~Chapter Twenty-Eight~ A Maelstrom of Owls

Draco stretched a little, dimly aware that there was something different about this morning. Different but familiar. A faint scent of rain and gardenias and beeswax permeated his drowsiness, accompanied by the thought that it was a very nice combination of smells. He felt well rested.

A soft sigh sounded close by, and he felt something, or someone, press against his chest. Draco cracked open one eye. His vision was filled with the mane of Hermione's hair, and he had a slowly dawning realisation that she was curled in against his chest, and that he had his arms wrapped around her. He felt his mouth lift in a small smile.

I missed this.

A wave of morning sleepiness swept over him, and he struggled to process much beyond a vague sensation of satisfaction and comfort, the single thought that he liked cuddling with Hermione surfacing, shimmering and distinct in his mind, before he fell back into a doze. His thoughts continued to follow, slow and drifting like feathers when there was little wind, and he idly observed the oddness of his enjoyment.

He knew he wasn't a cuddler. He'd never cuddled anyone in his life. Not as an adult, at any rate. He knew he should stop. That he should be berating himself for letting her get so close. This was the result of Blaise digging around in his head yesterday. He had to be strict. But he couldn't bring himself to. Not just yet. It felt quite all right to cuddle Hermione. Safe and comfortable.

As though she had heard the thought, she shifted in his arms, stirring faintly, and he lazily opened his eyes, to meet her own wide-eyed, sleep-fuddled gaze.

"Draco?" Her voice was soft and hesitant, not fearful, but confused. "What's happening?"

Draco swallowed, moistening his mouth. "You fell asleep on the settee and wouldn't wake up." His voice still came out in a husky rasp. "I carried you up to put you in the guest bed, but you wouldn't let go. So I slept here too."

Hermione's eyes grew round.

Draco watched her through slanted eyes. It was possible to see her think at such close quarters, and it intrigued and amused him. Her reactions bloomed across her eyes, subtle changes in her expression occurring as her mind darted from thought to thought. It was clear that her mind was racing, and even though his should have been as well, he couldn't bring himself to. He felt content and unconcerned, it was a strangely light experience, and the sensation of being so very well-rested for once was like being wrapped in a comfortable blanket.

When she spoke, it was just to say a very tiny, "Oh."

"Indeed."

"Sorry."

"It's fine. Are you OK?"

"Mmhm."

Draco continued to watch her intently, and after a few moments she seemed to become aware of it, surfacing from her thoughts, and rolling over and away, sitting up.

"Is there a bathroom I can use to freshen up?"

"Yeah. The door in the corner by the window."

She carefully disengaged herself from around him, and he remained still, regret heavy in his heart as she departed.

Draco remained where he lay for a few moments, watching as she got up and headed to the bathroom. She was still in the top and trousers she had put on to come over, now thoroughly wrinkled from being slept in, and he himself was starting to feel a little uncomfortable in his creased shirt and slacks. He frowned, the sensation impinging on the very pleasant morning laziness, and he lingered a few moments longer before he finally forced himself to get up, and go to his own room for a quick shower and a change of clothes before he went to cook breakfast.

He was too used to the complicated knot of thoughts Hermione Granger engendered in him to be knocked sideways now, but he felt sure she would be embarrassed and conflicted. He didn't kid himself that her snuggling up to him whilst unconscious was an expression of her affection for him. It only took a single look at her to know she would naturally engage in such behaviours. It was not particular to him, and he had no doubt that she was already figuring out how to reassert the professionalism between them, despite the ongoing charade. He left, resigned, but not downcast. Such was life.


Inside the bathroom, Hermione had sat on the edge of the porcelain claw-footed bathtub, arms crossed over her chest to ward off the cold of the tiled room, eyes still wide, processing. She was so deep in her mind she barely even registered the bathroom. It was clear nothing untoward had gone on, and the very thought that she had held on without relinquishing until Draco had been forced to fall into bed with her was mortifying to say the least. Every time she went near the thought her cheeks flamed.

Even more so was the knowledge that, try as she might to ignore it, she enjoyed waking up like that. It brought back memories from the hotel, that strange, liminal time that had both belonged to them and not, and how it had been nice to steal those moments between themselves, nice to be able to do something as intimate and simple as holding Draco's hand without needing to think further than that, nice to steal moments of a fantasy where life was ordinary and there weren't the massive powers that hung between them, pulling them apart even as they were pushed together for the charade, just as it had been nice to steal the evening the previous night, away from the terror and the fears and the stress of what they were trying to achieve at the Ministry, away even from ideas of Slytherins and Gryffindors, of implications and repercussions.

