False Pretenses

by tasteoftheforbidden

The solicitor was convinced that the only way to salvage the Malfoy name was marriage to a certain muggle-born witch. "Granger is one of the few people who has witnessed every single negative aspect of my personality. So what else is left for me?" Draco paused. "So… you're going to offer it to her? Like a deal?" Blaise was positively sure that the Malfoy heir had gone mental.

27. Thank You

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CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: Thank You

...

Hermione sighed out loud as she laid the parchments in her hand back on the coffee table, rubbing her fingers through her tired eyes. She's read almost every known published work regarding memory charms, and had repeatedly perused academic articles concerning the Cruciatus curse; but not one of them had data about the effect of the Unforgivable on Obliviation.

Most of the information had been from the Janus Thickey Ward, and none of them ever mentioned memory retrieval. It had always been the other way around – memory loss or insanity. She leaned back against the sofa, narrowing her eyes as she stared at the ceiling of her living room in contemplation.

What was so different about Bertha Jorkins? How exactly was the Cruciatus used on her?

She ran a hand through her face. With all three people involved during that incident already dead, there was no way to get more information. And even if they weren't, she doubted she could get anything out of them in the first place. She let out a frustrated sigh.

She wanted to at least have some more evidence on the matter before presenting her proposal to the Board of Healers at St. Mungos. She clicked tongue. For a community that's existed for thousands of years, the wizarding world sure fell behind when it came to research. People with magic were very set in their ways, seldom gunning for innovation and progress. She snorted.

For such a proud race, they had a pretty backward way of thinking.

"I'm no healer, Granger, but in theory, I'd like to think that the chances of success of this complex approach isn't close to zero."

Hermione blinked at the memory. Well, there was one who certainly didn't fit the mold. She mellowed down at the thought of him. It's been almost three weeks since their encounter in his room, but not a day had gone by wherein she hadn't thought of him. She's lost count of all the letters she penned, but never bothered to send.

Was he okay? Was he eating right? Was he even sleeping?

Why did he have dark artifacts in his room? Why did he have so many shelves stocked to the brim with all kinds of potions ingredients?

Why wasn't he staying in his manor? Why did he cram his room, his study, and his lab into one tiny space and…

Why was his dark mark full of scars?

Yesterday, she finally mustered up the courage to owl him a note informing him of their fifteenth date. They would meet in her flat this coming Saturday evening before heading off to their destination. She ended the letter with a neutral 'I hope you're doing well.', but all she got as a reply was a single word.

Noted.

She groaned. What the hell did that even mean? Was he mad at her? Embarrassed? Pissed? She ran her hands through her hair, recalling the way he gingerly moved out of the hug she had him, pushing himself off the floor as he called on Tobi to send her back to the floo. She wanted to protest, but the way he turned away from her, unable to look her in the eye, told her he just wanted to be alone.

She could still feel the way he trembled against her that day; the way he held onto her as if his life depended on it. She wrapped her arms around her middle, berating herself for the incompetence of her response.

Why did she go to him? Why did she hold him, giving him the opportunity to latch onto her jumper, completely immobilizing her?

She should have levitated him off the hard floor and onto the bed for safety, casting calming charms along the way. If ineffective, she should have loosened his clothes, transfigured a parchment into a brown paper bag, and instructed him to breathe through it – inhale through his nose, exhale through his mouth – counting during each cycle if he could.

Then she should have searched for potions, taking either a vial of Draught of Peace, Calming Draught, or maybe even Dreamless Sleep Potion if that was the only thing available at the moment. She ran a hand through her face. She knew everything she needed to do, and understood every single step of the process, so…

Why the hell did she panic?

Hermione flinched at the unexpected light from the floo, blinking several times at the sight of Harry and Ginny stepping in through the flames. She eyed the mud-stained Quidditch robes the redhead still donned, taking note of her flushed face riddled with specks of dirt and grass. "Uh… hello to you both?" She muttered tentatively – both a greeting and a question.

"What's this I hear?" Ginny placed her hands on her hips, getting right to the heart of the matter.

"Shouldn't you be in Ireland for a month-long training camp in preparation for the World Cup?" Hermione cast a quick Scourgify at Ginny just before she flopped down next to her on the couch. With the biggest Quidditch event in wizarding history being cancelled two years prior because of the war, the association was going all out for its highly anticipated return.

"I was." Ginny nodded, shifting her gaze towards Harry, annoyed that he made his way to the kitchen under the guise of making tea. She scoffed. Was he seriously going to make her do most of the talking? "But Harry told me something interesting, so I portkeyed my ass to the Burrow and headed back here while I have the time. Perks of having Percy as the head of the DMT." She grinned. "You have no idea how many portkeys I've got stashed!"

"Okay…" Hermione shifted her gaze back and forth between them both. "What is it?"

"Harry, would you do the honors?" Ginny called out, feigning nonchalance as she inspected her dirt ridden fingernails.

"Still busy with the tea." Harry called out, not bothering to look back at her. The nonchalant way he brushed her off earned him a click of her tongue.

"Fine." Ginny grumbled through gritted teeth. "So about what's happening on Saturday…"

Hermione felt her face flush at the knowing look Ginny sent her before throwing Harry an accusatory glare.

"I wasn't snooping!" Harry raised his hands up in surrender as he stood by the kitchen counter, waiting for the tea leaves to finish steeping. "I got a letter from Professor McGonagall. She asked me if we could reschedule our meeting because you asked for an audience with her." The hard expression on her face eventually made him yield. "Okay fine… I asked her why you wanted to see her, and she told me. So there." He folded his hands on his chest defensively.

"You seemed to have put a lot of effort in this… I'm assuming this is another 'fake' date?" Came Ginny's lazy drawl as she took the cup of tea Harry levitated towards her. The lack of an answer from the bushy-haired woman made her push further. "Plus, there's also…" A quick wave of her wand had the scattered newspapers in the room stacked in a pile next to her. She scanned through them quickly before chucking a copy onto the coffee table. "I don't know about you, Hermione, but that does not look like he's hungry for sushi."

Hermione felt her face burn at the photo of her and Malfoy having dinner on the yacht. He had his fingers around her wrist as he dipped down towards the sushi, burning gray eyes fixed solely on her.

Harry sat down an adjacent chair to scan through the papers, pulling one up in the air. "And this… well. I'll let it speak for itself." He pointed towards the image of Malfoy chuckling while he ran his fingers through Hermione's hair, combing them off her face; amusement fading as his dazed eyes dropped down to her lips.

Hermione took a calculated breath in, willing herself to regain some bit of composure. "What's this about?" She eyed them both questioningly. "You're both aware of our… relationship." She corrected herself; the familiar blocking sensation in her throat preventing her from labelling it as a business arrangement.

"Yes, we are." Ginny nodded a few times. "And I really wasn't going to say anything unless you did since these…" She paused to wave a hand towards the newspapers. "…are all clearly an act." She threw her a dubious glance. "But the moment Harry told me about this plan of yours, I really do have to wonder, Hermione."

"Wonder about what?"

"Is it still an act?"

Hermione sent Ginny the best stern look she could muster, hoping it would stop the younger witch from questioning her further. She wasn't quite ready to admit to either of them the truth about her newfound… proclivity towards the Malfoy heir. So before either of them could say anything further, she shifted the topic of their discussion.

"Speaking of Malfoy, please explain to me why he thinks that you…" She gestured a hand at Ginny. "Are dating Blaise Zabini." She paused at the sight of the redhead's face nearly matching the color of her hair. "And why he also thinks that you…" She turned to face Harry. "Are dating Pansy Parkinson." The stunned but uncomfortable look on his face told her everything she needed to know.

"You're dating Blaise Zabini?!"

"You're dating Pansy Parkinson?!"

Hermione blinked at the accusatory fingers Ginny and Harry pointed at each other.

"I'm not dating Zabini!"

"I'm not dating Parkinson!"

Hermione sighed at their mutual denial. "Yes, and the blushes on your faces corroborate your arguments perfectly." She rolled her eyes. It seemed Malfoy really was telling the truth. "When did this even start?" She shifted her gaze between them back and forth. "How did this even start?"

"We just hung out a few times in Paris!"

"We're just really in it for the sex!"

"What?!" They screamed in unison as they eyed each other in disbelief.

"One at a time children." Hermione raised a hand in the air, gesturing towards Ginny. "Would you like to start?"

Ginny felt self-conscious at the sudden, undivided attention directed towards her. She cleared her throat. "We just met up at a bar and, well, one thing led to another…" She shrugged, unable to meet them in the eye.

"How long has this been going on exactly?" Hermione asked, trying her best to stay neutral.

