Tea with his mother was always an arduous affair.

One of the key reasons Draco had moved into his own flat following the end of his eighth year had been in an effort to distance himself from his parents―namely his father―but Lucius had been sentenced to a lengthy stay in Azkaban regardless.

Everything he had done since completing his education―moving out, pursuing a job at the Ministry, and ultimately earning his way into Auror training―had been to prove he wasn't stuck on the same path as his father. Despite the role he had played in the war and the hurt he had caused.

Although his mother largely understood his hesitance, she had been raised under so much of the same pureblood rhetoric that Draco knew it was simply ingrained in her psyche. And if she wasn't pushing him to make amends with his father and to visit the man in Azkaban, it was something else.

Tea was never simply tea.

If he was honest, he would have preferred a pot of Darjeeling at the corner booth in Granger's Muggle shop.

It was a little startling to think how fast that had become the case.

Draco didn't care to venture to the Manor, and he'd yet to decide whether he would ever take up a seat at the Manor in his later years, but thankfully that wasn't one of the things on which his mother cared to dwell. So they met in a small, posh parlour on the north end of Diagon―the sort of place where the china always matched impeccably, each place setting contained far too many spoons, and lace doilies adorned every possible surface.

The aeshtetic had never appealed to Draco, but in the interest of obliging his mother, he fixed his expression into a banal smile as he greeted her, ducking in to brush a kiss to each of her cheeks before drawing her seat.

"Draco," Narcissa said, pursing her lips as she adjusted her serviette. "It's wonderful to see you."

"And you, of course," he said, preparing two cups of tea.

"Your hair is getting quite long, isn't it?"

"Right, well." He suppressed the urge to clench his jaw as he took a sip of tea. The Earl Grey was steeped to perfection, though it left a bitter taste on his tongue. "I suppose I've been busy."

His mother's smile wasn't quite sincere. "Working too much, I suppose."

Neither of his parents had been pleased when Draco decided to apply with the Ministry, and even less so that he had selected the Auror's Office. His mother hadn't carried the same level of disdain for his career choice, though her derision in the matter largely came from the fact that she thought him above such things.

He offered a thin smile. "As you know, Mother, it's important that I complete my training."

Many topics were consistently off the table for discussion when Draco met with his mother, and he knew without a doubt that any mention of Granger would be one of them, whether stated outright or merely implied.

His work at the Ministry was hit or miss.

Narcissa clicked her tongue and Draco could already tell she was in a mood.

"There are plenty of career paths you could have taken that wouldn't have you running amok in the streets," she snipped with a scowl, "and without putting yourself at risk."

Draco busied himself with stirring an additional lump into his tea.

"And as it turns out," his mother carried on without regard for his silence, "I've learned of an opportunity for you just this week."

At that, he glanced up, cold dread swirling in his stomach. It must have been the crux of her request for tea this time.

"What is that?" he drawled, infusing his tone with as much boredom as he could muster. "We've had this conversation before, and I don't intend to give up on my present goals."

"I met with Penny Greengrass earlier this week, and she believes Gerard would have a position for you." His mother pursed her lips and ducked her chin. "It sounds like an excellent career, Draco, since you're so insistent on working. Upper management; well-paid and with plenty of opportunities for ownership one day."

"And let me guess," he said, releasing a huff, "it comes along with a pre-arranged bride." Draco snorted, shaking his head. "I don't know why you continue to bother. I've told you time and again, I have no interest―"

"I have told you," Narcissa interrupted with a new sharpness to her tone, "that you need to start considering the future of this house. As the sole heir, the responsibility falls upon you to wed a well-bred―"

The words dropped from her lips when Draco's half-empty cup clattered against its saucer.

The handful of occupants in the parlour looked over.

"I do not know why it is so difficult to comprehend," Draco ground through his teeth, "that I have no interest in a scroll of parchment telling me who I must spend the rest of my life with. I am plenty aware of your expectations, and I have given you my own. That I will wed a bride of my choosing, at such a point as I wish to do so, and that is the situation on the table."

His mother's blue eyes flashed. "Your insolence is astounding, Draco. This is not your decision to make."