She heard a rustle of clothing in the bedroom, and then the soft click of the outer door closing, and let out the breath she hadn't been aware of holding.

It had been polite of Draco not to recoil. He was the most untactile person she could think of, and his tolerating her unconscious actions without so much as a rebuke or a smirk had lessened her embarrassment, if only slightly. She knew it was her own fault, of course. All through the evening she'd caught herself wondering what things could be like afterwards, whether Draco could ever be interested in something more than friendship, whether he would be anything similar to who he pretended to be for the benefit of the ruse. It had just been so nice the whole evening. Both of them unaffected for perhaps the first time since they had been brought together by the case.

She couldn't have known that several hours of covertly thinking such things would have such an effect, of course, but now that it had she knew that simply repeating her mantra would not be enough. She was falling into dangerous habits, getting too comfortable with him, and it was a slippery slope. The pandora's box couldn't just be kept shut until after the case. She would have to bind it closed.


By the time she had had a shower, scourgified her teeth and clothes, and headed downstairs, Hermione had prepared everything she was going to say. Draco was in the kitchen, the smell of sizzling bacon filling the air, and one of his patented hangover potions on the kitchen island, waiting for her.

"I wasn't sure if you'd need one." He gave her an apologetic glance.

"Thanks." Hermione took it, downing it in one. She didn't need it, but it would add to the story she had concocted. Alcohol, being tired, an apology, and refocusing on their work.

"Full English breakfast will be just the thing to chase that. You should just have time to eat it without getting into the Ministry late."

"Yes. Uh, thank you." His casual thoughtfulness, the very fact that he was cooking her breakfast instead of simply graciously sending her home, caught her off guard, and Hermione found herself twisting her fingers as she stared at Draco's back, working up her courage, and forced herself to stand straight. "Um. Draco. I just wanted to say. About last night, I –"

An owl swooped in through the open window in the breakfast room, circled into the kitchen, and dropped down onto the counter in front of her, hooting.

"Oh. Just a minute. I –" She got no further however, for a second owl followed, then a third. The new owls landed facing Draco, one of them hooting indignantly at him, momentarily dragging his attention away from the hob. "What on earth is going on?"

"Search me." Draco slid the bacon onto two plates, already filled with all the other items required for their breakfasts, and then turned to take the letters for him, looking at the owls for the first time. "Ah. I think I can guess." The first owl surrendered its letter, then took off. The hooting owl bit his finger after releasing the scarlet Howler it clutched. "Ah! You bastard, Hyperion." He glanced up at Hermione, sucking on his bleeding finger. "He's my mother's owl."

The Howler began to leap in his fingers, but before it could free itself and open, Draco whipped out his wand, and blasted it. The letter erupted in a gout of flame with a faint echoing shriek as it did so, then fell in ashy pieces onto the floor.

Hermione's eyes widened as she understood, turning to the owl facing her.

"Better open yours up."

Hermione nodded, quickly taking the letter and ripping it open.

Hermione,

Where were you last night? Ron heard what happened from Mrs Weasley – she did some digging after her copy of

Witch Weekly was recalled. He went absolutely ballistic. He went round to your house in the evening to have it out and you weren't there.

He's been absolutely raging. Please help me with this. We'll have to tell him the truth, but honestly the whole evening was a nightmare. He burst in on me and Ginny after we'd had dinner demanding explanations. Ginny had to stun him. I've tried to explain, but you know him. He just won't listen. He's convinced Malfoy's kidnapped you. He's not happy about it at all. I'm sorry, but it's not going to be an easy morning.

Harry

"Shit. Shit, shit, SHIT."

"As good as that?"

"Worse." Hermione turned her pale face to Draco. "Ron found out."

"Ah. Wonderful."

"Precisely. Do you have a quill? I need to reply to Harry."

"Yes. But you'll eat your breakfast first before wading into that mess. I know Weasley's temper, and I don't care what you say, arguing with that on an empty stomach is a recipe for disaster."

Hermione frowned, then nodded. "Fine."