"Five… Maybe six months? I'm not exactly sure." Ginny quietly admitted as she bowed her head down. The feel of warm, strong arms enveloping her, lulling her into sleep made her shake her head. She hasn't seen him since that night because of work, and they haven't exactly talked about things; so where they stood, she still had no idea.

I'll be here.

She swallowed at his curt reply to the note she owled him, informing him of her month-long absence because of training. She remembered agonizing over whether it was necessary to let him know about it or not; but when she eventually decided to send him a letter, he replied with those three measly words. She huffed, annoyed at herself for getting flustered over his short response.

Ginny turned her gaze up, seeing a knowing smirk on Hermione's face. She felt her face burn. Just how long had she been lost in her own thoughts?

"I see." Hermione nodded a few times, allowing the redhead some reprieve by turning her attention towards Harry. "And Parkinson?"

"What about Parkinson?"

"Nice try, Harry." Hermione rolled her eyes at his pathetic attempt at feigning ignorance. "So you met in Paris?" She watched him fold his arms on his chest as he nodded in affirmation.

"She has a boutique in muggle Paris."

"What?" Hermione and Ginny echoed at the same time; eyes wide with disbelief.

"I had the same reaction when I first saw it." Harry shrugged. "It was around three blocks from the flat I rented."

"What is Pansy Parkinson doing in the muggle world?" Ginny asked, still in shock over the news.

"She wouldn't tell me." Harry shrugged again. "She was just in Paris to oversee the construction of her store. Apparently it's her second branch. Her first one is in Italy." He learned about it just a few days ago when her secretary caught him loitering outside the boutique. Pansy was now back in Milan, busy working at her flagship store.

He didn't know why, but whenever he was out aimlessly wandering around Paris, his feet would unknowingly bring him back to her shop at the end of the day. It was… strange. Perhaps it was because he'd gotten so used to her, or maybe it was because he didn't know anyone else in the area. He sighed. Regardless, the routine of hanging around her was a habit he simply needed to break.

Harry shifted his gaze back to the two women in the room, noticing them eying him oddly. "What?"

"So…" Hermione began as she scanned the expression on his face. "What is the deal between you and Parkinson?"

"Nothing." Harry shrugged, before raising his hands up in the air at the sight of their unconvinced stares. "I swear! She just wanted to learn more about the muggle world so I helped her out a bit. I mean, I owed her for letting me in on the warrantless detentions that happened after the war."

Hermione knew Parkinson had been Harry's informant regarding the inner workings of the Ministry, but what she didn't know was the fact that their meet ups continued regularly even after he'd gotten the information he needed. She shook her head. "I can't believe it."

"What?" Harry and Ginny inquired together.

"You're with Zabini, and you're with Parkinson." Hermione summarized curtly.

"How many times do I have to say-"

"Didn't you listen to a word I-"

"It's not as if we're really-"

"I swear it's nothing like that with-"

"We just stay in and fool around in his flat."

"We just went to the amusement park a few times."

"Wait, what?!" Harry and Ginny blurted out simultaneously as they eyed each other in incredulity.

"Those are totally dates!" Ginny chucked a hand at him. "What else would you call them?!"

"You stay in his flat!" Harry gaped at her. "If that isn't a relationship, I don't know what is!"

"We don't go out on dates, and I don't stay over!"

"I haven't even been to Parkinson's flat!"

"But I bet you guys have dinner together all the time!"

"We don't fool around like you and Zabini!"

Hermione watched Harry and Ginny argue, not sure if she should break them off or continue to stay silent. She couldn't decide if they were jealous of their ex's novel romantic prospect, or if they were just annoyed at the other for blatantly lying.

She watched them bicker further, just now realizing that she didn't have a clue about what's been going on in their lives for the past few– No… For the past year or so. She let out a breath.

What was Ginny up to, other than Quidditch? She drew a blank. What was Harry doing, other than taking a break and accepting a new job at Hogwarts? She had no idea. She let out another breath.

When was the last time she'd gone out with them, just for the sake of it? When was the last time she saw either of them without needing some sort of intervention, or requiring some form of confrontation?

Hermione shifted her gaze back and forth between Harry and Ginny, stunned by the fact that she knew very little about the current lives that they were living… all because she was too absorbed in hers.

"I know you were traumatized about the war, but did it ever occur to you that maybe I was, too? But you never even bothered to ask, did you Hermione? Because all you ever cared about was yourself."

Hermione swallowed at the sound of Ron's voice; the argument they had months ago ringing in her ear. Was she really that out of touch with everyone? Was she really that self-absorbed and uncaring? She blinked a few times, letting everything sink in.

Just how long had she been so detached?

"Harry… Gin…"

The quiet sound of her voice drew them out of their bickering. They eyed her sudden sullen disposition in confusion, throwing each other a wary glance.

"What is it, Hermione?" Harry made his way out of his chair to sit beside her on the couch.

"Everything okay?" Ginny held onto her arm, scooting over closer to bump her knee against hers.

Harry and Ginny were always there for her – no matter how difficult she was being, no matter how hard she tried to push them away. Hermione reached for their hands, holding them tightly in each of hers in silent gratitude. She didn't know what she did to deserve their loyalty and friendship, but she would be damned if she let herself take them for granted any more than she already had.

"Thank you."

Harry and Ginny exchanged a dubious glance.

"For?" Harry asked, waiting for her to elaborate.

"For always being there for me." She threaded her fingers through theirs as she shifted her teary gaze between them, grinning at the matching amused glances they threw at her.

"Always so sentimental." Ginny rolled her eyes, nudging her shoulder against hers.

"Did something happen?" Harry bumped against her side as well.

Hermione shook her head. "How have you guys been, and what have you been up to lately? Other than dating Slytherins apparently." She smirked at their simultaneous growls of annoyance.

"You talk as if you aren't involved with one." Harry rolled his eyes.

"That's right!" Ginny pointed an accusatory finger at her. "You completely sidetracked us from Malfoy you slimy little– Shit… Is he rubbing off on you?!"

Hermione chuckled at this. Was he? She shook her head. It couldn't be. "Enough about me." She squeezed their hands in hers once more. "Tell me about you guys. And don't leave anything out! I want to hear all of it!"

---

"Minister?"

Kingsley hummed his reply, not bothering to look up from the documents he was currently perusing to spare his secretary a glance.

"Mr. Belby is here to see you for your two o'clock. Should I let him in?"

"Yes, it's fine, Gina." Kingsley nodded, organizing the scattered paperwork on his desk with one wave of his hand. "Let him in."

"Of course, sir."

Kingsley levitated a tea set out of a corner shelf onto the coffee table in the middle of the room, filling the pot with water before charming it to boil. He took out jars of chamomile, jasmine, and hibiscus, knowing for a fact that the Belby patriarch enjoyed flowering teas.

He brought out the chilled box of cheese tarts he asked Gina to get him this morning, setting it up on the table as well. The robust man was always more amiable whenever food was involved. The knock on his door made him head towards it, smiling as he pulled it open.

"Aurel-" The corners of his lips angled down five degrees. "Damocles. I wasn't expecting you."

"Minister." Damocles tipped his head down dramatically. "My brother has fallen ill just this morning. Seeing as it would be incredibly impolite to cancel a meeting with such an important man, he saw it fit to send me instead." He grinned.

He knew his little brother contacted the Minister's office to reschedule the meeting behind his back. All he had to do was peruse Aurelius' letters in his study to find out the new date, then covertly drop a potent laxative into his tea the morning of the scheduled meet up.

Kingsley smiled politely, moving to the side to make space. "I'm sure he did."

Damocles fought the smirk inching up his lips, not missing the sarcastic quip from the taller man. He made his way inside the office, taking note of the set up by the coffee table. He hummed to himself. Kingsley came prepared.

He arched a brow when he noticed the former Head Boy move towards his work table, instead of the more hospitable couch set. He chuckled a little to himself. It seemed he wasn't welcome.

"Please make yourself comfortable."

Damocles eyed the matching dark gray armchairs angled in front of the large glossy Blackwood table, choosing to sit on the right.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Kingsley began as he sat down onto the plush onyx upholstered chair, leaning against its high back as he threaded his fingers together.

Damocles perched an elbow onto the armrest, cupping the side of his head onto his palm. "How are you, Kings? Can I still call you that? Or do you go by Minister now?"

"I would prefer Minister during work hours." Kingsley replied curtly, curiously eying the potioneer's lackadaisical disposition.

Damocles nodded charmingly. "How are you then, Minister?"

Kingsley leaned forward, bringing his interlaced hands onto the clear glass that spanned the surface of his wooden work table. "I hope you don't mind my being frank, but I do have quite a lot of business to attend to. If this is a social call, I suggest we reschedule after office hours."