"Actually, it is." He slammed the last of his tea, fury roiling white-hot in his veins. "Because the alternative is that I simply will not wed at all. And the lines will die with me."

It was only a partially legitimate threat, because Draco did hope to raise children of his own one day―at some point well into the future―but his parents didn't know that. And he had no intention of raising children with someone he didn't care about in the slightest.

Like Astoria-fucking-Greengrass.

His eyes flitted towards the door. "If that's all we had to discuss, I have work to do."

"Merlin, Draco," Narcissa huffed, "you're behaving like a petulant child. Your father and I recognised our duties to our houses and―"

"Right." Draco nodded, thinning his lips. "Right, and getting fucking branded for the cause of a madman had nothing to do with duty to my house. Because that was of my own fucking will."

"Mind your language," she snapped, gaze darting around to ensure no one was close enough to listen in. She dropped her voice to a breath. "Regardless of what happened during the war, Draco, you must fulfill your responsibilities. And if you aren't going to select an appropriate bride, we'll draft the arrangement for you."

"Like hell you will." The words fell from his lips with bitter distaste. "You can write up as many pretty contracts as you like, but I don't have to sign them, and with Father in Azkaban the patriarch seat falls to me."

His mother fixed him with mild disdain as she sipped her tea. "One day, Draco, you'll recognise that you aren't a child anymore."

"Or, maybe, you'll simply stop pretending as if you could possibly know what's best for me."

"It isn't about what's best for you."

A muscle feathered in his jaw. "As you've made abundantly clear." He glanced at his watch, slipping his cloak from the rack. "I've got plenty of work to catch up on, so if that's all you wanted from me today. A pleasure as always, Mother."

Anger pulsed behind his ears with a dull roar, a headache beginning just at the edges of his temples, and he slipped into his coat to leave.

"Draco." Her face stoic, his mother simply sipped her tea.

"Mother."


Without knowing any further details regarding Granger and her current alias, he had no way of tracking down her medical records from any of the time that followed her accident. And although it felt an abrasive invasion, Draco was curious to know whether her condition had been reported upon by any Muggle doctors.

The medical records within her file at the Ministry only contained information prior to her sudden exit from the wizarding world, when she had been nineteen and declared missing.

Surely, she must have been to visit a doctor somewhere.

Draco had attempted several times to put himself in her shoes, and he knew if he suddenly had no recollection of who he was or any knowledge of his life, he would have sought help.

If he could find something reported on her, it would be a good step in the next direction to follow. But since he only knew her age and the given name she now went by, there was little to no way for him to find such a thing.

Potter had been putting him through his paces, and it had been almost a week since he had run into Granger on the bank of the Thames. He wondered whether she was annoyed he hadn't called her telephone number―but indecision had warred within him as to the intentionality with which he actually wanted to pursue the situation. Especially when his primary interest was in determining the mysterious circumstances around her vanishing several years ago, and what had happened for her to lose her memories.

"You grew up with Muggles, yeah?" A little out of breath, Draco leaned against the wall between duelling volleys.

Potter lifted a dark brow. "Yeah? What of it?"

"How do the bloody―" he waved a hand "―telephones. How do they work?"

For a long moment, Potter's exaggerated skepticism niggled at Draco's nerves. But finally he sighed. "I can't believe you are asking me about Muggle things. Anyway―each line has its own number, and you can use one to connect to another. It's like an invisible signal between the two, and you can hear the other person's voice across the line."

Draco scratched the back of his neck, attempting to make sense of Potter's vague explanation. "So if I have a telephone number."

"You should be able to call it from another phone," Potter said. Then he snickered to himself. "Why has someone given you a phone number? Don't tell me you're dating Muggles now."

Pursing his lips, he adjusted his tie and drawled, "I am not, thank you. I tried one of those stupid booths."

A grin spread across Potter's face. "I would have paid good money to see that. You'll need Muggle coins to operate a phone booth."

"I hate Muggle coins. They mix in with the knuts and then―"

"I know," Potter muttered, "but you'll need them if you want to phone someone."

