In my defense, I've had a wild several months.

I'm not going to apologize based on the six months I've had. Don't ever believe I will give up this story. Never, trust me. We'll get there. It might take a while, but we're get there.

Until then, enjoy this short chapter. I will update with a huge chapter soon. Trust me, I know my set up for the story. We're good. Trust me.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.


It took exactly eleven days for Harry and Ron to contact Hermione after leaving.

She was curled up in the library, yawning, flipping through the pages of yet another ancient volume. Outside of the small window, the sun was just peeking over the house tops of London. The streaks of amber and golden pink were mesmerizing.

Sunset or sunrise, she didn't know anymore.

Her days and nights had become so repetitive that they blurred into each other with the ease of paint on a canvas. The lines were mixed; it was unclear where the red ended and the blue began.

Awash in a sea of purple.

Despite the mammoth amount of time she had spent researching, her knowledge remained stagnant. She could find no mention of a willow tree in any texts on magical symbolism, on blood magic, or on wizarding history over the past one thousand years. With each text she opened to only eventually close, empty handed, her hope at cracking the mystery dissipated even more.

Perpetually out of reach.

She slammed the volume shut in irritation, frustrated at a multitude of things; her relegation to research duty, her inability to find anything out about the mark, at her shackling to Grimmauld Place, with nothing but the portraits and Draco Malfoy to keep her company.

Their unspoken agreement to keep the magic transfer secret had led to new territory in their fragile state of relationship. It was something akin to a treaty. They were beyond truce now; they had fallen into a delicate ease around each other following their first conversation after Malfoy's arrival at Headquarters. They could have quiet conversations in the kitchen. They did not rush from the room at the other's arrival. In comparison to their Hogwarts days, her and Malfoy's cordiality was something close to miraculous.

But this was not mere cordiality. This was a shared secret, one that they both were choosing to keep for their own sake, but also the other's. If Hermione were to tell the Order about the transfer, she was sure there would be accusations of manipulation, of theft… of something beyond. The others wouldn't understand the circumstance. Hermione knew that. Malfoy knew that.

And if he told, the Order would look at Hermione with distant eyes, with shock, trepidation, thinly veiled horror. How had she decided to share that with him? She could hear the arguments in her head, no need for the art of prophecy.

So neither had said anything. They needed each other, but they were also protecting each other. Shielding something private from wandering eyes.

They had not acknowledged it aloud, but it had shifted their interactions. There was a closeness they shared that was not easily describable, and less easily understood.

It sent shivers down her spine whenever she thought of it, as she tentatively dipped her toe into the idea that Malfoy and her were no longer enemies, and even more so, at least on one front, they were allies.

It made her uncomfortable when she considered it for too long.

Luckily, her mind was offered a reprieve from pondering her new shared territory with Draco Malfoy by a wisp of silver smoke bursting through the wall.

The cloud swam through the air, swirling before her until she watched the non-corporeal mist form into a stag she knew oh so well.

Her heart jumped in her chest as Harry's voice boomed out, filling the room with familiarity.

Nothing yet. Still looking. We are both safe. We love you.

The patronus kneeled before her as a parting gesture, showing her more respect than Harry or Ron had in the last weeks before their departure. As the patronus dissolved into the air, she couldn't help but give an audible sigh of relief. She hadn't thought that something had happened to them. Obviously, if anything had, the Order would be the first to know.

However, not having them in her line of sight after so many years had her nerves on high alert at all moments.

She figured that was the reason she nearly jumped out of her seat at a knock on the door.

"Yes?" she called out tiredly, resting her head on her hand. She blinked several times, trying to fight back her fatigue. When she opened her eyes fully, she was looking at Malfoy.

He was standing in the doorway, a cup of steaming tea in his hand, wearing the same pajama pants he had been wearing the night of the magic transfer. Where he had gotten them, she had no idea. His hair was still wet, as if he had come in from the rain, but more likely just out of the shower. For a moment, her eyes remained fixated on the single tendril failing across his forehead. A little out of place. A little out of order.

She somehow liked it better that way.

"Hmm?" she asked, the sentence closer to a yawn than speech.

He observed her for a moment, a single eyebrow cocked as his silver eyes appraised her. "You alright there, bookworm?"

Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she leaned back in the chair. "I've been better and worse. Just tired."

He nodded. "Understandable," he replied, taking a seat and placing his tea on the table. The scent of mint rushed over her, stilling her for a moment as she tried to place it. "It seems like quite the few weeks you've been having."

The unfamiliar reaction of amusement appeared on Malfoy's face. Had she ever seen him laugh? She wondered briefly. Really laugh?

