Chapter 3

-oOo-

If sending Hermione a basket of seafood made her call him by his first name, Draco might just buy up the whole North Sea.

It was... satisfying to have her so close. It must be a Veela thing, that deep sense of contentment that sat in his chest when he knew Hermione was in her office, just a few feet away. If he had been a cat, Draco would have been spinning. Instead, he found excuses to walk past her door, hoping it would be open.

It was, quite often.

Draco told himself sternly that it was only because she was used to useless lumps like Whittlewaite as a coworker, not suave wizards of the world like himself. Anyone would appreciate the difference; a woman of distinction like Hermione certainly would jump at a chance for intelligent conversation.

It wasn't like she was spoilt for choice, with friends like Weasley and Potter.

He advanced cautiously, careful not to alarm her.

The next sushi delivery appeared the following Tuesday, starting a weekly pattern. Mondays were for replenishing the flowers in her office, having grown stale during the weekend. On Wednesdays, he started sending her articles from the academic journals that languished in the library at the Manor. Thursdays were for afternoon tea; a tea room in Upper Flagley did a decent home delivery, with the added bonus of not having to involve any of the Malfoy house-elves.

On Fridays, he followed his fancy: if Hermione looked like she was catching a cold, he sent a cup of steaming hot chocolate and a cashmere blanket. If he knew she was going out to meet her friends, he found some trinket for her to wear, and if all else failed there was always books.

For obvious reasons, he couldn't hang around too much to see if she actually used his gifts, but an overheard conversation with Potter in the corridor was illuminating.

"Are you still stuck here?" Potter asked, not bothering to close the door behind him. Draco could hear Hermione's voice too, albeit more muffled:

"Apparently they found subsidence; Whittlewaite is working from home for a few weeks while they fix it."

"He's working?" Potter sounded surprised – perhaps standards were different for Aurors.

"At least he can't hamper my efforts from there, so the net result is nil rather than negative. Apart from sending an owl every five minutes when he actually has to do some work." Hermione sounded resigned rather than exasperated.

Draco had not realised Whittlewaite was quite that bad. The man would have to go, but it was going to be tricky: Hermione was unlikely to appreciate the traditional Malfoy ways of removing officials that had outstayed their welcome, and since the whole point of the exercise was to make her happy he would have to think of something else. Even if she never would find out.

This Veela thing was bloody complicated.

"Is that why the repairs are dragging on? Very Slytherin of you."

"Must be Dra- Malfoy rubbing off on me. I might bring a few cases of beer when it looks like they're finishing up."

It had been too much to hope for Potter to let that one slip – he had survived until now, after all, so he couldn't be completely useless as an Auror.

"He's 'Draco' now? When did that happen?" Potter's voice was sharp.

"Oh, a few weeks ago. He was doing me a favour, and I just thought it was stupid we were using surnames. Like we were still fifth years trading insults." Her voice sounded distant, like it had travelled back all those years.

Draco was torn between relief that she did see that he had changed, and annoyance at his fifteen-year-old self.

If he had only had a little bit of cop-on, he wouldn't have had to spend his twenties making up for past misdeeds. Instead, teenage Draco had been determined to commit every bit of idiocy available to him at the time, cheerily waving goodbye to common sense until it was forcefully brought home to him how deluded he had been.

It had been too late by then, of course – unfortunately newly minted Death Eaters couldn't cover up their tattoos and go back home to Mummy.

Potter could see her, of course, not to mention his superior knowledge of all things Hermione. He obviously read something into her response Draco couldn't hear: "You actually get on with him?"

"Yes, I do. He's been really nice about this secret admirer stuff – hardly any sarcastic comments at all. Unlike some I might mention." It sounded like she was rummaging around for her things, and Draco quickly Disillusioned himself.

"Come on, Hermione – you have to admit it's too good not to say anything." He continued in quite a different tone, suddenly all professional: "Are you still concerned it could be malicious?"

"No. It's been going on for so long and everything has checked out clear so far – I'll keep checking, of course, but I don't see why someone would think I'd be less vigilant the 97th time than the 96th."

