He found Narcissa on a bench in the gardens, deep within the grounds of Malfoy Manor. Draco settled beside her, observing from a short distance her live-in healer, Lucy. Briefly, they shared a grim look as Draco glanced at the faraway stare on his mother's face.
"Hello," he said gingerly, folding his hands in his lap.
Narcissa's voice was gentle, her gaze locked on the rose bushes. "Hello, Draco."
Draco hadn't managed to source the nerve or the bandwidth to visit after the trial, and by the time he and Hermione had eaten, it was late anyway. Absently, he reached for his mother's hand, grazing his thumb against her knuckles.
Seated beside him, she seemed so frail.
"It's over," she said, and Draco couldn't tell whether the words comprised a statement or a question, but he nodded. She pursed her lips, her face unreadable. "I thought so."
Although she hadn't been keen on talking about the trial the morning before when he had been on his way to the Ministry, he could see the glossy sheen to her eyes. "I'm sorry, Mother. Do you want to talk about it?"
"There isn't anything to say."
There hadn't been any love lost between Draco and his father for years, and while the Dementor's Kiss had impacted him, Draco suspected it was largely shock. It had been a long while since he had possessed any true respect or feeling for the man. Still, he frowned. "I know how important he was to you."
Narcissa remained silent for a long moment, fixating on the prize-winning nasturtiums. "What have they done with him?"
"He's returned to a ward in Azkaban," Draco murmured. "Unless you care to submit a petition for his release."
He didn't want to voice such a thing, but his mother couldn't even look after herself right now; surely she wouldn't be able to assist his father in a vegetative state. Narcissa simply released a long sigh, some of the strength deflating in her fingers, trapped in his hand.
Despite her failings, Narcissa had always been pragmatic enough to recognise such a thing. Lucius Malfoy, for all intents and purposes, was no more.
"I persuaded Lucy to bring me to the gardens this morning," Narcissa said quietly. "It's a lovely day."
Idly, Draco wondered if this was her way of coping with the situation; as though she could pretend nothing was wrong and that would make it so. But he didn't have the heart to push otherwise, when her own state had been so precarious. He didn't always get along with his mother, but he would be devastated to lose her too.
"It is," he allowed. The sun shone in a clear blue sky, deeply at odds with the melancholy that lingered within his soul. What little sleep he had managed through the night had been once more plagued with nightmares. But still, Hermione hadn't left his side.
Narcissa withdrew her hand, reaching for a cup of tea resting on the end table beside her.
"Tell me about her," she said after a moment's pause, replacing her cup with shaky hands.
"About who?" Draco's eyes shot wide as though caught in something illicit.
The faintest hint of humour curled his mother's lips, though sadness still haunted her eyes. "The woman you took to Paris."
The last thing Draco wanted to do that morning, when he felt emotionally raw himself, and couldn't imagine what his mother had been going through, was to spark an argument. He hadn't known whether he ought to tell her about Hermione or not when he already knew well enough how she would disapprove.
Reading his silence, Narcissa clicked her tongue, and the act was so reminiscent of how she had been before falling ill that Draco couldn't help his smirk.
"It worries me that you don't care to talk about her," his mother announced. "And I must come to my own conclusions regarding her heritage."
"Conclude however you like," Draco said, a bit of haughtiness slipping into the words. "For as much as you like to cling to tradition, I've been the patriarch of this house for years." He didn't care to add the obvious out loud: that what happened the day before in the bowels of the Ministry hadn't changed anything.
A sour little twist pulled at Narcissa's lips. "Humour me, Draco."
Nausea and uncertainty swelled within him. It wasn't that he was ashamed of Hermione―not in the slightest. If anything, she ought to be the one ashamed of him. But there was something about the relationship they'd developed that he didn't want to subject to the judgement of his mother when she would surely minimise everything between them.
And Draco had never cared about anyone half as much as he did Hermione.
At last, he sighed, recognising that she didn't care to let the topic go. A sting of humility grabbed him to realise his mother was probably seeking a distraction.
"She's lovely," he breathed, letting the words fall free. "She's beautiful and brilliant, and she's got the most amazing heart. It's a wonder she wants anything to do with me at all."
