Under the cover of a grey sky, Hermione and Draco crept across the Hogwarts grounds. They had snuck through a secret passageway in Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes and emerged onto the quidditch pitch from behind a Gryffindor team tapestry. George claimed, with a feigned innocence, the passage simply appeared one day without his knowledge. He promised to block it off, but Hermione had her suspicions—there was certainly no shortage of skiving snack boxes or pyrotechnics at Hogwarts.
Their path was dimly illuminated by the cloud-muted moon and the sure-footedness with which they walked surprised Hermione. It had been years since she traversed the hilly terrain, let alone as an intruder in the night, but her feet read the lumpy earth like a treasured bedtime story. She smiled and wondered when Draco had been there last and what tales were written beneath his feet.
As the castle got closer, they could see candles hovering in the great hall through the heavy paned glass. If a patrolling professor or sleepy student were to peep out the window that very moment, they would see two shadowy bodies, hunched conspiratorially against the night, beelining for the greenhouses. Hermione and Draco quickened their pace.
"Alohomora," Hermione whispered. With a soft click, the door to the greenhouse opened. They entered together, ducking to avoid the long, hanging tendrils invading the doorway. "This is my favorite greenhouse. Not only are the flowers beautiful, but they also have wonderful healing powers."
Hermione strode to the front of the room, dropping the beer onto a gardening bench while Draco admired the potted plants. Hands in his pockets, Draco leaned closer to an especially bulbous blossom with deep red, velvety petals. Hermione added over her shoulder, "Just don't touch that red one, it spits fire."
"Charming." Draco muttered. He withdrew from the blossom, face scrunched as if it had offended him by wearing a cheap suit. "Have you thought about what happens if we get caught, Granger?"
"Then you'll be giving me a tour of the dungeons. Muffliato." The concealing spell rose from Hermione's wand like a fountain, its blue streams cascading down around them. "But truly, Neville won't mind. And if we do get caught, it would be nice to say hello to the headmistress again. I haven't seen her in ages." She grabbed two bottles of Butterbeer from the table and offered one to Draco.
"Cheers," she said. Draco sauntered over to her. Hermione recognized his easy swagger from their time at Hogwarts, moving with the cool confidence of someone who inherited the world. He stopped in front of her, leaving only enough space for a sliver of moonlight to fit between them; the thin, white beam careened its way to the floor, a measured mark of unbearable closeness. He tossed her a devious smile as he took the drink. With a soft tap, his bottle met hers.
"Cheers."
~x~x~
"What did you see in him, anyway? Weasley, I mean." Swirling his beer, Draco leaned back on his chair. His legs were stretched out in front of him and propped up on a wooden crate. "I mean, really? Potter I could understand, with him being the Chosen One and all, but Weasley? He always seemed like such an imbecile."
"He was sweet." Hermione shrugged. After a moment, she continued. "Back in those days I was always so serious, and he made me laugh."
"If that was your only criteria, even a ferret in robes would fit the bill." Draco replied. Hermione laughed, remembering the transfigured Draco zooming across the schoolyard. "Ah, laughter. You prove my point."
"Okay, my turn," Hermione leaned forward in her chair. "Why are you helping the Ministry? In the past, you've been less than forthcoming, so why now?"
"Scorpius," Draco replied simply. "Astoria didn't want to raise him like we were, believing he was better than others because of his pedigree. She wanted him to be kind. And fearless. And to stand up for injustice and not blindly believe everything he hears. She'd want me to be brave, too, and to do the right thing. She'd want me to keep the world safe for him. This… thing, whatever it is, has got to be dark magic. She'd want me to pick the right side this time."
"I am not a brave man, Hermione." A weak laugh rose from his chest. The sudden vulnerability made him look so young. In the soft midnight moon, he was sixteen again, full of pain and self-loathing. Hermione wanted to reach out and touch him. She wanted to comfort him. "I've made mistakes in the past. It's been hard for me to face them, to face myself. I knew you oversaw that new task force, but I couldn't bring myself to talk to you. How could I after it all?"
"I'm not sure if I can atone. If I can be a better man, or if I'm just bad. But I should try. For Astoria and Scorpius." He looked up at her, his eyes a silent plea to see him, to forgive him. She remembered the cold floor, the sharpness of Bellatrix's wand against her arm, Draco's face turned away in forced indifference. Her skin flushed. Both sat lost in thought.
"Seems like we are out of Butterbeer." Draco pointed to the empty case, his low voice breaking the silence.
"It appears so." Hermione whispered. Needing an excuse to move and shake off the night's pressure coating her skin like a waxy film, she started climbing onto a desk against the wall, opening tall cabinets in search of something. "Although, Neville does keep a bottle of Firewhisky in here somewhere, for when the mandrakes are teething. He rubs it on their gums to soothe them… Here it is!" Prize in hand, Hermione jiggled the half empty bottle, teetering unsteadily.
"Really Granger? First breaking and entering, and now stealing?" Draco's voice seemed to regain its strength.
"Tell me again, how many priceless gems your family has won?"
"Not judging. A shocking breach of character is all."
"Oh yeah, and what of my character?"
Draco paused, contemplating what to say next. Absentmindedly, he traced a Hogwarts crest etched into the bench by a daydreaming student. Moonlight bounced off his silvery hair like a lighthouse beacon. "You are intelligent and no non-sense like a Ravenclaw, ambitious like a Slytherin, and loyal like a Hufflepuff. But you were sorted into Gryffindor, where the brave dwell at heart. Nearly four minutes the sorting hat stalled if I remember correctly. Seems curious though. Such a know-it-all that prefers order over gallantry, ambition over bravery, unlike some of your friends. I don't think the sorting hat chose Gryffindor; I think you chose Gryffindor. Because for you, what good is the rest if you don't use it to fight for others."
Still balancing on the table, Hermione felt lightheaded. The frequency in the room had shifted, like an orchestra suddenly tuning down a half step in the middle of a piece. She opened her mouth to respond, but before the words formed, she tumbled forward. Then Draco was there, his arms wrapped around her, catching her before she met the ground. Against his chest, she felt something unexpected, her skin aflame with something new. He gently placed her on her feet, their bodies remaining flush against each other, his hands on her hips. A clock began to chime in the corner, startling them both. One strike, then another.
"Nothing good ever happens after two in the morning." He breathed. Draco dropped his arms from her waist, taking the bottle of whisky from her hands and gently placing it on the counter. Draco opened the greenhouse door, waiting for her to follow. Hermione felt a wave of curious disappointment.
As they moved across the grounds back toward Hogsmeade, Hermione felt that time had thwarted her again. She looked up at the moon looking for answers. But it remained steady and silent. This path she will have to explore on her own.