Although Draco felt a bone-deep reticence about visiting his mother, Hermione's enthusiasm about seeing the Malfoy Manor library almost made up for it. But he had put it off for long enough―too long if he was honest―and he couldn't keep avoiding the inevitable.

Especially since his mother likely would have heard some details of the matter from her healers by now.

He suppressed the jitters that tightened his chest as he Apparated Hermione onto the Manor grounds. Caught up in his thoughts, he scarcely noticed the way she stopped, frozen, her jaw falling open, until she was no longer at his side.

"When you said you lived in a manor," she breathed, "I did not imagine all of this."

With an uneasy chuckle, Draco slowed his stride to keep pace with her. "It's easy to get lost, anyway." As the wrought-iron gates eased open, he led her past a group of white peacocks towards the east entrance―the closest to the library without passing by his mother's room.

Eventually, he knew, the tough conversation would be the matter of Hermione and Narcissa's disapproval of his taste in women―and if Hermione was obliging, he would introduce them properly.

But Draco could only handle one controversial topic at a time.

"I don't suppose I need to ask," he said conversationally as they entered the manor; Hermione's eyes widened as she stared in each direction, but she remained silent. "But―better safe than sorry and all that. I'll need you to remain in the library while I speak with my mother."

"What a terrible thing to ask," she teased. "I'll happily lock myself in."

Draco sobered. "I mean it. There are plenty of areas and objects in the manor that are cursed, and I don't want anything happening to you. Until you know your way around―and I don't really intend for that ever to be the case―you'll have to stick with me. Even if some of the portraits try to persuade you otherwise."

"The portraits."

"Yes."

Particularly because of her blood. But it didn't feel like the time to bring that up, either.

After Potter had owled him the night before to confirm that he had updated and closed Hermione's case files at last, with a wry, penned, Congratulations, Malfoy. You closed your first case, Draco had owled Healer Huxley, the cognitive specialist with whom he had spoken months ago when he first ran into her at the tea shop.

To his relief, the man had been able to arrange an appointment for the following afternoon―and with any luck, Hermione would be able to begin treatment for the restoration of her memory. After which point Draco wouldn't need to remind her of anything so difficult as blood status.

He could only hope she had come to know him well enough that she wouldn't want to walk away.

"I'll be sure not to follow the portraits' advice," she said quietly, nudging him in the side. Draco glanced at her. "Relax. It'll be alright."

At the tentative admonition, Draco realised his shoulders were tense; his jaw clenched into a tight line, and he forced a breath out. "I know," he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair, "I would just sooner not be here at all."

"We'll go as soon as you like," she said, giving his hand a squeeze. "I promise. I won't even fight you on leaving the library."

A smirk pulled at his lips. "You might."

For all its flaws and the bad memories that still overwhelmed him when he stepped foot in the manor, the library had always been his safe haven. His parents rarely went inside, and the only other occupants he ever saw were the house-elves keeping everything organised and spotless.

Remembering how she had fawned over the Hogwarts library―half the size of the manor's―he was interested in seeing her reaction.

"It's a maze in here," she commented as they walked the corridors, peering down a narrow passageway that intersected the hall.

Draco grimaced and drawled, "With reason. The original bones of the manor were established in the eleventh century. Over the years, more land was annexed, and the grounds expanded to the point where they are now, and the manor grew in turn."

"Can we see the grounds?" she asked softly. "Before we go?"

"Sure." Draco guided her down the next corridor. "The grounds are safe, all things considered." He stopped outside a large set of oak doors, the Malfoy signet embossed on the wood, and Draco cast her a sidelong glance. "I don't know if you're ready for this."

Hermione scoffed, rolling her eyes. "You underestimate me."

He flashed her a grin. "Never."

While a part of him wanted to tease her about her immense love for books—and to trail after her like a puppy while she explored—a fresh bout of nerves swelled through him, and he simply wanted to get the conversation with his mother over with.

Pulling the heavy wooden doors open, Draco eyed Hermione for her reaction as she took in the vast sanctuary of the written word.

