The owl came as she was levitating the last box of things into the spot Harry had made for her in Grimmauld Place.

She glanced up as a giant horned owl with unfamiliar but very fancy jesses dropped a letter on the receiving table and flew off again. Harry didn't look twice at the interruption, but he probably received summons every single day.

Instead Harry had a deep furrow between his brows as he used his wand to shift the box into place. "I'm just worried that it's too soon after your trip. I mean, are you sure this is what you want to do?"

"I'm absolutely sure, Harry," Hermione said. She got the impression that their group of friends had discussed her situation behind her back and came up with some paranoid explanation to her plans. Plans that were normal for the Muggle woman but less understandable in the wizarding community.

"Do you think it's wise?" Harry's deep frown caused his glasses to skid down his nose, and he pushed it back up with a knuckle. "Especially since you met that group of murderous women on your recent trip."

"I'll be sure to keep away from suspicious magical areas," Hermione said. There. That was the last box. She wiped off her hands in satisfaction. "I really appreciate you keeping my stuff here. My parents can store my other things, but I thought it best not to keep the magical items in their house… You know, in case something were to happen."

"Yeah, good choice." Arms crossed over his chest, Harry nodded. "We don't want a national incident cropping up in Bromley."

"So I think that's it." Hermione looked around one last time and suddenly felt a knot in her throat.

But that was silly. She wanted to do this. Travelling had always been on her to-do list. In the initial days of what would have been her seventh year, Hermione had lain in bed and thought of her previous plans for her gap year, now gone up in smoke because of Voldemort. In theory, she would have loved it if she could have made that trip with her two best friends instead of traipsing all over soggy British fields and hiding in tents, arguing about what Dumbledore had said when and where.

Sadly real life being what it was, they hadn't known if they would even survive that final year. Harry hadn't wanted to talk about his impending death (who would?), and Hermione and Ron had avoided thinking about it as much as possible.

When it had finally been over, so many things suddenly popped onto their agenda. The newly staffed Aurory needed Harry's and Ron's help, and she had to agree that with their grades the way they were, it was an offer they couldn't pass up. Ron wouldn't have been able to sit through another year of school, and Harry had done poorly in the hectic years leading up to the war.

They'd been at loose ends waiting for training to start while she was back at school, and then when she was out on break, they were busy with work. Their schedules never matched up.

Oh, there had been a really fun weekend when they'd arranged a trip to Paris with some friends, but it was so difficult to arrange and even cut short when Ron had to leave early. Charlie was back in town, and his mum would have killed him if he hadn't made the homecoming dinner.

Things got better once Hermione was interning in the Department for the Regulation of Magical Creatures. She'd stuck to her guns there, even though both Ron and Harry had begged her to join the Aurory with them. Even Kingsley had complimented her on her dueling skills, saying that it couldn't have been easy being Harry's bodyguard that year. As flattering as that had been—because Kingsley Shacklebolt was a very impressive figure of a man, Hermione still went into the second largest department of the Ministry. She'd discussed things with Hagrid (and Professor Grubbly-Plank behind Hagrid's back). She'd had an opportunity to talk with Professor Flitwick, who agreed with her on the old-fashioned species segregation laws that had led to more than one revolt in the past. She'd been extremely certain she wanted to intern at the Ministry for a few years before deciding where to go from there—perhaps a Charms mastery, though that wasn't essential to what George Weasley was doing full-time in devising new charm after charm.

The point was, she was finally working in the same place as her best friends. They had all the time in the world now, right?

It wasn't until just recently, and perhaps after her chats with Malfoy, that Hermione realised a full seven years had passed since the war, and she was still at the Ministry in the same department and position she'd gone into. What had happened to her resolve in getting experience in all three divisions of Magical Creatures? What had happened to that faint notion of exploring Charms in more depth? What had happened to enjoying life more, after all that had happened to them?

Harry was thoroughly enjoying his job, and it suited him to a nicety too. His reluctance for reading was abated whenever he was in the midst of figuring out a particularly knotty mystery, and from what she'd heard, his skill in dueling had only improved over the years.

