The rest of the day passed faster than Hermione would have preferred. She and Draco met up with the others for lunch before Hermione spent the afternoon following Charlie while he checked on all the Common Welsh Greens and she made a final effort to gather any more information about the dragon attacks. When he had asked how her morning had been, she didn't mention Norberta or the other Norwegian Ridgebacks.
"Just enjoyed the grounds."
Charlie didn't pry. Hermione didn't offer. She doubted Charlie would have approved of Draco's decision to bring her along, and it felt unfair to throw Draco under the Knight Bus after he'd taken the time to teach her that charm. Draco could consider that to be her thank you. And after all the secrets Charlie had kept from her about his life at the sanctuary, Hermione felt no guilt keeping this inconsequential one. No use stirring a potential argument when she was leaving in a few hours anyway.
As Julia had planned, they went into Verdell for dinner instead of joining the rest of the keepers in the mess hall. The local wizarding town wasn't far, but due to the sanctuary's wards restricting anyone from Apparating in or out, they had to Apparate to the edge of the protective dome before opening a temporary break in the wards and then Apparating the rest of the way into Verdell.
The same lush green landscape that surrounded the sanctuary also encircled Verdell. As they strolled down the path, Hermione felt like she was in the sylvan twin of Hogsmeade. Witches and wizards of all ages flowed through the street, entering and exiting the various shops that lined the main artery. There was an apothecary, a robes shop, several pubs and restaurants, and a store that exclusively sold dragon leather goods. Hermione ached to explore the bookshop, but Charlie pulled her back to the group before she slipped away.
Their destination was at the far end of town: the inn where Hermione had originally planned to stay. A worn sign with a cutout of a fire-breathing dragon denoted their arrival at the Dennfyre. Much like the Leaky Cauldron, the ground level contained a bar, a dining room, and several private parlours. Enchanted instruments levitated in a corner of the ceiling played background music while a crowd of patrons ate and drank.
Other than the fact that Julia was quieter than usual, dinner went as it always did. They laughed, ate, and exchanged updated theories. There wasn't much new to report—despite how hard Hermione had tried to uncover something, anything , more before she left. A day hadn't been sufficient.
When it reached half-past eight, Markus and Aurel prepared to leave to help Doru with the night patrol, and she knew the time had come, far too soon as it may be.
Hermione stood along with the departing wizards. "I should head back with them," she said, much to her disappointment. "My Portkey is scheduled to reactivate at ten, and I don't want to make the rest of you leave early."
"Nonsense." Charlie motioned for her to sit down. "So much of my weekend has been consumed by the dragon attacks. I'm not losing my last hour with you!"
She didn't want to lose her final hour with Charlie either, but then again, Hermione never liked cutting things close. If she hadn't packed in such a distracted rush so she could flip through the books and try one last time to uncover something valuable to tell Draco about the attacks, Hermione would have thought to bring her beaded bag so she didn't have to return to the sanctuary. But it was too late to fix that mistake.
Charlie didn't look like he was going to take no as an answer, yet it was a different voice at the table who forced her contemplation short.
"Take your seat, Granger. Not everything has to be a fifteen minute mental debate."
Draco quirked an eyebrow, arms bent and elbows rested on the table. Her stomach somersaulted under the stretch of his stare, as if he was challenging—daring—Hermione not to be the spoilsport so many people assumed her to be.
And she had never been good at turning down a challenge.
Against her better judgment, Hermione broke her resolve. "I can stay for one drink. But then I really do need to be on my way."
It wasn't as if she wanted to spend the last hour of her visit alone in a cabin, anyway.
Her goodbyes with Markus and Aurel were short, both of whom assured Hermione that she was welcome back at the sanctuary whenever she wanted. She assured them in return that she would most certainly be back—to no complaints from anyone who could hear, not even Draco.
Markus and Aurel left, and Hermione returned to her seat. Charlie waved to the nearby waitress, but a twinkle soon glimmered in his eyes and drew his focus elsewhere.
"Hey, hey!" Charlie said with his signature broad, crooked grin. "Marjorie is working the bar tonight."