A harsh breath fell from her lips. "Draco," she hissed, turning to gape at him. "You're fucking kidding me."

Before he could respond, she drifted forward without him, taking in the towering stacks of meticulously organised and protected books, then up towards the higher levels.

Draco slid his hands into his pockets. "Over there―" he gestured to a series of stacks along the far wall―" is the content you'll probably want to avoid. Dark curses and the like. Not very pleasant, and not very legal."

"Noted," she breathed without looking his way. "I'm sure there's plenty else to keep me busy."

"Remember," he quipped, "you said you wouldn't fight me when it's time to go." He ducked in, planting a kiss to her temple with a quiet, "Have fun."

Then he jammed his hands into his pockets, a nervous muscle working along the curve of his jaw, and left her to the books.


Draco tapped lightly on the open door frame of his mother's makeshift hospital room. Lucy, one of the middle-aged healers who tended to his mother's care, glanced up.

"Draco," she said with a demure smile, "it's good to see you."

"And you," he returned with a polite nod, sidling into the room. His mother was asleep, but with the way her energy had steadily declined since her affliction first hit, it wasn't surprising. "How is she doing?"

Lucy's expression faltered, her shoulders sinking. "She's alright. I'll assume you're here about the matter with Lucius."

"Right," Draco drawled. He wondered how much they had heard―and how much of it they had shared with his mother. "Unpleasant business, unfortunately."

The woman's countenance remained fixed although her eyes tightened. "Indeed. Your mother will need to wake for her potions in fifteen minutes if you're alright with waiting."

"Thanks," he muttered with a nod and retreated towards the parlour for a glass of whisky to steel his nerves.

When he returned, Narcissa's eyes followed him into the room, her face more alert than he had seen in weeks. Deciding to take it as a good sign despite the fact that Healer Brooks' prognosis had been bleak, Draco settled at her bedside. Lucy ducked out of the room to allow them privacy.

"I would have expected you days ago," his mother sniffed as she shifted further upright.

Draco blew out a breath and thinned his lips. "I was away from the city." He didn't care to get into the details surrounding Hermione just yet when they had to broach the matter of his father. "Am I to assume you know that Father and several other former Death Eaters attempted to break out of Azkaban?"

"Of course I know," Narcissa huffed, though the words were feeble and didn't carry the brusqueness he had come to know from her.

Something in the words gave him pause. "Did you know before?" When his mother didn't instantly respond, his heart constricted, vision blurring a little at the edges. "Please tell me he didn't mention this at the visitation."

The last thing he needed was to be forced to report his mother as complicit.

"He didn't tell me any such thing," she said after a tense pause.

Draco ground his jaw. "Then what did you know?"

"Nothing of any consequence," she said, lifting her chin. "At any rate, they were caught."

His eyes drifted to the ceiling as he drew in a breath, calling upon some strength within him he couldn't find. Draco didn't know if he even had any strength left. "Right. And they're going back to trial. This is a serious matter, Mother."

The first chink in her armour revealed itself when her expression faltered, her mouth twitching downward. "Of course they are."

"It doesn't sound good," he said, lowering his voice as he reached for Narcissa's hand. She had lost so much weight since falling ill, and her hand felt small and fragile in his own. But she clasped his fingers with a stronger grip than he had anticipated. "The Auror's Office is performing an investigation into the attempted breakout, and father and the others will likely go up for the Kiss."

He could see the glassy sheen in her eyes, belying her otherwise stoic form. "And are you involved in this investigation?"

"I am not," he clipped, leaning back in his seat. "I've been suspended from duty because some of my colleagues suspect my involvement."

At that, his mother scoffed. While she had always been reticent about anything to do with his position at the Ministry, she clicked her tongue and shook her head. "Bastards."

"Yeah," he huffed, and the pair of them fell into a tense silence, still clasping hands. When Draco spoke again, the words sounded apologetic to his ears. "How are you feeling? I haven't seen you this coherent in a while."