As for Ron, working at the Ministry elevated him to no end. He'd always been good at thinking on his feet. Being in a position that no other Weasley brother had ever attempted and usurped worked wonders for him. He enjoyed being in a department where no one mistook him for another Weasley, and it showed.

While Hermione had initially had her doubts in Ron sticking with the program, it seemed that she'd worried too much and too soon. Her boys were doing wonderfully without her, and she...

Well, she'd gone through a quarter of her life already and not done the one thing she'd thought about for a solid year. And if it was Draco Malfoy who finally hammered in that fact, she wasn't going to think too hard about that either.

If she somehow had a hard time thinking about anything other than Malfoy, well, that was just because that partnership had ended so—well, bizarrely.

That was all.

It wasn't like they'd been destined to become best friends or anything. Now out of peril and away from a country on the verge of magical collapse, Hermione could finally see everything with an unbiased view. Malfoy had been desperate when she found him. He'd just been mugged and was wandless. She'd been the only person he knew for miles. Of course he'd behaved nicely to her. He'd had no other choice.

Even knowing that logically, her mind couldn't help but dwell incessantly on that moment in the ruins with him, with the water drenching them, and his eyes—normally so colourless and cold—taking on the extraordinary blue of the water and the gold of the sandstone around them. It'd sound so stupid if she ever voiced the thought aloud, but in her mind she had secretly compared him to one of the ancient gods. Some people looked scraggly and puny naked, but Draco Malfoy was not one of them. He'd been all long lean muscles and—fine, alright, so Hermione Granger was a normal woman like all the rest of them, and she wasn't immune to him. Especially not when he flashed his teeth so charmingly at her and said, "I'm so glad to see you."

He'd said he fucking loved her weirdness.

She wasn't delusional or insane, but hadn't all that been like something out of a novel? He'd had that look in his eyes and yes, her heart had skipped one or two or maybe three beats, and her imagination had taken over, leading her down another path altogether—one where a Draco Malfoy and a Hermione Granger could somehow, maybe, possibly, walk hand in hand down the street, and nobody would point and stare, unless it was to say what an adorable couple they made.

Which was…

Alright, it sounded positively ludicrous now.

She had an overactive imagination. She'd been told so back in second year when she'd asked the librarian about the possibility of the petrification being the fault of a basilisk. Madam Pince had looked down her long, thin nose at her and acceded to her point, with the simple problem of a basilisk being slightly too big to go unnoticed by the great man Albus Dumbledore the Headmaster.

In third year, she'd wondered if she was insane for thinking their kindly Professor Lupin was a werewolf, and that Professor Snape had been hinting at it to all of them. When asked, he'd looked down his long crooked nose at her from his hospital bed, looking as lofty as though he were gazing down from the podium and not lying down and bandaged so much he shouldn't have been able to talk. He'd sniffed and said (without moving his lips in the slightest), If you're hoping for points, Ms Granger, I'd suggest you time your brown-nosing to not coincide with a professor's stay in the hospital wing. Ten points from Gryffindor!

After that humiliating retreat, she'd made it a point to curb her spiraling imagination when Harry had believed Malfoy to be a Death Eater, and when she'd heard that there were girls planning on dosing Harry with love potions.

In any case, her overactive brain was all over the place, ruining Ron and Harry's high for racing to her rescue. That could surely be chalked up to Malfoy as well, drat it.

Who could blame her? She couldn't get the look on Malfoy's face when he'd left—and yes, he was back to being Malfoy again simply because he'd acted so coldly that it was as though their camaraderie of before had been a dream. Draco and his parents had exited the yacht so ceremoniously even Zabini seemed subdued.

Drexit, she was already calling it in her head, had been accomplished with the sprinkling of a few Galleons to smooth their path. Every time Hermione thought about it, a quiet hurt slowly began to churn in her gut. She wasn't sure whether she was feeling more humiliated or scorned.

How dared they?

She'd saved the arses of those pale smirking men, and they couldn't even summon up a word of gratitude for her and had to leave that courtesy—such as it'd been—up to their mother/wife?