"I see." Damocles grinned at this. "I'll get right to it then." He straightened his posture, leaning his elbows on the arm rests as he mimic the other man's linked fingers.

"The muggle night club, the muggle cinema, the television-like structure in the Quidditch stadium with that whole…" He rolled a hand in the air as he tried to recall the name for it. "Kiss cam fiasco." He chuckled, keeping his gaze on Kingsley's impassive face as he recounted the establishments the Muggles Relations Office had sponsored postwar.

"And now I hear there's a muggle museum about to be enacted at Hogsmeade. Pretty good location, too. Lots of foot traffic from young, easily impressionable minds from Hogwarts who wander around without their parents' supervision." He wagged his brows, hoping for some sort of reaction from his former housemate; but he gave nothing away.

"Are you interested in funding the MRO's projects? I can ask Gina to direct you to-"

"Oh no!" Damocles shook his head adamantly. "Entertained, yes, but interested enough to fund them? No. There is something I'm interested in, though." He folded his arms across his chest. "Given all the revenue lost during the war, one would really wonder were the subsidy is coming from." He fought the urge to smirk when he saw a small shift in the other Slytherin's expression.

"Monetary allocations to each department, as well as any donations offered to the Ministry, are in the records office which is open to any concerned citizen for perusal." Came Kingsley's matter-of-fact tone.

"Oh yes, I'm aware. I already took a look." Damocles smiled, noticing yet another small drop in his former housemate's expression. "I have to say, Minister, no one in your position has ever done this level of transparency when it comes to finances. It's commendable, truly."

"It's all thanks to the cooperation of all departments." Kingsley nodded nonchalantly.

"A good leader inspires, after all." Damocles gestured a hand towards him in flattery. "But just out of curiosity, what do you think motivated majority of the pureblood society to donate large sums of aid after the Ministry's supposed warrantless detentions after the war?"

Kingsley took a moment to just look at the Wolfsbane potioneer, trying to decipher what his angle was. "I never took you as the type to formulate conspiracy theories, Damocles." He chuckled. "Unless, you have proof?"

"No. None at the moment." Damocles jokingly challenged. "But you know me… Always fond of gossip and intrigue." He grinned.

He knew that whatever transpired between Kingsley and those pureblood donors would never see the light of day. He was too smart not to tie up any possible lose ends. But if Damocles could make a guess, it was money in exchange for secrecy; mostly from those who enabled the dark side by either staying silent or ambivalent.

"You should be careful with what you choose to believe."

Damocles nodded his head several times at the surreptitious warning, pursing his lips as if in consideration. "It is quite hard to distinguish what is true and what isn't nowadays… What with all the circulations available. Pray tell, how exactly was it possible to go from one sole source of news, The Prophet, to a myriad of papers in just the span of two years?" He leaned towards the table; a teasing but excited expression evident on his face. "Was that part of the Ministry's funding as well?"

Kingsley raised a brow at his brazenness. "That's an awful lot of speculation, even from you."

"It's just so fascinating to see topics fade away as quickly as air. Why, I've never seen the expression 'yesterday's news' portrayed quite so literally!" Damocles chuckled, carefully observing the other Slytherin's demeanor. "Information is power after all."

"So they say." Came Kingsley's dispassionate response as he tipped his head slightly in agreement.

Damocles waited for more, but it seemed that was all Kingsley was willing to divulge regarding the matter. He fought the urge to click his tongue. "Which is why I was so glad my brother happened to mention that meeting Mr. Diggory called for a couple of weeks ago. Had I not heard of that information, I never would have known that the Minister himself is so dedicated to his work that he would allot time to listen to the woos of mothers and fathers who've lost their children during the war."

Kingsley said nothing, waiting for Damocles to continue his tirade.

"Other than my brother, none of the main investors bothered to show up. Not to mention only two board members had been in attendance. Mrs. Goldstein is a force to be reckoned with, isn't she?" Damocles paused, waiting for feedback from the former Hogwarts Head Boy, but he continued to remain silent. "I heard prior to the establishment of The Order of the Phoenix, she had been gunning for the creation of a separate division under the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. One that would focus on war criminals and victims." He shrugged at this. "I guess that's a perk of being the head of the DMLE."

Kingsley nodded offhandedly, levitating the snacks and tea sets off the coffee table. "Forgive me for my lack of hospitality. Please help yourself." He brought them down onto his Blackwood table, busying himself with some tea; but not before gesturing towards his former housemate. "Do go on. I'm listening."

Damocles narrowed his eyes at the unexpected move. What was Kingsley trying to achieve by suddenly distracting him with tea? His brows rose up all the way to his forehead at the sight of a small smirk on the other pureblood's face. Was he… entertained? He rolled his tongue in his mouth. It seems some things really never change.

"Then there's Mrs. Hopkins who is married to the current head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes." Damocles continued, reaching for the container of hibiscus, dropping three pieces of the dried flower into his empty cup. He wasn't fond of flowery teas, but who was he to refuse the Minister's kind offer?

"There's Mr. Smith and Mr. Diggory as well. Former heads of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. They may be retired, but I heard their successors hold them both in such high regard that their inputs still heavily influence both departments."

"They're both highly capable leaders." Kingsley nodded in agreement as he sipped his chamomile tea, patiently waiting for the rest of the other man's soliloquy.

Damocles raised a brow. Was that all he was going to say? Here he was hoping for a bigger reaction. "I heard Chief Justice Patil frequented Order meetings as well." He grinned, noticing a small twitch in the other man's brow upon the mention of his most staunch critic. If the woman's powerful speech regarding the renaming of the Wizengamot head's title upon her appointment was a basis, he could only imagine how fierce of a competitor she was.

From this day forward, no head of the Wizengamot shall be bestowed the title Warlock! This is a position that knows no gender, no race, no species. We are Britain's High Court of Law and Parliament. It is our duty to be just, but how can we do so if in our very institution, we see a flagrant disregard for inclusion and impartiality?!

"It was too bad Mr. Diggory's last minute invite made her unavailable. I can only imagine how taxing leading the Wizengamot is. I heard Mrs. Patil and Mrs. Goldstein go way back." He smirked. He would definitely pay good money to see both women facing off against his former housemate. The chaos. The drama!

"Same year, same house." Kingsley responded with a bitter undertone. No matter what anyone would say, it wasn't Gryffindors that were the most troublesome to deal with. It was Ravenclaws. Passion and bravery were easy to snuff; but detached, clinical intelligence, and a nearly obsessive thirst for knowledge and information were difficult to subdue. He shifted his gaze back to the Wolfsbane potioneer in front him.

But then again, Slytherins were on a league of their own.

Damocles smirked, amused by the sliver of annoyance that slipped through the normally composed pureblood. He had half a mind to take a job in the Ministry just to witness things unfold; but he knew he wouldn't last a single day chained to a desk doing nothing but paperwork.

"Which is why Mr. Creevey and Mrs. Finch-Fletchley, among other muggle parents, were a wonderful addition to The Order. They're removed from the all the politics, and only want to focus on giving their dead children peace. It does make me wonder though…" Damocles took a quick sip out of his cup, scrunching his nose at the taste. How could anyone with the right mind adore flowery teas? He placed it back down onto the table.

"Aren't magical creatures a part of The Order, too? I wonder why none of them were able to show… Perhaps Mr. Diggory forgot to invite them?" Damocles chuckled to himself.

It wouldn't take a genius to know why the former DRCMC head didn't include them. Magical creatures have been maltreated and pursued long before wizards and witches started killing each other. If he wanted to advance his agenda – revenge for the death of his son – including a more persecuted race would dampen his supposed call for justice. He shook his head. How very hypocritical for a person who once lead an entire department that championed magical creatures.

"He has a hard time seeing reason these days." Kingsley glanced down at his now stale tea. Mr. Diggory was too blinded by his grief that he was no longer able to see anything outside of his vendetta. He sighed. He used to be such a capable leader – fair and wise.

"You have quite the interesting group of people around you, Minister." Damocles grinned. He could only imagine how difficult it was for Kingsley to keep them all in line, alongside accomplishing his actual job description, and advancing his agendas. He shook his head. This was why he never dabbled in politics.

"Never a dull day." Came Kingsley's offhanded reply.

Damocles eyed his former housemate's unperturbed demeanor, feeling the small hint of annoyance in his chest gradually growing into aggravation. He's spent the past few months scouring for information in the most painstaking, creative ways, and the best reaction he got… was a twitch of an eye?

"Tell me, King…" Damocles finally baited, knowing how much the other man hated to be called that by that name. "How is Saoirse?"

Kingsley's expression immediately darkened at the mention of his ex-wife's name.