Traces of a smile danced at the corner of his mouth. "Something funny there?"

She blinked, realizing that in psychoanalyzing his adoption of humour, she'd missed the own chuckle that had slipped through her lips.

"It's just that," she chortled, unsure exactly what she was finding so funny. Was it the reality of shared joy, however slight? "Quite a week, you say. Quite a few years, more like it."

He chuckled in response, the noise a refreshing baritone, so opposite from his scowls in her memories. "I do not disagree. But you must admit, the last few weeks have been particularly exhilarating."

She frowned slightly as she considered his words, and not for the first time in conversation with Draco Malfoy, she came up with disagreement. "Honestly? Not really. Yes, I've passed out a lot and my head is pounding, but no one's dead."

As the words left her mouth, the casual nature of her tone surprised her. From Malfoy's expression, it surprised him, too. It was a miniscule change, the slight tilt of his head as he observed her, his eyes narrowing a fraction. Pensive consideration.

"No one's dead," he repeated, the words lacking inflection, lacking anything.

She felt frozen under his watchful eye, unsure of the turn their conversation had taken.

"It's the little things," she answered, her voice catching slightly.

"Mhm," he nodded, as his eyes wandered away from her face, tracing the stacks of the books surrounding them.

They fell into silence once more.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably as the quiet grew from peaceful to suffocating. He had begun drumming his fingers on the table, causing her to twitch every time the soft reverberations reached her.

"Is there something you wanted, Malfoy?"

His eyes flashed back to her at startling speed. Her breath caught in her throat, her nerves tingling on all ends. It was as if she was a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. He had caught her unawares.

She was always aware.

"Yes there was, actually," he said softly, his gaze growing more intense. She twitched again. "As you are aware, I'm under asylum here."

"Really? I thought you just liked us," she shot back, trying to deflect from the intensity suddenly permeating the room, the pressure rising.

"And when you're under asylum," he continued, ignoring her sarcastic remark but not looking away. Did the man ever blink? "There is not much to do. So, I am here to offer my services to you."

She felt a flush creep up her face as her mouth fell open. "If this is just an attempt to get in my pants, please leave."

The laugh that erupted from Malfoy was not something she expected. Seeing the Slytherin fully lose it was, frankly, delightful. The normal scowl that adorned his features turned into something more childlike. Happy. His silver eyes, which normally looked battle-weary and aged, shone.

She wondered briefly if this is how he had been when they were younger. Before. With his friends, with Blaise even, in the Great Hall when all he was to her was a schoolyard bully.

And now here he was: a man she did not know or understand. And that scared her more than Malfoy's bullying ever had.

He wiped the tears from his cheek. "I'm curious as to your experience if when you hear the word 'service' your mind immediately goes there. Does the Brightest Witch of our Age have a dirty mind, after all? Is that how you pulled Viktor Krum?"

She scowled, but couldn't help the smile fighting to appear on her face. "I'm an adult now, Malfoy."

He shook his head, still chuckling. "I know that, second hand, bookworm. Is that what Finnigan is? Your service boy?"

The light atmosphere in the room immediately darkened at lightning speed as the thunder rolled in.

She narrowed her eyes as her muscles tensed. "You don't know anything about me and Seamus."

Malfoy visibly pondered his response for a moment, eyes searching her face for something she refused to show, as she forced her expression into neutral.

"I know that you don't care about him as more than a friend and someone to fuck when you feel the world falling apart."

She didn't know much about Malfoy as a fighter, despite battling opposite him for nearly three years. But she did know this: when it came down to it, the man in front of her always hit his target.

The truth of his statement burned more than she would ever admit to herself, let alone Malfoy. "I care about Seamus," she managed, wincing at the obvious deflection she had provided.

"And I care about dolphins, but I'm not going to string them along. That's animal abuse."

She raised an eyebrow, unable to help a slight chortle at the absurdity of his statement. "Interesting that someone who owns house elves cares about animal abuse."

"Firstly, Granger," Malfoy started, counting off on his fingers. "My father owns house elves."

"The Malfoy Estate owns house elves."

He waved her off. "Secondly, of course I care about animal abuse, I'm not a savage. That is," he dropped his voice and cocked an eyebrow. "Unless you want me to be."

She rolled her eyes, strangely reminded of Fred Weasley. "Not in this lifetime, Malfoy."

He shrugged, his eyes giving her an obvious once-over. "I don't know, weirder things have happened."

She smiled despite herself. "You aren't wrong there."