Narcissa's shoulders sank. "Some days are better than others." Her gaze slid towards him. "I am sorry that you've been forced to deal with all of this, Draco. Between myself and your father―"

"It's okay," he breathed, shaking his head. "All you need to focus on right now is feeling better. Lucy's taking good care of you, I hope?"

"I like Lucy," Narcissa said, the words prim, as she pursed her lips. "Lucy has taken me on walks of the grounds to see the roses. I am not as fond of Elise."

Draco nodded, though he fought the twitch to his lips. Most likely, Elise had simply done something small and inconsequential his mother hadn't cared for. He had always found the woman's mannerisms warm and professional. "I'll have her replaced if you like."

"Fine," she said quietly, sinking back a little into her pillows. "I know this isn't going to improve, Draco. Healer Brooks has told me this would ultimately claim my magic, if not my life."

"They haven't given up on a cure," Draco said, though the thought had sat heavily within him for weeks as well. "Brooks' team is still working on it."

"If they haven't discovered something by now..." Narcissa trailed off at the thought, and Draco grimaced.

He gave his mother's hand a brief squeeze once more. "I need you to keep faith."

She didn't react other than to glance away. "Lucius always was painfully headstrong." There was a note of fondness in her voice with which Draco didn't relate, but the meeting had gone better than he'd expected, and he didn't care to stir the waters between them.

"I know he wanted to get out for you," Draco said quietly, "but it doesn't change what happened. Several guards and an Auror were killed in the attempt, and the Wizengamot doesn't want to let this go easily. They fear this is a Death Eater resurgence and feel as though they need to make an example. The others involved were Dolohov, Travers, and Lestrange."

At the last name, his mother visibly flinched. Her eyes shimmered again, but she only blew out a tight breath. "Where were you?" When his brows knit in confusion, she added, "You said you were away from the city."

He hadn't expected her to care enough to ask. But she had been oddly sentimental.

Bringing Hermione into the equation would mean revealing the truth about her memory, and he didn't know he wanted to dig into all of that now, especially when they hadn't yet met with the healer. Never mind that his mother would quite obviously disapprove about her blood status―although Draco didn't care about any of that. He did care about dragging Hermione into too much right now.

"I was in Paris," he said quietly, at last, dragging his thumb along the back of her hand. "On La Rue Mystique."

His mother's lips lifted with a soft tilt as though reminiscing on the thought. "Draco, I am offended you did not invite me."

A quiet huff of unexpected laughter fell from his lips. "My mistake. I should have taken you along. I know you love the Paris fashions this time of year."

Narcissa clicked her tongue, but her eyes fluttered briefly shut. "I must assume you took another woman with you instead." Draco tensed, awaiting the incoming admonition; his mother had always been nothing if not astute. But she only clapped a hand over her mouth to conceal a yawn. "I should think we will discuss that another time."

Draco leaned back in his seat and released her hand. "You ought to get some rest."

"All I do is rest," Narcissa said softly, though she settled into the bedding a little more all the same. "Please let me know when the trial is scheduled."

"I will," Draco clipped. He ducked in to plant a kiss on her cheek then rose from his seat. "Take care, Mother. I'll see you soon."

"Goodbye, Draco."

When he stepped from the room, his mother was gazing out the window near her bed. His heart clenched in his chest to see the forlorn look on her face, but he knew better than to think she would share with him any deeper than she had.

He stopped at the study and slammed another two fingers of whisky.

By the time he returned to the library, halfway cautious as to what he would find, the peaceful quiet of the cavernous space washed over him as it always did. He found Hermione curled up on one of the plush sofas near the hearth, a stack of books on the cushion beside her and a full tea service on the table with an assortment of sweet and savoury morsels.

When he settled at her side, he was alarmed to see two house-elves beaming at Hermione.

"Hi," she said softly, her eyes lingering on her page for a moment longer before she looked up and cast him a smile. "How is your mother?"

"She's alright," he replied, brows low. "Making new friends?"

