Draco stirred awake with Hermione in his arms and a pervasive sense of peace in his soul. As far as he could tell, she was still asleep; her lithe form pressed up against his chest. He shifted several rogue curls out of his face, tucking the hair beneath her head.

He relaxed back into the bedding, playing the tips of his fingers along her stomach and, unbidden, an absent smile pulled across his face. The day before in Paris was everything he could have hoped for, and he was glad to learn she wanted to integrate herself back into the wizarding world again.

When they returned home, he would need to speak to Potter, as Draco didn't currently have access to the Auror's department―and he wasn't exactly in anyone's good graces at the moment, whether of his own volition or not. He only hoped Hermione knew what she was getting herself into, but there was no quiet way to go about the matter. Draco would simply have to do his best to make the transition easy on her.

Hermione stirred in his hold, shifting against him with a quiet sigh; she rolled her head up to the ceiling, and a smile quirked the corner of her mouth. "Good morning," she said, stifling a yawn with her palm.

"Morning," Draco said, his voice a bit dry with sleep. He planted a kiss on her jaw. "How did you sleep?"

Her hand landed on his, where it wrapped around her middle. "Very well, thank you."

"Good." Eyes fluttering shut, Draco sank back into his pillow and allowed himself a few moments to relax. "I had a nice time last night."

"So did I." Her arse shifted against him, grazing his cock, already half-hard with awareness of her, and he cracked an eye open. Draco smirked, smoothing his palm down her abdomen, uncertain whether the movement was intentional. But then her arse ground against him again, and he snickered.

He caught one of her breasts with his other hand, rolling her nipple between his fingers, and a soft, indolent moan fell from her lips, the sound of it shooting straight to his groin. Slipping his other hand between her legs, he bit down hard on his bottom lip at the moisture already accumulated there.

"What are we doing today?" she asked, the words a little breathy when he brushed her clit.

Draco lifted his head, pressing a kiss to her neck. "Whatever you want to do." Slipping his fingers between her folds, he added, "I thought you might like to see more of Paris. History major and all that."

"That would be nice," she whispered, reaching back to take his length fully in her palm, and Draco's eyelids fluttered. "We aren't in a rush, are we?"

He turned her in his hold, meeting her lips with a kiss, and she shifted atop him with a wicked glint in her eyes, aligning him at her entrance.

"Not even a little," Draco drawled, and his head dropped back into the pillow as she sheathed him within her in one quick motion.


Although Draco had seen Paris many times and explored most of its wonders, he had never been overly keen on the popular tourist traps on the Muggle side of the city. But the brightness in Hermione's face was infectious.

They detoured back onto La Rue Mystique to exchange galleons for Euros and left the magical district where the rest of their trip had thus far remained. Hermione wanted to see the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, the Palace of Versailles. They could have likely spent all day waiting in the queue just to see one of them, but it was a wonder what a few extra paper notes could do to expedite matters.

The look on her face was worth it.

The entire trip had been more worthwhile than Draco had even anticipated.

They spent the day observing priceless artwork and elaborate architecture, exploring Muggle Paris, and Draco saw the city through a lens that he never had before. They stopped for espresso and pastries in the ubiquitous cafés and boulangeries within the city centre and lingered below the Arc de Triomphe while a Muggle insisted on taking their photo. He was surprised at the extent to which the stress he had been carrying for months drifted away in her presence as they laughed and shared stories and simply existed.

It had been so long since Draco had existed without the crushing weight of too many cares.

And while he knew those cares and stressors would return with a vengeance when they returned home the following day, he found it all too easy to lose himself in the sparkle in her eyes.

Hermione, who didn't remember whether she had ever been to Paris or not, vibrated with excitement the whole day.

By the time they returned to the hotel in the evening, Draco was physically spent but with an incredible lightness within himself. They ordered food from the hotel's room service, changed into sleep clothes, and relaxed in the suite's sitting room.

Fidgeting with her new wand, Hermione fixated on the device as she absently gnawed on a raw carrot. She gave it a flick, watching a shower of gold sparks burst free.

"Do you suppose I still know how to do magic?" she asked softly, as though afraid to voice the sentiment.

"Anyone in possession of magic can do magic at its essence," Draco returned, glancing up from the book he'd been skimming. "It's simply a matter of knowing the movement and the incantation. At more advanced levels, you can do magic non-verbally or channelled directly from the magical core without requiring a wand. Some of which I can only imagine you were capable of before."

Marking his page, he rose to sort through the collection of books he'd given her before they left his flat and plucked one on basic spell casting. "Here. Take a look through some of these and see what you can do."