Julia and Draco both turned to where Charlie was looking, and Hermione quickly followed. Behind the bar was a matronly woman with grey hair gathered in a tight bun behind a bandana fashioned as a headband. She moved efficiently between customers, listening to one patron's order while simultaneously pouring someone else's drink.
Charlie dug into his pockets and left a large sum of Romanian wizarding currency on the table. "C'mon. We'll have our drink at the bar."
The end of the bar had four free spots, all of which were soon taken by Charlie, Julia, Draco, and Hermione. When Marjorie spotted them, her face lit up and she tended to them immediately.
"I was wondering when you'd be back here," Marjorie jovially said, almost entirely directed at Charlie. She pulled the tea towel hanging out of her apron pocket and swatted it against the counter. "I was beginning to think you lot had abandoned the Dennfyre for the Shooting Star."
"That could never happen," Charlie broadly returned. "You know you're my number one girl."
"Ahem."
Julia smacked Charlie on the shoulder.
"All right," Charlie conceded with a smile as brilliant as always. "Think you could settle on being my number two girl, Marj?"
They each ordered a drink and when Marjorie returned with four filled glasses, Charlie began to dig into his pouch.
"Put those coins away, dear," Marjorie said. "You know your money is no good for me."
"But Marj—"
"Oh, stop, Charlie," the older witch implored. The glasses landed on the bar with a clank. "I know how hard for so little you three work at the sanctuary. It's the least I can do for you and your friend."
Charlie started to protest, but the disapproving raise of Marjorie's eyebrow indicated that she was not to be convinced otherwise. In some ways, she reminded Hermione a bit too much of Molly.
"Thank you," Charlie eventually submitted, and they each took their respective glass.
Marjorie beamed in approval. "Now you don't go anywhere," she instructed, pointing a finger at both Charlie and Julia. "Let me go upstairs and get Tavian. He'll be delighted to see you two."
The witch lifted the hinged portion of the bar and slipped out of view. The question was on the tip of Hermione's tongue when Julia automatically answered it for her.
"Marjorie's the owner of the Dennfyre. Tavian, her husband, was the senior dragon keeper before he retired and Doru took over around six years ago," she started to explain, ending her earlier streak of silence. "He was still the senior dragon keeper when I joined the sanctuary, but he was gone just a handful of months later."
"For good reason," Draco responded with a scowl.
Charlie frowned. "Neither of you were there." He took two gulps from his ale then set it on the bar. "There was loads of controversy around Tavian's decision to allow our dragons to be used in the Triwizard Tournament, citing that it was causing unnecessary provocation of the four female dragons while they were nesting."
"All for a spectacle," Draco said through a subtle sneer. "I may have enjoyed it at the time, but that was before I comprehended what duress it was causing the dragons."
"Tavian, Doru, and plenty others, including myself, were there to supervise," Charlie defended. "From what I heard from Percy, the original plan was for the Triwizard Champions to capture the mother dragons' actual eggs and use all Hungarian Horntails, so what Tavian agreed to was actually a compromise. Not to mention that the Romanian Ministry was threatening to defund the sanctuary if he didn't agree."
Draco's sneer deepened. "As if the Romanian Ministry gives two Knuts about us any other time."
The argument was cut short when a portly wizard with cotton white hair arrived downstairs alongside Marjorie. A deep scar stretched the length of his right cheek, spanning from his ear to the tip of his chin. He looked tired, but any trace of that disappeared the moment he laid eyes on Charlie.
The two wizards embraced in a firm hug, followed by Tavian giving Julia a hug as well. Draco stood separate from the others but gave a short nod of acknowledgement.
"It's been too long," Tavian began as he took the barstool Draco had vacated. "How are the dragons? Kymis isn't causing you too many problems, is she?"
A grim expression fell upon Charlie's face. "Actually, things aren't great at the moment. The past couple weeks—"
Draco loudly coughed, and all heads turned his way. His features were flat, though his glare at Charlie was sharp.
"Just… some of the dragons are feeling a bit under the weather," Charlie finished instead.
"It's not even October yet. Think it's early cases of the Dragon Flu?"
"Er… possibly."