Drexit chipped away at every kind thought she'd ever had towards Draco Malfoy—though granted there hadn't been that many until this trip—and made her question her own actions. What had she been expecting after all this? Had she thought-had she honestly considered that Malfoy fancied her? That was a laugh in and of itself, wasn't it? What had he said to indicate that he'd ever see her in that light?

Even the kiss had been undoubtedly prompted by insomnia and a sort of gratitude. The embarrassment from that was back again, grinding away inside her and making her twitch. Had she been casting out signals that said she was attracted to him?

Had she been a complete idiot to trust in Malfoy? She was beginning to think so. The niggling idea of looking like a fool sat wrongly on her; it made her skin itch and her innards contract.

In that moment, there on the boat, she wished with all her heart that she wasn't surrounded by her male friends. What she wouldn't give right then to have Ginny's down-to-earth rhetoric or Luna's fantastical but also inspired way of thinking.

Instead she had Ron and Harry, who had just about one measly tablespoon of sensitivity between them. If she raised up the oddness of Malfoy's behaviour with them, no doubt they'd say that he was always an arse and a prat and that it was too bad Buckbeak hadn't hit anything more life-threatening back in the day. Things that had always amused her but now made her want to retort, you didn't get to know him like I did. He was different. He apologised to me.

Oh yeah? Ron would say, his debate skills always sharpened to courtroom level when it came to the Malfoys. Think about it. They're first class users. It's how they got off without a sentence when they should have landed in Azkaban like all the other Voldemort supporters!

She'd finally drifted off in an uneasy sleep on that thought in one of the bedrooms of the boat on top of the covers. The boys had apparently talked with Zabini through the night. Strains of their laughter and conversation had floated down to her, and she'd heard nebulous lines of it in her half-unconscious state. Part of her had wanted to drag herself back upstairs to join them, but her limbs refused to obey her as she'd fallen asleep.

Early the next morning, they'd left Zabini's boat and Apparated to their next destination. Their dash through Italy was a blur. They'd raced to catch the assigned Portkey that would take them back home, with Ron grumbling every few minutes that she'd bloody well saved those ungrateful Malfoys and that the money was payment for that unsightly chore.

He wasn't wrong, but somehow something just stuck in her craw at using a knut of that gold. Every day after she was back in England and didn't hear a single line from Malfoy (the younger) made her even more hurt and bewildered.

She'd pushed through those emotions and stumbled into work, where it seemed like nothing had changed in the least.

It struck her mid-afternoon of her second day back that she didn't have to do this. She wasn't tied to her job the way Priya and Nadi were tied to their country with its oppressive values. She'd pooh-poohed her mother whenever she'd been urged to pursue her passion in life early on, thinking that her not magical mother had no idea what it was like to try to get ahead in a magical community.

Like a peal of a clanging bell, it'd suddenly struck her that she was the one who'd been wrong. She didn't have to stay at a job she hated. She'd made a difference on a trip she hadn't even wanted to take, and it was enthralling. Once she'd had plans to see numerous places and—and—and she still could.

The letter of resignation was typed up that afternoon just before quitting time, and Hermione had never felt as free as when she set it down on Paxton's empty desk at five-thirty. She'd worked out the rest of her notice feeling lighter than she'd felt in her last two years of work.

But she wasn't sure if she could communicate that to Harry. He could be surprisingly sensitive at times, and he'd been so burdened himself at such a young age. Knowing her regrets at missing out on such life experiences might make him feel guilty—when he'd already had more guilt than any human being should ever feel.

Hermione smiled at him now, showing nothing of her inner turmoil. "I'll be fine. This is something I've been wanting to do for a long time now. And—you guys can join me wherever I happen to be."

Harry shook his head as though the workings of her mind were a mystery to him, as fond as he was of her. "Backpacking. I guess it's not as perilous for a witch." He sounded doubtful.

"Especially not when my best friends are Aurors," she reminded him.

He heaved in a breath, and he crossed the room to rifle through the letters on the receiving stand. His back was to her when he spoke. "You'd need to, I don't know, put the Protean coin on a necklace this time."

Hermione tapped her sternum, triumphantly taking out the chain under her shirt. "Already done."

He pointed a letter at her. "And take the mirror shard with you."