Narcissa took another sip of tea. "And? The part you aren't telling me?"
Draco released a breath. "She's Muggle-born."
For a long moment―so long it stretched on, leaving Draco terse and fighting an urge to fidget―she didn't say anything at all. She sipped her tea and observed the flowers as the sun beat down on them; irritation gnawed at his entire being, flaring within him like heat.
"I'm quite tired," Narcissa announced at last.
Draco's stomach churned with disappointment. Surely he didn't know what he had expected her to say. "Fine. Lucy will help you back to the house."
Setting her cup on its saucer on the table, Narcissa folded her hands in her lap. Another surge of annoyance darted through him, and Draco ground his jaw. "She's no less than any pureblood woman, for the record," he bit out. "None whatsoever. And in fact, she's better than any of them."
"I see."
"And you haven't got the right to tell me who I can and cannot consider for the future," he said delicately, attempting to force some of the bitterness from his tone.
Narcissa sighed, waving a hand towards Lucy. "I suppose you think you're going to eschew centuries of tradition and marry this woman. Produce a swath of half-blood children and end two of the longest-running magical lines in England."
Draco kept his expression carefully stoic; it had only been a few months, and they weren't anywhere near any discussion along those lines, but he lifted his chin all the same. "If I did, it would be my decision to make."
As Lucy walked over and assisted Narcissa to her feet, Draco drew in a deep, careful breath; blew it out, long and slow; shook the heavy tension from his shoulders.
Before Narcissa walked away, however, she turned back towards him. "Thank you for coming by, Draco." Something drifted into her eyes he hadn't seen in a while. "And I should certainly hope you mean to introduce to me this woman who has so evidently captured your heart. She must be quite something."
Startled, Draco only blinked. Then he clamped his jaw shut with a click. "I―I can do that, yes."
Something he couldn't name crept through him like warmth as he was left alone in the gardens.
My mother wants to meet you.
Draco stared at his phone for a long while before setting it down on the table. Moments later, it vibrated with a response.
Should I be concerned?
Probably, yes. But it could be worse. She could have decided she wanted nothing to do with us. He felt antsy, unable to sit still, and before she could respond, he sent another message. What are you doing?
A few minutes passed before Hermione responded again. Practising.
He shouldn't have been surprised when she had spent most of her spare time since beginning her memory therapy with Healer Huxley working on her magic. At this rate, she had relearned every spell from their first through third years, and he wouldn't be surprised if she were already further on than that.
Another message came through. Are you feeling alright? Want to come over?
Without a shred of consideration, Draco rose to his feet, jammed the phone into his pocket, and Apparated into Hermione's flat with a crack. She flinched at his sudden appearance, clapping a hand to her chest, and ground her jaw as she set her phone down on the coffee table.
"A little warning," she croaked meekly, "would have been nice."
He snickered, offered a dull, "My apologies," and took up the seat beside her on the sofa. "What are you working on?"
"Shielding charms," she mused, skimming a page in the book before her before turning to face him fully. "You seem in a good mood today. Did you have a nice visit with your mother?"
Draco shrugged, idly toying with one of her loose curls. "I wouldn't say nice, but it wasn't terrible. She continues to insist she doesn't want to talk about Father, and I don't want to push because she's so unwell as it is. But she was outside and more coherent than I've seen her in a while."
Hermione fixed him with a stare, sinking against his shoulder. "That's good news. Do you suppose she's improving a little?"
"It's hard to say." He grimaced, allowing his gaze to drift towards the book she'd been reading. It was their fourth year Defense Against the Dark Arts text. "According to her chief healer, she'll simply have days that are better than others. But the magical illness hasn't lessened any, and he still suspects it to be incurable."
"I'm sorry, Draco."
Grinding his jaw, he remained silent for a moment. "At any rate, the fact that she actually cares enough to meet you is a good sign. If you're interested, I'll see if we can transport her from the Manor for a visit―"
"I wouldn't want to inconvenience her recovery in that way," Hermione interrupted, her voice soft and apologetic. "I imagine I can handle the manor now that I know a little better―"
"No," Draco cut in. "I'm not putting you at risk again. We'll figure something else out." She looked as though she might argue the point, so Draco reached into his pocket and proffered a small, shrunken bag. "I collected you some more books while I was there."