Draco flicked his wand, summoning a quill and ink from upstairs, and turned back to Hyperion who had been staring at him accusingly the entire time. "Bacon?" He picked a piece of crispy rind off the griddle. Hyperion eyed him suspiciously. "Fine." He summoned another quill and a piece of paper, and dashed off a reply.

Dear Mother,

I will be around to speak with you and Father after I have had breakfast.

Draco

He tapped the parchment with his wand, watching it fold up, and then passed it over to Hyperion, who took it, gave him a last burning stare, and then took off. Then Draco picked up the plates, and transferred them to the kitchen island, summoning two stools, and pushing one plate in front of Hermione as she, too, finished her reply on the back of Harry's letter, and dispatched it.

"Eat."

Hermione sat, and picked up her knife and fork, looked down at the plate which was loaded with fried eggs, bacon, tattie scones, baked beans, and fried tomatoes and mushrooms, then turned to him. "How can you be so calm about it all?"

Draco shrugged, digging in already. "I like breakfast. And it's not going to be that difficult for you to explain. It's a ruse. Weasley will accept knowing that we're just pretending, even if he has to bluster a bit first. The point is that there's nothing in it and it doesn't really matter."

Hermione blinked, then nodded, seeing the sense in the words and ignoring the sting they caused. This was good. Draco was right. What he said just made things between them easier, no matter how much she might not wish it to be so. She dug her fork under her baked beans.

Draco was mentally kicking himself.

"I suppose it won't be as easy for you. With your parents, I mean."

Draco released a hollow laugh. "No. I'm afraid saying it's a pretence that I'm doing for the collective good probably won't wash well with them."

"Sorry."

Draco sighed, waving it away. "It's not your fault. It was my idea after all. Not that they need to know that." He chuckled humourlessly.

They finished the rest of their breakfasts in silence, both of them preoccupied with the storm each was to separately face, doing their best to ignore the implications of the night and morning.

When they had finished, Draco walked Hermione to the floo. She paused in front of the fire, then turned back to him.

"Thank you for a lovely evening. It really was nice. Truly." She bit her tongue to prevent herself from saying anything else. That would have to wait.

Draco nodded. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself."

Hermione smiled.

"Well. Good luck then."

Hermione nodded. "You too."

Then she was gone in a roar of green flame.


Hermione barely managed to step onto her hearth rug before footsteps sounded from the kitchen, then Ron appeared, closely followed by Harry. Ron's face was already red with compressed anger, Harry's white. The moment Ron set eyes on her, the tirade began, his expression suffused with anger, incredulous and betrayed.

Crookshanks, who had run downstairs to greet her, stood at the bottom of the steps, his fur on end, hissing and spitting, and almost flew at Ron, responding to his rage with a catlike fury of his own.

"MALFOY? MALFOY, Hermione? What were you thinking?! Were you even thinking?!"

Hermione simply stood, letting it all pour down over her. From the moment she had received Harry's letter she had known it would have to be this way. Ron would have to let it all out before he would listen to reason. And she would have to bear it as stoically as she could. It wasn't fair, but that was the way things were.

Harry watched on, his expression concerned as he watched and listened, clearly having heard it all already, occasionally shooting her mute glances of apology and wincing whenever Ron landed a particularly low blow.

Hermione kept her expression neutral. It was one thing she had learnt from Draco. Impassiveness could be useful. Even so, her breakfast churned in her stomach. She had always hated arguments with Ron.

"How could you, Hermione?! Malfoy! Malfoy?! Of all the slimy scumbags in the world, why choose the one who'd screwed us over for the longest?! Don't you remember what he did in school?! Don't you remember him calling you a Mudblood?! Don't you!?"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" All that he had said before she could handle, the recounting of past hurts and wrongs, a total evisceration of Draco's character as Ron remembered him from school, his connections to the Death Eaters and his family's history, how Slytherins simply couldn't be trusted, but there was a line. "I don't care what you think about Malfoy, but really Ron?! Are you really going to say that to me?"

Ron purpled, his bluster fading for a moment before it began to build again. "That's – that's not the point! He was the one who said it! I–"

The chime of the floo was lost, but the roar of the flames that followed was not.

"HERM-OWN-NINNY!" Krum barrelled in through the flames, almost cannoning into Hermione, taking her by the shoulders to steady her as he slowed. "Vot is going on?! I saw this filth in the papers!" He thrust a copy of a Bulgarian newspaper into her hands, a very blurry moving image of the cover of the recalled Witch Weekly on the front page. It was hard to make out the details, but there was enough there.