"So you've said a hundred times already." She would have rolled her eyes, because how was it that Harry was the one cautioning her now, when she'd spent what seemed like years doing that to no avail? Perhaps the Aurory was a good fit for him, as she'd thought, and he was a more cautious soul now. She couldn't exactly belittle that kind of prudence when it was clearly the right thing to do. Her own behaviour in Egypt hadn't exactly been the epitome of it.

That also meant that Harry was not going to be happy about her going to see the Malfoys in the middle of the work week when he'd be at the Ministry.

She pushed that thought aside and beamed at him, holding out her arms for a hug. "I'll miss you loads."

As always, his arms were awkwardly lifted from a former lifetime of never being shown physical affection, but once she leaped on him, they enfolded her tightly. "Yeah. It's going to be really weird not seeing you for a full year. Ron'll…" His arms patted her on the back. "He'll miss you too, you know."

She knew what was coming. Harry didn't often try to interfere in her friendship with Ron, but he hated to see them in disagreement. Grimacing, she pulled away. "I know. I've...made up with him. You saw last night."

Harry looked unsure. "Sort of?"

They were all older and wiser, and yet somehow Hermione and Ron never could get on for more than five hours before sniping at each other. When they were younger, people had joked that they were like an old divorced couple, and with the awareness she'd had of him-he was a boy who was always with her, right?-it had sometimes sent butterflies fluttering through her stomach. Now though, she realised their relationship for what it was-that of siblings who cared a lot for each other but simply couldn't get through the day without fighting.

This time, it was a bit her fault. He'd kept on carping and carping about the Malfoys all the way back from Italy until she'd blown up at him. Her thoughts had been miserably and fixedly on the Drexit portion of her trip, and she'd admit (to herself) that she'd blown his words all out of proportion. She treated him to a pub meal as thanks for leaping to her rescue, watched him imbibe five drinks and inhale two steaks, and they'd hugged and laughed about their fight.

With Ron, they never talked about or resolved their issues. They simply moved past it. It was fine.

"Last night at dinner he gave me a hug and tried to lend me his owl." Which was a nice gesture, but it seemed as though the Weasleys, despite no longer being burdened by money troubles, still had what Luna deemed the furly-wurlies—a case of bad pet fate.

Hermione had politely refused to borrow Otis, who was as old and infirm as Pigwidgeon had been young and flighty. Privately, she'd thought that any parchment she could deliver personally would arrive faster than through Otis. "I refused nicely."

Harry snickered. "I heard. Good choice."

Last night had been the final get-together between the friends before her trip. The Portkey for Szechuan was even now in her pocket. Ron had been aghast at what he called her "nerve" for wanting to travel so soon after having to survive in Egypt with a wand alongside the Malfoys. Ginny had applauded her; she herself would be heading over there if her team made the finals. And Harry had been, characteristically, the most worried one, who'd stayed behind this morning to give her last-minute reminders.

"Harry, I'll be fine. Really." Hermione nodded and pushed him towards the Floo. "I just have a few other errands, and I'll be off. And I'll send you a Patronus the second I get there."

After another awkward hug, Harry popped into the Floo and was gone in a flash of green fire.

Hermione stood staring at the fireplace for a moment before glancing up at the clock over the mantle and inhaling deeply. One last errand before she left.

Hermione knew Harry wouldn't approve of her going to see the Malfoys. Even though Harry was now sort of on good terms with Draco Malfoy, the Malfoy Manor was not a place that was filled with happy memories for any of them, even though Harry had already gone there multiple times since the end of the war on Auror business.

Actually none of her friends would be happy with her going there herself, but Hermione reasoned that there was no impetus for Lucius Malfoy to still want to kill her. In fact, she had the very overt gratitude of Narcissa Malfoy to serve as proof of a Life Debt.

Either way, Hermione thought it'd be more trouble than it was worth to explain all that to her friends. Also, this would be a simple stop and drop.

A House-elf was standing by the imposing iron gates when she appeared, and she blinked for a second at the small creature in confusion. The House-elf's ears flicked back and forth before it (Hermione hadn't met enough of them to be able to tell their genders at a glance) tugged at its long nose. "Here to escort you to the house," it said in a high, squeaky voice.