In her startling vortex of consuming everything she could find about the wizarding world, Hermione had already finished all of the books she had borrowed from the manor library, so he had selected her more along the same lines.
She gaped at him as she accepted the bag, then a smile tugged at her lips. "You are after my heart."
Draco leaned in, brushing his lips against hers. "I'm glad you noticed."
Winding her arms around his neck, she drew him closer, and he shifted her back into the sofa cushions as they fell into a lazy kiss. Palming her arse, he ground against her a little, eliciting a quiet groan from her lips. He half expected her to draw away from his blatant distraction from her studies, trailing his lips along her jaw, when her eyes caught his with a flash and a sparkle, and she fumbled for his belt buckle.
As he tugged her jumper over her head, Draco made a mental note to bring books more often.
"I've been going through some job options," Hermione said, after, half-clothed as they lounged on the sofa. "Trying to see what's available in Diagon Alley."
Draco's brows lifted in surprise as he reached for the open copy of the Daily Prophet she had taken from his flat; she had noted several options on the page. "I'm sure you could do any of these, but you might also like to look into positions elsewhere―maybe at the Ministry."
She gnawed her lower lip for a moment as she peered closer. "I wasn't certain whether my magic was strong enough for anything like that. And those ominous fellows in the lift yesterday intimidated me a little."
He thought back for a moment and snickered. "Those were Unspeakables. They intimidate everyone."
"Unspeakables?" She tittered at the title. "What do they do?"
"No one knows. Hence, Unspeakable." He cast her a look. "They work in the Department of Mysteries studying the most obscure and complex forms of magic. Time, space, love―life and death."
Hermione remained silent for a long moment, her eyes lingering halfway on him. "That sounds fascinating."
A slow grin pulled at his lips. "It is absolutely like you to go from intimidated to interested in a split moment. And for the record, I think you would love it down there. I might have wanted to go into the Department of Mysteries if I hadn't been so set on the DMLE."
Colour warmed her cheeks. "I can't imagine I know enough to get on with something like that.'
"Give it time." Draco pulled her close. "It's astounding how much you've already learned in a matter of weeks; I hold firm that you could do anything you wanted to do. And if you want, I can get you some information on the DoM."
"Maybe," she said quietly. "I still think I ought to find something for the time being. Somehow knowing about magic makes everything I've been studying seem... lacklustre in comparison."
Draco frowned as she traced the scar tissue on his bare chest. "I don't want you to give up on what you've been studying. But I know the appeal of magic all the same."
"Yeah." She released a sigh. "The good news is I don't need to make any big decisions just yet. But I don't think I want to stay on at the shop much longer if there are other, more relevant options."
With a faint smile, he unfolded the newspaper once more. "Then let's take a look."
Draco paced the corridor on level two of the Ministry, trepidation curling within him and mingling with an implicit sense that he didn't belong here anymore. He clenched a folded letter in his pocket, ready to withdraw in the event that anyone questioned his presence there.
It took everything within him to keep his shoulder square and his head high as he slipped into the Auror's Department and made his way to Robards' office.
On top of his nerves surrounding the summons he'd received, Hermione also had a treatment session at St Mungo's that afternoon, and he had dropped her off just previous. Every time he left her at the hospital, he couldn't help the anxiety that swelled within him: that one day she would either regain her memory―or Merlin forbid, everything might go all wrong.
He resolutely ignored the stares as he tapped on Robards' door, waiting only a moment before he slipped in at the man's invitation. Draco tried to remember the last time he had been there―when his superior had requested he hand over his badge. Colour crept into his cheeks at the memory.
"Hello, sir," he murmured, slipping into a seat.
Robards looked up, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "Malfoy. Thank you for coming." The pregnant pause that followed stayed Draco's tongue. "How are you holding up?"
Draco couldn't tell whether the question referred to the fact that he'd seen his father's soul drawn from his body only days prior or if it was meant to encompass the wider sphere of Draco being punted from the department on his arse because of his surname.