Anything alluding to the dragon attacks quickly passed, and Charlie soon got lost in his conversation with Tavian, seeming to forget all about his insistence that he spend the remainder of her visit with Hermione. She listened for the first several minutes, nodding along as they discussed the different dragons that Tavian used to work with and how Charlie's training for the leadership team was going, but it soon became clear that they wouldn't be switching topics anytime soon—or would notice if she wasn't there.
Seeing that Draco had already left the conversation to sit alone at a table, Hermione dipped away from Charlie, Julia, and Tavian while a new wave of disappointment crashed over her. She pulled back the seat across from him and settled into it with a humph.
"Don't take it personally," Draco said before sipping his Firewhisky. "You know Charlie. He adores everyone and gets easily sidetracked, particularly once the dragons get mentioned."
Hermione pouted. "Then I might as well have gone back with Markus and Aurel."
"My company that bad?"
Light-hearted laughter cracked a momentary grin. "Regardless of how charming you may assume yourself to be, I didn't come to Romania to spend my weekend with you," she said before resigning herself back to the feeling of minor defeat. "When Charlie invited me to visit him whenever, I thought that meant that he and I would get to… I don't know, actually be together, beyond me just accompanying him while he worked."
She glanced down at her finger tapping against her butterbeer glass, only to look back up and meet Draco's incredulous gape.
"Merlin, Granger. I know he didn't tell you about Julia, but please don't tell me you thought that you and Charlie were going to—"
"Godric, no!" The mere insinuation sent a shiver of aversion to every cell in her body. "He's like my older brother."
Heat prickled her cheeks—a fact that didn't appear to go unnoticed.
"My mistake," Draco said, a smirk inching up his lips. "One attempt with a Weasley enough for you then?"
She snorted. "I long ago surpassed my quota for dating red-heads. One was plenty."
"Glad to hear Gryffindor's Golden Girl still has her wits to her," Draco remarked, smirk slipping into an actual smile. He set down his Firewhisky and leaned forward. "But if that's the case, then why did you come?" he asked, genuine intrigue illuminating his features. "And don't try to dismiss the question. You don't do anything 'just because .' You have a reason."
Flashbacks from last week darted through her memories like a barrage of arrows ripping through her paper-thin psyche. The levity she felt just moments earlier crumbled into ruins as she tried not to think about the stifling four-walls she'd be trapped within in just over twelve hours.
Her attention reverted to her hardly touched butterbeer, fingernail scratching the tankard as she considered how to answer. Sure, she and Draco had somehow, at some point, seemed to have reached a point of earnest civility, but how far did that really extend?
"Does it have something to do with why you looked so tired on Friday?"
The trace of concern in his question snapped her focus upward. "Pardon?"
"Friday," Draco said more plainly this time. "For Founders' sake, Granger. The bags under your eyes could have held enough food to feed a dozen dragons."
An embarrassed heat rushed to her cheeks. While she had recognised the weariness in her own face, she had hardly expected Draco to have noticed—let alone care.
"To think we had almost made it all weekend without you making any rude remarks about my appearances."
She intended for it to come out teasing, yet the tension in Draco's shoulders shot stiff.
"Granger, I wasn't— That wasn't intended to be rude," he said, as if nervous she had taken actual offence. His face turned solemn. "I'm just unfortunately familiar with what unsustainable exhaustion looks like after facing my reflection every single morning of sixth year."
Nothing but the din of surrounding chatter and background music stretched between them for several dumbstruck seconds. Hermione stared at him, lips parted, breathing stalled. Bits from their past had cropped up at scattered, rare moments during the weekend, but nothing like this. Nothing that actually alluded to the war, even if tangentially. But sixth year. His task. The vow he had taken the summer before...
"You look better now."
The chance to press for more slipped away with Draco's latest utterance.
"Better rested, I mean. More like your usual self. Or at least, the Granger I used to know."
She felt another flush coming on. Truth be told, she felt more like herself. Even if she hadn't found anything conclusive about the dragon attacks, it had been invigorating to have that purpose again—as short-lived as it may have been.
The weight of a cauldron filled with stones sank to Hermione's stomach, the impending return to the Ministry's monotonous humdrum once again looming overhead.
"I needed to get out of London," she confessed, unsure why she was bothering to tell him. But she needed the words out there. For someone to hear them. To listen. And maybe, just maybe, understand how the emotions festered and twined inside of her like devil's snare with no sign of light on the horizon.
