounds a bit tricky. Mind if I warm up on you?" He kept his voice light despite how desperately he wanted to share a metaphysical space with her once again.

She smirked. "Sure, go for it."

He cast Legilimens, sinking into Hermione's mind like an addict getting his fix.

He found himself in a foyer with emerald green wallpaper and wood paneling. Light came in from the front door's tall window, and to his right was a wide staircase.

Her childhood home, he knew, feeling the familiarity as intimately as she did. A tea kettle started whistling behind him, and Draco instinctively knew the basic floorplan of this house. Following his feet, he entered a bright, white kitchen in the back of the house. An orange cat laid in a sunspot on the floor, and Hermione was there, taking the kettle off the stove. She looked the same as she did in the real world.

"Tea?" she asked, pouring him a cup. She poured a little bit of milk in, a couple teaspoons of sugar. Exactly how he took his breakfast tea. Was she reading his mind without him knowing, or was it just a good guess?

He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously as she brought the tea over to the table, and she wore a small smile. "This is my parents' house."

"I know. It's … nice." He failed to come up with a more suitable word. He moved over to the table, offering the cat his hand to sniff. "Is this … Crookshanks?"

She nodded, smiling as the cat stuck its head under Draco's hand. "It's nice to see him again, even if it's just a memory."

"Let me see your bedroom," Draco said, trying to imagine what it looked like. Through their mental connection - or perhaps only because she was allowing him to see, he could see the pale pink color of the walls, the lime green quilted bedspread, the desk with a bulletin board.

He blinked, and then found himself standing in a bedroom that was straight out of 2001 - blow-up furniture, a giant desktop computer, a bulletin board with pictures of Backstreet Boys and NSYNC*. A bookshelf stuffed to the brim was next to an open closet.

"Wow," he said, looking around the space, the biggest smile spread across his thin face. "This is amazing." He went over to her desk, picking up a Lisa Frank notebook with a colorful cheetah on it. "This is the most muggle room I've ever seen. I feel like I'm on a movie set."

She laughed, appearing next to him. "It's weird to see you here."

Draco heard chatter in the kitchen downstairs, presumably her parents. Hermione looked at the door, face a little solemn.

Then, instantly, the room dissolved from under Draco's feet and he immediately was dropped onto a barstool in his own kitchen at the Malfoy Manor, but the version before they remodeled. The dark cabinetry, the dramatic black granite, the strange stained-glass lights that didn't age well past the 70s.

"How are you doing this?" he asked her, amazed. "This is exactly it." He looked around the space, trying to sense her presence in his mind at all as she had extracted that memory. "Honestly I can't even tell that you're reading my thoughts, and I'm a fucking good Occlumens."

Her eyes floated around the room, taking it all in. "I don't know, it's like I can feel what's sentimental to you, so much," she explained. "Your mind feels naturally easy for me to navigate, so willing to be paid attention to." Closing her eyes for a moment, the room dissolved again for an instant, before his bedroom appeared quickly, even though he was frantically trying to strengthen his efforts toward stopping her access to his mind.

"You've been here recently," she observed. "Daphne was here."

Draco felt anxious, not knowing how much of the interaction she could access.

"You kissed her," Hermione mumbled, a little detached.

"I think I'm warmed up," Draco said, feeling too exposed but reluctant to sever their connection.

Hermione looked around the room - a clean, sterile room that had little personality revealed.

He decided to try one last approach, and he went on the offense and focused on the Legilimency side to this rather than attempting to keep up his defenses with Occlumens.

"How was your night with your boyfriend?" he asked her, turning to face her so he could see her expression.

He tried his best to read the surface level thoughts that popped up as she formulated her response.

She sat on his bed, feet still on the floor, casually. "It was good. Easy, straightforward," she stated, and Draco also heard the answers she didn't say out loud - quiet, nice, decent.

It was the 'decent' that intrigued him - he wanted to get deeper, not sure if she could detect his presence or not.

"What'd you guys do, cuddle up and watch The Office?" he asked, intending to make fun of muggle culture, which was impossible for him to do so convincingly.

She laughed at the reference. "Jealousy looks good on you. Though Blaise warned me about letting you get too close. Apparently your best friend expects you'd do something to him, mind explaining that?"

"I wouldn't do anything. Blaise is being a dick."

"I'm not so sure."