"Pretty well, sir. Thank you."
Levying a great sigh, Robards leaned back in his seat and locked his hands across his front. "As you're aware, this entire situation has been tedious. Between the DMLE and the Wizengamot and the Minister himself"―He waved a hand as though the subject matter were intensely dry―"it's been difficult to work out the best way to proceed with these matters."
Draco ground his jaw and offered a nod; it wasn't Robards' fault he had been removed from his position due to the controversy of it. "Indeed," he allowed.
"It might feel insincere to simply offer your position back now that this matter is behind us," Robards went on, dragging his stare away, "and though I was simply pandering to the powers higher up in the MInistry." He fixed Draco with an apologetic look.
"But you were," Draco offered.
Robards waved an ambiguous hand as though he couldn't be bothered with the bureaucracy of it all. "If it were up to me, Malfoy, I'd have kept you on all along. Some days I regret taking up command of this office. I always favoured hitting the streets and hunting down the baddies."
Draco's lips twitched. "Honestly, sir, if it's all the same to you, I'd like to do my best to put all of this behind me."
The matter was, of course, harder than it sounded when Draco knew that at least some of his colleagues in the Auror's department had been against him all along and had suspected his involvement in the attempted breakout. Some cold, bitter part deep within him hoped they felt like shite for throwing him to the wolves when evidence had proven otherwise―but he knew better.
"You would be content to return to your training," Robards mused, leaning forward again. His brows furrowed low above the rim of his glasses. "And to proceed as if none of this happened."
Sensing something else behind the words, Draco swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. "That is if the position is still available. And if it isn't..." He trailed off, unable to stomach the thought that there might not be a spot for him anymore after all. He offered his best effort at a flippant shrug.
Robards stared at him for another long, tense moment before withdrawing something from his desk drawer; Draco's badge.
"I have a counter-offer for you," Robards said softly, sliding the badge across the desk.
Draco picked it up, the cool metal soothing against his palm, but curiosity swelled within him. "What is that?"
"As far as I'm concerned, Malfoy, you've more than proven your loyalty to the department; furthermore, I know how committed you are to your training and to improving as a valued member of this force." He ducked his chin, hazel eyes shimmering. "I'm advancing your training―and sending you out."
"Out, sir." Draco didn't dare allow himself to ruminate.
"Onto the streets."
His heart froze, stuttered, and jumped into a gallop. "Sir, I―" His eyes stung.
"I've already spoken with Auror Potter," Robards pressed on softly. "I know how well both of you have worked together, almost unbelievably. I'm making the two of you partners. You'll start back next week."
Draco could scarcely hear the words over the rush of blood behind his ears, pulsing a dull roar. Emotion thudded inside his chest, leaving him overwhelmed. He opened his mouth to speak, then slammed it shut again.
"This isn't a formal offer just yet," Robards went on, as though picking up that Draco didn't know how to respond, "but it's a step below. If I like how this goes, I'll induct you into the office as a full Auror." He lowered his voice, casting a furtive glance around as if he thought someone else might have been listening in. "And fuck what anyone else thinks, yeah?"
He couldn't quite scrounge up the courage to reciprocate the sentiment and offered a slight nod instead. "Thank you, sir. I really appreciate your confidence; I'll do my best not to let you down."
When the conversation ended, and Draco rose from his seat, he felt the world come together around him like a blur. For all he had feared he might not truly receive his job back, he hadn't anticipated this.
His chest tightened, energy building beneath his skin he couldn't identify, and he slipped through the door. The rest of the department carried on as they always had, and idly, Draco wondered how many of them would have preferred to see him out of the department. Against his better judgement, his lips twitched with a smirk.
Then a hand clapped him on the shoulder, startling him from his introspection, and Draco wheeled to find Potter's bright eyes on him. A slow grin crawled across the man's face. "Welcome back, mate."
"Thanks." The word fell from his lips as an exhale, and he dug again for the enthusiasm such an occasion should surely merit. "A little surprised, but―this is good, yeah?"