Hermione had barely a chance to take it in before Ron had interrupted.

"What are you doing here?" Ron turned his attention to Krum, suspicion leaping in his eyes.

"I could ask you the same question!" Viktor turned a blazing glare on Ron.

The pair of them seemed to ante up.

"I'm here to find out what happened!"

"Vot do you think I was going to be doing?!"

"Right!"

"Fine!"

The pair of them turned back to Hermione as one man.

"Did Malfoy curse you? Vhy didn't you use the mirror I gave you? Tell me, and I vill sort him out, vunce and for all!"

"Yes! We'll gut him, Hermione! That stinking ferret won't be able to come out of St Mungo's for a month!"

"But are you all right, Herm-own-ninny? Votever that double-dealing Death Eater has done, he vill pay!"

"Exactly! How could you, Hermione?!"

Hermione turned this way and that between the two raging men, and finally turned her wand on her own throat, muttering "Sonorus!"

Harry, the only one to notice, stuffed his fingers in his ears just in time.

"Will you just LISTEN?!" Her voice shook the whole house, and silence fell for the first time since she had arrived. "Right!" She cancelled the spell. "Both of you sit! Now." She turned her wand onto the two men. They both sat. It was obvious they were uncomfortable, squashed together on her couch, but both could see the anger in her expression, and both knew the power behind her wand. "If either of you would have stopped for half a second to let me answer, you would know that all of this is a ruse."

"A ruse?" Ron's forehead wrinkled and he shot Harry a glance.

Viktor's brows knitted. Hermione turned to him.

"Viktor, you remember the case we're working on? It's to do with that."

"I see." Viktor nodded, but he remained tight-lipped.

"What about last night?" Ron demanded.

"Vot happened last night?" Viktor's tone had softened somewhat from before, but his expression remained suspicious, his eyes concerned.

Hermione sighed. "I was at Draco's house. Just for dinner."

"Why–"

"Because, RON, I wanted to avoid the journalists here!" Hermione huffed. "He was being kind."

Ron made a face and scoffed. "Malfoy? Kind? Don't make me laugh!"

"Ron, whether you like it or not, Draco is not who you think he is. He isn't the boy we knew in school, and he has been extremely helpful on this case. Yes, we are pretending to be together for this case. Yes, it is dangerous. But is Draco taking advantage of me? No. Does he pose a threat to me? No. And you are going to have to accept a lot of things, or else you will be leaving my house soon," Hermione said sharply.

Viktor frowned, but nodded his acceptance. "I trust your judgement, Herm-own-ninny."

Ron opened his mouth to argue, but seeing his temporary ally give way, closed it again.

Hermione turned to Harry, who met her exhausted glance, stepped forward, and began to explain.


Draco pulled at the cuffs of his suit, straightening them. He was fairly sure he was developing a faint case of tinnitus in his right ear from his father's bawling. His mother had greeted him weeping, and Lucius's already drawn features had become waxy with his rage. At this point he had been going for a full five minutes and was showing no signs of stopping.

In between her tears, Narcissa had attempted to reduce her husband's fury even as she communicated her own shock and horror about it all. They hadn't seen Witch Weekly, but a friend of Narcissa's had written, and that was bad enough. The results of second-hand gossip were always worse, in Draco's experience.

"May I speak?" Draco drawled.

"Not if you're going to use that tone!" Lucius snapped.

Draco restrained an eyeroll. It would only add oil to the fire. "It's a pretence. The case I am working on required it to protect other potential targets. And what your friend saw in Witch Weekly were the results of a spell for convenience."

Silence fell for a few seconds.

Narcissa was the first to regain her voice. "It wasn't real?"

"No."

"Just a spell?"

"Yes."

"And the relationship? It's just a pretence?"

"Yes."

"I don't see how a pretend relationship can protect people," Lucius sneered.

Draco sighed. This was the next hurdle. "Well. Who we suspect to be the murderers don't look kindly on unions between Purebloods and Muggle-borns. So naturally this draws their attention."

"By making a target of yourself?!" Shrieked Narcissa, even more appalled at the reality than she had been moments before.

"Disgusting!" Lucius growled.

"How could you risk yourself like that?" Narcissa wept.

"Not to mention lower yourself to even touch a Mudblood!"

"Lucius!"

