Hermione was surprised to find a bouquet of flowers on her desk the next morning. A worn-out hope unfurled in her chest as she plucked a rolled piece of parchment from the blooms. I want to help, it read. Based on the arrangement, she should have known the gift was from Draco, but Ron was still the first name she reached for in her mind. A renewed rejection settled in her skin like pools of stagnant water, and she wondered how long she would preserve the useless hope that Ron would come back to her. Hermione rubbed at her heart, as if it would help dissipate the ache. Why did her hope not only carry a torch, but also a knife?

"Who are the flowers from?" Harry asked as he slipped through the office door and took the seat across from her. Hermione tossed the note into one of her desk drawers.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Ron?"

"No, not Ron."

Harry cleared his throat. Although Harry was always a comforting presence to Hermione, he never seemed to know how to navigate the topic of Ron.

"Does your department have anything new on the magical surges?" Harry asked after a moment, intentionally switching the topic. He tried to remain casual, but the awkwardness in his voice gave him away. Hermione shook her head.

"Yours?"

"We've done a few raids," Harry said. He ran a frustrated hand through his forever unruly hair. "Only found some contraband, flying carpets, a few unsanctioned time-turners. Nothing major. But I would love an excuse to investigate the Malfoy's property."

"If the Auror's office really wants to get into the Malfoy's manor, that shouldn't be too difficult, seeing as I'm there every week."

"So it's true. You're working with him?"

"Did I not mention that?" Hermione shrugged. "And I wouldn't say I'm working with him. I've been doing research at his Manor."

"Are you alright? Being there. With Malfoy."

"It's not an ideal place to work, but it hasn't been completely awful."

"Just be careful. He may have avoided trouble since Hogwarts, but I still don't trust him. He's dangerous."

"Oh Harry, you've always been so suspicious of Draco. I just don't think you're right about him."

"I was right about him," Harry said with indignation. He leaned forward in his seat. "He is a death eater. And I don't know if you remember this, but he tried to kill us."

"Was a death eater, Harry. And if I remember correctly, you nearly killed us trying to save him. He might still be as unpleasant as ever, but I think he truly wants to help for whatever reason."

Harry pulled a lemon drop from his pocket and popped it into his mouth. They sat in a silent standoff, both internally weighing if they had the energy to debate Draco Malfoy's morality today.

"Are you still going to the St. Mungo's Donors Gala tonight?" Harry asked.

Hermione nodded.

"Me too. Ginny is getting there early with the Prophet. We can go together after work?"

"That would be great, Harry. Meet you outside at six?"

Hermione and Harry arrived at the Gala shortly after six. Witches and wizards were already filtering through the ballroom, dressed in gowns of silk and robes of fine wool and cashmere. Ice sculptures of glistening phoenixes and slick dragons posed on pedestals, flapping their wings at passing guests. In the far corner, a band played honeyed tunes, their melodies interrupted only by the occasional burst of laughter or click of drinking glasses.

Scanning the crowd, Hermione spotted Ginny laughing with her co-workers from the Prophet. Ginny beamed as she cradled her now undeniable baby bump, her viridian dress flowing around her like liquid gemstones. Even at the distance, Ginny was radiant. Hermione turned to point her out to Harry, but he was already moving in Ginny's direction as if an invisible string were tying them together.

Now on her own, and without Harry to absorb the brunt of the attention, Hermione noticed curious eyes pointed in her direction. She edged along the wall until she reached the restrooms and slipped from the ballroom without notice. Feeling warm, she went to the sink to let the cool water wash over her wrists.

"Oh, Hermione," Lavender's voice echoed against the tile of the bathroom, causing Hermione to jump. At the adjacent sink, Lavender was reapplying her lipstick in the mirror. Hermione almost didn't recognize her in the sleek crimson gown, the fabric cut down to the navel. "Ron didn't say you would be attending tonight."

"Surprise," Hermione said weakly, silently scolding herself for not having something clever to say.

"I hope this isn't awkward for you, me and Ron here together so shortly after the divorce," Lavender whispered the word, "But don't mind what the people are saying. I think it shows real strength, coming here alone after the whole sorry business, and dressed so… effortlessly. Want to borrow some lipstick?"

Lavender nudged the tube toward Hermione. When Hermione shook her head, Lavender shrugged and placed the lipstick back in her clutch. She gave Hermione a small wave through the mirror before returning to the party.