At the top of the iron gate, there were a multitude of tall pointy spikes, which were only broken up by a large curlique M at the centre. Without any visible gesturing from the house-elf, the gates fell apart, and Hermione cautiously strode forward.

"Did you—did you know I was going to be at the gate?" Hermione asked.

The House-elf's ears flapped, and it looked distressed at having been addressed for conversation. With a start, Hermione finally recognised her—she'd accompanied Narcissa to Zabini's boat. Sassy, that was her name.

She was bursting with questions for the house-elf. It'd been years since she'd encountered another house-elf other than Kreacher. Only Harry's connection with Dobby had smoothed her path into Hogwarts kitchens.

"Here to escort you to the house," Sassy squeaked again, and with a snap of her fingers, Hermione found herself being yanked forward as though by an invisible string attached to her sternum.

When Hermione looked up, she leaped backwards involuntarily at the sight before her. Lucius Malfoy stood in front of her, dressed in his usual vampire-esque clothing: ankle-length black robes with a high collar and flared shoulders. She was just glad he was dressed. Her cheeks burned merrily away at the thought of how she'd had an eyeful of him the last time she saw him, and she nearly stumbled.

Lucius appeared not to suffer from the same lack of ease. "Miss...Granger," he said in that horrible drawl, emphasising the pause before her name rather theatrically. "This is...unexpected. Are you lost, perhaps?"

His deep sneer was making her remember just why she'd wanted to leave him high and dry (literally). Hermione cast a surreptitious look around for anyone other than this man, whose expression clearly equated Hermione with a bug or worse. There was no sign of Narcissa Malfoy in the large front hall, and Lucius did not seem inclined to invite her for a cuppa. Not even the House-elf was still around.

"No, I came to see you." Hermione brazened it out and even offered Lucius a breezy smile. She held up the bag of gold that Narcissa had given her on Zabini's boat. "Or should I be talking to your wife? Who handles the finances of the house?"

Hermione hadn't been able to resist, and she saw a satisfying twitch of Lucius's eyelids.

"If you've come to extort more money from us," Lucius began.

"Oh, no." She was happy to set him straight on that. "I've come to return the gold. Good deeds are their own reward, after all."

She Levitated the bag that Narcissa had bestowed on her, and it floated its way over to him. Only his eyeballs moved to follow the bag's progress, as though he were apprehensive it actually housed an exploding device. He took the drawstring between his forefinger and thumb and gazed at the velveteen satchel in distaste.

"How...magnanimous of you." His tone indicated anything but. Hermione marvelled at the deep upside-down U-shape of his mouth. It took talent to make one's face look that unhappy. "It was a mere pittance, I do assure you."

Hermione was prepared for that. "Well, that's interesting, considering that's what your wife considered a reward for your life. Or that of your future progeny."

It was such a good sally, Hermione only just prevented herself from gloating and patting herself on the shoulder. Lucius was looking at her as though he wanted to kill her and roast her in a pit for the indirect hint to his and Malfoy's near loss of their family jewels.

"Of course, I've also included an itemised list of the expenses I incurred in the rescue of you and...your son." She couldn't help but look around a second time, this time hoping to see a certain blond individual.

It was idiotic to still want to see Draco Malfoy after he'd all but blown her off, but she found that she couldn't just relegate all their joint experiences to the background. It'd been an adventure, and there was no one to fully understand and talk about with except him, although he'd clearly not felt the same way.

Hermione cleared her throat and waved her wand. The parchment levitated and flew over to Lucius, flapping high in his face until he was forced to take it in his hand and snap it away from his pointy nose. With a glare at her, his eyes lowered to peruse her writing. After a long moment in which she didn't make a sound, he finally reached into his breast pocket.

Her eyebrows flew up when his hand emerged with a pair of glasses. Somehow she had expected something more nefarious, and she'd had to keep a tight grip on her wand, to not whip it out in alarm.

After situating his glasses at the tip of his nose, Lucius cleared his throat and read. "Wand...twelve Galleons. Felucca tour...113 Galleons. Plane ticket, processing charge...five Galleons, one sickle. Purse...three Galleons, five sickles."