He perched on the edge of the sofa, uncertain how much instruction she cared for, and observed as she scanned the spells they had learned in their first year at Hogwarts.

As she practised the motions in silence, Draco took up his book once more, enjoying the companionable quiet.

Until she pronounced, "Nox," and the lights fell away. A soft squeal of delight fell from her lips, and Draco chuckled.

"Great," he said, "now turn them back on."

She elbowed him in the side. But several moments later, the lights flickered back on, and she beamed at him. "I know I knew how to do this as a child," she clarified, "but that doesn't mean I'm not happy about it now."

Draco smiled at her. "I'm proud of you."

For a few minutes, they lapsed into silence once more, and Draco drifted closer, slinging an arm around her shoulders. When she spoke next, it was to attempt another spell, and Draco observed, curiosity drawing his gaze. But she was as studious as he could recall from school, and only twice did she ask his assistance as she studied and explored the magic within her.

Until she closed the book, set her wand on the table, and sank back into his hold.

Draco jolted when he realised her eyes were coated with a glassy sheen. "Is everything alright?"

"I think so," she breathed with a stiff nod. "This is just a little overwhelming." Her eyes slid to his as she folded her hands in her lap; a sad furrow pulled at her brow. "You've been incredibly patient with me, and I don't know how to thank you adequately for everything."

"You don't have to thank me for anything," Draco muttered, brushing a kiss to her curls. "I'm happy to see you're discovering magic again because I know how capable you are, but I don't want it to overload you."

"It's just..." She trailed off, sucking in a sharp breath as she shook her head. When she spoke again, her voice was scarcely above a whisper. "I suppose there was a part of me that hoped some of this―practising magic, listening to your stories from school―might trigger something."

"You hoped you might remember," Draco mused.

She gave another little nod, glancing away. "Everything you've told me has no context, and I'm having a difficult time figuring out how this all fits into my life."

Draco sighed, sweeping a hand through his hair. "I can't presume to know how you feel. We'll go see the healer this week if you like. And as far as your life... nothing has to change if you don't want it to. If you want to carry on with your university courses, work at the cafe, and teach yoga on Saturdays... I'm going to support you."

Blowing out a steadying breath, Hermione swiped a drop of moisture from below one eye. She sank as though caving in on herself, and Draco pulled her into his chest.

"And if I don't?" she whispered. "How do I manage any of this if I don't understand any of it? How am I going to react when someone stares at me because they know of something I did once, years ago, and I don't even know anything about it myself."

Draco's heart clenched uncomfortably in his chest to see her so uncertain. In all his years of knowing Hermione Granger, she had always been so self-assured. Having come to know her on a different level, he had learned that, of course, wasn't the case because everyone had doubts.

He didn't know how to be that person for her. Or if he even could. But Merlin help him if he wasn't willing to try.

"I don't know," he said softly, stroking her hair back from her face. "I don't know how to direct you with all of this. All I know is that I'm here. And you have Potter, other friends you haven't met, and people who want to support you and help you through this. You are a fucking force, Hermione, and I've never seen you fail to accomplish anything you set your mind to." He brushed the moisture from her cheeks. "And I know whatever you decide to do next, you're going to blow everyone away."

For a long moment, she stared at him with silent tears rolling down her cheeks, her lips parted.

Draco forced a thick swallow, his heart racing in his chest, but he couldn't have looked away if he tried.

"You have so much faith in me," Hermione breathed at last, soft and mournful. "Why?"

"Because," he said, moistening his lips, "I've learned not to underestimate you."

"Why?" she pressed again, pawing angrily at the tears on her face with a gasp. "Even you know me better than I know myself, and―" She cut herself off with a sob, clapping a hand over her mouth as she drew deep lungfuls of air.

He only shook his head, adrenaline racing through him. "I don't think that's true," he said quietly. He pulled her hand away from her face, entwining their fingers, and met her red, glassy stare. "I never knew you until I met you again, Hermione. I didn't know how incredible you were until you gave me a shot. And..." He gulped, viscerally aware of the way nerves prickled through every part of him. She clung to his hand, her fingers like a vise. "And all I know now is that I am wildly in love with you."

Draco lost count of the seconds between when the words fell from his lips, almost of their own accord, and the desperate pulse of his heart in his chest.

Until finally, she sucked in a breath. "You are?"

There was no way to deny it when he felt it in every fibre of his being. Hoarsely, he said, "Yes."

The tears stopped falling, dried in tracks along her cheeks, as though her shock had overridden her grief, and then a sad sort of smile curled up the corners of her mouth.