"Father!"

Lucius grumbled to himself.

Draco took heart from his mother's admonition. "Mother, rest assured I am quite safe. You may remember, Hermione mentioned my training when she visited. And she herself is one of the instructors for the Aurors."

Narcissa seemed somewhat comforted by the knowledge, but Lucius continued to grumble disparaging remarks about the standards of the Ministry.

Draco knew it would only make things worse if he told them it had been his own idea. "Please do not be concerned about my safety. I am perfectly safe. In fact, the Ministry wishes to keep me as much out of the firing line as possible. My reputation is convenient for the ruse. That is all."

"What about your morals? What about your standing in society?" Lucius sneered. "I suppose we are allowed to be concerned about those?"

"Not when this is the concern that you show, no." Draco snapped. "Society has moved on. Even Pureblood society, Father. Not that you are mixing it in to know."

Narcissa laid a hand on Lucius's arm, silencing the angry retort that he had clearly been about to say, and then turned to her son, her expression the most controlled it had been since his arrival. "Even so, Draco. What does this do for your reputation? Which eligible women will want an alliance with you after this? Even if you do not care about these things, someone must think of them. And if all others believe your relationship with Miss Granger to be true, what then?"

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply, forming his words carefully. "Mother. I appreciate what you are saying, but to be frank, the kind of woman who would care about whether I've been connected with someone like Hermione, whether or not it was real, whether or not it was for a good reason, isn't the sort of woman that I would want to be with. I haven't given much, if any, thought to marriage yet, and –" Draco swallowed the words he had been about to say. "And I don't think I'm ready to yet either."

Narcissa nodded. "I understand your feelings on the subject, Draco. No one young wants to think about marriage, or to consider the importance of a strategic alliance. But do please give the matter some attention soon. These things are important, and whilst we would want you to be happily settled, we would also wish it to be with someone we could…approve of."

Lucius nodded haughtily.

"Very well. I will…try to remember to think about it. But not whilst this case is going on."

Narcissa smiled, pleased with the compromise. "How about you stay to lunch? It's been so long since we've really been able to spend time together. Then you can take us to our classes at the Ministry."

Draco nodded, summoning a faint smile in return to his mother's. He had felt a little guilty about not seeing them for so long, but they did make it difficult sometimes. He knew he could spare them a couple of hours now, if only to help mend fences after the shock from their discovery.

"At least we now understand why it was an Auror who took us last week." Lucius muttered.

"Hush, Lucius." Narcissa patted her husband on the knee.


Here it is! As promised! Happy Holidays, folks!

Yes, I'm clearly a sucker for accidental sleep cuddles, and I did wonder if this scene felt too same-y to the last one, but I hope it feels different enough that it warrants inclusion and that it adds to the story beyond mere squishyness service.

Since Blaise forced Draco to verbalise and confront his own feelings for Hermione his characterisation is changing a bit, which I'm certainly feeling as I write him. There's a lot less angst coming from him in response to their moments of accidental intimacy, which I'm quite enjoying, given that he's probably been feeling the connection and not handling it well for longer than Hermione.

I am also a huge sucker for men being competent human beings and providing breakfast of a morning. I mean, does it really get any better than to come down to a freshly cooked meal? XD

I tried to strike a balance between Ron reacting negatively because he doesn't have the same context that Harry and Hermione do about Draco, but not going so overboard that he's just completely unreasonable. Ditto for Viktor. I see them very much more as sources of conflict for Hermione as regards Draco, but they're not roadblocks that she can't reason with.

Ron's anger does come from essentially living in the past, as regards Draco, and not letting their school experiences go. Viktor's is more based in concern for Hermione's well being coupled with his natural distrust of the Dark Arts and those who've been associated with them.

Ironically, the Malfoys were probably easier to manoeuvre for Draco haha!

I hope you enjoyed the chapter! And that regardless of whether you celebrate Christmas or not, that you all have an enjoyable holiday season. I know in many countries the outlook is a bit bleak, what with COVID, but if possible please don't let that stop you from finding time to enjoy yourselves and relax. I promise it will mean a lot to future you to look back on a special time, even amongst all the difficulties that 2020 has brought.

Wishing you all a safe and memorable end to the year!

Please do review and/or favourite :) Tell me what you like or don't like :) Questions and speculations are always welcome :D As is incomprehensible flailing if that's what you go in for :)

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