Lucius paused to glare at her over the top of his glasses. "Miss Granger. Is the entirety of this list comprised of the minutiae of your life?"

"I'd suggest you read the list so that I'm not accused of being a money-grubber in the Prophet," she said. She didn't put it past the Malfoy couple to make themselves out to be the kind overlords who gave money to a poor Muggleborn witch for escorting their son out of Egypt.

"Not to mention the fact that five Galleons is an appallingly low amount to spend on a purse. I hesitate to speculate which rubbish bin you desecrated for it."

Hermione ignored him. "Be that as it may, I've also included the Ministry-approved reimbursement amount for the daily sustenance of two accompanying Aurors...although Ron technically went over the limit."

It had to be her imagination, because Lucius Malfoy couldn't do anything so plebeian as rolling his eyes. He rolled up the parchment and stuck it in his breast pocket along with his glasses. "Delighted to find myself engaging in such trivialities this early in the morning. Was there anything else?"

Surprisingly he hadn't uttered a single utterance of Mudblood. Hermione gazed at him for a moment before realising that Lucius Malfoy had truly been cowed in the aftermath of the last war. The time without his wand had diminished him somehow, and the man seemed unwilling to offend her.

How times had changed.

"Or did you perhaps come all this way in order to possibly make eyes at my son?" Lucius's smile this time was distinctly sharklike. "In which case, I must recommend you reconsider your attire. You look as though you've sprung from the same rubbish bin as your purse."

Lucius must have developed a nose for blood in all that time he'd spent with Voldemort, because Hermione couldn't help flushing and gazing down at her clothes, even though it was a perfectly fine outfit for what she planned to do after this. Of course, compared to Lucius's medieval royalty period drama wardrobe, anyone seemed underdressed.

"I do hope you haven't developed a lasting fancy for my son. He's quite accustomed to having girls of...questionable backgrounds...dangling after him."

Hermione shouldn't have pokered up then. Not when she'd been clearly winning every single round with this old bigot. Yet the mention of her undeniable hopes when she'd Apparated here clawed at her self-esteem.

Her cheeks burned. Was that why she hadn't heard from Draco Malfoy? Had he been hiding from her because he thought she was dangling after him?

How that rankled! Were her motives so apparent? Was that why she hadn't simply sent the money back with an itemised list?

Deep down, she had to admit Lucius Malfoy wasn't wrong. She hadn't told Harry or Ron or anyone else she planned to come here, but the simple reason was that she had hoped to get one last glimpse of Malfoy, or at the very least the chance to talk to him. Ask him how he'd been. Try to figure out if he'd thought of her since their adventures.

Now she realised she'd been a complete idiot.

Had she honestly thought Draco Malfoy had changed? With this complete arse as a father? Whose every objection to her consisted of truly superficial things? She really should have let him die in Egypt. Hindsight was always twenty-twenty.

"Unlike you or your family, I don't discriminate when I consider saving lives. Next time, I'll make a special exception for substandard wizards who can't keep their clothes on around witches with superior magical abilities, shall I?"

There was a hole where Hermione's stomach was, but no one would know by how well she returned Lucius's nastiness with nastiness. She felt no glee at the way Lucius stiffened at her thinly veiled insult.

Hermione had never considered herself better than others, but now she was faced with the strange knowledge that she was at least much more mature than this old reprobate, and yet she was standing around exchanging insults with him as though they were still in primary school. What would her mother say?

Having to criticise in such a tit-for-tat manner would probably continue to gnaw at her long after today, but she simply couldn't stand it if Lucius thought she fancied his son and he—well, he simply didn't feel the same way. Honestly, even more reason not to get closer to Malfoy. His father was a nightmare.

"Don't let the wards burn you on the way out," Lucius said.

It almost—almost—made Hermione laugh. Did Lucius actually say the equivalent of "don't let the bedbugs bite" to her? She almost waved at him when she turned on her heel and walked out the front door, which promptly opened for her as though trying to spit her out.

Unfortunately she had no idea where that main gate was.