He tried to read her mind again on what she meant by 'decent.' Easily, too easily, he retrieved a brief one-second image of Hermione and the new muggle boyfriend, he presumed, having intercourse in missionary. Unfortunately, the image that bombarded him was from Hermione's point of view and contained nothing he wished to see, but the very idea of her being intimate with this mysterious non-magical person was enough that his stomach flipped and his face got hot with anger and adrenaline.

Scowling, Draco severed the connection and returned to his actual body in the hospital room. "You're fucking this guy already?" he said, too loud.

"You're too easy," she retorted, shaking her head and laughing at him. Her face was washed in blue light from the laptop in front of her, reminding him of the way the vending machine had cast light on her as well the previous night. "I just wanted to see your reaction. Serves you right for poking around in my mind."

They were close to each other, near the wall and concealed from the doorway's view. The patients were unconscious a few feet away, and Draco suddenly felt like seeing her reaction, you know, just for fun.

As if to test this politely, he slightly leaned against her so she was pushed a little against the wall. Now, it was up to her to reciprocate and take it further, or disengage.

And, well, damn, did Hermione reciprocate. As soon as she recognized what he was doing as he pressed himself slightly to her, she grabbed his shirt collar to pull him completely against her, bracing herself against the wall. Hearing his surprised gasp, she instantly became wet, the sound fulfilling the constant desire to catch Malfoy off guard in a genuine moment with no filter.

Draco, lacking the restraint or control needed to do this gently, moved his mouth to her neck, biting lightly at her skin. His hand snaked up to her nipple to pinch it through her shirt - hard and rough, which made her moan and squirm under him. His other hand found her wrist, and he pinned her against the wall, mouth to hers, kissing her deeply for a moment.

With her free hand, Hermione started unbuttoning his pants, then slipped her hand inside the seam of his boxer briefs, her hand immediately finding his massive cock, hard and straining against the tight fabric. Of course she was surprised at its size - any reasonable person would be. But, Draco was annoyed she decided to act so headstrong and take charge of this encounter that he decided to distract her from this task by moving his hand to between her legs, easily sliding down her black leggings. Fuck, he said involuntarily, cock swelling even more and pulsing with how burning hot and wet she was. He slid two fingers up to where he knew would require Muffliato.
As she moaned in his ear, Draco wordlessly cast charms to give them privacy. He locked the door, shut the patients' curtain, and dimmed the lights.

Hermione was, admittedly, even more turned on by the effortless presence of magic. She always imagined herself being with a wizard who was better at magic than she was, and Ron had never quite made the cut.

As she grinded on Malfoy's large hand, her brain was overactive and buzzing with thoughts she wished she could quiet. The current reality was that she was in a patients' room kissing Draco fucking Malfoy, the white-blond-haired, handsome, intelligent, and wicked boy she had grown up with. The one she may have lusted after during fifth and sixth years when she was brimming with chaotic and directionless sexual energy, consistently quelling a fantasy where she snuck in the Slytherin boy's dormitories where Draco was sleeping, and he couldn't help but to act on his shared, instinctual impulses.

As he fingered her and she was close to climaxing, she found herself slipping into another fantasy of him. But this was her current fantasy - Draco, a redeemed and ridiculously successful person, who was actually funny and so clever and hot, who was probably going to rule the magical world whether she liked it or not, and someone who needed a moral compass, a guide, a muse. And she could be that, maybe, if she wasn't being such a coward.

Fuck me, Hermione thought, not sure if she said it out loud. She held back an orgasm, lost for a moment in deep, infatuated thoughts about him, which caused a wave of anxiety that she was actually falling for someone who was very, very bad to fall for.

But, that was also a turn-on as well. She had always done the right thing and followed her conscience. It felt good to do the wrong thing, for once. As she let go and came against his fingers that still possessively stroked her g-spot, waves of pleasure caused her body to shake and her moan to catch in her throat.

Post orgasm, some anxiety flooded back despite her best efforts. "You okay?" he asked, immediately stopping when he saw her face change from ecstasy to clear nervousness. He pulled away from her, giving her some room to breathe.

"Yeah," she said, coming back to her senses. She looked at him, her face flushed and hair slightly messy, and he had to restrain himself from pushing her against the wall once more. "Uhh, thanks."