"The Prophet told me she's a newly married woman! Just over a month ago, if my memory serves me well." He smirked. He knew it was a low blow, but the teenager in him just couldn't help it. Seeing Kingsley Shacklebolt unbalanced was as rare as finding a unicorn frolicking out in broad daylight. "Were you invited?" He goaded further, relishing in the other Slytherin's look of disdain.

"No." Kingsley replied without a hint of shame, eying the Wolfsbane potioneer through narrowed eyes. If he wanted to play this game, then he would gladly oblige. "Are you still seeing that muggle-born boy you were caught with in a broom closet during sixth year?"

Damocles felt his lips part at the unexpected jab, unable to come up with a quick rebuttal.

"No?" Kingsley raised his brows in mock innocence. "Well, that's too bad. Since you were burned off your family tree, I wished it would have lasted. Would have at least been worth it." He shrugged his shoulders, taking a sip of his tea as if he just commented on something as trivial as the weather. He hummed, pulling his cup off his lips the moment a new thought hit him. "I heard Andromeda is single again. Perhaps you can give your previous engagement another shot?"

"Do not. Mention. Her name."

Kingsley couldn't help but grin at the incensed expression on Damocles' face. "She-who-must-not-be-named-then." He teased. The middle Black sister and the former Belby heir's animosity back at Hogwarts was legendary. The moment their families agreed to their engagement, they made it their own personal mission to get the other to revoke the agreement.

A round of silence enveloped them, each one sizing the other up in a silent battle of wills. They refilled their tea cups, snacked on a few cheese tarts, waiting for the other to break the peace; but no one made a move.

"Why are you really here, Damocles?" Kingsley eventually caved, eying the other man with a guarded expression.

"I was sent by my brother." He lied effortlessly, throwing a tight smile at his former housemate. "I was actually waiting for you to raise what needed to be discussed in this meeting. Something about funding, I assume?" He continued to feign ignorance.

Kingsley disregarded his statements entirely, staring straight at him unfazed.

"Fine." Damocles rolled his eyes, leaning back onto the chair as he waved a hand in the air. "Believe it or not, I'm here to commend you." He grinned at the look of confusion that marred Kingsley's face.

"For?"

"For your unrelenting service to the public, and for upholding peace and ensuring prosperity… regardless of whatever means."

Kingsley raised a brow both in surprise and intrigue. "Is that so?"

"Come now, Kings…" Damocles rolled his eyes. "Did you honestly think I came here to chastise you for your… unique moral compass?" He grinned at his choice of words. "I think what you're doing is a noble thing. And I mean that without an ounce of sarcasm or judgment." He raised his palms up in the air in a gesture of candor. Had the Minister of Magic been someone else, Damocles was sure Wizarding Britain would have never made it this far in so little time.

Kingsley couldn't help but scoff at the unexpected turn of events. He was prepared for a threat, any form of coercion or blackmail, but this? He shook his head. Even now, decades after they graduated from Hogwarts, he still couldn't pin down Damocles Belby.

He was an outlier, if Kingsley ever knew one. He could never guess what was going on in his mind, and what his motivations were. He was a factor he couldn't label – couldn't fit inside a box. Was he a friend? Was he a foe? Was he a rival?

He could never tell.

Goldstein and Patil were worthy adversaries, but they were… predictable. Dealing with them was challenging, but not enough to catch him completely off guard – never enough to truly threaten him.

"You're wasting your talents." Kingsley shook his head. "You could do so much more if-"

"I'm going to stop you right there." Damocles raised a hand in the air. "I have no interest in politics whatsoever. Not then. Not now. Not ever."

"And here I was just about to offer you a position under my administration." Kingsley joked, but he knew a part of him meant it.

"Politics is of no interest to me." Damocles rolled his eyes, as if merely mentioning the word was the biggest chore in the universe. "Don't get me wrong. I love reading about the drama, and figuring out the gossip." He chuckled. "But it's no fun when I'm in the middle of it all."

Kingsley nodded in understanding, not saying anything further. If Damocles were to join his side, things would definitely get… boring. If he were to join the opposing team, however… He failed to fight the grin off his face.

Now that would certainly be interesting.

"Just out of a small concern over the Minister's mental health…" Damocles gestured a hand towards him, pursing his lips to hold in a smile. "You at least have some people in your administration you can trust, right?"

Both men eyed each other in silence for a few seconds, before bursting into laughter.

Kingsley wiped the sides of his eyes, unable to remember the last time he laughed this hard. A Slytherin asking another Slytherin if he had people he could trust? He shook his head. Perhaps, instead of potions, Damocles should try his hand at comedy.

A knock on the door made both men turn towards it.

"Minister? Your three o'clock is here." Gina called out as she peeked through the door's gap, eying both men with poorly veiled curiosity. In the past two years she's served as Minister Shacklebolt's secretary, not once had she seen the older man express this much unmitigated glee.

"Give me five minutes, Gina." Kingsley nodded towards her, just before she closed the door.

Damocles pushed himself up to stand, offering a hand towards his former housemate. "Well, this has been quite an interesting reunion." He grinned.

Kingsley reached out, shaking the other man's hand firmly. "It has."

"Well…" Damocles made his way towards the door, placing a hand on the knob before bowing back towards the Minister courteously. "If you ever need someone to drink with, or even just to make fun of Hufflepuffs…" He grinned at the sound of Kingsley's amused scoff. "Feel free to owl me."

"Is that a roundabout way of asking me out on a date?"

Damocles snorted ungracefully. "Dream on, Kings. You're not my type."

"Please know that the feeling is mutual." Kingsley chuckled to himself.

Damocles rolled his eyes, pulling the door open to step out of the Minister's office.

"Thank you, old friend."

Damocles paused to eye the slightly ajar door behind him, not quite believing the whispered words he heard from the man on the other side of it. He pulled it shut, coming face to face with glossy embossed words that spanned the thick Ebony wood.

Kingsley Shacklebolt

Minister of Magic

Damocles stared at the bold letters that were no doubt written to seem imposing, powerful and grand; but as he continued to gaze at them in silence, a single, overarching thought crossed his mind.

It was lonely at the top.

---

Hermione sat on the sofa across her fireplace, running her fingers through her hair, anxiously waiting for Malfoy's arrival. She pulled on the thick turtleneck of her blue, cable-knit sweater, smoothing her palms down the fabric of her wool-lined jeans, before tugging on one side of her winter hat. She fumbled with the beads on her bag, eying the small mirror and the old worn-down notebook on her coffee table. She took a deep breath in.

She could do this.

Just as her clock chimed in the next hour, the floo came to life, revealing a familiar mop of platinum blonde hair. She stood up, clutching her beaded bag with both hands. "Malfoy." She nodded at him in greeting.

Draco fought the urge to run a hand through his hair, choosing to nod back instead. "Granger." He found it difficult to look her in the eye after everything that's happened; but he held his ground. "Where are we going?" He asked right away, not bothering with any pleasantries. She was mum about the details of their fifteenth date, and he had no clue why. She hadn't even bothered to explain why they were meeting this late in the evening.

"Why don't you have a seat first?" Hermione gestured towards one of the upholstered chairs.

He wanted to stand, but the look she was sending his way made him relent.

Hermione sat back down the couch, taking a deep breath in to steel herself. It was now or never. "We have two options." She looked down towards the items on the coffee table, noticing him follow her gaze from the corner of her eyes. "The mirror will bring us to a French muggle restaurant with the paparazzi in wait." She swallowed, shifting her gaze onto the old notebook. "The other one…"

Draco turned towards her when she said nothing further. "Where does it lead to?"

Hermione finally mustered up the courage to look him straight in the eye. "It leads to a shore."

He furrowed his brows. "What shore?"

"The Black Lake shore near Hogsmeade station."

Draco felt his heart stop; all kinds of thoughts flooding him instantly, unable to wade through the sheer number of them.

"I know you aren't allowed back at Hogwarts, Malfoy…" Hermione raised her hands up in a gesture of good will, treating him the same way she would a skittish animal. "But I was able to acquire authorization from Prof–Headmistress McGonagall." She corrected herself. "It was the reason why it took me a while to get everything in order. I had to… coordinate with her." She chose to say instead. It had taken a lot to get the older woman to agree.

"Why?" Came Draco's quiet tone, staring at the notebook on the table, not knowing what to think or feel.

"Well…" Hermione stared at the tormented look on his face, swallowing down the overwhelming urge to touch him. "You said you wanted to go back one day."

Draco felt the tension in his shoulders dissolve as he stared at the brown eyes looking right at him. Suddenly, he was back in Bali, standing by the edge of a cliff, staring at the same chocolate orbs under the light of the setting sun.

She remembered?

"It's the Holidays, so a lot of the students are back home. Headmistress McGonagall granted us an hour with the condition that you leave your wand with her, and that she and Hag–Professor Hagrid…" She corrected herself once again. "…will serve as our chaperones."