"They might, if they don't know you," Potter pointed out.

"That's what's so confusing – it's obvious that they do know me, but I can't think of who it might be! Are you sure you don't have any gaps in your memory recently? You're the only person I can possibly think of."

"Quite sure. Why would it be me?"

Draco had to strain to hear her answer:

"Because I can't think of anyone else who would care enough about me to bother."

It was the finality of it that flicked Draco on the raw – Hermione Granger, the best and the brightest of the wizarding world, was convinced that no one other than her two best friends gave two hoots about her. At least Potter probably knew what her favourite flower was, while Weasley was so absorbed in his own petty concerns that he barely registered Hermione was a person in her own right, rather than an appendage to himself.

Draco had been too cautious, letting his fear of freaking her out overrule his natural impulse to shower his mate with all her favourite things.

He wasn't going to hold back anymore; Hermione needed to know there was at least one person who could appreciate her properly.

"They just keep coming!" Hermione downed most of her gin and tonic in one swift gulp, which only made her cough helplessly until her airways cleared.

She really couldn't win this week.

"What, like flowers and food?" Luna took a dignified sip of her improbably coloured cocktail.

It was probably the habitat of some imaginary creature, Hermione thought surlily. "Like anything – yesterday I received a set of opera glasses!"

"Did you have some already?" Luna failed entirely to grasp the seriousness of the situation.

"That's not the point," Hermione said. "The point is that my tiny apartment is twice as full as it was before this madness started, and I still don't know who is showering me with gifts. Or why."

"I would have thought that would be fairly obvious," Luna said in that dreamy tone that surely would get her murdered one of these days.

Holding onto her temper between her teeth, Hermione forced out: "Really? Why would that be then, out of interest?"

"Someone wants to get rid of their possessions before the next Goblin rebellion starts. It's only a matter of weeks, did you realise that?"

Perhaps it had been naïve to expect Luna to acquire a closer grasp on reality after living through the war. There had been precious little there to recommend it to her, after all.

"No, I didn't." Hermione swallowed the rest of her gin and tonic. If there was to be another war, she had rather be prepared.

Then, because she was Hermione Granger and constitutionally unable to leave well alone, she continued: "Seeing as I work for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, I think a new Goblin war is fairly unlikely. Especially as we are on the cusp of allowing them to use wands."

Even Whittlewaite couldn't fuck this up now – he had been suspended for mysterious reasons a few days ago. Beyond rejoicing every spare moment, Hermione had not spent a lot of time wondering why – if he had been stitched up, she might have felt compelled to do something about it. Whittlewaite's loss would be the magical creatures' gain, thus restoring cosmic harmony.

"Really?" Luna stirred her drink with the enchanted straw that came with it, which slowly changed shape from a ludicrous palm tree to a wand, and then back again. "Father must be mistaken, then – I'll speak to him before he runs the article."

Hermione thanked her lucky stars she had agreed to meet Luna tonight – the last thing she wanted was for a breathless article in the Quibbler to endanger the delicate state of Goblin relationships.

"Yeah, that'd be great," she said, trying to sound unaffected.

"So what about your little problem, then?"

Hermione sat up straight. "What makes you think I have a problem? What's problematic about receiving gifts?"

"You seem to think it's a problem, or you wouldn't bring it up," Luna pointed out and Hermione remembered she possessed a first-rate brain. If only she would bother to use it all of the time.

"I would really like to know who it is," Hermione admitted. "It bothers me that someone knows so much about me and I don't know who it is, even if they have good intentions."

"I see." Luna waved at the barman, who obligingly reached for a rainbow-coloured bottle. "I suppose you will need to find out, then."

"Obviously I would, if I knew how!" Exasperation almost got the better of Hermione. She waved to the barman instead, pointing at her glass once she had his attention.

"Oh."

Fresh drinks were put in front of them.

They drank.

"An Umgubular Slashkilter might help," Luna suggested after a while.

"Possibly. If any such thing existed." Hermione decided to leave after the next drink – there were only so many flights of Luna's ever-fertile imagination she could stand in one evening.