"Because?"
She peered down at the foam floating atop her butterbeer, unable to meet his intent grey stare.
"Work is stagnant. Like I can't do anything right."
"I find that hard to believe."
"Trust me," she said with a resigned slump. "If your division head rejected eighteen proposals in a single year, you'd feel like a failure too."
The reminder of what little Hermione had to look forward to back at the Beast Division clawed at her heart. Last week's attempted Troll employment plan was still a crumbled, discarded pile in her office rubbish bin. And that wasn't even the worst of it.
"Sounds more like they don't appreciate your efforts," Draco plainly stated. "You're many things, Granger, but not a soul alive would consider you a failure."
Not a soul alive. Including him?
With one simple sentiment, the murky cloud of dejection started to fade. "That may be the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
Hermione looked up from her glass, only to discover a grin stretching the corners of Draco's lips.
"I have my moments."
Soon enough, Hermione was surprised to find herself grinning back at him. He really did have his moments. And probably a lot more than just a few passing "moments" if he and Charlie were so close.
While Charlie got along with nearly everyone, he had identified Draco Malfoy as his closest mate at the sanctuary. The person who dismissed Ron at first glance due to his red hair and hand-me-down robes. The person whose father had gotten into a physical fight with Arthur after Lucius had made a snide remark about Hermione's parents. The person who used to make even worse remarks about her.
Her grin faded when a feeling from yesterday came creeping back. Beneath the table, Hermione twisted her hands in her lap. They'd avoided the topic long enough.
"I know you said you didn't want to discuss the war," she cautioned, "but I can't go back to England without knowing if you… Well, if you still—"
"If I still see you that way?"
"Yes."
Suddenly, it was far too hot inside the Dennfyre. Like licks of anxious anticipation raced through her veins and threatened to burn her from within. The other patrons around them felt distant, Hermione focusing on nothing and no one besides the wizard directly in front of her. The one she had known for almost all her life yet felt like someone entirely different.
"You're a smart witch," he said, voice low and measured. "I had hoped my actions would speak for themselves."
"They do," she said, chest tight. "But I also like facts and confirmation."
The tangled knot behind her ribcage relaxed the second she was met with soft, beseeching eyes.
"Granger." Her name was a tender plea. "I stopped seeing you that way before the war even ended."
Sincerity shone in his gaze, and Hermione had no doubt that he spoke the truth. She tried to recall the last time he had said something cruel to her. It hadn't been during their final year. Not even during the battle in the Room of Requirement. Nor in his home. When Bellatrix had tortured her.
Her forearm with the wicked word carved into her skin instinctively twitched. Although she had mastered a glamour to cover it, the scar was always there in her mind. Draco didn't seem to have forgotten about it either. His vision followed her every move, uneasiness growing increasingly apparent.
"This is why I don't like bringing up the war," he faltered. "Too many bad memories."
Hermione fidgeted with the hem of her long-sleeve. "But we can't just forget it happened."
"Why not?"
"Because we need to learn from it."
"I already learned," Draco bluntly stated. "I was wrong."
"Then why'd you find it necessary to escape Britain?"
Her words came off harsher than intended, but she didn't amend the question.
Draco finished his Firewhisky in a single gulp before the empty glass met the table in a thud.
"Just because my perspective changed about you doesn't mean anyone's perspective changed about me," he deadpanned. "Some opinions are stuck, particularly towards people we've dismissed as hopeless cases. My path in life was always set for me—even after the war. The only way I'd ever be free was if I left."
Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but something else struck her. While extremely different, Hermione had come to Romania for a similar reason.
She was running from her problems.
"You can't run forever," was all she said in the end.
"Perhaps not," he concluded. "But I've found my place here. And I don't see any reason to change that."
His vision moved to somewhere behind her, and Hermione glanced over her shoulder to where Charlie and Julia were still chatting with Tavian. The more she thought about it, Hermione supposed there really wasn't much for Draco in England. His father was in Azkaban and his mother had reportedly moved to their family estate in France. Crabbe was long dead, and Goyle had never seemed to be more than a mindless henchman. During the few months post-war that Draco had attended Hogwarts, Hermione couldn't recall him spending much time with anyone other than Daphne—hence why Hermione had approached her for answers after he never returned for their final semester. All Daphne said was that he had obtained special permission from the Wizengamot to take his N.E.W.T.s early. Even after becoming Potions partners and eventual friends, she and Daphne never spoke of him again.