Draco continued to stare at her, still not knowing what to say.

"You don't…" Hermione inched her fingers towards him, but immediately second guessed herself when his gaze darted down towards the gesture. "You don't have to go if you don't want to, Malfoy." She placed her hands back on her beaded bag. "I just…" Wanted to do something for you, she stopped herself from saying. "I just want you to have this choice."

Draco stared at the portkeys once again, in agony over what to do. A part of him wanted to go back so he could finally face his demons – so he could finally stop running. He was tired of hiding behind a glass of firewhiskey, repeatedly occluding all the memories away. He was sick of seeing the rubble, the smoke, and the destruction; hearing nothing but screams full of agony and loss. He just…

He wanted his last memory of his alma mater to be something other than the ruthlessness and hopelessness of war.

But another part of him just wanted to keep… running. He wanted to hide all of it in a neat little box, willing it far away from the forefront of his mind for as long as his sanity allowed him. If he couldn't see it, couldn't remember it, then he could continue pretending that none of it happened – that none of it was real.

Draco turned towards Hermione, looking for some sort of answer. He wanted to scream at her for meddling in his affairs – for putting him in this position without so much as a warning… But at the same time, he just wanted to pull her into his arms, and thank her for even giving him this choice.

"What do I do?" He surprised himself by asking her that question. The expression on her face told him she didn't expect it either.

The smallness of his voice, and the lost look on his face, made Hermione finally reach for him. She placed a hand over his, squeezing his fisted one reassuringly. "Whatever you want to."

Draco's stared down at their hands, fighting the urge to intertwine their fingers together. The warmth of her skin, and the weight of her hold grounded him, filling him with a courage he had long since forgotten. He shifted his gaze towards the old worn-down notebook on the table. Maybe…

Maybe he could finally stop running.

---

Draco looked up at the majestic stone castle; eyes darting towards the myriad of Holiday decorations that surrounded it.

Harry Potter… is dead. From this day forth, you put your faith… in me. Harry Potter is dead! And now is the time to declare yourself… Come forward and join us!

He eyed the floating crystal lights, mistletoes, gigantic garlands, dancing ice sculptures, Christmas balls, oversized wreaths, and lavishly decorated trees scattered artfully in the courtyard. He blinked.

It was nothing at all like the Hogwarts in his memories.

Ah… Well done, Draco. Well done.

Hermione shifted her gaze towards Malfoy's quiet demeanor, giving him time to take everything in as they stood in front of the towering castle before them. He hasn't said a word since their arrival at the docks, and hadn't even looked at her during the boat ride; but the listless quality of his gaze told her everything she needed to know.

He was occluding.

She wanted to tell him to stop, but she knew this was something he needed to do. She eyed his indifferent countenance; not understanding why, despite the blankness of his face, and the languid, almost bored way he carried himself, she could feel him… crying.

The humongous double doors swung open with Hagrid pushing against them; followed by a stern-looking Minerva McGonagall.

Hermione turned her head back towards Malfoy, watching him gaze at her in return.

He nodded in acknowledgement of her silent question. "Let's go."

She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding; glad that he was still in there, and not completely detached like he was before. She followed him to the castle entrance.

"Miss Granger. Mister Malfoy." Minerva greeted, unable to hide the curious expression on her face at the sight of them. After reading the letter the Gryffindor sent her a few weeks ago, she spent a good couple of minutes trying to check it for any traces of tampering; eventually accepting that it was, in fact, the real thing.

She's read the news about them, and had initially been shocked at the unexpected turn of events. After all, their animosity towards each other back when they were still students had always given her a monumental headache. So to see them now, supposedly engaging in an entirely different type of relationship… She sighed. She had no clue how to react.

Draco watched the half-giant pull Hermione up in the air before wrapping her in a tight hug. Had he not been occluding, he was sure he would have sputtered at the sight of the older woman enveloping the bushy-haired witch in her outstretched arms, showing a rare display of affection. He knew the former transfiguration professor had been fond of her; but now he was sure he didn't imagine the current headmistress' favoritism back in the day.

"I'm sure Miss Granger has informed you of the terms?" Minerva arched a brow at the Malfoy heir, watching him nod wordlessly. She turned towards Hermione, watching her brandish the Slytherin's wand from her pocket. She took it in her hand, pulling at it, only to realize that the younger witch wasn't letting go.

"Prof-Headmistress." Hermione corrected herself, holding onto the Hawthorn wood tightly as she stared at the older woman looking down at her in suspicion. "I know we've already set the terms, and I understand that you've put a lot at stake just by agreeing to them. And… And I get that the safety of the students, the reputation of the school, and the order of this entire place all fall under your responsibility…" She placed her free hand over the older woman's fingers that held onto the other side of Malfoy's wand.

"I'm aware that it's been difficult trying to gain back everyone's trust after everything that's happened in Hogwarts during the war and… and I know I'm being selfish, Professor! I know. But…" She took a step closer towards the woman she had grown to consider a maternal figure in her life.

"But if you could just… If you could please…" She took a deep breath in to steel her resolve. "Please let me escort Malfoy alone."

Draco felt his lips part in disbelief. He eyed the desperate look on Granger's face; all rational thought fleeing his mind.

Minerva failed to hide the shock on her face as she gazed down at the imploring look her favorite student was sending her. "Miss Granger." Came her reproachful tone. "If you, indeed, understand the risk I've taken just to grant you this favor, then I suggest you ask for nothing further."

What she was doing now was against her duty as the headmistress of Hogwarts. She agreed to let in a convicted death eater who had not only been the cause of the school's first ever security breach; but had also been the reason for a former headmaster's demise. This arrangement had been done behind the back of other professors, without the knowledge of the remaining student body, and without any consent from their respective parents.

"But it's already midnight, Professor. It's way past curfew. The students who stayed are already tucked in their beds. You have his wand, and… and we can cast a disillusionment charm, a tracking charm and…" She pulled out her wand from the pocket of her coat. "You can take mine, too, if it'll give you more assurance." She offered the nearly eleven-inch vine wood towards the older woman, feeling its dragon heartstring core thrumming against her fingertips. "Please… He won't do anything, Professor. You know he won't."

Draco continued to stare at her, utterly speechless. What the hell was she doing?

Minerva finally pulled the Hawthorn wand out of her former student's hold, pocketing it inside her robes as she took a few steps back. "I've stated my terms clearly, Miss Granger. If you or Mister Malfoy will not adhere to them, then you are free to leave."

Hermione fisted her hands to her sides, not ready to give up just yet. "You wrote to him, after his house arrest…" She began, watching the current headmistress' eyes widen in surprise. "You asked him if he wanted to retake his NEWTs, and you offered them to him in the Ministry because he wasn't allowed back here."

Minerva shifted her gaze towards the Malfoy heir, watching him gape at the bushy-haired Gryffindor in stunned silence. His eyes were glued on her, unblinking and unmoving, as if she was the only thing he could see.

"You gave him a chance, Professor…" Hermione moved to stand in front of the older woman once again, taking both her hands in hers this time. "You knew retaking his NEWTs could give him a better shot at life… A part of you knows he can- He can do better. He can be better."

Minerva looked down at her favorite student's teary eyes, stunned by the amount of emotion in them.

"All I'm asking for is an hour, Professor. Just one hour…" She rested her forehead against the headmistress' arm, silently willing the older witch to concede. She just wanted Malfoy to have some privacy. "Please, Professor McGonagall… I'll take responsibility. If anything goes wrong, I can take the blame. We can say-"

"Stop it, Granger."

All eyes were on the Malfoy heir. His head was tilted down to the ground, and his fringe concealed his gaze; but Minerva could see his bottom lip quivering as he spoke.

"Just stop…" Draco fisted his hands to his sides; unable to look anyone in the eye. Granger was making a fool out of herself. Why was she going through all this trouble? Why was she trying so hard for someone like him? Why?

Why was she fighting for him as if he was somehow… worth something?

Hermione swiped the back of her hands against her eyes, fidgeting in place as she silently pleaded. She said nothing else as she stared at the older woman before her, waiting to hear her final decision.

Minerva wanted to groan out loud and pinch the bridge of her nose; but instead, she opted to purse her lips, shifting her gaze back and forth between her two former students. She turned towards Hagrid, seeing him shrug at her.

"It couldn't hurt." He mouthed.

She rolled her eyes. Of course the soft-hearted half-giant would cave. She glanced back at the Gryffindor stubbornly eying her with an expectant look on her face. She sighed.

What would Albus do if he were here in her place?