And she breathed, "I love you, Draco."

His ears rang, the words floating somewhere beyond his comprehension, discordant and vague. As surprise swelled within his chest, building until it encompassed every flickering thought, her lips sought his, her hands sweeping through his hair as she kissed him.

In that moment, everything narrowed down to her—to the two of them—and all the rest of it drifted away into the back of his mind.

Draco caught her face in his hands, gazing upon her as each tight breath fell from his lips. "I'm going to do everything I can to help you through this."

Hermione nodded, biting down on her lip, and whispered, "Okay."

Disbelief flitted through the back of his mind, suspended and vague, a bitter nudge. This can't possibly last.

Suppressing the thought, Draco scooped her from the sofa and took her to bed.


Anxiety swirled within him the next morning, heating his flesh and causing his stomach to churn. Raw vulnerability always left him out of sorts, and he had opened himself up to Hermione the night before in a way he never had before with anyone.

Draco knew the words weren't untrue―and he didn't regret telling her he had fallen in love with her, but he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that he didn't deserve her love in return.

For so many years, Draco had deliberately done his best to lock everyone out. He had never even entertained the idea of love.

So these waters with Hermione―these stormy, tumultuous waters―were wholly uncharted.

He feared he didn't have it in him to make her happy. That once she knew him―truly knew him―she would find him wanting.

"Good morning," she said quietly, jolting him from his thoughts. However, if she noticed his reaction, she didn't say anything and simply stretched her arms out over her head.

A part of Draco wished they could stay in Paris forever, ignoring the great trifecta of problems that had taken over his life. His mother's health, his father's trial, and his failing career.

The only aspect of his life that made him smile was Hermione. Almost enough to outweigh everything else.

"Good morning," Draco returned, belatedly, as he tightened his hold and pulled her close. His heart throbbed at the sight of her warm, sleepy smile. "I half expected you to have run out on me in the night."

Wry humour twinkled in her eye. "I didn't have a way home." Then her expression sobered as she turned to face him. "I'm not going anywhere, Draco. You said you were here for me―and the inverse is true, too. I know you haven't had an easy time of things, but you've still made time to help me out. I'm here for you as well."

Her words were humbling, and he felt a dull flush of colour warm his cheeks. "Okay."

"What time do we return home?" she asked, trailing her fingers along his bare chest.

"The Portkey departs at noon." Stifling a yawn, he smoothed his hand along her spine. "Anything in mind?"

With a sigh, she sank a little deeper into his embrace. "As fun as it's been to run away and play in Paris, real life awaits. I thought I might talk to Harry―about what we discussed."

"About returning to wizarding society," he hedged.

"Yes."

Draco nodded. "I'll send him an owl before we depart to meet us this afternoon."

She snickered a little. Hermione had marvelled to learn that they communicated via owl post, and her eyes had gone wide when he pointed out the post desk in the foyer of the hotel. But she released a long, nervous breath and nodded. "Okay. Thank you. We've had a bit of a lie-in anyway and won't have much time before we need to leave."

Draco glanced at the clock on the wall; it was already almost ten. "Alright," he drawled, "but we need to stop at the boulangerie down the road and get some of those apple tarts to take with us."

Hermione planted a kiss on his lips. "Deal." She hesitated, her face brightening. "You didn't actually like the blackberry pie, did you?"

He cocked a brow. "It was good."

"But―"

"It wasn't apple."

She tittered, mussing up his hair. "I knew it." He swatted her hand away, but she crawled out of bed, and Draco stared for a moment at the way her shorts barely covered her arse. "I need to have a shower."

"Fine. I'll go send Potter that owl and meet you back here."

She turned back towards him, catching him staring, and her lips twitched. "Perfect."


Shortly after the Portkey delivered them back to Draco's flat, the Floo flared green, and Potter walked through. Although Draco had meant it when he said he was willing to help in whatever capacity necessary, the decision was her own. While Draco was suspended from the DMLE, he would have no part in updating her case files or speaking with Robards on the matter.

A part of him was relieved he wouldn't have to face the scrutiny that might come from the situation when his performance in the department had already been shaky. But Robards loved Potter―and Potter had just enough of a way about him that he was the better candidate to deal with it anyway, especially as they had famously been best friends.

So Draco brewed a pot of tea and sat at the table while Hermione and Potter talked over the matter, Potter taking rapid notes in his messy scrawl. After, she showed him her new wand and demonstrated a few of the spells she had learned, and he and Potter reacted appropriately impressed, while she rolled her eyes at them.