Here, in Romania, Draco had been given a fresh start. With people who accepted him.
No wonder he didn't want to leave. She didn't want to either.
The clock above the fireplace struck nine.
Draco clapped his hands against his thighs and stood. "Enough melancholy," he declared, any anguish from moments earlier already evaporated. "I'm getting another drink. When I come back, we're spending your last half hour talking about literally anything else. Understood?"
Her smile reappeared. "Understood."
By the time Draco returned with another Firewhisky, Hermione had conjured a Muggle chessboard onto their table.
"So this is your plan to change the topic?" he asked as he sat in his seat. He picked up one of the rooks, visibly confused. "They're not moving."
"As they shouldn't," Hermione said, straightening out her row of pawns. "Muggle chess predates Wizard chess by centuries and is far less barbaric."
"Muggles invented chess?"
"How convenient that purebloods forget to credit Muggle inventors when it's something they enjoy," Hermione remarked, only slightly mocking. "So what do you say? A matchup of mutual brilliance?"
She picked up one pawn of each colour and hid them behind her back, but Draco waved his hand.
"You take white. That way, you'll have no excuse when I win."
...
"All you had left were some pawns, a rook, and a knight!" Five minutes had passed since Hermione's swift victory, and Draco's shock had yet to fade. "I can't believe you pulled that off."
Hermione was beaming. "Your Malfoy arrogance blinded you."
"I was one move away from checkmate."
"One move too slow."
Draco shook his head, but traces of amusement still played on the edges of his mouth. "The next time you're here, I demand a rematch."
Satisfaction flooded her chest. All that reading of famous chess moves in an attempt to beat Ron had finally paid off. But she wouldn't mention to Draco that there was something Ron was better than him at. She'd save that for a future visit.
It was odd to admit, but a part of her would actually miss Draco. For as rocky of a start that they had, the second half of the weekend with him had been rather pleasant. She no longer questioned how he and Charlie had become friends. Perhaps if she was staying longer, she and Draco could have developed something akin to friendship, too.
The clock read twenty to ten: nearly time for her to head back to England.
Charlie and Julia were still immersed in conversation with Marjorie, Tavian no longer in sight. When Hermione interrupted them and told Charlie she needed to leave, he gawked at the time.
"Merlin, Hermione! You should have said something," Charlie exclaimed. "I didn't realize how long we were talking."
"It's fine, Charlie," she said. "Honest."
"I just can't believe the weekend went by so fast," he said with a small shake of his head. "Any chance I can convince you to stay all week? You never even had to suffer the key sanctuary experience of eating dinner with a single-pronged fork."
Hermione snickered. "I can live with that."
Charlie started to stand while Julia reached for her cloak on a nearby hook, but Hermione stopped them.
"Don't worry about Apparating with me to the sanctuary," she told them. "It would only be a few more minutes anyway. Enjoy your time with Marjorie."
"But you're going to need someone to open the wards," Charlie protested.
Draco stepped closer. "Am I incapable?"
From the ripple of surprise that flashed across Charlie's features, it appeared he'd forgotten about Draco. His eyes flicked to Hermione, then Draco, then back to Hermione.
"You okay going with him?"
"Is there a reason I shouldn't be?"
"Of course not." A pleased expression brightened his face as something twinkled in his gaze. "Guess you could blame it on my big brother instincts kicking in."
Charlie trapped Hermione inside a squeezing-tight hug while they exchanged their goodbyes. He made her promise to visit again soon, which she only agreed to if he also promised to bring Julia to the next Weasley gathering—Christmas at the latest.
The return trip to the sanctuary was easy, and Hermione was soon back in the cabin, checking the room to make sure she didn't leave anything behind. The rusty watering can sat atop the table, minutes away from reactivating. Draco leaned against the doorframe, watching Hermione as she checked under the bed for a second time.
"Charlie's right, you know."
She lifted herself off the floor. "Right about what?"
"You should stay."