She eyed the pureblooded boy the former headmaster had saved at the cost of his own life; gazing back down at her favorite student who, no matter how hard she denied it, felt like a daughter to her in every sense of the word. She sighed again, whipping out her wand to wordlessly cast a disillusionment charm, followed by a trace on each of them, before she could change her mind.

"One hour, Miss Granger." She heard the younger witch let out a sigh of relief. "And not a minute longer."

Hermione threw herself onto Professor McGonagall, whispering her thanks as she nuzzled the side of her cheek against the older woman's robes.

Minerva saw the Malfoy heir snap his head up, staring back at her in utter disbelief. His gaze lowered down onto the bushy-haired Gryffindor; an unreadable expression etched on his face.

"Thank you, Professor! Thank you…"

Minerva let out one last sigh before pulling out of the hug. "Not a minute longer, Mister Malfoy." She called out to the blonde Slytherin, watching him nod back at her with a dumbstruck look on his face.

Both professors headed back in the castle, leaving them both standing by the entrance.

Hermione let out another sigh of relief, turning around to grin at Malfoy in triumph. "I can't believe she agreed." Came her winded tone.

During their correspondence, Professor McGonagall had been adamant that they be chaperoned during their visit. She bet everything on that last minute gamble, not at all expecting that her groveling would make the older woman yield. She walked towards him, stopping just an arm's reach away.

"Shall we?"

Draco blinked at the ecstatic expression she donned, still unable to find any words to say. He searched her eyes; gaze drifting down to trail her face, stopping on her lips before staring right back into beaming chocolate orbs.

What the hell just happened?

"Malfoy?" She waved a hand in front of his face. "I don't mean to rush you, but we only have an hour so…"

Draco shook his head, snapping out of whatever trance he was in. "Right." He nodded, still feeling somewhat dazed. "Of course." He added, following after her as she stepped in through the double doors.

It took Hermione a while to notice that he had stopped by the entrance to the Great Hall. He had his hands firmly pressed to his sides as he eyed the floating candles, empty benches, and the ornaments scattered on the walls. "Do you want to go in?"

"No." Came his quick answer. He stayed in place as he catalogued the renovated space in his head, erasing the battered image of it back during the war.

Draco gave the hall one long look, seeing his memories of it flashing through his mind in quick successions. How many meals did he have in these four walls? How many pointless squabbles, rushed studying, shameless flirting, and disastrous pranks had he engaged in? How many owled packages full of presents, and letters of reprimands had his parents sent him?

The image of him with his family in the Great Hall during victory celebrations of Voldemort's defeat made him turn away. He could still remember all the questions flying through his mind then.

Why were they just standing there, watching the people they fought against celebrate with glee? Why wasn't anyone attacking them anymore? Was their presence suddenly tolerable just because he refused to outright identify Potter back at his manor? Were they now considered allies since his mother lied about the Golden Boy's death to the dark lord? Why wasn't anyone taking any notice of the fact that they were still there? Why…

Why was he still alive?

Hermione said nothing as he walked away, following him as he trudged through the halls, passing though moving staircases wordlessly. She initially thought he didn't have a particular destination in mind with the way he was wandering around aimlessly; but when they finally reached the seventh floor, and a familiar set of walls greeted her, she knew just where he was headed.

The Room of Requirement.

Hermione watched him pace through the left corridor opposite the tapestry depicting the attempt of Barnabas the Barmy to teach trolls ballet. After walking past it three times, the entrance to the room manifested right in front of them.

Draco stood there, utterly frozen as he eyed the looming Cathedral door that appeared out of thin air.

Hermione stalked towards him slowly, waiting for him to turn the knob open. When he didn't make a move, she reached for the handle tentatively, feeling his fingers snake around her wrist in an instant.

"Don't."

Her gaze shifted back to him at his quiet plea. He sounded scared, haunted even, and it matched the look on his face. She felt him let go of her when she released the knob, taking a couple of steps back without turning away from the door. His back hit the tapestry, sliding down against it to sit on the floor.

Draco continued to stare at the large Oakwood door, taking note of the iron carvings symmetrically wrapped around it, before drawing his eyes up all the way towards the top arch of the entryway.

How many times had he been in there, tirelessly working on the Vanishing Cabinet? How many sleepless nights did he have, slaving away to complete the impossible task he'd been given? How many innocent people did he allow himself to involve in his crime?

Just how many people had to die because of all his mistakes?

Stop! The Dark Lord wants him alive–

So? I'm not killing him, am I? But if I can, I will. The Dark Lord wants him dead anyway. What's the diff- It's that mudblood! Avada Kedavra!

Draco leaned forward, taking his head in his hands. The image of Crabbe glaring at him in malice was at the forefront of his mind.

You an' yer dad are finished.

Hermione rushed to his side, placing her hands on his shoulders. "Malfoy!" She could feel him shaking as he struggled to breathe.

Draco clenched his eyes shut. Hot. It was suddenly unbearably hot.

Like it hot, scum?

Draco let out a breath when Crabbe's final words rang in his head. Suddenly, he was flying through scorching flames; blistering air scratching through the fabric of his robes. The sound of an anguished cry reached his ears as he escaped on a broom. The wails finally stopped, and the roars of the Fiendfyre grew larger. He was nearing the exit now, staggering off balance, flying right out through the–

"Draco!"

His eyes flew open, landing on a pair of wide chocolate ones. He could feel her hands over his own as she leaned down next to him on the floor. She nudged a hand against his shoulder, uncurling him away from his position on the ground. Slowly, gingerly, as if he was made of glass, she moved his hands off the sides of his head, placing them on his lap. He continued to stare at her, utterly stunned by her ability to draw him out of himself. Just…

How did she do that?

He watched her fumble through her beaded bag, taking out a compact wooden chest. She moved the latch to open it all the way, revealing several vials of potions tucked inside the cushioned compartment. She took one out, uncorking it effortlessly.

"Drink this." She offered it to him. When he made no move to take it, she pressed it against his lips. "It's Draught of Peace. It'll help. You know it will."

Draco held it in one hand, sipping it slowly; not once looking away from her. She took the empty vial off his fingers, corking it back before replacing it in the chest she dutifully returned inside her beaded bag. He blinked.

Did she bring all those potions… for him?

Hermione eyed his silent disposition in appraisal. He still looked shaken, but the frightened look in his eyes were gone. "If you want to leave, we can, okay?" She eyed him reassuringly. "We don't have to finish the entire hour-"

"No." Draco finally tore his eyes away from her. "I'm… I'm not leaving." He shook his head. He didn't know if he would get another chance like this. There was no way he was going waste it. "It's fine, Granger. I'm fine."

"Okay." Hermione nodded in understanding, raising her hands up to placate him. "Okay… But how about we get some air first?"

---

Hermione sat by the bleachers, watching Malfoy circle around the Quidditch pitch in a slow, leisurely pace. She sighed. She was glad she got Professor McGonagall to rescind the use of magical restraints. He wouldn't have been able to fly if she hadn't.

She knew he loved flying ever since she walked in on him practicing solo one early morning during third year. She went back to the stands to check if it was where she left one of her notes after the previous day's Gryffindor versus Slytherin match. She found them tucked under the bleacher she sat on during the game, and had every intention of leaving before he spotted her; but something about his strange disposition made her stay.

He was in the air, alone and in deep concentration. He had his eyes closed, and his brows furrowed as if envisioning something. Then he lurched forward, swerved, and tucked himself low before shooting up towards the sky. He shook his head after completing the maneuver, folding his arms across his chest as he stayed still in the air once more. He did the same thing all over again, changing something about the motion after every single repetition.

It took a few more minutes of watching him before she finally realized what he was doing. He was replaying the final seconds of yesterday's match, right before Harry caught the snitch. They were neck and neck, and it had taken a particularly tricky move from Harry to finally grab onto the golden ball.

She remembered begrudgingly admiring his flying, being someone who couldn't gracefully pull her own weight on a broom. But more than that, she recalled being surprised by his dedication, thinking it was something completely out of character for him. The sun was barely up and he was already there, practicing drills all by himself.

The sight of Malfoy putting in actual effort in something was so incredibly foreign to her. He just always seemed to demand acknowledgement without any bearing; so seeing him then, working on his flying, made her respect him a little bit.

Hermione pulled out her wand, casting a warming charm on herself when she felt the chill of the night air getting to her. She eyed his figure out on the Quidditch pitch as he continued to spin in circles. Was he cold, too?

She continued to watch him from the stands, realizing that whenever Malfoy thought no one was watching, or if he'd forgotten he wasn't alone, his mask of indifference would slip, revealing a distinct, palpable… sadness in his features.

Draco continued to eye the limitless expanse of the horizon, gazing up at the cloudless sky. The full moon drew him in a trance, feeling himself gradually getting pulled in by the lure of the moonlight when the sight of black billowing cloaks made his heart stop.

Hermione forgot how to breathe at the sight of him falling off his broom. She whipped her wand out to cast a series of cushioning charms, nearly crying out in relief when one caught him just before he hit the ground. "Malfoy!" She ran towards him, barreling through the bleachers, hurrying down the stairs to head towards the grassy field.

"What happened?! Are you alright?!" She eyed him frantically when she finally reached him, noticing his haunted, wide-eyed gaze fixed at a point in the sky. She snapped her head towards the direction.

Crossing the width of the bright full moon was a flock of birds flying in a pattern. She furrowed her brows, turning back towards him in confusion. What was he looking– She felt the blood in her veins grow cold. She drew her gaze back up the sky, feeling her lips part at the image of the shadowy movements.

They looked like death eater robes flying across the night sky.

She turned back towards him, failing to hide the panic that spiked up in her chest. She swallowed it down, reminding herself that the war was over. Voldemort was dead, and there were no more death eaters left unaccounted for. "They…" She let out a breath; still winded from her run, and the sudden burst of anxiety. "They're birds, Malfoy… Not death eaters."

When he didn't respond, she knelt down beside him, placing a hand on his cheek to angle his line of sight towards her. "Draco, they're birds."

"Birds?" She heard him whisper. "Birds." She nodded, placing another palm on the other side of his face. "They're just birds. You're okay. You're fine, Draco." She nodded at him again. "You're safe."

He felt like he could finally breathe again.

"They're just birds." She heard him whispering to himself over and over; his gaze never leaving hers as she continued to cup his face in her hands. She nodded at him every time he finished each sentence, reassuring him. He closed his eyes, taking in deep, steady breaths; focusing on establishing a rhythm. She knew the Draught of Peace he took earlier was a big help; but despite that, she could still see his fingers shaking.

"Draco?" She called out to him tentatively, watching disoriented gray eyes pop open, staring right through her. "Do you want to go home?"

"No." He shook his head firmly, feeling himself snap out of his stupor. "Not yet. I'm… I'm not done." He closed his eyes, willing himself to calm down. "I'm just… Just give me a minute to-."

"Okay." She ran her thumbs against his cheeks to soothe his growing unease. "It's okay, Draco. I understand."

The look in her eyes reminded him that she wasn't a stranger to panic attacks. The memory of her lying on her bed, paralyzed and whispering the name of his aunt suddenly flashed in his mind. He pulled away from the warmth of her hands, shifting his gaze down onto the grass. He occluded the thought out if his mind, forcing himself to stay focused on the present.

"What time is it?"

Hermione glanced at the watch on her left wrist, surprised by how little they had left. "We have 18 minutes until the hour is up."

"Okay…" Draco nodded, pushing himself up on unsteady legs. "Okay." He muttered to himself once again, fisting his hands to his sides as he strengthened the hold of his Occlumency.

"Let's go."

---

There were so many places Draco wanted to go to – so many things he wanted to see and unsee; but he knew that with the remaining time he had, there was only one place left to go.

Hermione kept her gaze on his back as they walked up the steps of the spiraling staircase in silence. She grit her teeth, bracing herself for what lay at the top.

Avada Kedavra!

They stood outside the double doors leading to the topmost chamber of the Astronomy Tower, neither one making a move.

Draco took several steps back, leaning against the opposite wall, sliding down towards the floor just like he did back at the Room of Requirement. He crossed his legs underneath him, staring at the place that's never stopped haunting him since sixth year.

Hermione stayed rooted on the spot, allowing the memory of her killing a death eater in cold blood to play in her head. She's lost count of all the times she revisited the scene, thinking of how else she could have handled it – what else she could have done.

She tried so hard to look for clues that could point her towards the identity of the person whose life she ended that night; but in the end, there was nothing. The death eater remained nameless in her memories, eternally faceless in her dreams.

She used to think it was a good thing. That way it wouldn't be real. She could pretend it was an empty robe, or a poltergeist in a mask – not a real human being. But then, not knowing meant that… there was no one to apologize to – no one to seek amends with.

The person she killed was likely someone's daughter or son, someone's father or mother, someone's friend, lover, mentor… That person would have meant something to someone.

But because of one fleeting moment of abandon, she severed those bonds away the same way she would have cut off a loose thread at the end of her jumper.

She turned towards Malfoy, watching him sitting by the opposite wall, staring at the double doors in silence. The haunted look on his face seemed permanently etched on his features, making him look like a breath away from death.

"I killed someone." Came her quiet tone, making him shift his wide gray eyes towards her instantly.

Perhaps it was the quiet of the tower, or the dark cover of the night… It could be the sadness in his eyes, or the remorse that rolled off every inch of his body… Or maybe…

Maybe it was the fact that he was also burdened with sins he had no idea how to atone for…

But as she gazed down on him while he sat on the cold stone floor looking lost and utterly frightened, it felt… okay.

It was okay for her to finally be honest.

"Here." She pointed at the door. "I was walking by when I saw the silhouette of a cloak, followed by a hint of a silver mask." She kept her blank gaze on him, watching his eyes widen further in disbelief. "I was quick. Barely lasted two seconds." She pulled out her wand from her pocket eying it in contemplation. She turned back towards the door, hearing Malfoy take a sharp intake of breath.

"Granger… Don't-" His plea was cut short the moment she swung her wand, pushing the double doors open.

Hermione stretched her hand out, pointing her wand towards the place where she knew the death eater once stood. "Avada Kedavra." She whispered, staring at the phantom in her memories. Dark robes fluttered down slowly to the floor; body shrouded by a distinct green halo.

A pained gasp made her snap out of her reverie.

She turned around to see him sprawled on the ground – forehead pressed onto the floor, hands covering his ears, eyes clenched shut in pain. "Malfoy!"

The memories of that night were swimming in his head.

Good evening, Draco. What brings you here on this fine evening?

Who else is here? I heard you talking.

Draco heard muffled footsteps followed by the sound of rustling. Hermione shuffled through her beaded bag, pulling out her potions. "Draco!"

Draco, you are no assassin.

How do you know what I am?! I've done things that would shock you! Trust me. I was chosen.

"Draco!" Hermione called out to him again when she saw him starting to convulse. She pulled out a vial of Calming Draught, pushing against his shoulders to right him; but the tension in his muscles, and the weight of his body kept him coiled against the floor.

Draco could feel himself spiraling deeper and deeper as he lost all sense of his body; unable to tell where was up and where was down.

Expelliarmus!

Draco… You're not alone. There are others. How?

The Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement… I've been mending it.

Let me guess. It has a sister… A twin.

Borgin and Burkes. They form a passage.

Ingenius.

Hermione levitated him off the floor, tilting him to lie on his back. She cradled his head, pushing the uncorked vial against his clenched teeth. When he wouldn't open his mouth, she cast a quick muscle relaxing charm on him. The tension in his body lessened by a fraction, just enough for her to slip the potion through his lips.

Draco felt the pain gradually fade as his mind fogged and his body relaxed.

Draco, years ago, I knew a boy who made all the wrong choices… Please let me help you.

I don't want your help! Don't you understand? I have to do this. I have to kill you… or he's gonna kill me.

Hermione pulled his head over her lap, combing his damp fringe off his forehead. "You're okay, Draco. You're alright." She ran the bottom edge of her sleeves through the layer of cold sweat across his face. "Everything's okay now."

Draco opened his groggy eyes; gaze sweeping through wild bushy curls, before landing on wide brown eyes full of worry. "I lied…" He whispered, making his eyes prick at the admission.

Hermione leaned down closer to hear him better.

"I lied… in my testimony. When I said… I did it to keep my parents alive."

At that moment, when he had his wand pointed at the former headmaster, even as the older man spouted out offers to help him, all he could think about… was himself. He wasn't agonizing over the headmaster's life, or the countless others he endangered by letting the death eaters in. He hadn't even thought about his parents. Not once during that entire ordeal.

All he could think about… was the fact that he didn't want to die.

"I told him… I told Professor Dumbledore… I have to kill you… or he's gonna kill me."

He should have just died. It was one measly life for countless others. If he hadn't been such a coward, no one else would have gotten hurt. "I'm sorry I got Professor Dumbledore killed…" He clenched his eyes shut in grief. "I'm sorry I got Professor Snape killed…" He added, feeling guilt wrack his entire existence.

Maybe I hexed that Bell girl, maybe I didn't. What's it to you?

I swore to protect you. I made the unbreakable vow-

I don't need protection! I was chosen for this… Out of all others, me! I won't fail him.

It was his fault that Professor Snape had been forced into that position – forced to end the former headmaster's life. Because of his failure, the older man got the brunt of it all – the mockery, the hate, the suspicion – and had perished in return.