Draco released a long, irritated breath. "Fuck. Fine."

Amusement still danced in Potter's eyes as he pulled out his wallet. "You're in luck. I've got a couple." He dropped a few small silver Muggle coins into Draco's palm. "Tell whoever she is I said hi."

A breath hung, incomplete, in Draco's throat before he forced a swallow. "Yeah. Sure I'll do that. Thanks, Potter."

"If you're really serious about this," Potter pressed on, "Muggles have mobile telephones, too, now. You carry them in your pocket and they connect... I don't know, something to do with towers and frequencies. But you can take them on the go. Then you can have your own phone number, because the booths only work one way."

Draco's eyes flitted towards him. "And where would I find one of those?"


After another two days of fidgeting with the mobile telephone he'd purchased, Draco had still yet to decide whether he wanted to phone Granger. The Muggle at the telephone shop had explained a lot of things that made no sense whatsoever, and to his great embarrassment, Potter had needed to explain the simplest functionality of the blasted device―sending and receiving phone calls. The phone itself was an eyesore―rectangular and blocky―and it felt heavy and cumbersome in his pocket.

There were a number of rubbery buttons with numbers and symbols, but he didn't care.

Because he still didn't know if he wanted to reach out to her.

One evening after work, almost without thinking of it, Draco found himself wandering Muggle London. Lost in thought, he nearly didn't notice as he walked right past her tea shop.

He could only imagine Granger was upset he hadn't called her, but it had been exhausting enough just to figure out how to do so.

Drawing a deep breath, he pushed open the door, the slight tinkling of the bell over the door causing him to flinch. Although a sudden urge to run away crept into the back of his mind, Granger had already looked up. Her wide chocolate eyes bore through him from across the small shop.

"Hi." Draco paced towards the counter, slipping his hands into his pockets.

She parted her lips to speak, but only stared at him for a moment, before she offered him a smile instead. "Hi. I was certain I'd scared you off."

Despite the flippancy in her words, Draco could see the caution in her face. "Not at all. It's been..." He grimaced, dragging a hand along the back of his neck. "A busy week."

"Of course." Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Here as well."

"Look... it isn't that I didn't want to call you..." When he trailed off, searching for the right words, she released a laugh.

"You can spare me the speech," she said quietly. "I get it. No big thing."

"No," Draco pressed, his heart jumping as he tried to pull himself together. She had a way of throwing him off his guard in a way no woman had ever done. "It's just... work's been crazy, and my mother's been driving me up the fucking wall."

Her face faltered, but she pressed her lips into a thin smile. "Mothers, right? Anyway―can I get you something?"

Draco blew out a long breath. Perhaps he ought to have at least considered what he would say to her. "Just a cuppa would be great. Something herbal, please."

"Of course." Her face slipped almost seamlessly into that bright, polite smile she reserved for customers; his jaw clenched at the sight of it. "We've got raspberry, spearmint, lemon―"

"Surprise me." He planted a paper note on the counter and, with a stiff nod, she made his change and proceeded to prepare his tea. Draco didn't care for the stifled silence, so he peered at a selection of baking in the display. "Do you recommend the biscotti?"

She froze, eyes sliding towards his. "I do."

"Perfect." He added another paper note on top of the coins.

"You had plenty to cover both the first time," she said, amusement crossing her face. "Or do you not know how to count money?"

He hadn't even looked at the value of the notes, but he waved a flippant hand; Muggle money never quite felt real. "You can keep it."

She eyed him strangely for a moment before separating the change once more and dropping it into a glass jar near the register. "Thanks." Finishing up his tea, she slid the mug across the counter towards him and a plate with his biscotti. "Enjoy."

Draco couldn't shake the feeling that he'd offended her and that the tension was a result of something he'd said―or maybe not said. Either way his chest tightened at the thought.

Glancing around the small shop, devoid of patrons well into the evening, he drawled, "Thanks, Melody. Perhaps you'd care to join me?"

She chewed on her bottom lip, eyes resting on him, before she nodded. "I suppose that would be alright for a few minutes." As she settled into the booth across from him, she asked, "So what's your mother done?"