Her foot nudged his below the table.

"You realise," Potter said at last as he stood, "once you make your presence known again, there's no going back."

Hermione released a tight breath and nodded, folding her hands in her lap. "I realise."

Potter rolled his scroll of parchment and stowed it in his pocket. "Then I'll submit the report this afternoon. I hope you're ready."

"We're going to talk to the healer this week," she said quietly, and Potter's brows lifted in surprise. "The memory specialist Draco spoke to when he and I first came across one another. To see if he can do anything to help."

"Oh," Potter said quietly, emotion clear on his face. He curled his hand around Hermione's shoulder with a gentle squeeze. "I'm glad to hear that. Please let us know how it goes."

Idly, Draco wondered whether he had intended to include Theo in the pluralisation or if they were simply at that point. "Thanks for coming by, Potter."

The man turned back on the hearth. "No updates yet... with your father and the others."

"Of course not," Draco huffed, drumming his fingers on the surface of the table. "Can you tell me―who else was involved?"

Potter shifted, dragging a hand through his hair. "Dolohov was one. Travers, and Rabastan Lestrange."

Draco felt the blood drain from his face, his stomach churning with a reaction more visceral than he had expected. He could feel Hermione's gaze burning on the side of his face, but he couldn't bear to look at her. He cleared his throat. "And do they think it was some sort of... resurgence?"

"We haven't ruled it out yet."

"Right," Draco bit out, clenching his jaw in a stern line. "Of course. Thanks, Potter."

A moment of silence hung, awkward and tense, and Draco might have thought Potter had left if not for the fact that the grate hadn't flared. "Malfoy," he said at last.

"Yeah?" Draco stared hard at the table.

"I'll let you know as soon as I know more. If we can figure out how it happened, there might be a chance at leniency."

Although Draco knew better than to think his father might get off with a prolonged sentence―and he wasn't even certain whether his father deserved a lenient sentence―he didn't believe it anyway. "Maybe."

"I'll talk to you both soon," Potter said, at last vanishing through the Floo.

Hermione poured herself a fresh cup of tea from the pot he'd brewed as though ignoring his melancholy. "Did you know those men?" she asked as she stirred in a splash of milk.

"Yes." Draco could still remember the maniacal look in Rabastan Lestrange's eye as if it were yesterday. He fidgeted with a teaspoon on the table. "I knew them. Lestrange was my mad aunt's brother-in-law."

"The mad aunt," she echoed. "I remember her."

Despite himself, Draco breathed, "It's not a bad thing that you truly don't."

Hermione froze, setting her cup down. "Why?"

"You were tortured," he said, keeping his tone as level as he could manage, "at her hand." When she sucked in a breath, he managed a glance in her direction. "If you're going to see about getting your memories back, I don't want you believing they're all going to be good ones."

"Torture." She only gaped at him, her hand trembling a little, and Draco softened.

"Bella loved her torture curse," he said, the words apologetic. "It was the only thing she loved―at least while I knew her."

"But why?"

Draco didn't know how to get into it all and shook his head. "War."

"Because of my parentage?" she asked softly.

"Because of your friends." He nodded towards the grate, where Potter had just vanished. She deflated a little as though defeat had seized her shoulders. Draco fixed her with a stare. "I just want you to know, no matter what happens with the healer, that it's all in the past. Whatever you might remember―no matter how terrifying some of it might be―it isn't real anymore. You're safe."

Her hand landed on his. "Thank you."

He wondered whether the sentiment would stand if she remembered what actually happened at the Manor that day.

"I have to go see my mother tomorrow," he said conversationally, as though it were any better of a topic. "I've been putting it off since everything happened with my father because I don't know how she'll take the news."

Hermione didn't instantly respond, gnawing her lower lip as she toyed with her teacup. "I don't have to work until Wednesday. I'd offer to accompany you if you think it would be a good idea, but I don't suppose―"

"Probably not," he huffed. But his gaze flickered to land on hers. "Unless you want me to drop you off at the library and be my moral support from across the building."

Eyes jolting wide and face otherwise stoic, she stared at him in such a way that Draco laughed, the warmth of it unfamiliar. Almost instantly upon returning to England, the panic and stress he had grown to feel on a daily basis had returned. "Maybe that isn't a bad idea."

He flashed her a grin. "Alright, then."


Author's Note: Hey everyone! We've officially passed the halfway mark on this story. Which means there's still lots to come! I hope you're enjoying it - and it means a lot to me that you're on this journey with me xo

Alpha and beta hugs to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel, respectively.