You're afraid, Draco… You tend to conceal it, but it's obvious. Let. Me. Assist you.

No! I was chosen… This is my moment.

Professor Snape had gone so far as to take an unbreakable vow with his mother, just so he could protect him. But what did he do for him in return?

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry… I just… I didn't know what else to do…"

Hermione felt her eyes water at the sight of him sputtering out one apology after another. "I… I forgive you…" She found herself saying back, surprised that she did. "I forgive you." She reiterated once again, knowing deep down that it was what he wanted to hear – what he needed to hear.

"I forgive you."

He burst into tears at her words. "Granger… What do I do now?" He sobbed as he turned to bury his face against her stomach. "Hey, can you just… tell me?" He reached an arm around her waist, fisting his hand against the back of her sweater. "What should I do? Who should I be?"

"Draco… You can be whoever you want to be." Hermione pressed her forehead against his temple, whispering in his ear as she cradled the back of his head. "You're free."

His face crumpled at the sound of her reply, shaking his head in denial. "I don't want to be…"

He used to wonder why the thought of freedom suffocated him. Why every single time someone told him he was free, he just felt more trapped – caged. It was only after his sentence ended that he finally understood why.

Being free meant there were no more orders – no one else left to tell him what to do. Everything was in his hands now. Every decision he would make, every move he would take – they would all be on him.

There would be no one left to blame for all his mistakes.

Hermione watched him cry against her, running her fingers through his hair. "It's… It's okay, Draco. It's alright." She whispered, not knowing what else to say. "You're okay… You're alright…" She kept at it until his whimpers finally died down, watching him fall into a deep slumber.

---

Draco stirred in place, squinting at the bright light that met his gaze. He draped an arm over his eyes; squeezing them shut, hoping the gesture would quell their burning sensation. He cursed.

Where the hell was he?

He turned away from the sun, pushing himself up on one arm, popping an eye open to scan his surroundings. The scattered pieces of parchment glued to the walls served as an answer.

He was in Granger's bedroom.

He sat up, groaning when he felt the throbbing in his head worsen. He pressed a hand against his temple; fixing his eyes on the mattress as he tried to remember why he was here, and how he ended up on her bed.

"You're free."

"I don't want to be…"

He felt nothing but dread coursing through his veins as bits and pieces of last night gradually came back to him. He cupped his face in his hands, agonizing over what happened in the Astronomy Tower.

Why the hell did he say all those things to Granger? Those were thoughts he suffered over in solitude. No one was ever supposed to know about them; let alone hear about them directly from him.

He let out a long, tired sigh; allowing his torso to tip forward until his forehead brushed against the fabric of the sheets.

Why was it that whenever she was there, he was just so bloody pathetic? Why was he only capable of showing her the worst side of himself? Why did she always have to witness him–

The sound of clattering made him snap his head towards the door. He moved out of the bed to lean an ear against the wood, hearing bumps, clanking, and sizzling. He furrowed his brows, turning the knob gingerly to peek through to the other side. His gaze went past the narrow hallway, zoning in on the part of the kitchen that was visible from the bedroom door.

Granger was standing by the counter with her hair in a messy bun; still wearing the same clothes she had on last night. She was busy chopping vegetables against a wooden board. He blinked at the two sets of tableware laid out on the dining table, feeling his heart still at its implication.

Was she cooking for him, too?

His lips parted as he watched her drop the cut vegetables into a pot, stirring it carefully with a ladle.

Why?

Why would she go so far for someone like him? He didn't deserve an ounce of her kindness, or even a sliver of her mercy. He wasn't worth– He shut the door the moment she turned around.

"Draco?"

He cursed under his breath at the sound of her call.

"Are you awake?"

He whirled around to apparate away, only then realizing that his wand wasn't on him. He scanned her mattress, the side tables, the space under her bed; but he couldn't find it anywhere. The sound of her footsteps were getting closer, and he had nowhere else to go. He rushed towards the farthest window, standing with his back facing her just as the door swung open.

"Uh, hey…" He heard her greet him tentatively; followed by the sound of the doorknob clicking behind him.

"How are you? Are you feeling okay?"

He closed his eyes, feeling something in his chest cave at the amount of concern in her voice. Why the hell was she being so nice to him?

"Draco?" He heard her call out to him again; but this time, she sounded much closer. He felt his heart stutter, making him ball his fists to his sides to ground himself. "I'm fine." He answered through gritted teeth, finally allowing himself to turn around.

Words weren't enough to explain what her eyes did to him; especially in this light with the sun's rays reflecting against them, filling him with a warmth that seemed to reach all the way to the depths of his soul. His knees gave way at the sight of her, causing him to flop back onto the window sill ungracefully.

"Easy!" Hermione stretched her arms out, hoping to break his fall; relieved that the window's ledge caught him just in time. She pulled out the wand in her pocket, casting a few diagnostic charms, realizing too late that the wooden stick she was clutching wasn't hers. "Oh, sorry! I didn't mean to-" She flushed in mortification.

A wand was an extension of a wizard or witch. It was highly personal, and deserved a level of respect and privacy that no one had the right to intrude on. She withdrew her spells immediately, wordlessly returning back his wand; unable to look him in the eye. She glanced at the wood in her hand curiously, confused by the lack of resistance from it. It responded to her magic so easily, so effortlessly, that she mistook it for her own.

Draco finally tore his eyes away from her, choosing to focus on the ten-inch Hawthorn stick she offered back to him. He could feel his magic reacting to its unicorn hair core as he smoothed his fingers through the surface of the wood.

Hermione wanted to cast a few more spells to check on his condition, but her wand was back in the kitchen. She wanted to retrieve it, but her gut told her he would disappear the moment she walked out the door. It was the reason why she kept his wand with her while he slept. She knew he would leave the moment he woke up, and she just…

She didn't want him to go.

"Does your head hurt? Are you feeling nauseous? Light-headed? Dizzy?"

Draco felt his eyes prick at the sound of her gentle questioning. Why? Why did she care? She started leaning down towards him, no doubt hoping to peek at the expression on his face; but he didn't want her to see him like this. He just…

He didn't want to look uncool in front of her ever again.

Hermione forgot how to breathe when she felt his hands land on her hips, pulling her towards him in a tight hug. His arms wrapped around her waist as he buried his face onto the side of her torso. She gaped at the platinum blond hair hovering below her; fingers itching to run themselves through his–

"Thank you…"

Her heart lost its rhythm at the quiet sound of his voice. She felt his lips move against her skin; his breath fanning through the fabric of her sweater.

Draco held onto her as if the very act was the only thing capable of keeping him alive. "Thank you, Granger…"

Now, every time he would think of Hogwarts, he wouldn't see the piles of dead bodies, the swirls of dark robes with silver masks, or the shadow of an old man offering him a different path.

No.

He would remember her fighting for him by entrance of the castle. "He can do better. He can be better."

He would see a wooden chest filled with vials of potions. "It'll help. You know it will."

He would hear the soothing sound of her voice. "You're fine, Draco. You're safe."

He would feel the warmth of her hands, and the comfort of her embrace. "I forgive you."

Draco nuzzled against her, fisting his hands against the fabric of her sweater, wanting to hold onto more of her. "Thank you…" He whispered again, feeling his tears starting to stain her clothes.

"It's okay, Draco. It's alright."

"You're okay… You're alright…"

She felt her eyes water at the sound of his gratitude. She inched her hands towards him, just about to return the hug; but he moved away before she could. His palms pressed against the curve of her hips, nudging her back an arm's length away.

She eyed the top of his bowed head, thinking of all the things she had yet to thank him for.

When he pulled her out of her sleep paralysis. When he offered to teach her Occlumency. When he held her as she broke down over her memories. When he shared his input on her research. When he…

When he helped her across the yacht's plank. When he pulled her out of the snow. When he'd given her one of his cats. When he insisted on carrying one of her grocery bags.

When he'd given her the opportunity… The fighting chance to try and get her parents back.

But just as her hands landed over his, he released his hold on her waist; pulling away from her touch, apparating before she could say another word.

---

End of chapter 27!

"Seeking to forget makes exile all the longer; the secret of redemption lies in remembrance." ~ Richard von Weizsäcker

It's impossible to live a life without regret. We all have moments we want to take back – things we wish we didn't say or do. But choosing to forget, or repress wrongdoings only prolongs the grief. Everyone makes mistakes, but not everyone owns up to them.

So big hugs for Draco and Hermione for struggling to own up to theirs :)

P.S. Damocles and Kingsley being #frenemies was one of the most enjoyable scenes I've EVER written! Sooo many layers to their conversation

Thank you for reading. :)

Three chapters to go!