The feel of their conversation was sending an odd feeling through Hermione, disarming her. The joking tone had slipped into something much more dangerous, closer to a line she never thought she would approach with this man.

Seductive. Sultry. And altogether unsafe.

Was… was he flirting with her? Much more importantly…was she flirting back?

And even more importantly, why was she flirting with Draco Malfoy in the middle of a war?

She twitched at the thought. With his seeker reflexes, of course it didn't go unnoticed.

"Cat got your tongue, Granger?" he asked, his tone still dancing in the borderlands.

His voice was such a reversal from her expectations. He was playful, forward…flirtatious. For a moment, she understood the girls who had fawned over him at Hogwarts.

She shook off the feeling, feeling distinctly unmoored, and raised her gaze to meet his eyes. "I don't know, Malfoy. Don't you find this weird?"

"I find a lot of things weird, Granger. What in particular this time?"

She pursed her lips. "I mean…this conversation."

His eyes darted away from hers, suddenly fascinating with the wooden tabletop. "I happened to think we were having a very civil chat."

"That's what I mean, Malfoy," she continued, leaning forward a bit, gaining momentum as she went. "We've developed this strange civility. You and I. A Gryffindor and a Slytherin. A mudblood and a pureblood."

He visibly flinched. "Don't call yourself that." He wouldn't meet her eye.

She raised an eyebrow, visibly surprised at his rejection of the term. "Never stopped you before."

He tensed, his eyes going blank for a moment, slipping into an impenetrable neutrality. "Never mind the past, Granger. It's in the past. We're in the present now."

"And the present is unsustainable," she replied, frowning, crossing her arms across her chest. "This conversation is unsustainable. We're in the middle of a war, in case you'd forgotten. Is anything really sustainable right now?"

"The civility, you mean?"

"The whole thing," she cried, suddenly flustered, before taking a deep breath. "This moment exists in a pocket universe, Malfoy. The circumstances that brought us here are balancing on shaking foundations."

He pursed his lips for a second, a thoughtful expression crossing his face that she recognized from Hogwarts. He was considering her.

"Shaking foundations can steady themselves," he pointed out, after a moment.

What was he suggesting? That this strange truce or treaty or amiability they had stumbled into was permanent? Or had the possibility to be?

Did she want it to be, she allowed herself to wonder in the privacy of her own mind. She had enjoyed her discussions with Malfoy the previous weeks, and adding on the magic transfer and their shared secrecy… there was a tenuous link there that could break at any moment.

She frowned, her chest constricting as she considered the long-term ramifications of what the hell was going on between her and Malfoy, as Fred had so eloquently put it. The possibilities spread out in front of her like a choose-your-own-adventure book she had read as a kid.

And no forks in the road held the possibility of peace. It was just battlefields ahead.

She sighed, the loss of something she never had weighing on her chest. "Not these foundations, Malfoy. It's going to crumble. I don't know when; maybe when the boys get back, maybe when another mission happens and I finally lose it. Maybe when Seamus breaks down that door in aggravation. But this conversation exists in an alternate reality within our world. It would never happen without all the stars in the universe aligning perfectly to allow us this chance. The chance to really speak, just us, for the first time in our lives, really. No blood status. No war. Just us. Just us and our civil conversation."

Her lips had lingered slightly too long on the word us. She wondered if he noticed.

Malfoy was silent for a moment before responding, considering his words carefully before allowing them to reach oxygen.

"Isn't that a reason to treasure it then?"

Treasure it. An option she had not considered.

"What?" she answered, a little confused at the turn of the conversation.

"Well, Granger," he said, reaching up and running his hand through his blond hair, until many tendrils lay out of place. "If this moment really does exist in a pocket universe, like you're insisting, then it's going to disappear into the atmosphere at any moment. There's nothing you or I or Merlin could do about that. And if it's as unsustainable as you're making it out to be, then I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts. You can't look me in the eye and tell me you don't enjoy talking to me."

She paused. "No, I can't."

An unrecognizable emotion washed over his features. "Didn't think so."

She raised an eyebrow. "So, Malfoy? So what?"

"So, Granger," he smirked. "Live a little. Ride the wave out. If our world is about to fall apart, and the only reason we're here is because the stars aligned, then thank them and enjoy it. Enjoy me."

She couldn't help the laugh that burst forth from her lips. "Enjoy you?"

He waggled his eyebrows. "Again, weirder things have happened."

She smiled. "You're deplorable."

"Deplorable and hot, Granger. It's a good aesthetic."

Green eyes met grey. "Okay, Malfoy. Let's enjoy it then."

He smiled. "If the stars so declare."


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