Her ability to focus on her original task popped like an over-inflated balloon. Surely she had missed the tease in his tone or the lead up to some joke, but from the expectant expression directed entirely at her, she knew she hadn't.
"I can't," she said before she allowed herself to even consider the idea. "I have work in the morning."
Draco pushed off the doorframe and stepped forward. "From what you told me, it doesn't sound like something to go racing back to."
He stopped a few feet away; the watering can remained in her periphery.
Her foggy thoughts thickened. "But it's my job."
"Jobs shouldn't exhaust your joy."
Words stumbled to say something in return, to counter what he was saying. Of course she had to go back, regardless of how she felt. This was her job. Her chosen career. A contractual obligation. The Ministry expected her to be there tomorrow morning, just like she was every other Monday through Friday. Nine a.m. to six p.m. Sometimes earlier, often later. Too frequently on weekends.
"Tell me I'm wrong."
Her tongue tried to form an argument, yet each one died in the back of her throat.
His grey eyes bore into her. "If your division head isn't smart enough to recognise your value, isn't it worth staying where your knowledge is actually put into use? This investigation is just beginning."
"Doru's going to the Auror department tomorrow," Hermione said once her words worked again, mind moving swiftly to think through this logically. "With all the evidence the sanctuary now has, the Aurors will complete the investigation themselves."
Draco huffed. "You expect me to believe the Ministry is going to take our case seriously? Even now?" He shook his head. "Assuming on the off chance they do come, you and I will do better work than whatever novice they throw our case at. People who actually care."
He sounded so confident, Hermione found it difficult not to believe him. Based on everything she'd heard about the Romanian Ministry, she didn't have much faith in them. She and Draco, though…
The past two and a half days had been the escape she desperately needed. But what if it didn't need to end? She could stay. Just for the week. It wasn't as if she wanted to go home. Here, she had the opportunity to contribute to something. Something that truly mattered. Right here. Right now.
Oh, Merlin, was she really considering this?
She shouldn't. She really shouldn't. She had to go back to work.
But what if…
"I can infer from your hesitation that you're thinking about it," Draco said, waves of confident certitude seeping off of him. "Take some of the annual leave you've undoubtedly saved up because you feel too guilty to take a holiday unless absolutely necessary and stay."
He closed the space between them with yet another step forward, and the pound in Hermione's chest reached her ears.
She wanted to wipe that smug expression off his face. Tell him he was being too presumptive. Whip out some retort about how he didn't actually know anything about her or her life. But that felt insincere. Because deep down, or perhaps not deep down, she knew Draco was right.
Merlin strike her down. Those were three words she never wanted him to hear her say out loud.
Emotions churned inside her like a summer storm, while her thoughts tried to make sense of it.
"If, on the off chance, I was thinking about staying"—Draco grinned as soon as those words left her lips—"we wouldn't want any of the keepers and potential culprits to suspect why. We'd need to come up with a different reason to tell people why I'm still here."
"Done," he said without even a moment's pause. "You're staying to see the hatching of Norberta's eggs. Based on the diagnostics I did this morning, they should come any day now."
His smile broadened, as if he had already convinced her.
The Portkey glowed in warning.
One minute.
Hermione had to admit: staying for the baby dragons wasn't a bad benefit of staying. But that didn't quiet the logical side of her brain from screaming otherwise.
This was too hasty of a decision. Maybe if he had asked earlier in the day. When she had more time to weigh her options. To notify work. To consider all the implications. If Hermione left now, she could always come back. International Portkey requests only took two or three days to file. She could be back before the week was done.
Hermione reached for her beaded handbag, but Draco seized her hand first.
"Granger."
That plan promptly dropped from her mind. Something about her hand in his made her freeze. Made every part of her ignite.
Strong, large, warm.
Precisely as she had remembered it from earlier in the day. Except, this time, he didn't let go.
She looked up to meet his pleading gaze, and one thing became unquestionably certain.
He genuinely wanted her to stay.
The watering can started to rattle.
Just like that, another thing became certain.
She wanted to stay.
Her pulse was racing. Her breaths were quicker.
His hand still held hers.
"Sure you can endure a full week of me?"
Draco smirked. "I think I can manage."
The Portkey disappeared unaccompanied.