Draco attempted to regain control of his urges and took several deep breaths, willing his massive erection, intensely visible in his tight, black jeans, to disappear. Ridiculously turned on but also concerned with what was on her mind, he attempted to speak.

Bitterly, he remembered Daph's advice to fuck her so she was out of his system.

"Well, Granger, I think we're going to have to come back to this another time," he remarked, being intentionally vague at whether he meant the patients or the fingering her. He wanted to make the joke, but was worried about what she was ruminating on, her face serious and almost upset by something.

She looked at him, trying to decipher who Draco actually was, versus the person she was idealizing. Taking her time in the midst of their comfortable silence, she gazed at his handsome face, fond of his straight, uncharacteristic nose; stern, white-blond brows; long, white eyelashes framing steel grey eyes. She said nothing.

"I have a hard time resisting you," he said honestly, taking in her face as well, memorizing the intricacies.

She opened her mouth to reply, but shut it again like she was reconsidering saying something.

"Please tell me," he urged, protesting her silence. "I hate this filter you have towards me. Just be yourself, say what you mean."

She tilted her head as if he had a point. "I can't help the filter, Malfoy, I'm protecting myself. Your ideologies are dangerous to my way of life. Don't you see that? By getting close to you I'm putting myself in future harm's way."

He wanted to wrap his arms around her small body at these words, feeling an overwhelming sense of ownership and protection and animal territoriality. He hated that he made her feel unsafe. "I won't let anything bad ever happen to you, even if you don't want to be with me," Malfoy vowed to her, his face grave. "And besides, when has the Ministry ever done you any favors? Remember fourth year...all those rumors it spread about you with Potter, then you with Krum. Did you read the Prophet back then? It was disgusting. The entire magical community hedging their bets on whether you had sex with Krum as a 14 year old girl."

"I never read them, but Ginny liked to tell me the funny rumors, at least."

"I preferred your interview in Witch Weekly a few years later."

"You read Witch Weekly?" she asked incredulously.

"Just because you were on the cover."

Draco thought she had looked ridiculously attractive, but that was about the same time he was courting Astoria, so he had bought a copy off of a cart where he was working at the time, stood there to flip through it and see the photos of Granger and read the interview, then left it with the cashier, deciding to commit those photos to memories alone.

"I don't want to be a part of you dismantling the Ministry," she whispered, feeling scared and uncertain. She wanted to settle for the predictability of someone else … she didn't want to follow the longing for something more complicated.

"The Ministry is full of actual criminals. They're passing laws that are in their own interest. I promise you that I have good intentions - a drive to make things better. To change the world for good."

Hermione wanted to believe him, knowing that she had a justifiable reason to distrust the Ministry, and very little to distrust that Malfoy was an evil person. But still - he was in a headstrong pursuit against the very foundation of the way her life operated. He wanted the magical and muggle worlds to collide, and she was desperate to keep it all separate.

"Draco," she said, her physical desire and her mind waging war in her. "Let me think it over, still before we complicate this further. I don't want to get involved with someone I don't even want to succeed."

Granger wanted him to fail at his ultimate ambition and goal. His mind started churning on how he could gain her trust, make her see that she was wrong about him and the future he was envisioning.

He also was strongly opposed to her desire for them to not get involved. Getting involved with Hermione was exactly what he planned on doing. "I wish we were in Vegas right now so I could place a bet that it'll be you - not me - to initiate this next breach in your 'firm' boundaries, Doctor," he murmured to her, stepping toward her so he was close to her without touching.

His broad figure cowered over her, and her body was literally trembling with lust, wanting to finish the task of removing his clothing. But, her brain won the war over corporeal desire and she restrained herself, managing to remember the reason she should avoid proceeding, despite how insanely attractive he was.

A small voice in her mind acknowledged that he was betting correctly.

"I don't even know what title you'd deserve, Malfoy. 'Doctor,' even though you don't care about Muggle medicine - that's beneath you. How about 'potioneer'? Clearly you're making secret pharmaceutical deals with veelas who are bigoted toward mudbloods like me. Or, is 'seditionist' the most appropriate title of yours?"

"Even though all of those may be correct, I'll double down on my bet that it'll be you."

Feeling like he was going to explode from sexual frustration, Draco backed away from the enchantress in front of him, putting distance between them.

The privacy measures of the room had had disappeared as quickly as they had arrived. Hermione made a small noise, protesting his departure, but he was out the door before he made any more mistakes.