Chapter Three:
Draco couldn't help the grin that overtook him as he read the sappy love confessions and inner lamentings of a regency teenager. The moment he found out Hermione's favourite book, he raced—no—he calmly went to Flourish and Blotts to order a copy himself.
The shop girls had looked at him with questioning eyes but rang him up nonetheless. As Draco read more, he understood why they had been confused. This was definitely not his style of book. But the more pages he turned, and the more he experienced Daphne and Simon's relationship, the less he wanted to put the book down.
It was good.
Worse than that, Draco found himself enjoying it.
There were some parts where he wondered how Hermione had felt while reading them. Suggestive remarks, forbidden touches, and even full sex scenes.
The door to the library of Malfoy Manor opened, and Draco snapped the book shut. He had already enchanted the cover so that if anyone but him looked at it, all they saw was a leather-bound journal.
His mother glided into the room, a silk robe wrapped around her small frame. Narcissa had grown frail as the years went on with Lucius in Azkaban. She'd never admit it to Draco, but he knew she was sick. Or perhaps with his father as good as dead, she was losing the will to live. Even though he'd been a bigoted fool, Narcissa and Lucius had a great love.
"Working on anything, darling?" Narcissa called, her cane clicking loudly on the wooden floors.
Draco stood from the window seat, his arms circling his mother's back to help her stand.
She batted him away with a bony hand, "I'm not dead yet. I can still walk on my own."
"Alright, sorry." Draco pulled away with a frown as she sat in a chair, her chest heaving with the effort of walking. He tried to push away the way his heart squeezed at her sickness. "I was just reading some notes."
Narcissa's grey eyes—Black family eyes; Draco's eyes—narrowed. Her lips pursed, but she said nothing, producing a small bell from the pocket of her robe. It tinkled lightly, and their house-elf Tivy popped into view.
"Yes, mistress?"
"Bring me this morning's Prophet."
Tivy bowed and disappeared. Draco opened his mouth to ask what was the matter, but Tivy reappeared instantly. She set the paper on the small side table next to Narcissa. His mother picked it up and pressed it to his chest with more strength than he thought she could manage. She was angry; that much was clear.
Draco glanced down at the front page, and his heart skipped a beat. A picture of him from yesterday slipping into the lift to go down to the Department of Mysteries replayed on a loop. He could admit he did look a bit odd, but it wasn't his fault he had long legs and a big stride. That was the only reason it seemed as if he ran to the lifts.
The headline made his stomach twist.
Draco Malfoy spotted at the Ministry. What would England's most eligible bachelor be doing in the Department of Mysteries?
He rolled his eyes. They always referred to him as the "most eligible bachelor". As if he were worth nothing more than his money. Which, he supposed, he wasn't. Not to them, at least.
The first few lines of the article speculated why he was there, who he could possibly be going to see. His hand gripped the paper a little tighter when they mentioned the words, Hermione Granger, and love affair in the same sentence.
Draco glanced back up to Narcissa, who looked as if she ate something sour. "Well?"
"Well, what?"
"Do you deny it? The accusations they're throwing at you? How do I know you were telling the truth when you decided to give that girl your blood?" Narcissa seethed, her words hissing.
Draco was utterly confused. "Of course I deny it! Mother, you know I did this so I could get our Wizengamot seats back." He paused a moment before adding what he knew would relax her. "It's what Father would have wanted."
It worked. Narcissa deflated against the back of the chair, her hands resting atop the onyx ball of her cane. She looked years older instantly, her body sagging with exhaustion. "I know, dear, I know. You're doing good things for the family. He would—he is proud of you."
She always did that, talked like he was still around, could still know things about their lives. They weren't allowed to write to him or he to them. It was one thing Draco hoped being back on the Wizengamot would set rights to. He just wanted to be able to speak to his father. He hated the man, but he had spent time in Azkaban too, and he knew what that place could do to the mind.
"Promise me something, Draco." Narcissa's voice became very serious, and Draco knelt next to her. "You'll not develop feelings for the girl. They have no room in spells like this; I don't want things to get messy for you, darling."
She reached out a hand to cup his face, and Draco leant into the contact. It was a rare moment for his mother to show affection like this. "Nothing will get messy, Mother. It's Granger."
Those Black-family grey eyes bored into his for a moment before his mother smiled gently and patted his face. "Of course, darling."
Narcissa stood and took a moment to lean against her cane. Draco tried to help, but she swatted him away again. "Tivy, a nap, I think."
"Right this way, mistress. Tivy will get you comfy." Tivy opened the door to the library, and Draco returned to his seat as he watched his mother walk down the hall.
Sighing, Draco reclined against the window; the warm sunlit glass pressed to his back. Maybe she knew... No. No one could know. He'd never told anyone, not even Blaise. Especially not Blaise.
No. No one else could know he had feelings for Granger.
No one but him.
Hermione stirred the cauldron the required amount of times and studied the potion's quality. The colour had stayed the same as it simmered.
Draco had made good on his promise to get her the borage in time. He even sent a few notes about the potion, a few ways to improve it. It made her recall the book Harry had during sixth-year, and she wondered if Snape had ever trained Draco.
The blonde-haired pain in her arse sat on the stool again, watching her with those light grey eyes. He looked positively bored, and for some reason, that delighted Hermione. She enjoyed watching him suffer, at least a little.
"How's the potion?" he asked, finally breaking the silence. It seemed his boredom could only last so long.
Hermione looked back to the cauldron. "Good. Some of the notes you sent were actually useful." She'd never admit all of them were useful, but she was just glad to have the book back in one piece.
Draco ignored her, though the arched brow indicated he had heard it. "And you think it'll work?"
"Are you questioning my research?"
"Of course not," Draco held his hands up in surrender. "I could never think to question the all-knowing Hermione Granger."
Hermione couldn't help the flush that covered her cheeks as Draco grinned. In an effort to deflect, Hermione handed him the knife and bowl. "I need your blood now."
She kept her eyes on her hands as Draco bled himself. The air was always so tense between them; Hermione never knew what to say, what to talk about.
"So," Draco started. Apparently, he knew what to say just as much as she did. "The Duke and I."
Hermione's stomach fell to her feet. She hoped he'd forgot about that and had only asked to make her uncomfortable. She didn't think he'd remember.
"What about it?" Hermione finally looked up at him and nearly laughed at how uncomfortable Draco looked.
"It's...good."
"You've read it?!" Her voice squeaked in surprise, and she cleared her throat. "You're lying."
Draco shook his head. "I actually quite like Simon. I understand him."
Hermione was astounded. She racked her brain to remember Simon's character. He hated his backwards father, never wanted his title, and swore never to have children to stop the line. Suddenly, Hermione saw Draco in a new light. Is that who Draco was? Someone like Simon?
And then she remembered all the sex scenes, and she flushed. Oh Godric, he must think her a harlot.
Hermione handed Draco a napkin and dittany again as the bowl filled. He swayed slightly in his seat when Hermione gently took the bowl. "When was the last time you ate, Malfoy?"
Draco shrugged. "Last night."
"You haven't eaten yet?" Hermione guffawed, nearly ruining the potion by pouring the blood in too quickly. "You need to eat something; you look as if you'll faint."
"I don't faint," Draco replied snidely.
Hermione rolled her eyes as she stirred. She set a blood-replenishing potion in front of Draco. "Take that at least, but you'll still need to eat; it's almost two."
Draco uncorked the vial and drank. Silence passed between them as Hermione focused on the potion. The liquid began to glow brighter as she came to her last circle.
"Come get lunch with me."
The ladle clattered against the side of the cauldron as Hermione dropped it. She flicked her eyes up to Draco. "I'm sorry?"
Draco rolled his sleeve down and repeated himself.
Hermione didn't know what to say. Her tongue felt lifeless as she tried to form a response. "I have a lot of work to do..." The excuse sounded pathetic.
"It's Sunday, Granger." Draco watched her for a moment before standing. "Fine, I'll bring dinner here."
Hermione could barely open her mouth before Draco left her office. She stepped to run after him, but the cauldron began to bubble, and she lost herself in her work.
Nearly an hour passed before Draco returned, takeaway in hand. It was from a nearby Muggle restaurant, and Hermione was surprised that he even knew how to order. As she finished the potion, he set up the food at her desk in the corner, and she laughed at how posh he made it.
They ate awkwardly; there was something so intimate about eating alone. But the food was good, and Hermione hadn't realised how hungry she was.
"So, what made you decide to become an Unspeakable?" Draco's voice cut through the silence.
Hermione considered his question. "I suppose I just... got tired of doing nothing."
"And down here, you're doing something? Even though no one knows what it is?"
"Yes," Hermione nodded. "I don't need the recognition."
Draco let out a surprised chuckle. "Always thought you enjoyed praise and attention."
"I do, but I also value important work." Hermione sniffed, annoyed that Draco was questioning her. "What we do down here is important. I get recognition from my boss and Minister Shacklebolt, and that's enough for me."
Draco leant forward, his eyes twinkling with something akin to mischief. "Is it? Shame."
Hermione flushed under his stare and looked back down to her food.
"I distinctly remember during eighth-year how Slughorn used to practically kiss your arse." Draco sat back. "Tailcoat rider, that one."
She quickly glanced back up, "He liked me because I was Top of the Potions class!"
"Oh, come off it, Granger," Draco chuckled. "You were the top because you're famous now. Besides, I would've been number one in potions if I hadn't started the year three months late."
The room fell silent. They both knew why he'd been late—Azkaban. He had spent six months there, awaiting trial, a trial she'd gone to and testified at. Hermione's throat closed, and she set her fork down. "I'm sorry, by the way. About your Father."
Draco stopped eating, too, leaning his head on his hand and looking toward the cauldron. "No, you're not. And I'm not either. He's my father, and I love him, but he wasn't a good man. I just wish—" he cut himself off and narrowed his eyes. He looked like he was considering something, a war between decisions happening behind his eyes.
"I forgot I have somewhere I need to be. I'll see you on Tuesday." Abruptly, Draco stood, the stool squeaking against the stone floor.
And then he stalked from the room.
Hermione was taken aback. She had no idea what just happened. One moment, Draco was surprisingly open to her, and the next, he was gone. Curiosity at what he refused to say filled her. It was obvious something had changed in Draco Malfoy, but she didn't know what.
Perhaps she'd ask Harry at dinner tonight.
Hermione stepped through the green flames of the Burrow's Floo. She was instantly bombarded by ginger heads all pulling her in for various hugs. Ginny was first, as usual. Followed by the twins, Bill, Fleur, and Victorie, and then Percy.
Lavender and Ron were already there as well, and they exchanged awkward hugs. She and Lavender would never be best friends, but they were polite enough. Ron, on the other hand, had completely drifted from her since their relationship ended. Hermione knew their friendship would never be the same, but they didn't hate each other. It was cordial. Everything was cordial.
"Hermione!" Harry called, walking into the living room from the kitchen. He pulled her into the tightest hug and pressed a kiss to her cheek. Blaise entered as well, towering over his husband.
Once Harry finally let her breathe, Blaise took her hand and placed a kiss on the back of it. "Granger, beautiful as always."
Hermione rolled her eyes. She was used to Blaise's antics; he always tried to say something to get her to blush. It never worked; not much phased her.
Harry elbowed his husband, and Blaise instantly turned his attention back to Harry. As much as Blaise liked to flirt, he ignored everyone else when it came to Harry.
Dinner passed as it usually did. Lively conversation all around; Arthur either asking Hermione and Harry questions about Muggles, or trying to find out secrets of what she did for work. One of the twins would test out a new product and pull all the attention toward them. Tonight was no different.
Everyone broke off into their own private conversations as dinner was cleaned up. Hermione pulled Harry outside into the warm summer air. Once they reached the garden at the edge of the woods, Harry pulled from her grasp.
"Alright, alright, Hermione. What is it?"
Hermione absently chewed on her thumbnail, a bad habit picked up from years of internal thinking. "What do you know about Malfoy?"
"Draco? Why?"
"I can't..." Hermione let out a groan of frustration and began to pace. "I can't tell you. It's an Unspeakable matter."
Harry smiled gently as he watched her erratic movements. "Hermione, relax. I understand. What do you want to know about Malfoy?"
"Have you... noticed differences in him since school ended?"
Harry sat on a nearby bench and gestured for Hermione to sit next to him. "Many. He's still an arse half the time, still likes to jab and poke. But even his taunts don't hold the same malice they used to. I don't spend a lot of time with him personally, but when he's at the house, he's not terrible."
The stone was cold against Hermione's back as she leant against it. Hermione had expected—hoped—for that answer. And yet, even hearing it didn't satisfy her curiosity. In fact, it heightened it.
She looked at Harry—really looked at him. He'd grown so much since their school days, not just physically but personally too. Harry cocked his head to the side as Hermione looked at him, his ever-messy hair falling in his spectacled eyes.
"Harry," Hermione started. "Just remember when you find out what I've been working on, I wanted to tell you. But they wouldn't allow it."
Harry reached out and gripped her hand, their fingers lacing together. "Hermione, it's alright. I'm used to it, and I understand."
They hugged tightly as the sunset in the distance, bathing the trees in an orange glow.
"That Daily Prophet article from yesterday wouldn't have anything to do with this, would it?"
Hermione looked at Harry with confusion. "What Daily Prophet article?"
"You haven't seen it?" Harry stood and rushed towards the house. "Wait here!"
He was barely gone a moment before he raced back to her, newspaper in hand. He thrust it toward her, and Hermione took the paper. The headline made her stomach sink.
Draco Malfoy spotted at the Ministry. What would England's most eligible bachelor be doing in the Department of Mysteries?
She quickly scanned the article. For the most part, it only speculated why he was there and who he could be seeing. Then, right at the very end, Hermione's name was mentioned, followed by the words, possible love affair.
Harry pried the paper from her hands, the edges now crinkled. "You can see why your questions surprised me a little. I can only guess you're working on a project with him."
"And I know," He held up a hand as Hermione frowned. "You can't tell me anything."
Hermione pulled Harry into a tight hug. She was thankful for her friend, thankful she had at least one person that understood her.
"You know Sirius' anniversary is next week. Will you come to Grimmauld with me?" Harry mumbled into her curls.
Hermione froze—she hadn't realised his death day was so close. She had barely looked at a calendar in days.
This changed everything. She had to get back to her office immediately.
"Harry, Harry, I have to go!" Hermione detangled from his embrace, and Harry looked at her with shocked eyes.
"What's wrong?" he called after her. She was already halfway to the house.
Hermione turned around once she reached the door. Harry still stood in the gardens. "Hopefully, I can tell you soon!"
She rushed into the kitchen and through the living room, ignoring the concerned faces of the Weasleys. Without an explanation, she grabbed a handful of powder, and Floo'd back to the Ministry.
It was completely empty, and her shoes echoed loudly against the stone floor. She'd never admit it to anyone, but being alone in the Ministry gave her the creeps. It was too big, too quiet. Plus, without windows, it felt as if she stepped through a crypt.
The lifts creaked loudly as she descended further. But the closer she got to her office, the more her mind raced. She recalled something the book had said, something important she may have missed.
Once the lift deposited her to the Department of Mysteries, Hermione all but ran to her office. Winded, she pried open her door, shaking hands grabbing the journal. She flipped through the pages quickly, careful not to tear them.
Finally, she found what she was looking for.
This spell can be performed at any time, but our findings show that the realm between worlds is thinner when performed on the anniversary of their death. It is an almost guarantee they'll return; when performed at any other time, return is not always successful.
Our findings. These sentences suggested they'd tried more. Had they killed people in an attempt to bring them back? A shudder ran through Hermione. How could the Ministry have allowed that? Although, she supposed the times had been different back then. People disappeared all the time.
The following paragraph answered her question.
All of our research is strictly confidential. No one knows of it except myself, my assistant, and the Minister. But no one except for Yaxley knows of this journal, either. I've kept it hidden all this time so that when this collapses around us and they burn all the research, my work will survive.
Hermione's hands shook. She set down the book and took a deep breath. The potion was nearly ready, and she could speed up the process if she worked later. But she hadn't expected only eight days.
Hermione suddenly felt very unprepared. She looked over the potion and removed the stasis charm. It was nearly time for the next step, and she supposed since she was already here, she may as well start speeding up the process now.
As she worked, her mind thought back to the article Harry showed her. She'd have to keep an eye on the Prophet from now on. They'd probably have another article out tomorrow if anyone saw them today.
Draco had been so odd earlier today. Buying them dinner but storming out the moment the conversation got heavy? It was peculiar. But Hermione did feel a bit guilty. She shouldn't have mentioned anything about Lucius; she knew how much it hurt to speak about lost parents.
She'd apologise to him on Tuesday. Hermione sighed, apologising to Draco Malfoy—what a joy that would be.