Podski, one of the elves that had raised him, flashed a wide, toothy grin. "Miss Hermione is telling us stories about the Muggles."

"Have tea, Master Draco!" Patroclus said with a wild gesture, and he hastily set about preparing a cup the way Draco preferred it. "Master Draco has never brought any misses for us to meet!"

Hermione's lips curled with wry humour, a twinkle in her eye. "After I got over the shock of discovering house-elves, these two insisted on bringing tea and snacks."

Vaguely, he could remember her campaign to free house-elves before, and he wondered what she would now make of her second experience meeting them.

"Sometimes I forget that you don't remember all of these things," he said quietly by way of apology as he selected a square from the tray. He scanned a few of the books she had stacked. "Some interesting material."

"The elves said we could return the books to their homes with magic," she said, gnawing on her lower lip. "I hope you don't mind."

Draco waved a hand. "If you want to read them, you're more than welcome to borrow them. Every book in here is imbued with protection and tracking spells, and as long as you have my permission, you can take them through the wards. Aside from the hermetic archives, of course. But you're welcome to access those here."

"Of course," she echoed, as though scandalised at the thought that she might remove such sensitive material.

Shrinking the stack of books, he conjured a satchel and slipped them inside.

Patroclus pressed a cup of tea into his hands. "Stay and drink tea, Master Draco!"

It occurred to Draco at that moment with a bit of a jolt that the elves were most assuredly lonely with the manor in such a poor state. Narcissa was the only Malfoy who spent any measure of time around the manor anymore, and she didn't do most of the things she had once enjoyed.

He took a sip of tea with a nod. "Thank you, Patroclus."

Hermione beamed at him.

Still, both elves lingered, impossibly wide grins on their faces as they stared between him and Hermione.

"That will be all, thank you," Draco said, attempting to conceal the smirk from his face.

Waving at Hermione, they each vanished with a loud crack. Left alone, Draco slipped an arm around her shoulders, sipping his tea in pensive silence.

"Is everything alright?" she asked at last. "With your mother."

He blew out a breath. After preparing himself for the worst, the conversation that had actually ensued was unsettling, and Draco didn't know what to make of the situation. "She's okay," he said at last. "It went better than I expected."

"And is she feeling alright?" she hedged, as though interpreting his silence.

Thinning his lips, Draco shook his head. "I don't think she's getting any better. Even if she has good days..."

Hermione curled into his chest. "I'm sorry, Draco."

"It's okay." He blew out a breath. "I suppose sometimes everything between us is so tense and stifled, and I don't know what to say to her, and then..." He gazed into the crackling fire for a moment. "Then sometimes she's just my mother again, and I feel guilty, and―" Glancing away, Draco felt the hot sting of moisture pressing at the corners of his eyes, and a dart of shame chased through him. "And I don't want to lose her."

"I know you don't." She burrowed a little deeper into him, and Draco drew comfort from her soft, steady presence. "And it's okay to worry about her. It's okay to feel sad that she isn't well―and it's also okay if your relationship with her is uncomfortable sometimes."

"Thank you," he murmured, leaning in to capture her lips in a kiss, and he smiled. "You're very wise." He relaxed back with another sip of tea. "My mother's observant; she guessed I was in Paris with a woman."

"I can't imagine she would be happy to learn it's me," Hermione said, though a teasing hint shone through the words.

He huffed a laugh. "I already told you, remember? It doesn't matter if you can't pay the dowry." She snickered; their first date already felt like it had been so long ago. "At any rate... she might not be so upset; it's hard to say. She won't admit to it, but she's fond of Potter, even though she's still so fixated on the old marriage traditions."

"Interesting," she mused, trailing her fingertips across the fabric of his shirt. "I'm trying not to get my hopes up, of course, but I can't help but wonder―when we see the healer tomorrow. What might come of that? Maybe I'll finally understand the full picture, and not just the bits and pieces."

While Draco wanted her to get her memories back, he also feared the same.

Just in case.

Still, he dragged her closer. "I hope for that for you. I can only imagine how difficult this all has been."

Hermione peered up at him for a moment before shifting in his hold. "I'm glad your conversation with your mother went well enough. It can't be easy for her to learn about your father's trial."

"No," he mused, lingering on the thought. "Despite everything, my parents care for one another in their own way. I can't presume to understand what goes on in either of their minds―especially my father―but this is all just... a lot." Physically shaking the melancholy free, he smiled. "I'm glad you've enjoyed the library. You're welcome to borrow more books any time you'd like."

A teasing smile played about her lips as she slung one leg over his lap to face him. "I couldn't ask you to come here any more often than you already do."

Draco cracked a grin, skating his hands along her sides. "I visit my mother regularly. If it makes you happy, I don't mind."

The skin around her eyes crinkled with humour. "You have a hidden romantic side." Threading her fingers into his hair, she ducked in for a kiss. Slipping a hand to her back, he drew her closer against him as he kissed her back, a groan falling from his lips when she ground against him.

"I'm not surprised," Draco murmured against her jaw, "that you've got a library kink."

Hermione tittered but didn't deny it, and her eyes darkened when she drew back. "Maybe a little."

"I would be happy to oblige," he drawled, stealing another kiss, "but I have a bad feeling the elves might try to track you down again, and they aren't known for their propriety. That's what you get for indulging them―now they'll want you around all the time."

"I liked them," she scolded. "They seem lovely."

"Lovely. At any rate," Draco pressed on with a snicker, "I recall you wanting to see the grounds. Golden hour is the best time."

Planting another lingering kiss to his lips, Hermione extracted herself from his lap and tugged on his hand to pull him upright. Draco caught her in his arms, unable to resist another kiss, and said, "Thank you for coming with me today."

"Of course. I'm here for you." She collected the small bag of books and tucked it into her purse with a smile. "I'll have these back to you as soon as I'm through with them."

"No rush." He ignored her giggle as he adjusted his trousers, shooting her a wry look. He nudged her in the side with a lifted brow. "Another time―I'll ward the library against unwanted visitors."

Hermione smiled, pulling his hand into hers. "I'm going to hold you to that."

"Minx," he huffed.

Her presence in his life would certainly keep him on his toes if nothing else.

As they ventured from the library into the main corridor, Draco felt the shiver of unease trawl along his skin as it always did. The manor was so infested with dark artefacts that the essence of dark magic often pervaded the very air within, and it always reminded him of the war.

He picked up the pace a little, walking towards the north exit so they could view the solarium and the gardens before the sun dropped too low.

Hermione had fallen silent, scanning the hallway, and her brows lifted in surprise when some of the portraits shifted in their frames and harrumphed at her.

"Ignore them," Draco muttered under his breath. "Most of them are crusty and judgemental ancestors who weren't happy while they were alive, either."

Her returning smile looked forced, and moments later, her face tightened with a grimace.

"Draco," she breathed, a deep furrow lifting into her brow as she came to an abrupt stop. "I don't―something's wrong―"

A dart of fear chased through him. "Hermione?"

Releasing a harsh exhale, she scrunched up her face, grasping her temple with her palm.

"Hermione," he said again, more forceful as he took hold of her arms. "What is it?"

"I don't know," she whispered, breaths falling rapidly from her lips. She sagged a little with a whimper. "It hurts."

Draco gaped at her for a moment, heart racing and adrenaline charging through him as he glanced around. There was no one and nothing nearby, and his head spun as most of her weight fell into his arms.

A cry of anguish broke free, and from behind her palm, he could see a stream of tears trailing down her cheeks. She wrenched at her hair with a sob, the rapid devolution spiking absolute panic within him.

"Shite," he breathed when another choked scream of agony fell from her lips, and her legs gave way; he barely caught her weight as she collapsed. His heart raced a desperate rhythm. "Fuck, okay."

Pulling her tight into his chest—and praying to whatever deity might have been listening that she could safely Apparate—he turned on his heel and left the wards of the manor.


Author's Note: Thanks for reading! I hope you're enjoying the story xo

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