Potter scrunched up his face. "Good in the way that you've got your badge back. Not so good in the way that I'm going to have to deal with your snarky mug every day―"
"Shut it, Potter," Draco said, unable to withhold a chuckle. He adjusted his tie, feeling some of the tension sink from him as he rolled out his neck and shoulders. He'd been dreading the meeting since receiving Robards' owl, and it had ultimately gone far better than he'd expected. "I would like to make it clear upfront that if I'm to be putting my life in your hands, I do expect you not to let me down."
"Bloody mutual, isn't it?" Potter cocked a brow. "If either of us gets to demand such a thing, it ought to be me. I'm going to have to teach you in the field."
He blew out a breath, nerves threatening to creep in once more. "Right." He scoured the room and felt a bit of a grimace pull at his lips. "I suppose there was a part of me that thought I'd never make it this far."
With a snort, Potter's gaze slid sidelong to meet his. "Mate, I didn't think you'd make it through the door when you first applied to enrol."
Draco nudged him in the side, rolling his eyes. But the words rang truer than he would have liked when even Draco had been surprised to learn he'd been accepted to enter training in the first place. At first, he'd thought it must have been an administrative error.
"Anyway," he said quietly, "I suppose this is it now. Partners."
They both sobered, and Draco could feel the significance of it drilling through the back of his mind. Not only did he have another shot, but he would also be leaving the office on call at last. Potter released a long breath and extended a hand; although Draco snickered, he accepted the offering with a brisk shake.
"Partners," Potter repeated. "And it's almost unbelievable to say I wouldn't have chosen anyone else."
Draco swallowed, blinking rapidly. "Thanks, Potter. For everything."
When he really, truly thought about it, Potter had been at his side through more than he ever would have expected. Even though they'd started off on terrible footing―and still hadn't managed to get along when they first began working together―the man's support had helped Draco through so much of his training. Never mind the camaraderie that had developed between them since Hermione had come back into their lives.
At the thought, he remembered her appointment with Healer Huxley. She had insisted upon taking the underground home after her appointment as Draco didn't know how long his meeting would go, but she ought to have made it home by now.
Potter only clapped a hand to his shoulder again.
Distracted, Draco rummaged in his pocket for his mobile phone, and as though he'd willed it, the phone buzzed with a message.
I just wanted to let you know I made it home. I hope your meeting went well.
Potter peered over his shoulder, reading the message with a grin. "Let her know the news. We'll have to go for a drink—the four of us—to celebrate."
Despite himself, Draco felt a hint of a smile curl his lips. This was something he had achieved; for a brief moment, he allowed it to feel good. He dialled Hermione's number, lifting the phone to his ear.
"Hello?" Her voice was soft, distracted, when she answered after three rings.
"Hi," Draco breathed in return, warmth swelling within him. "Thanks for your message."
He hesitated, waiting, until she offered a quiet, "Of course."
At his side, Potter flashed another grin.
"I have some news," he said into the phone. "Robards offered me my job back―and not only that, but I'm going to be advancing in my training and going on patrol."
"Oh Draco, that's incredible news. I'm so happy to hear that!"
Despite the words, her tone of voice still sounded a little uncertain, and Draco faltered. "Is everything alright? Did your session with Healer Huxley go okay?"
"Of course," she repeated; he could practically imagine the thin smile she plastered forth. "Tell me about your training? What will you be doing now?"
Alarm bells rang, faint and disarming in the back of his mind, and a furrow pulled at his brows while he hesitated. Potter made a face, cocking a questioning brow.
"We'll be out on the streets for practical training," Draco said, at last, the words cautious. "Potter and I are going to be partners."
"Oh."
The word was so soft he could scarcely hear her over the distant buzz in the Auror's office, and after several tense beats of his heart, Draco knew instantly, deep within him, that something was wrong.
"I'm so sorry, Draco," she breathed at last into the silence. "I feel like I must know this. Who is Potter?"
His entire body froze with a jarring stutter, and for a long moment, he could only stare at the phone. His heart dropped into the pit of his stomach like a stone.
Author's Note: Thanks for reading everyone. Your kind words always make my day. I'd love to hear your thoughts on the chapter! xo
Alpha and beta credits, as usual, to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel, respectively.