Hermione inspected herself in the bathroom mirror. Her dress was beautiful, and when she had arrived, she had felt beautiful in it. The champagne lace was magically enhanced to swirl like molten metal and beautiful beaded flowers blossomed at her collarbone down through her waist. It was lent to her by France's most sought-after designer, Jany Tremime. Every dress Hermione wore by Jany was tailored to perfection, and tonight she knew was no different.

She tilted her head, hoping this subtle change in perspective would reveal her errors. She had always preferred to define herself by her intelligence and grit. Yet, standing next Lavender, she felt inadequate. Was it the lipstick or the dress that made her feel less? Or was it something else she couldn't see in a mirror?

The energy of the gala had picked up by the time Hermione stepped back into the ballroom. There were twice as many people now, and trays of hors d'oeuvre floated through the air, weaving in and out of the mingling patrons. One rogue tray vigorously nudged Hermione in the elbow until she took a canape.

"Well, if it isn't Hermione Granger, the girl who broke my heart seventh year," Cormac McLaggen bleated loudly, attracting the attention of nearby partiers. He cornered Hermione and draped an arm around her shoulders. His eyes were aimed above her head, scanning the crowd to see who was noticing them. "I knew there would be a lot of big names here, but the golden girl in the flesh! What a treat."

"I've been doing well," he continued without pause, "Started a potions business. McLaggen's Magnificent Medicines for Magical Maladies, you might've heard of it? We're the number one name in the potions game right now. Selling in every apothecary from London to Paris, and not to mention our direct-to-consumer owl business has soared." With his free hand he motioned upward, mimicking a bird taking flight.

"Oh yes, that's… that's wonderful…" Hermione mumbled, squirming under the weight of his arm.

"I heard about you and Weasley. Quite the scandal, I must say, but no need to worry yourself about it. Plenty of other grindylow in the sea, am I right? In fact, you're single, I'm single. You're successful, I'm successful. Seems to me we could be quite the power couple, don't you think?"

"Oh, I think, er, I don't know what to think of that."

"You are single right?"

"I'm meeting someone at the bar, actually, I think I see them now…" Hermione managed to say as she finally wriggled out from under his arm. Luckily, there was one seat left and it took all her willpower to refrain from sprinting toward it.

"Not a date, I hope. You've always played hard to get, Granger," He called after her before turning to another witch and starting his spiel again.

"One glass of the Dragon Barrel Red, please," Hermione ordered hastily as she hopped onto the stool. The bartender nodded. When she had the wine in hand, Hermione finally breathed a sigh of relief. This night, she was sure, could not get any worse.

"I've always hated that guy," Draco said, now leaning against the bar next to where Hermione was sitting. "McLaggen. Hasn't changed much from what I remember. Running around now, claiming he's a self-made mogul when his father gave him ten thousand galleons to start his business. Doesn't even run it himself, I heard."

"Don't you find the criticism a bit ironic, seeing as you're the heir to a literal fortune?" Hermione jibed.

"Perhaps, but I have class, Granger. A bit gauche to strut about and make a show of it like that."

"Funny how you call him a show-off when you're the one who has a herd of peacocks trolling around their property."

"I've heard women love my peacocks, Granger."

Exasperated, Hermione rolled her eyes and turned to face the room. Through the throng of partygoers, Hermione had a direct view of Ron and Lavender. They stood together, his hand resting on the bare skin of Lavender's back as she smiled seductively to the group forming around them. Men, and some women, openly stared at Lavender with cloudy desire. One was even drooling. Lavender wore the attention with an ease that Hermione could never manage.

"You look far lovelier than her tonight," Draco whispered, his breath coiling around her ear like a smoky shadow, warm and dangerous. "You probably look lovelier than her on any night, if I had to guess."

The unexpected closeness felt forbidden. Draco lingered next to her, too close, too long. His lips were a twitch away from the sensitive skin on her neck. He pulled away and went back to his drink, looking back at the crowd as if nothing had happened. Nothing had happened, Hermione reassured herself, but the raised bumps on her flesh told a different story.

The light in the hall dimmed, signaling for people to take their seats. She looked toward her assigned table and saw that Ron and Lavender were already seated, her assigned chair empty next to them.

"Looks like the perfect time to get out of here," Hermione said as she collected her bag.

"Is that an invitation, Granger?"

Draco's pupils glinted like black pearls; his lips quirked in something between a smile and a smirk.

"In your wildest dreams, Malfoy."

Her back was turned to him as she secretly made her exit, a small grin playing on her lips.