"Honestly? You might not believe me." He took a sip of the tea―raspberry. An intriguing combination of tangy and sweet. "For almost two years now she's been on my case about getting married. She's trying to arrange a marriage contract with the daughter of a friend of my father's."

Granger's jaw dropped open. "You can't be serious."

"Afraid so."

"Is your family legitimately insane?" Her brows flew up high on her forehead. "I didn't even realise people still did such a thing. Very old-fashioned, isn't it?"

"Incredibly."

"And besides, you aren't even that old."

Draco shook his head slowly. "Not quite twenty-four."

She blew out a breath, deflating a little into the upholstered booth. "I can't imagine. I don't think my parents ever would have tried to do such a thing. Imagine marrying someone with whom you have nothing in common and no interest."

He noted the mention of her parents and tucked it away with a careful pin.

"Oh, you'd just like to see the women she's tried to set me up with," he added with a grimace. "Not my type at all."

"Well surely she can't force you."

"Legally, no, she can't." He took another thoughtful sip of his tea. "With my father incarcerated, the head of the household falls to me, and I have the final say on such things. But she can make my life miserable over it, which she's more than happy to do."

"Wow," Granger said, emphasising the word. "I see what you mean now about your week."

A smirk dragged at his lips. "Right."

"Honestly, though, you're from some obscure and foreign line of royalty, aren't you? You must be." She pursed her lips, tilting her head in consideration. "From everything you've told me, it almost doesn't even sound realistic."

"Trust me," he muttered, "it isn't. Not by most societal standards."

There was something almost cathartic about discussing his problems with Granger, even though he couldn't be fully honest with her. Allowing her to believe his family was involved in some strange royal crime syndicate felt easier than having her know the truth about what his father had truly done―and what Draco had done in the attempt to follow in his footsteps.

She chuckled, shaking her head. "Can't imagine my parents choosing my husband for me."

His tongue darted out to moisten his lips as he leaned forward in his seat. "You don't think it would go well? I can only imagine your parents have a better concept of normalcy than mine do."

The warmth faded from her face, gradual, like a memory. "I'm actually not certain. I didn't know my parents that well."

"I see." He held her stare, uncertain whether his heart was still beating; he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry to hear that. I must be a right prat, going on about my family."

"Not at all." Something like a smile tugged once more at her lips, though it was infinitely sad. "I like to hear about them."

"Do you mind my asking―what happened to your parents?" He realised he clenched the handle of his teacup with tense fingers and released the china.

Her throat shifted with a swallow as she glanced away. "Honestly, I'm not certain. There was an accident and... I don't know."

"You don't have to talk about it."

As he watched for something―he didn't even know what―her eyes tightened as though she were confused. "It's... I've tried to piece it together so many times, and I can't." The words fell soft and a little discombobulated, and Draco didn't think he had any words to offer.

At last her eyes lifted back to meet his, coated in a glassy sheen. "Anyway―how's your biscotti?"

Emotion tugged at his chest, furrowing his brow in response to the visceral reaction he hadn't expected. "I'm sorry, Melody."

"It's alright, really," she breathed. Then she shook her head with a bit of a laugh. "Not sure what's come over me. It's just that... sometimes things simply make no sense, no matter how I try to rearrange them in my brain, and―listen to me, babbling like I've lost my mind."

Draco couldn't have torn his focus away if he tried. It was the first mention she'd made of anything being slightly south of right, and he didn't know what to make of it. Clearly, the lack of memories from the first nineteen years of her life was a challenge, at best.

Her hand sat on the table between them, and he itched to reach for it―to wrap her smaller fingers into his and offer some shred of comfort.

But he ducked in, allowing a smirk to pull across his face. In a conspiratorial voice, he mused, "Maybe you have―lost your mind."

"Perhaps I have," she tittered.

Draco took another sip of his tea. "Makes life a little more interesting that way. Unless you're my mad aunt, of course."

A grateful laugh bubbled forth from her lips. "Alright, now why am I not surprised you've got a mad aunt?"