"Don't listen to her, Raymond." Luna had unearthed something from her pocket while Hermione sat in gloomy silence, and was stroking its furry, purple head as it curled up in the palm of her hand.

"What," Hermione asked carefully, "is that?"

"This is Raymond. He's an Umgubular Slashkilter – you can tell by his tail."

It was short and stubby, almost like a pig's, and it wiggled.

Unwillingly, Hermione had to concede the creature existed, although the jury was still out on whether it was what Luna thought it was. "And what does Raymond do?"

"He sniffs out secrets. As long as there is a trace of your secret admirer, Raymond will be able to find it. Umgubular Slashkilters have a phenomenal sense of smell – they can even follow a scent when Apparating."

Hermione groaned. There went the weekend – there was no way she could allow those creatures free reign in Britain, and since Whittlewaite was gone she was the only person who could draft the appropriate regulations. "Please tell me they're very, very rare."

"Minister Fudge imported the only known Umgubular Slashkilter into Britain. Well, when I say known – it was only by pure luck Father found out about it.

"What about Raymond, then? Where did you find him?" It was hard to blame a furry little creature for existing, but Hermione managed.

"Oh, he came to me, of course. He was looking for a safe home." Luna stroked his round little head.

Hermione sighed. "No better place for him."

Sometimes, it would have been nice to feel like she was in control of things, but both Hermione and Luna knew there was no way she was going to tear Raymond from his adopted mother.

"He's caught something!" Luna's excitement was not matched by Hermione, who looked dubiously at Raymond's tail wiggling lasciviously in the air on Hermione's desk at the Ministry.

He wasn't moving, just rubbing his tummy on the engraved pocket mirror she had received that morning. Luna had advised her to hold out for something that was likely to have been held by the sender, so yesterday Hermione had taken a break from the investigation to enjoy her customary Thursday afternoon tea delivery, feeling somewhat reluctant to give it up.

She had to, though – the current situation was not sustainable. Spending more time wondering about her secret admirer than doing actual work was not going to set the house-elves free this century.

She had to find out.

"Rnffl!" Raymond said, and Luna beamed.

"Such a clever boy!"

Hermione observed a polite silence as Raymond rolled around on her desk, pushing her prized copy of Most Macabre Monstrosities off the edge. He seemed to like the stacks of parchment, burrowing his snout into as many of them as possible until it looked like the desk had been attacked by a storm of memos.

"I actually have some work to do..." she started, only to be shushed by Luna.

Raymond sat up, blinking several times as if he just had woken up. Then, he sniffed loudly and shuffled over to the steep drop to the floor (at least for those who were only five inches high). Luna gently lifted him down. Raymond got on to all four legs, still sniffing loudly, and started moving towards the wall.

He didn't stop until he bumped his head into the wall. Then, he drew back a little and buffed the wall again.

And again.

"I'll just reply to this letter – " Hermione began, when Raymond suddenly turned ninety degrees and set off at full speed towards the door.

Luna and Hermione could barely keep up with him as he turned into a fuzzy purple blur on the floor. Raymond whizzed down the corridor, where he promptly disappeared through Draco's door, leaving it slightly ajar behind him.

There was a muted scream from the inside.

"Someone must have Apparated from in there!" Luna glowed with excitement, rather like the owner of a puppy who finally pooped outside.

"Yes," Hermione said, her mind spinning. It couldn't possibly be Draco – and yet...

All the little moments during the last few months suddenly clicked together. Draco, asking if she was going to the canteen for lunch, somehow leading to her moaning about the lack of sushi or anything decent to eat. Hundreds of questions he had sneaked into their conversations, all leading to the succession of gifts landing on her desk.

Thinking about it, the conversations were suspicious in themselves.

Draco seemed to have developed a taste for her company, but the fact that he was Malfoy had disguised what would have been obvious in anyone else. They had come so far; maybe it was possible that Draco Malfoy had fallen in love – no, had developed a fondness for Hermione Granger.

Hermione took a deep breath. Whatever was waiting on the other side of the door, she was ready for it.