The grin slowly faded from his face, sobering with the remembrance of all the heartbreak his aunt had caused. Especially in the life of the woman before him and her friends. For a moment, his gaze lingered on the mess of scar tissue on her forearm. In an effort to quell the anxiety rising within him at the thought, he took a sip of tea―but slowly returned the cup to its saucer at a slight tremble in his hand.

Bellatrix was one of so many reasons he had decided to become an Auror.

Unbidden, recollections of Granger, screaming in agony on the drawing room floor flashed through the back of his mind. Tears of pain and hopelessness drifting dried tracks down her cheeks.

Forcing himself back to the present, Draco murmured, "Must fit the profile, I guess." Curiosity tugged at him despite the sobering train of thoughts. "What happened to your arm?"

Surprised, she glanced down at her forearm and planted her opposite palm over the worst of it. "Is it crazy to say I don't remember? I must have been quite young, I suppose. No matter what I've tried, I can't quite get the scarring to go away."

Draco knew exactly why. Only magical means could subdue such a cursed mark.

"I know of a chemist who makes the best ointment for scarring," he mused, taking a bite of his biscotti. "If you'd like. I swear it's like magic."

He watched her eyes for a moment for any hint of recognition, but her stare only lingered on her arm. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt at this point." Her lips curled, and she glanced back towards him. "You're quite keen on the idea of magic, aren't you? Which I find to be odd, given you seem so pragmatic."

Technically, discussing the topic with her was harmless, since he knew her to be a witch. He offered a bit of a shrug. "Do they have to be mutually exclusive? Don't you think it's possible that things might happen in the universe of which we're unaware? In your studies on history, do you ever wonder if there's a shred of truth to the old fabled witch hunts?"

Granger only watched him, amusement hanging in her stare. "Are you serious? You believe in such things?"

With a secretive smile, he simply shrugged once more. "Who knows. I only think it's fascinating to consider that there are secrets out there that you and I may never know."

"I suppose you're right," she said with a sigh. "And I guess anything's possible. That's what I love about studying the history of the world―the things that happened that no one predicted. The ancients who built structures and cities more advanced than we could have possibly imagined with the limitations they possessed. Things we only learned about by looking back in time."

Listening to her speak on such things―the quiet reverence and respect in her tone―left Draco's heart tight in his chest. It was evident she cared a great deal for the subject matter she studied.

With another casual sip of his tea, he watched her. "What if I told you I also believe time travel is real?"

"Then I would say..." The warmth in her eyes as she shook her head told Draco he was in trouble. "That you're simply full of surprises, Draco."

He couldn't have stopped the words that tumbled from his lips if he tried. "Do you have to work this weekend?"

Granger's lips parted with a quick intake of breath, and his eyes lingered for a moment. "Not here, no. On Saturdays I teach a yoga class on campus." She tittered a little, face sparkling with amusement. "I can't imagine you have any interest in that, but it's open to the public, if you like."

"Yoga," Draco repeated. He scoured his brain for any recollection, eyes tightening as he remembered something vague he'd heard once. "Exercise?"

She nodded. "It started as a bit of a thing with friends and now it's just a little extra to pay for books, I suppose."

He couldn't stop a grin from spreading across his face. Even trapped in an existence as a Muggle, Granger had a love affair with the written word.

"I'll come." Before he could overthink the situation, he nodded. "Just let me know the details."

She lifted a skeptical brow. "Seriously? Have you ever done yoga before?"

He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. As an Auror, he naturally needed to keep his form in top shape; he wasn't any stranger to exercise. "No, but it'll be great, right?"

Eyeing him, she pressed her knuckles to her lips, as though to withhold a laugh. "Right. Just great."

Before he could say anything else on the matter, the bell over the door tinkled and Granger started, eyes swinging towards the door as she flashed him a smile and extracted herself from the booth.

Several minutes later, as Draco finished the last of his tea, she returned with a slip of paper―a time and a location.

"Perfect," he said, slipping the note into his pocket. "Thanks for the tea."

A smile lingered once more on her lips. "See you Saturday."


Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter - I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Alpha and beta love, respectively, to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel.